"Lady Sachse!"
She stopped and turned, just as a wagon drew to a halt. She found herself unceremoniously pulled into the back with the servants. Before she could catch her breath or speak, the driver was urging the horses on again. She saw Archie's mother sitting on the bench beside the driver—the stableman no doubt.
The wagon barreled along through town and up the path toward the school. She could see flames licking at the night sky as though the fire sought to eat the stars as well as the building. Cold terror pierced her heart.
It wasn't the school. It was the building where the students slept.
She didn't remember the wagon stopping, didn't remember leaping out of it. She only knew that she was wending her way through the throng of people. Thank goodness they had a pump. She saw men pumping while another held a hose, directing it so the water hit high on the building. Others had formed a bucket brigade, splashing water on the lower portions of the building.
But the children, where were the children?
Then she spotted four huddled together. Younger boys, dirt-smudged faces, eyes large with fear. She dropped to the ground and gathered the two closest into her arms, reaching out to offer a comforting touch to those on the outskirts. "Are you all right?"
They bobbed their heads.
"Lord Sachse went to get Tim," one said. "He should have been out by now."
"Should have been out? You mean he went into the building?"
The boy nodded. "He brought us out first, but we couldn't find Tim."
"Oh, dear God." She somehow managed to gather all four into her arms, needing comfort as much as she needed to give it. She looked to the building. Black smoke billowed out, flames darted in and out. Archie couldn't be in there. He'd come out, and the boys had simply missed seeing him.
But what if he hadn't come out?
"Stay here," she commanded.
She got to her feet and ran toward the building. She wasn't certain what she'd do. Go inside and find him, or at least yell from the doorway to provide a means for him to find his way out.
She was almost there when an arm snaked around her waist and she found herself being lifted into the air and brought back.
"Hold on there, Countess. Where do you think you're going?"
She looked up to see Win's dirty face.
"Archie's in there."
"I know." His voice rang with resignation.
"Well, do something to get him out."
"There's nothing to be done," and it sounded as though he'd pushed the words up from the soles of his feet.
No, no, she knew what it was to be powerless, and she'd sworn she'd never again feel that way. "Let me go."
"No."
She began hitting his head and shoulders. "Let me go. I have to help him!"
"If you go in, when he comes out, it just means he'll have to go in to find you."
She began kicking, scratching, and biting. "Let me go!"
Momentarily she gained her freedom, took two steps, only to be tackled by Winston.
"This isn't helping anyone!" he yelled.
She began hitting him again. "You can't let him die! You can't!"
She was desperate to escape, desperate to do something. She couldn't bear the thought of Archie lost in the fire—
She could barely see through the tears as she looked toward the building. And then she spotted him, hunched over, running from the building, holding something in his arms. She heard a crash. Boom!
Winston loosened his hold on her. "There he is."
"I can see that," she said, as she got to her feet.
People were yelling, a wall was collapsing. Archie ducked down farther and raced away from the crumbling structure. Rushed to where she was waiting. Coughing and sputtering, he staggered to the ground beside her. He wore nothing except trousers.
"You're burned," she said.
"I'm all right. Can you take care of the boy?"
"You can't go back in!"
He shook his head. "I won't. He was the last. But I need to help with the pump."
"The building can't be saved."
"No, but that doesn't mean the fire will defeat us."
He kissed her so hard and quickly that he was gone before she realized what he'd done.
She turned her attention to the boy he'd brought out. Tim, someone had called him. He had such large eyes. All the children had such large eyes, and they shouldn't have to see this destruction. Damn it all. Archie was right, they wouldn't be defeated.
* * *
Chapter 12
It took hours to burn. Camilla had been right. The building where the boys had slept couldn't be saved. So they'd poured their efforts into saving the school, and in dousing the lawn and trees and hedges that stood between the two buildings. They'd watered down the school as well. And when nothing more could be done, they still stayed until the final embers died.
Arch found Camilla off to the side, standing alone, a bucket in her hand. He'd seen her working alongside the townsfolk—once the children had been taken away to be tucked into beds. Those whose families didn't live close by were taken in by their schoolmates' parents. Tomorrow, Arch would help the headmaster convert one of the classrooms into a temporary sleeping room until another dormitory could be built.
But at that particular moment, he wasn't thinking about all the work that would need to be done in the next few days. He was concentrating on moving his weary body across the trampled lawn to where Camilla stood.
"How did it happen?" she asked quietly after he reached her.
"One of the older boys confessed to using a candle beneath his bed to read. Seems he fell asleep with the candle still lit. He has some burns, but he'll be all right."
He pried the bucket from her stiff fingers. "Come along, we need to get you home."
She turned on him, a savagery on her face such as he'd never seen. She hit his shoulder, his chest. "You went into the fire!"
He grabbed her wrists. "I was one of the first ones here."
"You could have died!"
She seemed to crumble just as the building had, from the inside out, and he was amazed that she remained standing. Tears began streaming down her face. "Winston wouldn't let me go in. I was so afraid. What if you couldn't find your way out? You're so scattered sometimes, always lost in your silly books, as though you don't realize the realities of the world."
