Page 95 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

Hard as she might, she could not free herself and run out of that door. The fire spread faster than she had anticipated, eating everything in this dry wooden warehouse. Flames licked the edges of the room, then rapidly climbed up the walls, completely engulfing the crates and the barrels around her.

It was as if she was up against a mythical creature, one that the more it ate, the more powerful it became. And yet the heat of the fire was not the first thing that reached her. Smoke filled her lungs, and she coughed. Her eyes stung and started streaming. The heat was unbearable, and she was panting.

She tried to fight the one thought that came over her again and again.

I am going to die here. I am going to die here, and I never told him I love him.

She wouldn’t give up that easily. She couldn’t die now. So, with renewed energy, she pulled at the ropes again.

Marigold decided that by the time the rope caught fire to help her be released, it would be too late. So, she gave up on that plan and tried to move the chair, to drag herself along with it to the door. No avail. The chair weighed like a load in her weakened state. The door seemed as if it was miles away.

Then through the crackling of the fire, the deafening hissing of wood burning, and the rumble of the hot air around her, she heard it. A distinct roar of black powder igniting. Guns being fired.

“Brandon,” she murmured at first.

Then she realized. The plan, the threats made by Johnny. There was a fight waging outside, and Brandon was in the middle of it. Her Brandon, her husband. Images of him flashed before her. That alone renewed her efforts. She pushed her body to the limit, fighting to drag her chair to that door. He was out there, fighting for his life.

“Brandon!” she screamed, but it was swallowed by the fire like everything else.

Marigold felt her body weaken, each breath a painful burn in her chest, but she fought. Then she felt it. Hot, scorching flames were licking at her feet. She looked down and saw the hem of her dress blackened by the heat, her delicate shoes destroyed. A sharp pain came over her, and she screamed.

“Help!” she yelled again.

It was pointless. No one was coming for her. She felt despair grab her soul, her arms slacking, her body giving up. She closed her eyes for a second and was flooded with visions once more. Brandon that first night saving her, him with Duck, the promenade, the taste of his lips, the way he cradled her, how he looked at her when she was helping him with this mission, how proud he was, how he felt against her.

No!

She would not give up without knowing he was safe. Her soul wouldn’t settle any other way. Her body locked once more. She fought the tears and the sting and the pain and gave every ounce of her strength to free herself, to go to him.

“Marigold! I’m here!”

She heard it. Clear as day. Over the debris starting to fall and the yelling, the sizzling around her, she heard it. His voice. Was she so close to dying that her mind was playing tricks on her? Was she so desperate that she imagined the one thing she craved?

Marigold dared to look up through the smoke. Her heart stopped. There at the doorway that was engulfed by fire, Brandon stood, his eyes fixed on her. His face was smudged with soot, half hidden by a cloth around his mouth, but it was unmistakably him. A million years could have passed, and she would still recognize him and his voice. His clothes were torn, and there was blood dripping from his cheek, but he was alive. He was real. He was here.

“Brandon,” she whispered.

He moved then, fast and agile. Marigold watched him in disbelief, as if she was watching a miracle happen.

“Marigold!”

He ran toward her, dodging falling debris, ignoring the flames threatening to swallow him. He disregarded it all, his eyes fixed on her. He came. He came for her. She was not alone. He was always there for her.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he reached her, body heaving. He didn’t waste time talking to her or touching her. All his attention fell on her restraints. He knelt before her and reached for his belt. He got a small blade he had there and worked on the ropes that held her legs. They fell instantly.

Then he reached over behind the chair to free her hands. Marigold breathed, looking at the face she loved most in this world, words failing her but emotions flooding her as she fought to keep her breath steady. She felt the ropes finally give, and her hands throbbed as they were free.

Only then did he turn to her. One brief moment, with fire around them and inside them. She looked at him, eyes streaming with tears that had nothing to do with the smoke. It was relief and utter love at the same time.

“I have you,” he said softly. “I have you. You are safe. God, you are safe.”

Then without anything more, he lifted her in his arms, her legs around his waist for better support. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he stood.

“Hold on to me, Marigold,” he said in her ear. “Hold on to me, and don’t let go.”

She nodded. Marigold wouldn’t let him go even if there was an army of demons trying to separate them. He had come for her, he risked his life for her. Once more he had saved her. So, she wrapped her body around his with all the strength she had left and held on with every inkling of her being.

He ran through the flames, fast as air. She could feel the heat on her back, the flames reaching for her but not getting to her skin. Marigold buried her face in his neck. His scent was stronger than the overwhelming stench of fire, and it calmed her down.