Sarina waved frantically at her cousins, but none of them saw her. She tried to fight her way to her family, but neither Liam nor Prescott released their hold on her. They were safe. Even if they hadn’t seen her, they were alive and running from the fire. They didn’t know she was alive, but hoped they had enough faith in her to realize she’d have run.
“Is there a way to get to them?” Sarina asked, her fingers clutching her cloak tighter around her. The night was still icy cold, but the fire alternately heated her face and made her skin glacial with fear.
“I don’t think there is,” Liam said, his voice hard as he glanced at the chaos below. “Every building is on fire. Our path is blocked.”
Sarina frantically looked for her family again, but saw nothing. The smoke had obscured the carriages even as the flames brightened the night sky in a sickly orange hue.
“There.” Prescott pointed, guiding Sarina’s gaze to where her family’s carriage moved. “They’re pulling away. They’re safe now, Sarina.”
Relief made her knees weak and she nodded. As suddenly as it pulled away, the carriage came to an abrupt stop; her brothers-in-law leaped out. They screamed, and though she couldn’t hear their words, she knew they shouted for her. The band constricting her heart eased slightly at their worry, even as she again feared for their safety.
Liam was right; there was no way to reach them from this side of the village. Not now.
She turned back to Prescott and Liam, still felt the heat, watched the flames greedily eat the wooden buildings, the snow doing little to halt its inescapable progress.
“Are you all right?” Liam demanded.
Sarina looked up at him and realized it wasn’t the first time he’d asked. Light danced in his blue eyes, making them choppy like the North Sea. His hands curled around her arms, firm but not hurting her, possessive and yet comforting. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she nodded, though she didn’t feel all right, not even remotely close to that.
“Yes.” Sarina swallowed hard against a scratchy throat. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Slowly her heart calmed and it didn’t hurt as much to breathe. The air wasn’t as cold now, not as crisp, but the wind continued to caress her cheek just as it caressed the flames. But the winds also blew the smoke away from them, and for that she was thankful.
Maryanne and Henrietta were fine. She told herself so again and again, even as the smoke obscured her view of them.
“The carriage is moving away,” Prescott said. His hand still gripped hers tightly and he stood entirely too close for propriety’s sake, but Sarina didn’t care. She needed their closeness, needed to know they, too, had been uninjured and were safe.
Sarina looked from Liam to Prescott, who stood just behind her, as if blocking her from the fire’s grasping tendrils. She swallowed again, tried to stop herself from shaking. Then she truly heard his words and looked to where he pointed with his free hand.
“Did they get away?” she managed, her voice a slip of sound. Sarina cleared her throat of smoke and fear, and asked stronger, “Did you see, Prescott?”
He turned back to her, his eyes shadowed against the burning fire that raged behind him. “Yes.”
It was simply said, a single word of conviction, and she sighed with relief.
“We need to get to the house,” Liam stated.
“We’ll find your cousins tomorrow or at worst return to London and rendezvous with them there,” Prescott assured her.
They helped her along again, pulling her faster across the snow covering the hillside. Behind her, she heard shouts and cries, orders for people to move, to get to higher ground. A patch of trees suddenly ignited, and Sarina ran. Her hand was clasped with Liam’s, Prescott’s hand on her back, and they rushed over the hilly terrain. They slowed only to help others stumbling in the snow.
Finally they stopped. She had no idea where they were; several dozen others were huddled on the opposite end of what remained of Kingsnorth. Sarina stared at the fire, still raging over wooden houses. But her cousins had escaped, and that had to count for something.
Suddenly tired, she ran a hand over her hair, loose from its pins and hanging down her back. She didn’t care. Her gown was wet and dirty, but that didn’t matter, either.
Slowly, she looked up at Liam, who still held her hand. She probably needed to release her hold on him, step away from his touch, but Sarina found she couldn’t move. Prescott’s hand remained on her lower back, and she stood safely between the two men.
