Devil Takes A Bride Read Free Page A

barely breathe. She knew if she didn’t get out quickly, she would lose consciousness, and that would be the end of both her and the little girl.
    Driven by her need to save her gallant rescuer’s child, she ran from room to room, searching the ground floor for an exit. In the back parlor, everything was on fire, but as she glanced in, one of the burning shutters fell away, leaving a hole that led out into the night. A chance!
    The heavy brocade curtains framing the window were on fire, however. Somehow she’d have to get past them. Hurrying to the window, she used part of her cloak to protect her hands while she fought to pry the window open. In terrified fury, she succeeded at last, wasting no time in lowering the little girl out.
    â€œRun, Sarah!”
    As Mary struggled to follow her out the window, she was almost in the clear, when the twisting flames that were devouring the curtains brushed her face. She screamed, falling out the window as her whole body jerked away from the pain. Her hair caught; she could not writhe away from the horror; it followed her as she ran. She fell to the ground in agony, and did not know where the water came from as it suddenly drenched her, several buckets full.
    When she opened her eyes a moment later, she made out the shapes of several men mulling around, trying to help whomever they could.
    â€œThe little girl!” she wrenched out.
    â€œShe’s right here, ma’am. Don’t try to move. The doctor’s coming.”
    She didn’t listen, struggling to stand. One side of her face felt flayed.
    At that moment, the burning roof caved in. The Golden Bull collapsed in on itself like a failed soufflé. The screams were lost in the roar of the victorious fire. There could be no survivors now. Unsteady on her feet, Mary gathered the thrashing child in her arms. She knew she was hurt badly, but somehow she was alive—and so was little Sarah. They would not be that way for long, however, if her evil lover and his friends came back.
    Blocking out the pain, Mary slipped away in the confusion, taking the child with her. She knew she must hide, must get help for her wounds; as soon as possible, she and the little orphan would flee to Ireland.
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    The raven-haired lad with sea-colored eyes and a sulky mouth drowsed on the hard bench in the anteroom to the dean’s office, where he had wearily been awaiting his punishment for what seemed like ages.
    At first, Devlin James Kimball, the seventeen-year-old heir to the Strathmore viscountcy, had been too hungover from his spree to think at all about “the consequences of his actions,” as several school officials had instructed him to do.
    Recovering somewhat later, he had spent a good twelve hours rehearsing pretty speeches with which to meet his mother’s certain wrath over his row with the proctor’s bulldog, but hang it all, the blackguard shouldn’t have made that remark about Admiral Lord Nelson’s glorious death and final victory at Trafalgar of a few weeks ago. Dev had considered it a matter of honor to defend his fallen idol’s name.
    Despite his excuse, though, he knew his tempestuous dam would call him to the carpet. Thankfully, Father was sure to come to his defense. God knew one disappointed glance from his sire weighed more on Dev than all his mother’s stormy shouting. He heaved a sigh and thunked his head back against the cool plaster wall, his stomach rumbling with hunger. A chap could starve around here. Where were they, anyway? Why had no one come for him yet?
    There was no clock in the detention room, but it felt like he had been in here for days.
    Again that cold, creeping feeling inched down his spine—the inexplicable premonition that something was wrong. Hearing footsteps coming down the corridor, he sat up and scowled at the locked door.
Finally.
He quickly ran his fingers through his tousled black hair and did his best to adjust his cravat, bracing