Page 52 of Married to the Lord

Chapter Twenty

As soon as he’d arrived at The Queen’s Head inn, Miles recognized his mistake. He paused at the door and glanced back at his horse, now under the care of one of the grooms. This was what Nester wanted. Hell, he was pretty certain it was what a lot of people expected. Just a few years of playing viscount and Miles Stanton was ready to tumble back into his old life of drinking and gambling. He’d thought he was being clever going to one he’d never set foot in—as though that might save him from guilt. After all, he was not directly slipping back into his life if he was drinking at a new pub.

He muttered a curse to himself and stepped away from the front door, crushing down the ache in his gut that he so badly wanted to quash under the weight of reckless drinking and gaming. He had to continue to do better—no matter what. Even if Augusta was going to marry his brother, he still could not handle disappointing her, and as much as he told himself he’d only do it once, he knew how unlikely that was.

With more determined strides, he retrieved his horse and set off back home. He would bury himself in estate work rather than alcohol. He’d even damn well help Henry with wedding arrangements if he had to. It would be near agonizing but it was better than letting himself sink into the mire.

He rode swiftly, making quick work of the country roads that led back to town. From there, he cut across the fields that skimmed past the Waverly estate and Augusta’s modest family home, reveling in the burn in his legs and arms while he drew in heavy breaths. He could have taken the country lane home but he needed the open expanses.

And a small, foolish part of him needed to see Augusta’s home.

Miles grimaced to himself. No matter how hard he rode, no matter how much he worked, he was beginning to suspect he could never run or hide from his feelings for her. He would just have to resign himself to a lifetime of suffering. However, if she was happy with Henry, he would manage it.

On the rise of a gentle slope, he paused. The scent of smoke drifted across the fields and he scanned the expanse of countryside, his gaze landing upon billows of grey smoke. The jolt to his chest was immediate. It came from the direction of Augusta’s house. Maybe it was deliberate—someone burning some shrubbery perhaps—however, it was rare to see a bonfire give up such thick smoke. He glanced down at the reins bunched in his gloved hands, already aware of what his decision was. He needed to go and find out—with haste.

“Sorry, girl, but you need to give it your all,” he murmured to the horse, giving her a brief pat.

He rode with urgency, telling himself that it would be something innocent. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that could harm Augusta. But every inch of his being felt as though it were on alert. The hairs on the back of his neck were sticking on end, his breath was tight and not just from exertion. He just knew, down in his bones, he needed to get to her.

The closer he got, the more painful the tightness in his chest became. The smoke grew thicker and the stench covered the land. Flickers of flame grew visible, arching high into the air like the breath of an angry dragon. This was nothing innocent.

He tethered his horse on the gate at the garden to keep her away from the fire then sprinted the rest of the distance into the small cobbled courtyard. The modest-sized barn was fully ablaze. He could hardly see the roof now and orange flames licked out of the few windows. A groom ran back and forth with water buckets while Mrs. Snow stood in the doorway of the house, clasping a handkerchief in one hand.

“Oh, Miles...” She flung her arms around him as he arrived.

“Mr. Snow is in there,” she sobbed against his neck. “He went to get Augusta but...”

“Gus?” He pulled back to eye Mrs. Snow’s tear-streaked face.

“She was the first to spot the fire. She went in to get the horses.”

Miles disentangled himself from her embrace and raced over to the blaze. Heat from the fire prickled his skin. “Keep trying to douse it,” he ordered the exhausted-looking stable hand. He spotted two horses loose and clever enough to put plenty of distance between themselves and the fire. The Snows owned three, he knew that much, which explained why Augusta was still in the inferno.

Tearing off his jacket, he dunked it in the nearby water trough and put it back on, shuddering as droplets of frigid water trickled down his arms and neck. He undid his cravat and wrapped it around his mouth. Just as he was about to enter, someone emerged from the smoke. Bent double, Mr. Snow gagged and coughed, clawing his hands up Miles’s chest, though Miles suspected he had little idea who he was. His face was black and his hair singed.

“Gus...”

Miles nodded and passed the man over to Mrs. Snow. “Get him some water,” Miles ordered before ducking into the inferno.

The lack of windows did not help with visibility. No wonder Mr. Snow had been unable to find Augusta. Smoke filled the air, making his eyes water. He remained low and called her name, moving slowly in case she was on the ground. Smoke tickled the back of his throat and he fought the urge to cough while heat from above dripped down, making him sweat. Flecks of flaming wood were beginning to drop down from the roof. He glanced up to see fire rippling along the beams, the only light in the gloom. It was a matter of time before the whole roof collapsed.

A desperate whinny from deep within the barn snared his attention. He squinted into the gloom, eyes burning. The sweat dripping into his eyes didn’t help matters. But he had to get to Augusta.

He pushed on toward the back, cursing when his toe struck something hard and pain burst through his foot. Gritting his teeth, he continued moving through the smoke. The heat increased and the flames above were clouded by it, creating an eerie red glow. All around him wood popped and hissed and somewhere behind him, something cracked. He didn’t take the time to look at what it was.

His palms finally came into contact with the body of the distressed horse. “Gus?” he called, the word muffled by the cravat around his mouth.

He dropped low and swiped the smoke and sweat from his eyes, all too aware he had no time for this. Much longer and the building would be down upon them. He scrabbled his hands across the ground until he came upon fabric. He bunched it in his hands and gave it a tug. It was most certainly attached to a body. He felt his way over to her and drew her limp form into his arms. As light as a feather and just as easy to handle, he slung her over his shoulder and grabbed the horse by its mane.

“Come on,” he urged, tugging it forward.

With much persuasion, the terrified animal moved at a slow pace toward the entrance. A thin shaft of light broke through the choking thickness. The building was small but he felt as though he might as well be wading through an ocean to escape. His lungs were thick with smoke and his head swirled but the slender legs currently tucked under his arm and the limp arms tapping on his back as he moved urged him onward.

As they neared the front of the barn, the horse propelled itself forward, tearing from his grip and vanishing out of the entrance. Behind him, a crack reverberated through the air. He shifted Augusta fully into his arms and kept himself bent low, shielding her with his body and bracing himself for the moment that flaming wood and clay tiles collapsed atop him.

The pain never came and he continued forward as fast as his sluggish legs could carry him until they were out into daylight. He squinted in the light and gagged on a gulp of fresh air. Augusta was swiftly taken from him before he had even had a chance to check on her condition. The stable hand gaped up at the burning building while Miles sank onto the edge of the water trough. He took a scoopful of it and swiped it over his face before sipping the bitter water from his cupped hands. “It’s lost, boy,” he rasped to the stable hand.

“The horses are well, though.” The lad nodded toward the three horses, now corralled into one of the fields. Even the one Miles had rescued appeared well.

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