Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(98)

Joyce regarded her with contempt. “What a ridiculous creature you are.” Deliberately she reached over and knocked the lit oil lamp from the dresser.

Sara gave a cry of horror as the globe broke and the puddle of oil ignited. Immediately the pool of fire spread outward, flames licking hungrily at the carpet, woodwork, and draperies. “Oh, God!”

Joyce’s face was painted gold and red by the rearing, malevolent light. “You can die by smoke and fire,” she said in a guttural voice, “or a bullet. Or…you can choose to do exactly as I tell you.”

Derek and Alex were several streets from St. James when they realized something was terribly wrong. Bells were tolling. Carriages, horses and pedestrians clogged the area. The sky was filled with a dull red glow that came from a blaze somewhere on the horizon. “Fire,” Alex said tersely, staring out the window of the carriage.

“Where?” A cold feeling settled over Derek, collecting in the pit of his stomach. The carriage progressed with excruciating slowness while the outriders did their best to forge a way through the crowded streets. His sixth sense, always accurate, warned of disaster. “It’s the club,” he heard himself say.

“I can’t say for certain.” Alex’s voice was calm, betraying none of the anxiety he was feeling. But one of his hands was gripped around the curtain at the window, exerting so much tension that the stitches in the fabric began to pop.

With a muffled curse Derek opened the door of the carriage and leapt out. The vehicle moved so slowly that it was faster to walk. He shouldered his way through the mob that was gathering to watch the fire. “Craven!” He heard Alex behind him, following at a distance. He didn’t pause. The insistent tolling of the bells filled his ears, reverberating in thunderous crashes. It couldn’t be his club. Not after he’d spent years of his life working, stealing, suffering for it. He’d built it with his own sweat and blood, with pieces of his soul. God, to watch it all disappear into smoke and ashes…

Derek turned the corner and made an incoherent sound. The gambling palace was roaring. The growl of fire was everywhere; the sky, the air, even the ground seemed to tremble. Derek staggered to the scene and watched as his dreams burned in an unholy blaze. He was mute, breathing and swallowing, trying to understand what was happening. Gradually he became aware of familiar faces in the awestruck crowd. Monsieur Labarge sat on the side of the pavement, numbly holding a copper pot he must have carried from the kitchen, too panicked to set it down. Gill was standing with the house wenches, some of them angry, some crying.

Worthy was nearby, the flames reflected in his spectacles. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. He turned and saw Derek. His face twitched convulsively. He tottered forward, his voice unrecognizable as he spoke. “Mr. Craven…it spread too quickly. There was nothing they could do. It’s all gone.”

“How did it start?” Derek asked hoarsely.

Worthy removed his spectacles and mopped his face with a handkerchief. He took a long time to answer, having to choke the words forth. “It began on the top floor. The private apartments.”

Derek stared at him blankly.

Two police officers rushed by them, a snatch of hasty conversation floating in the air behind them.

“…knock down the next building…make a fire gap…”

“Sara,” Derek heard himself say.

Worthy bent his head and shivered.

Derek drew close to Worthy, gripping the factotum’s shirtfront. “Where is she? Where is my wife?”

“I’ve questioned the employees,” Worthy answered, gasping as if it were painful to talk “Several of them…confirmed she was in the club.”

“Where is she now?”

“Sir…” Worthy shook his head and began to make an odd gulping sound.

Derek let go of him and reeled back a few steps, staring at him dazedly. “I have to find her.”

“It happened too quickly,” Worthy said, trying to control his tears. “She was in the apartments when it started. She couldn’t have gotten out.”

There was jangling confusion in his head. Disoriented, Derek swerved in a half-circle. He felt very strange, all his skin prickling. “No, I…No. She’s somewhere…I have to find her.”

“Mr. Craven?” Worthy followed him as he made his way into the street. “You mustn’t go in there. Mr. Craven, wait!” He took hold of Derek’s arm.

Derek shook him off impatiently, his purposeful strides gaining momentum.

In a sudden panic, the factotum flung himself at Derek, using his slight weight and wiry strength to hold him back. “Help me stop him!” Worthy screamed. “He’ll run straight into the middle of it!”

Derek growled and shoved him away, but other hands descended on him, shoving him down to the ground. He cursed and tried to rise again, only to find himself surrounded by a crowd of men intent on restraining him. Enraged, he began to fight like a rabid animal, roaring and struggling to break free. Distantly he heard Alex Raiford’s voice. “Derek…for God’s sake, man…”

“Sara! Sara—”

Someone clubbed him, a violent blow to his skull. Derek arched against the pain with an animal whimper. “My…wife,” he gasped, his brain on fire, his thoughts collapsing like a house of cards. He gave a quiet groan and plummeted into blackness.