No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(71)

But now she realized that she had never before known real fear. Real fear struck her when she watched Neil hurtle himself across the room and slam into Slag. The two men fell back against the hearth, Neil narrowly missing being thrown into the flames. She tore her gaze away from Neil at a loud crash behind her. One of the tables had fallen, and it was no wonder, as the four thugs had encircled Mr. Mostyn, hiding him from view. She only knew he was still on his feet and fighting because she caught flashes of his light hair.

And then one of the thugs stumbled back and toppled onto a chair, crushing it, and Mostyn slid through the opening, grasped the table in one hand, broke off a leg, and brandished it at the other thugs. One didn’t move quickly enough and took a crack to the head. He fell back, crashing into the couch and almost falling on top of her.

It was then she decided that perhaps she might be more out of the way if she climbed under the couch. She scooted under the furnishing just as the thug did tumble onto the couch, causing the entire thing to creak in protest.

Julia winced and turned to catch a glimpse of Neil again. She caught sight of him and Slag, still near the blazing hearth, just as Slag swung his stick and struck Neil’s arm. Neil faltered but didn’t go down. He swung with his good arm and his fist collided with Slag’s nose. Blood sprayed, a rain of crimson, and Slag raised his walking stick for another strike. Julia closed her eyes. She couldn’t stay under the couch until this was over. If Mr. Mostyn and Neil lost the fight—and that looked very likely—she was doomed. She had to find her own way out.

More importantly, she had to save Billy.

She could squeeze out from under the couch and… Her thoughts trailed off as she caught a whiff of smoke. She risked another look at Neil. His head was still round, not caved in as she had feared, and he continued to wrestle with Slag before the hearth. Neil had one end wrapped around the end of the walking stick, and he and Slag played tug-of-war with it. Behind them, the fire burned inside the grate.

And she still smelled smoke. She turned and looked at Mostyn, her eyes widening. She couldn’t see much but legs from this angle, but she could see the overturned lamp and the small licks of fire eating at the rug.

“Oh no,” she breathed. In this old building, the fire could spread quickly, blazing into an inferno before any of them had a chance to contemplate escape. The patrons in the front room might get out, but anyone upstairs, where Billy was likely hiding, would burn to death.

Julia looked at Neil again. Still fighting for his life. If the shuffling feet on the other side of the couch were any indication, Mostyn was engaged in the same battle. It was up to her. Julia slithered out from under the couch, covering her head when one of Mostyn’s attackers looked like he might trip and fall on her. He fell the other way, and she scrambled to her knees. She crawled to the fallen lamp, reaching out to right it and then snatching her hand back at the intense heat. She bent and attempted to blow out the burgeoning fire, but too much of the lamp’s oil had soaked into the carpet and her efforts made no difference.

Her last hope was smothering the flames. Fingers fumbling, she ripped off her cloak and threw it over the fire, then lifted and lowered it yet again. But she had missed her chance—when the flames had burned through the oil but not yet found other fuel. The fire had slid its talons into the rug’s fibers and held on. She watched the trail of fire snake out along the pattern of the rug and away from her useless cloak.

Julia dropped the garment and did the only other thing she could think to do. “Fire!” she yelled. “Everyone out! Fire!”

The men fighting Mostyn had already taken notice and scrambled to avoid the flames. Julia glanced at Neil in time to see him wrench the walking stick from Slag’s hands and swing it at the crime lord’s head. Slag blocked the blow with his arm, but even across the room, she imagined she heard the crack and pop as bone splintered.

Her gasp was cut off when she was grabbed about the waist and lifted off the floor. Julia kicked and tried to wrench free.

“It’s Mostyn,” came the voice of the man holding her. “I’ll get you out.”

She stopped struggling as Mostyn carried her through the open door of the chamber. Slag’s men had fled before them, and she could hear their shouts of “Fire!” as they ran into the taproom. Mostyn made to follow them, but Julia fought him again. “No!”

He could have ignored her. He was strong enough that her struggles didn’t impede him, but he paused and set her down. He bent and looked into her face. “My lady, the Warrior will find his own way out.”

Julia was suddenly ashamed that she hadn’t been thinking of Neil. She’d wanted to go back for Billy. “It’s not him,” she said. “I want to find Billy. We have to get him out.”

Neil stepped into the doorway beside them. Perspiration ran down his face from the heat of the fire, making the spattering of blood run down his cheeks in macabre rivulets.

“I’ll get him out,” Neil said, his voice hoarse from the smoke that was beginning to burn her throat and lungs. “You go with the Protector.”

“No. I’m coming.”

Neil bent and took her chin in his cupped hand. “Not this time, and don’t fight me on this.” He gave her a hard kiss that surprised her not simply because it was unexpected but because of its intensity. Then he looked at Mostyn. “Get her out and keep her out.”