Page 70 of The Untamed Duke
“You cannot sleep here.”
“I have no desire for sleep,” Grace replied, pulling his head down so she could give him a melting kiss. “I want you. Your hands. Your mouth. I know we cannot make love, but I need you, Nicholas. If you wish me to beg, I shall…”
He couldn't resist her silken pleas, nor her soft body pressed so intimately against his. Pushing her back slightly, he stripped away her nightdress and recaptured her mouth. When he rose from the chair, her legs automatically wrapped about his waist, her arms looped with languid possessiveness around his neck. With his palms cradling her bottom, Nicholas carried Grace to the bed, where he deposited her, never once breaking their kiss.
Lying beside her, his hand dipped between her legs, finding all the hot, achy parts, kissing the tender places that made her whimper and sigh. As he began working her body, coaxing moans of passion from her, he whispered with a twinge of regret, “I can give you this, Grace, but do not expect love. I am incapable of it.”
Chapter 27
Grace was aware of two things as sleep receded and consciousness fluttered in.
First, an uneasy sense of doom washed over her. As if everything wrong in the world had suddenly descended upon Bellmar Abbey. It was surprising, really. Because Nicholas loved her so well with his magical hands and clever mouth, she’d slipped into a deep state of satisfaction. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the thunder and lightning outside the windows a faint lullaby.
Second, she heard shouts and....dear god.
Terrified whinnies, the sounds animals make when in pain. Agonized, horrifying screams.
Her horses.
Leaping from the bed, Grace grabbed her nightgown from the floor, throwing it on as she ran toward the windows. Beyond the glass was the stuff of nightmares.
The stables were on fire, flames shooting from the beamed rafters, billowing out in in sheets of orange and red from the long portion of the T-shaped building.
“What is it?” Nicholas asked, propping himself up against the pillows.
The dim light of the banked fire in the grate provided enough of a glow that Grace saw him rub his face, wiping away the sleep. He looked disoriented at seeing her still in his room. That stood to reason. She’d promised after that last climax, she would rouse herself and seek her own bedchamber. Nicholas agreed, then promptly folded his arms around her, stroking her hair until they drifted off asleep together.
“My horses…” Grace choked out. She could barely breathe. Fear momentarily paralyzed her limbs. “My horses. The stables...it’s on fire.”
Panicked, she whirled and stumbled toward the door, reaching for handle with numb hands as Nicholas flung back the sheets and grabbed his breeches.
“Grace! Wait…. Grace!”
She paid him no heed. Racing down the hall, she took the stairs in such haste, it was a wonder she didn’t tumble down them. Although she didn’t remember, she’d picked up her robe, belting a clumsy knot about her waist with shaky fingers.
Doors slammed open in the corridors below and above the second-floor landing where she’d stood just moments before. Nicholas shouted something. A moment later, Sebastian answered. Before anyone could catch up with her, Grace raced out the front door and down the gravel drive.
Reaching the cobblestoned area of the stables, she gaped in open-mouth horror. Stable boys raced in and out, like insects from a disturbed anthill, sometimes with horses in hand, sometimes with panicked animals bolting loose and disappearing into the darkness. A line of water buckets had formed, six grooms and three groundskeepers passing the pails while two men alternated at turns pumping water from the well. Hugh was at the front of the line, grabbing buckets, sloshing water on the flames, then tossing the buckets behind him for a return journey to the well.
With a wail of despair, Grace clapped her hands over her ears. The screams from the stables were terrifying. They made her physically sick, until she thought she would vomit. And the smell. Dear God… the smell of burning hair. Flesh. Of leather and wood and straw. It rolled through the pretty courtyard like fog from Satan’s own hell, permeating everything.
There were thirty-eight horses at Bellmar Abbey. Twelve feisty yearlings in box stalls. Numerous broodmares, her carriage horses, and Sebastian’s matched greys. There were also the five Ravenswood mares. Nicholas’s stallion, Skye. And deep within the longest part of the building...her precious Llyr.
“Get back, milady!” Hugh spotted Grace’s ashen face in the swirl of rain and black smoke. “It’s too dangerous! Get back!”
Grace shook her head. Tears streaked down her cheeks, mixing with the drizzling rain and soot. Glancing down, she realized she’d forgotten her slippers. Would she be able to bear the heat inside the stables without the protection of shoes? At least her clothing might not immediately catch fire, drenched as she was now.
“Where’s Llyr?” she screamed at the stable master, knowing from his sorrowful expression the stallion was still inside the building.
Grace removed her robe. She would cover the horse’s eyes with the garment. It would enable easier handling if he couldn't see. Knowing how Llyr responded to storms and fire in general, it was the only way he could be led out safely.
Starting toward the stables, Grace made note of the horses that had escaped. They were ones kept in the uppermost portion of the 'T'. Horses easily reached. Llyr was kept down the longest section of the structure, in one of the roomiest stalls. It was the part currently aflame, the same section housing the upcoming yearlings. Sebastian’s carriage horses were in that portion as well.
She was grabbed after only a few steps. Nicholas held her impossibly tight, arms like iron bands contracting around her waist, dragging her away from the blazing heat. Despite her struggle, he spun her around, shouting above the horrible racket.
“No, Grace. No!” His eyes were dark, frantic, and yet, at the same time there was a deadly calm in the green depths “Stay here…Sebastian, don’t let her go. By all that is holy, if you value your life, do not let her go.”
Before Grace could process what was happening, she was thrust into another pair of masculine arms. There was the fleeting impression of dark gold hair shining richly in the firelight, a set of broad shoulders clad in white then Nicholas rushed past, disappearing into billowing black smoke.
