Christopher had no idea what had roused him from the fever-induced loss of consciousness which had claimed him after he watched the three owners of the club enter the building.
Whatever it was, it had taken a few seconds for him to realize there were shouts coming from the back of the building. The words were indistinguishable, but the fear and urgency in those various voices was not.
Crawling across the attic space so that he could look out of one of the back windows caused him such pain that he feared he might fall unconscious again before he reached it. Whatever had been in the salve administered by the duke was no longer effective, and Christopher’s wounds now throbbed painfully in rhythm with his heartbeat.
The sight down in the cobbled yard caused his heart to stop and the breath to cease in his throat.
There were at least two dozen people in the courtyard below, all of their faces and clothes blackened and smeared with soot as they formed several lines to pass along buckets of water to be thrown on the flames leaping up the back of the building.
Nevertheless, Christopher was still able to single out the wide-shouldered figure of the Duke of Lancaster at the front of one of those lines. He had removed his jacket, the darkness of his hair in complete disarray, his eyes fierce, his cheeks and jaw set in grim lines.
A sight, Christopher realized as he saw the flames leaping up to the third floor where he was hidden and the smoke began to seep into the attic space, which might very well be his last.
Perhaps it was for the best if that were to be the case.
His past had been taken from him, and he had no future except the hand-to-mouth existence which had resulted in him having to seek refuge and hide in the attic of this building in the first place.
There was no one to miss him. No one to care whether he lived or died. Indeed, he could think of several people he knew who would prefer him dead.
So perhaps he should just allow the thick smoke filling the attic to overwhelm him before the flames finished the job.
To be able to gaze upon the muscular and handsome figure of Maxim Armitage as he did so was an unexpected bonus, and Christopher knew he would continue to visibly devour the other man until he could see no longer. It was—
He froze as he watched another man gain the duke’s attention before pointing up to where Christopher looked down from the attic window.
The duke’s expression transformed from its grim determination to one of horror before he ran toward the building.
“No!” The smoke caught at the back of Christopher’s throat prevented his protest from being anything more than a weak croak and would certainly not have been heard by Maxim.
The Duke of Wulferston appeared to share his misgivings as he grasped his friend’s arm.
Words were exchanged between them before Maxim pulled roughly out of the other man’s grip and, after one last frantic glance up at Christopher, ran inside the building.
“No,” Christopher groaned. “No, no, no!” He continued to mutter that single word as he dragged himself across the room to pull open the attic door, bent only on stopping Maxim from coming any farther.
A heavy waft of smoke instantly billowed through the space, choking Christopher even more. It also prevented him from being able to see the stairs leading down to the landing below, causing him to tumble down those steps rather than crawl down them as he had intended doing.
His body already hurt so much that he didn’t feel it as different parts of his body bounced off each of the wooden steps, until he came to a painful halt on the uncarpeted hallway of the second floor.
The smoke was thicker here, causing a burning at the back of Christopher’s throat and making his eyes sting. But there were no flames visible as yet, telling him his idea of waiting in the attic until he perished in the flames had not been a good one. He would, in all likelihood, have choked to death from the smoke filling his lungs and slowly, painfully, robbing him of breath. He was already starting to feel lightheaded just from inhaling a small amount of the acrid smoke—
“Christopher! Where the hell are you? Christopher, for God’s sake, answer me!”
Tears pricked his eyes as he easily recognized Maxim’s voice calling to him from the floor below, which told him that his fear the duke might perish in the flames had not yet been fulfilled.
“I’m here, Maxim!” Just that small effort of calling loud enough for the other man to hear caused Christopher to cough and choke before he weakly leaned his back against the wall.
“Christopher?” The duke’s voice sounded closer. “Keep talking to me so I can find you in this interminable smoke,” he encouraged before he too began to cough.
“You should go back,” he encouraged. “Save yourself, before it’s too late.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Maxim stated harshly.
The tears overflowed Christopher’s eyes to cascade hotly down his cheeks. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for killing Maxim. He was not only the man who had been so kind to him these past three weeks, but also the man Christopher most respected and lo—
“There you are!” Maxim’s soot-smeared visage appeared through the swirling smoke before he came down on his haunches where Christopher sat propped up against the wall.
Christopher’s hungry gaze searched every inch of the other man’s handsome face. “You should not have come for me,” he choked emotionally. “Now we are both like to die, and I cannot bear—” He drew in a deep and acrid breath. “I cannot bear the thought of you perishing too.” He began to sob, for the loss of Maxim’s life, in the way he hadn’t been able to fear or mourn the possibility of his own demise.
