The Abducted Heiress. Claire Thornton

the Earl, the Countess had taken charge of their Devonshire estate. She had held the fortified house for Parliament against besieging royalists for five weeks of fierce fighting. Even the injuries to her daughter had not compelled the Countess to yield. Only the arrival of Parliamentarian forces, led by Desire’s father, had brought an end to the siege.

      The thunderous roar of the fire destroying London was horrifyingly reminiscent for Desire of the noise of the royalists’ bombardment of Larksmere House because, trapped behind the defences of the house, there had been no peace and no escape from the fighting. Desire touched her cheek. Her scars were an ever-present reminder of that frightening period of her life.

      The strong easterly winds whipped her skirts around her legs. Her dishevelled hair felt gritty with the ash swirling through the air. Her garden was full of flying debris. A charred piece of paper briefly caught against the side of a raised bed. It gusted up into Desire’s face before spinning heavenwards once more.

      All the previous night she had watched the fire light up the sky. She’d seen the crimson, snake-tipped flames dance obscenely over the rooftops and curl wickedly around the church spires and towers. She’d seldom visited the crowded streets of the City, but she’d imagined walking along them. She had always enjoyed knowing there was so much enterprising human life close by. She even enjoyed listening to the harsh, vulgar curses of the Thames boatmen as they plied their trade on the river adjoining her property.

      Now London was being destroyed before her eyes. And the fierce wind was driving the flames dangerously close to Godwin House. She was almost sure that Fleet Street was already on fire. She pressed the shank of the river-gate key against her lips. She had prayed all night for the gale to cease and the flames to be quenched. But now it seemed inevitable that the fire would reach the Strand. It was finally time to leave. She would seek out her watchmen and take to the safety of the river.

      She turned to leave the roof—and screamed in terror.

      Jakob Smith stood three feet from her. A huge, wild-eyed, soot-grimed monster. She was sure he’d come for his revenge. Shock momentarily paralysed her.

      His lips draw back in a snarl of fury as he made a gesture towards her.

      She threw herself away from him, falling backwards into a bed of herbs.

      He lunged after her.

      She rolled frantically away, fetching up against the parapet wall. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs and she gasped for breath. Heard him curse.

      ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he shouted, looming over her.

      Desire didn’t answer. She struggled to sit up, keeping a tight grip on the key. It wasn’t much, but it was the only weapon she had. Even a monster like Jakob could not be entirely invulnerable. If she could only find his weakness…

      Abruptly he moved away from her. Out of her reach. An expression of grim wariness in his red-rimmed eyes. Wild speculations raced through her mind. She wondered if he’d guessed her intent. The demon had a lot more experience of reading a foe’s intentions than she had. She resolved to keep her expression impassive.

      ‘Where are your men?’ he shouted at her.

      ‘What?’ His question startled a response from her.

      Too late she realised he wanted to assure himself that no one would interrupt his planned revenge on her.

      ‘För bövelen!’ he exclaimed, in apparent exasperation. ‘At least on Saturday you had a small army to protect you—some of them even seemed loyal. Today I find you alone and defenceless, like a peach waiting to be—’

      ‘Not by you!’ Desire shouted back, too angry to be afraid. ‘I’ll die…you’ll die first!’

      She tried to dig her heels into the ground, to give herself purchase to scramble backwards along the wall. Instead her foot caught in her petticoats. Before she could untangle herself a large clump of fiery debris cartwheeled down from the smoke-filled sky. The wind bowled the tattered ball of flames across the roof until it was trapped between the parapet and Desire’s tangled skirts.

      The fire hissed and crackled as it found new food to feed on. Desire screamed, terror consuming her as flames seemed to engulf her legs.

      In her panic she barely noticed Jakob seize her in his arms. A few seconds later he plunged her into the water cistern. Shock knocked the air out of her lungs and an instant later Jakob thrust her billowing skirts beneath the ash-covered surface of the water. The flames hissed and died. Desire panted for breath.

      It took several long moments for her wits to return sufficiently to comprehend what had happened. She was sitting in the large cistern, water almost up to her neck, though a fair amount had washed out when Jakob had dumped her into the trough. Bits of soot and ash floated around on top of the dirty water in front of her. Jakob knelt beside her. One of his strong hands gripped her shoulder. The other covered the hand in which, to her somewhat detached amazement, she discovered she was still clutching the key.

      She stared at Jakob, drained of all emotion.

      He stroked a matted strand of hair gently behind her shoulder and smiled at her. He had a very attractive smile for a fiend—even though his face was black with soot and his eyes were red. His hair had lost its angelic lustre. It was stringy with sweat and grime.

      Images of the long-ago siege of Larksmere House receded from Desire’s mind. She focussed on the immediate past instead. She’d thought about Jakob often since Saturday. Confused by the conflicting emotions he aroused in her. She’d been a little captivated by him when he’d first appeared on her roof—and then he’d destroyed all her ridiculous illusions. She’d allowed herself to be deceived by his comely appearance. The fire-grime that now covered him gave a much clearer indication of his true character. Except, of course, that he’d just saved her from being roasted alive.

      ‘What does the key open?’ he asked, his voice soft, almost teasing. ‘Your jewellery case?’

      ‘The river-gate!’ she exclaimed indignantly.

      The iron key was large and ugly. It opened the gate in the wall that separated the edge of her property from the Thames. Even the keys to the sturdy locks on her treasure chest were more elegant. Besides, did he really think she was so vain and foolish that she would put jewels before her own safety?

      ‘Good girl.’ He smiled and slipped the key out of her fingers before she’d realised his intent, and stood up.

      ‘You scurvy, double-dealing—’

      ‘Language, my lady,’ he chided her, laughing gently. ‘No, don’t get up,’ he added, as she seized the edges of the cistern. ‘We aren’t leaving just yet.’

      ‘We?’ She stared at him warily, still clutching the sides of the water cistern.

      ‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ he informed her, shrugging out of his doublet. ‘Not once I’d discovered the house was deserted. I only came on to the roof to get a better look at the fire. To see how far it extends. Lucky for you I did.’

      ‘Why?’ Desire asked warily. ‘The house isn’t deserted,’ she added. ‘There are porters guarding the gate—aren’t there?’

      Jakob grinned. ‘Easily evaded, my lady,’ he said, and stripped off his shirt.

      Desire’s eyes widened at the breadth of muscled chest and lean, hard-ridged stomach his actions revealed. Then, as the likely motive for his disrobing dawned on her, she tried to surge out of the water.

      ‘Sit.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and easily shoved her back under the surface. ‘You’re safer there till we get off this damned fire-trap.’

      ‘Why are you—?’

      ‘Not for the reason you think,’ he retorted, casting a quick glance towards the advancing flames.

      The sky above them was thick with roiling smoke. Desire’s throat was raw. She could tell from the hoarseness