"I know the reality of fire."
"I wouldn't have been able to save you."
"Ah, Camilla, my brave, brave girl." He lifted her into his arms, felt her tear-strained cheek press against his bare shoulder, a salve to the burns he'd received. "Let's get you home."
"I can walk."
"So can I."
"You're an earl. You should find a servant to carry me."
"It is no hardship to walk with you in my arms. I rather fancy it."
"I'm so tired, Archie."
"I know you are. I'll have your maid prepare a bath, then we'll put you to bed."
Everyone was still stirring about when they got home. He knew they'd all been at the fire, but they'd not stayed as long as he had. He had Win haul the tub to Camilla's room while Arch sat her on her bed. He didn't know if she was stunned or simply exhausted. He ordered her maid to help her bathe, promising to return with some salve when Camilla was finished with the bath.
While he waited he decided to give himself a good washing. He was in the kitchen when Win walked in.
"Your little countess was a tigress tonight."
"She told me that she tried to go into the building."
"She did. I almost didn't have any luck holding her back. She's not someone you want to anger, is she?"
Arch dried himself. "No, she's not."
"Don't recall you going to fires with half your clothes missing."
Heatherton was a small community, but particular men were designated to fight the fires so they'd always know who was in charge and who could be counted on to be there. Arch had simply fallen int
o old habits when he'd heard the bells clanging.
"You've nothing to say?" Win asked.
"I was occupied."
Win grinned. "I know. Bessie brought your shoes by. Seems you snatched up your clothing but forgot them. She's always been an accommodating lass."
"Let’s keep her visit between brothers, shall we?"
"Of course. As well as your visit to her cottage."
Arch was bone-weary and not in any mood to deal with Win's irritating humor. He took the jar of salve out of the cabinet where his mother kept it and headed out of the room.
"She was really quite amazing, your countess. I wouldn't have thought she'd have gone to help."
He glanced over his shoulder at his brother. "She has a good heart, Win. But she keeps it to herself, as though she fears no one else will take care with it."
"Just watch your own heart, brother."
He didn't think his own heart was in much danger. He walked through the house and up the stairs to the room that had once been Nancy's and was now being used by Camilla. He rapped lightly on the door and heard quiet footsteps. The door opened, and Frannie peered out.
"Is Lady Sachse finished with her bath?" Arch asked.
"Yes, my lord. I was about to braid her hair."
"I'll see to that." He stepped back and jerked his head to the side.
Frannie opened her mouth, closed it. She knew better than to question an earl and understood the value of keeping private matters private. He had no fears that his late-night, early-morning visit would go beyond these walls.
Following a quick curtsy, she hurried down the hallway. Arch stepped into the room, hesitated, then closed the door.
The room smelled of Camilla. Her rose scent. He thought that if he breathed deeply enough and often enough, he might be able to erase the odor of smoke and charred remains.
She sat at the vanity, staring into the looking glass, but he thought she was watching his reflection as he neared rather than her own. She was neither timid nor shy, so he knew she would have voiced her objections to his closing of the door if she had any.
She wore a clean nightgown. Her hair hung loose, a curtain of golden brown strands dipping just below the settee on which she sat. He met her gaze in the mirror. Her eyes had a lost look about them as though she'd not yet recovered from the ordeal of the night, and as badly as he wanted her, he knew he wouldn't take her there beneath the roof of his mother's house.
But he needed whatever they could have, and if it were no more than her presence, it would be enough.
He crossed the room, knelt before her, and held up the jar. "When I lived here, I was a volunteer on the fire brigade. I wasn't always as careful as I should be, and now and then I would get a burn. My mother makes this salve. I have no idea what's in it, but it always soothes."
"I didn't get burned," she said softly.
"No." He took her hand and turned it over. "But you're not in the habit of carrying buckets either."
The sight of her torn and raw flesh caused his heart to tighten. He'd feared that she'd have blisters, but she'd worked too hard and worn away bits of skin. He opened the jar and dipped out a bit of salve. Gingerly, tenderly, he spread it across her palm.
"Frannie could have done this."
He lifted his gaze to hers. "Would you rather have Frannie here?"
Slowly, she shook her head.
He smiled at her. "I'm glad."
He took her other hand and began to apply salve to the tortured skin. "Does that feel good?"
"Yes."
When he was finished, he leaned back and lifted her foot. It was tiny, delicate. He hated that it was scraped, cut, and bruised. "Ah, Camilla, look at your poor feet."
"I'd rather not, thank you."
"What were you thinking to run out of the house without shoes?"
"You weren't wearing shoes."
"When I was growing up, I seldom did except in winter. My feet are much tougher than yours."
Gently he rubbed the salve over her sole. She had such tiny toes. He wondered how she'd react if he took one of those toes into his mouth or pressed a kiss to her lovely arch.
"Weren't you afraid, Archie?"