Maxim dropped onto his knees before pulling Christopher against him, knowing a certain comfort from holding his light weight in his arms. “If I’m going to die, then I cannot think of anyone I would rather die beside than you. Except…” He pulled back to look at Christopher searchingly. “I believed you must hate me after last night.”
“Last night…?” Color flooded Christopher’s cheeks. “Do you mean when I embarrassed myself by—by becoming aroused and releasing when you were only trying to help me?”
Maxim drew in a deep breath. “Because I touched you more intimately than I should have.”
Christopher looked at him trustingly. “I hope, if you would like it too, that we have opportunity for you to touch me like that again.”
The heavy weight of guilt lifted from Maxim’s chest. “Perhaps, if you are agreeable, we can do more than that?”
“Yes, please,” Christopher accepted shyly.
“I would like nothing more than the opportunity to please you.” He could no longer resist the primal need he felt to connect and lay claim to Christopher. There was no guarantee, after all, that they were going to make it out of this building alive.
Indeed, at that moment Maxim had no care for whether he lived or died, only that he could be with Christopher.
Once tasted it was impossible for Maxim not to deepen the kiss the moment Christopher’s lips parted encouragingly beneath his. His tongue swept into the heat of the younger man’s mouth, and he once again drowned in the delicious taste of him.
The kiss was a physical claim on Christopher, one Maxim had every intention of becoming reality once the two of them were safely out of this burning building and back at Lancaster House where they belonged.
Because Christopher did belong there. With Maxim.
Christopher had only been at Lancaster House for a few hours the previous night, but already it felt empty without his presence. Maxim didn’t care how it came about, but now that he knew Christopher returned his attraction, he had every intention of not only ensuring he returned to Lancaster House with him, but ensuring that he never left again, unless it was to accompany Maxim into the country or abroad.
He could so easily have lost Christopher tonight. He still might if they couldn’t find their way out of the building through the smoke and flames. But if they did escape, Maxim had no intention of allowing Christopher out of his sight for the foreseeable future.
He lifted his head and reluctantly broke the kiss, something melting in his chest when he saw the way Christopher looked at him so trustingly, as if he were the moon and stars to him.
Or, Maxim inwardly mocked his flight of fancy, at least as if Christopher wholly believed Maxim more than capable of rescuing them both from being burnt alive!
He looked at Christopher searchingly. “What on earth are you doing up here in the first place?” It had only just occurred to him that the attic of the Apollo Club was a strange place for Christopher to be. “When I discovered you had left Lancaster House this morning, I believed you’d gone to your own home.” He gave a shake of his head. “It is far too early for you to be here with the intention of working this evening.” His frown deepened. “Nor would that explain what you are doing up here in the attic.”
Christopher turned to look at the thickening smoke. “Should we not attempt to get out of here rather than waste further time on explanations?”
They should, yes, but Maxim sensed Christopher was using that urgent need as an excuse not to answer his questions. Unfortunately, Christopher swayed, and his face became deathly pale, and he fell against Maxim’s chest before he was able to question him further.
Which was when he became aware of how hot Christopher’s forehead was. Maxim’s hand resting against that brow confirmed it was not only hot but clammy to the touch. Another fiercely concerned glance at the pallor of Christopher’s face revealed his eyes were slightly glazed. With a fever? Possibly brought about because his wounds had not had any attention since the previous night? Or perhaps he’d already been burned by the flames and had fled up to the attic to escape but had in fact entrapped himself?
Whatever the reason for Christopher’s fever and his presence in the attic, the more immediate need was for Maxim to get the two of them out of here and away from danger. They could deal with the answers to Maxim’s questions later.
Christopher made only a faint murmur of protest as Maxim, having risen to his feet, placed one arm beneath Christopher’s knees and the other about his shoulders before lifting him into his arms. Christopher’s head dropped to rest against his shoulder.
Maxim was struck once again by how light his body was. Too light. Christopher was aged nineteen and possibly two or three inches under six feet in height. He really should weigh more than this.
Again, a question to be asked when they were both safely out of this burning building.
“Is there a reason why you are simply standing here, in a hallway that is fast filling with smoke and will soon also be engulfed in flames, rather than making good your escape?”
Maxim stared at Stonyhurst as he appeared like an apparition through the smoke.
Perhaps he was one?
Certainly, Wulferston had made his feelings clear a few minutes ago regarding Maxim running into the burning building to rescue Christopher. He believed the words his friend had used were reckless and futile.
Reckless, perhaps, considering they had so far been unable to control the flames consuming the building, but Maxim could never consider attempting to save Christopher as futile.
