For whom was the better question. Joshua had a soft spot for Lizzie. She was safe in a townhouse in Mayfair, but might he know other children living here? Lizzie had been upstairs.Perhaps Joshua had run up to make sure the rest of the children escaped.
King glanced toward the stairway to the first floor. Flames licked at the ceiling, but they hadn’t engulfed it yet. Pulling his coat tight over his head, he ducked down and ran for the stairs. Sparks and burning pieces of wood fell around him, but he made it to the stairs and climbed quickly, not wanting to linger on any unstable stairs. The smoke was worse on the first floor. The fire burned to his left, so he went right, stepping into the thickest cloud of smoke. Even if he’d wanted to call for Joshua, he couldn’t have made his throat work.
King got down on his knees. The smoke rose, and on the floor, he could see marginally better. He crawled down the corridor, pushing doors open and peering inside. Holy hell, but he couldn’t see anything. He had to go into the first room, feeling his way around.
No one here.
He turned to crawl back out and heard the pop and whoosh as something below exploded. Most likely a cask of beer or wine. King crouched lower as a wall of flame rose in the doorway. Ash and heat like none he’d ever felt emanated from those leaping flames. He was dead. This was the end.
Violet would be furious.
And then the room seemed to grow cold. King couldn’t explain it. Perhaps this was what death felt like—like icy fingernails creeping down his back.
He’d only felt this sensation once before. King began to tremble as the shape of the old woman formed in the flames.
It was the Scottish witch.
Somehow, he’d always known he’d see her again.
Last time, in his bedchamber, he’d thought he was drunk. He wasn’t drunk now. Perhaps he was hallucinating. But she looked pretty damn real.
“George Oxley, Marquess of Kingston.” The witch stared down at him. “Nae the marquess anymore, are ye?” She smiled, and he didn’t want to look at that gaping mouth.
“You’ve had your revenge,” he said, unsure whether he was speaking or only thinking the words. How could he speak? His throat was raw, and he kept coughing from the smoke.
But she nodded as though she’d heard him.
“Nae enough, George Oxley. Never enough.”
She began to mumble, her words too low for him to make out. She was speaking some sort of chant and moving her hands in a circle, stirring up the fire. King stared at her, his eyes streaming, the skin of his hands, where he held the coat, beginning to blister.
And then he realized what she was saying.
She was repeating the spell.
“Give me my revenge; ease myplight.
These three lads have taken what’smine.
At the age of thirty, repay them inkind.”
My God,he thought. It hadn’t been a coincidence that he’d lost everything on his birthday. She’d cursed him. Made certain he would lose everything then. And not just him—Henry and Rory as well. Rory had always been the oldest. He’d already turned thirty, and his curse—
“No,” he said to himself. “No.” Because he knew what Rory had lost, and it had been worse—so much worse than what King had faced. And Henry—Henry’s birthday was just a few days after King’s. What had he lost? Was that why he hadn’t come back to help King?
“Pilfer, purloin, and pinch what it is they lovebest.
And then and only then will I find my eternalrest.”
King stared at the witch, her words echoing in his mind.What they love best. Was that what she had taken from him? What he loved best? His money, his title, his standing in Society.
That was all he’d had. All he’d ever had—few friends, almost no family. King had clung tightly to his name and his inheritance.
But the witch had taken that.
Why had she come back now? Her work was done…unless she meant to take more from him. Unless she was angry that her curse hadn’t had the desired effect.
Yes, she’d taken everything from him, but she hadn’t ruined his life. In fact, he’d found his life. He’d found Violet and the boys, and even the bloody Silver Unicorn, with all the mugs that needed washing and floors that needed mopping.
