Page 96 of The Duchess Trap
“Here, Your Grace!” a small voice cried.
Catherine followed it, heart hammering, until she found two of the older boys near the stairwell, shepherding a cluster of younger children. Soot streaked their faces; one was crying, the other clinging to a doll.
“Good lads,” she gasped. “Take them out through the back courtyard, quickly now. Don’t look back.”
They nodded, and she turned toward the nursery corridor. The ceiling there was already sagging, beams glowing faintly red. Every instinct screamed at her to stop, but she could hear a child sobbing somewhere ahead.
“Henry?” she called, pushing forward. The name tore from her throat, rough and uneven.
No answer, only the groan of timber above her, the hiss and snap of fire feeding on wood.
She tried again, louder this time. “Henry! I’m here!” The smoke thickened around her, turning the air into somethingshe had to swallow rather than breathe. “Henry, where are you, sweetheart?”
Her voice broke on the last word. She stopped for a heartbeat, straining to listen, her pulse hammering in her ears. The corridor ahead glowed faintly red, the heat pressing against her skin like a living thing.
Then she heard a faint, muffled sound, unmistakable—a small, terrified cry.
“Henry?” she called again, relief and terror tangling in her chest. “Keep calling to me, darling—I’m coming!”
The cry came once more, weaker this time, and she followed it, half-blind. Her eyes streamed; her lungs burned with every breath, but she pushed forward, one hand feeling along the scorched wall for guidance.
She rounded the corner and froze.
There he was, the weakest of them all, curled beneath a fallen blanket, his face streaked with ash, tiny fingers gripping the edge of the fabric as though it could protect him from the world.
“Oh, darling.” She dropped to her knees, ignoring the pain that shot up her arm as the hot floorboards bit into her skin. She gathered him up, pressing his trembling body against her chest. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
The roof groaned above them. Catherine looked up just as a beam cracked and fell. Instinct made her twist, shielding the boy. The wood struck her shoulder with brutal force before splintering beside her. Sharp, white-hot pain shot through her, but she didn’t let go.
Her breath came in gasps. For a moment, there was only the roar of flames and the pounding of her own heartbeat. Heat licked at her skin, smoke stung her throat, and the ceiling above groaned as another beam gave way.
“Henry,” she whispered, pressing the child tighter against her chest. “It’s all right—we’re almost out. Hold on to me.”
She stumbled forward through the haze, but the fire had swallowed the hall. Every door she tried was blocked, every turn worse than the last. Then, over the crackle and roar, another sound broke through—a voice, deep and urgent.
“Catherine!”
Her head snapped up. Through the smoke, she saw Duncan, his coat thrown off, arm shielding his face as he forced his way inside. The sight of him cut through the terror.
“Here!” she cried hoarsely. “We’re here!”
Without hesitation, he crossed the burning threshold. The fire lit his shoulders, gilding him in gold and ash. “Give him to me,” he ordered, voice rough from the smoke.
She shook her head, coughing. “The doorway—it’s blocked?—”
“I’ll clear it. Stay behind me.”
He tore down a half-collapsed beam with his bare hands, shielding her from the falling embers as he kicked open the last door to the yard. Cold air rushed in like salvation.
“Go,” he barked, and she obeyed, stumbling as she ran.
Outside, the winter air struck her lungs like ice. Arms reached for her, for the child. She blinked through the haze and saw Mrs. Simms running toward them, skirts gathered, face streaked with soot.
“Take him,” Catherine gasped, thrusting the boy into her arms. “Please—he’s breathing, just—get him to safety.”
Mrs. Simms clutched Henry close, tears cutting clean lines through the ash on her cheeks. “Oh, my sweet boy—yes, yes, I have him—” She hurried away toward the waiting carriage.
Catherine swayed, her vision blurring again. The cold bit into her, cruel after the fire’s heat. Then strong hands caught her—Duncan’s—pulling her steady against his chest.