“Wulferston already believes you to have taken leave of your senses by entering the building at all.” Stonyhurst’s words echoed Maxim’s thoughts.
He focused on his friend. “And what do you think?”
The other man glanced at the unconscious Christopher in Maxim’s arms. “I believe a far stronger emotion to be at play.” Stonyhurst spoke almost gently. “But,” he added as they both heard the sound of something crashing to the ground in one of the rooms below them, “I also think we should get our arses out of this building sooner rather than later. Keep still while I undo your necktie and secure it about your nose and mouth to keep at bay the worst of the smoke and heat.”
“Christopher first,” Maxim insisted abruptly.
Stonyhurst shot him a glance but made no further comment as he first secured Christopher’s necktie about the lower half of his face, quickly followed by Maxim’s. “Now follow me,” he instructed with his usual economy of words.
Maxim settled Christopher more securely in his arms before doing exactly that.
It was a slow and treacherous journey down a staircase that could collapse at any moment, and with them standing on it. The danger was further added to by the smoke, although the neckties over their noses and mouths acted, as Stonyhurst had predicted, somewhat as a filter to the worst of it.
It begged the question as to how Stonyhurst had known to improvise so successfully in these conditions. Maxim had always suspected that the other man had been more than an interrogator during the years of war against Napoleon.
Whatever the reason for that knowledge, Stonyhurst managed to get them safely from the second floor to the landing below. They were still standing there when Maxim felt the wood shudder precariously beneath his feet before it settled again.
Stonyhurst glanced back at him. “We will need to make a run for it. You have already carried Mr. Brooks down one set of stairs. Would you like me to take him—”
“Absolutely not.” Maxim’s arms tightened instinctively about Christopher, and he held him tighter to his chest.
Stonyhurst held up his hands in a “no offence meant” gesture. “It was merely a thought. But we really do need to go now,” he added purposefully as the landing gave another groan.
Maxim thanked God Christopher was unconscious as he ran down the shaky staircase; otherwise, he would no doubt have been in great pain from the jostling of those wounds upon his back and buttocks.
They had barely reached the safety of the first landing when the staircase itself collapsed in front of them, throwing up a plume of sparks and flames and rendering that landing precariously unbalanced on the two remaining beams supporting its weight from below.
For several seconds, Maxim and Stonyhurst could only stare at the void where the means of their escape had been.
Maxim had only two regrets.
First, that Stonyhurst had come to his aid and therefore sealed his own fate, along with theirs.
Second, that he had not expressed his interest in Christopher within days of the young man commencing work at the Apollo Club. At least then the two of them might have spent a few weeks of happiness together before perishing in this fire.
“Pass Mr. Brooks down to me.”
Maxim had been so lost in the sadness of their imminent demise that he did not at first register the voice belonged to Wulferston rather than Stonyhurst.
A glance over the edge of the shaky landing revealed Wulferston standing on the debris of the collapsed staircase, his arms raised in readiness for accepting Christopher.
Maxim initially felt that same reluctance to release Christopher to any man’s arms but his own. But then common sense took over, along with the knowledge that handing Christopher down to Wulferston might at least ensure his life was saved. He and Stonyhurst could then take care of their own survival.
He carefully moved down onto his knees and closer to the edge of the landing. “Have a care with him,” he warned Wulferston as he reluctantly lowered Christopher, maintaining a hold on him until he was sure he was safely in the other man’s arms.
Wulferston raised his brows in reprimand but, for once in his autocratic life, managed to refrain from making one of his usual cutting remarks. “Now the two of you get yourselves down from there too,” he instructed before turning to make his way out of the building with Christopher held safely in his embrace.
Maxim remained on his knees watching them until they disappeared into the smoke and hopefully out of the building altogether.
“He’s safe now,” Stonyhurst assured gently.
Maxim had never experienced anything like the conflicting emotions now coursing through him. Mostly it was that regret of not having more time with Christopher, along with a deep swelling of happiness for having met him at all.
And for loving him.
Because Maxim realized he did love Christopher. Deeply. Utterly. He loved his gentleness. His kindness. His sense of humor. There was not a single part of Christopher he did not love and admire.
Under normal circumstances, it might have taken Maxim many more weeks or months to admit his feelings, even to himself, but with his death imminent, there was no point in denying it.
He loved Christopher, but would probably never have the opportunity to tell him so.
As the ceiling above them began to fall around them, shooting sparks and wooden beams in all directions, Maxim drew comfort from the fact that at least Christopher’s life had been spared.
And perhaps, if there was a benevolent God, the two of them would meet again in another life.