Stilling his ministrations and his musings, he raised his gaze to hers. "I hardly thought about the dangers. I knew only that if I didn't find the boy quickly and get out, that I'd never see you again, and I wasn't quite willing to make that sacrifice."
Tears began to well in her eyes. Reaching out, she brushed his hair from his brow. "You're unlike anyone I've ever known. You're not arrogant or sophisticated or impatient. You're unselfish. You're so terribly kind. I hardly know what to make of you."
"Stop comparing me to others and accept me as myself."
"Had you died tonight, I would have hurt so badly. I don't want to hurt."
"If you never hurt, then you can never know great joy. Without risk, you can have no reward. Everything would be equal, and life would be dreadfully dull."
"You want me to risk my heart, and I have none to risk."
"Yes, you do. But you've locked it away. Give it a chance. Unlock it."
"You ask too much."
"Then I shall work to unlock it for you." He lowered his head and kissed her foot, felt her fingers gliding through his hair.
He didn't blame her for being afraid, but he also knew how glorious love could be. He'd seen it with his parents. He saw it with Nancy.
Unfolding his body, he stood and lifted Camilla into his arms. She felt so right there, with her head nestled into the nook of his shoulder. He carried her to the bed and set her down, drawing the blankets over her.
"I'm still so frightened," she said quietly. "Will you hold me? Just hold me?"
"I will do anything you ask."
He stretched out on the bed and drew her up against his side.
"My husband never held me."
"I would hold you every night, all night, just for the simple pleasure of feeling the warmth of your body against mine, having your scent surrounding me, hearing your breathing, knowing you were mine."
He shifted his body so he was no longer on his back, but could gaze on her. He kissed her, knowing they would go no further than the touch of lips. She had the sweetest mouth. He was tempted to plunder, to take, to possess… but the moment wasn't right. He wouldn't take advantage of her fears or her gratitude that he'd survived.
He felt that tonight she'd at least inserted the key into the lock that guarded her heart. His reward would come from turning it slowly, leaving her with no regrets. He shouldn't pursue at all, because he did indeed need an heir.
But as he deepened the kiss, he decided he would worry about his responsibilities to the title later. For what remained of the night, he would be content with where he was, holding her close, tasting her, feeling the weight of her body next to his.
Drawing back, he looked down on her. How badly he wanted to move the blankets aside, lift her nightgown, and fill himself with the sight of her nakedness sprawled over this bed. Instead, he kissed her again, before whispering, "Go to sleep."
Then he held her, with his body aching not from the battering it had taken tonight but from the desperately needed surcease he'd denied it.
They would leave for Sachse Hall in a few days, then he could begin his true campaign to turn the lock to her heart and lure her into his bed.
"Archie?"
"Mmm?" Idly he stroked her back.
"I did weep when Lucien died. I can't imagine why because I despised him."
"Relief perhaps."
"No, I laughed with relief. I think because when all was said and done, he lived a very sad life. I worry that the same will be said of me."
He rolled over again to face her. "It shan't be. Just as you plan to tout my good virtues to the single ladies of London, so shall I tout yours to all I meet."
"I have so few."
"On the contrary, Countess, you have far more than you realize."
"Where were you earlier?" she a
sked. "Before the fire."
He slid his eyes closed, contemplated telling a lie, but decided that he wanted honesty with her in all things. He opened his eyes and held her gaze in the shadows. "I was with a young lady who wanted to be with an earl. I don't know how the aristocracy does it. I found it to be most unpleasant to be with someone who refused to look beyond my title."
"You grow accustomed to it in time."
"I don't think I ever shall."
"Was she pretty?"
"Not as pretty as you. And just so you'll know, nothing intimate passed between us. We simply talked."
"Will you see her again?"
"No. I discovered she wasn't what I wanted, nor was I what she envisioned."
"Archie, I was afraid you'd die tonight."
"I know."
"I was afraid that you'd die without knowing that I care for you a great deal."
She'd given him a spark of hope, but for what? They could care for each other, they could love each other; but in the end, they would only hurt each other.
* * *
Chapter 13
She was a widow who'd never slept with a man through the night. Her husband's visits had been brief, to the point. Except on those occasions when he'd been drunk and in the mood to torture her, then it had seemed his time with her was never-ending.
Because her feet were sore from the scratches and bruises she'd acquired the night before, Camilla leaned on Archie's arm and gingerly walked around the rubble that had once housed the students. She imagined her feet would have been much worse if he hadn't applied salve to them before putting her in bed, although she thought her heart might be less bruised.
She'd never known such comfort or trust, for surely it was trust that allowed her to fall asleep so easily. She couldn't get over how marvelous it had felt to awaken and find him still beside her, his arm around her, his cheek pressed to the top of her head.
She'd never meant to tell him or anyone that she'd actually cried when Lucien had died. But, snuggled within the bed, he had seduced the secret from her. She'd almost told him everything, except that she'd not wanted to ruin the tranquillity of the moment with the truth. How could she explain to a man who gave no thought to scrawling letters over a blackboard, a man who placed such value on education, that she wasn't educated?
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