No, she didn’t want to move.
She was hesitant to leave the village; perhaps there was a way for her to be of assistance. But the fires still raged behind them, uncontrolled, and they were unprepared to assist anyone at the moment.
“Let’s get back to the house,” Prescott reiterated.
She looked up at him, then to Liam, and nodded. Without another word, they joined the mass of people wandering along the road, all looking for appropriate shelter.
Chapter Four
“We’ll find them tomorrow,” Liam reassured her, again. “I’m sure, somehow,” he added, “your cousins will know you’re with us.”
Offering her own small smile at his keen observation, Sarina nodded. His arms were still wrapped tightly around her, his fingers solid and reassuring in hers, and she took a moment to lean into his warm comfort. The fingers of Liam’s other hand pressed her close to him and Sarina rested her head against his arm, too tired to care about propriety.
Prescott’s hand still cupped her cheek, the leather of his gloves soft against her skin. His fingers caressed her cheek, her jaw, and despite the barrier between them, Sarina smiled at his touch. She looked up at him and saw hard, steady assurance in his shadowed gaze.
The touch of both men, the promise of that touch as they surrounded her, steadied Sarina. With the devastation of Kingsnorth, her problems suddenly seemed trivial.
Taking in a deep breath of cold air and the thread tendrils of smoke, Sarina shook herself. She blinked as if coming back to herself and took in her surroundings. Maryanne and Henrietta were safe, as were she, Prescott, and Liam. But there were others still struggling away from the fire.
“We should help,” Sarina said, already moving back down the hill.
“Here.” Liam stopped her. “We’ll clear some of the snow instead.”
At first, Sarina wasn’t sure what he meant. But he and Prescott pushed mounds of snow away from the path they’d taken. Already several people struggled to find grips to pull themselves up, slipping down the wet slope on hands and knees as they tried to pull themselves further from the burning buildings. It wasn’t steep, the hill, but with the snow and ice, it was treacherous to those unused to such activity.
Sinking to her knees, Sarina ignored the wetness seeping through her dress and cloak and shoved handfuls of snow to the side as well. Several others joined in, those who’d managed to pull themselves up the incline, and they cleared the path quickly. A thin layer of ice still covered the ground, but with so many feet tramping it down, it wouldn’t be a problem.
Sarina’s arms ached, but it felt good to help even in a small way. They’d cleared the path and assisted dozens of people to climb the hill, but now a fire line blocked their way, preventing others from using the road. Those that couldn’t escape over the river and up the hill had been forced to do so along the main road. Sarina didn’t know if that road was blocked now or not, or how many had managed to escape.
At the moment, there was nothing left for them to do.
She looked over the village; it was now mostly empty except for a line of men who’d started a bucket brigade at the edge of Kingsnorth.
“Come, Sarina,” Prescott said softly.
He stood behind her, one hand on her waist. She took a moment and leaned against him. On her other side, Liam appeared, his fingers running down her arm to clasp hers. Despite her tiredness, Sarina felt safe with them. She knew, without a doubt, they’d never let anything happen to her.
“The house is at least a two-mile walk,” Prescott added.
Without a word, Sarina flexed her fingers in her sodden gloves and nodded. They set off along the uneven snowy path in the direction of their rented house. Her toes were frozen inside her ankle-boots, but she walked methodically, the sound of crunching ice a way to mark her progress. She barely noticed the walk, only that each man had taken one of her hands, warm and solid around hers, as they flanked her. Protected her.
The road was crowded with people, all intent on getting as far away from Kingsnorth as possible. Halfway there, they turned off the main road, leaving the thinning crowd on their own, and continued on toward the house. She started to shake as it all caught up with her; the night seemed colder than it had before, darker than she’d noticed a night being.
She leaned heavily on Prescott as they moved slowly down the deserted road. Honestly, Sarina didn’t think she’d even care if the road had still been jammed with people.
Her mind circled back to Kingsnorth, and she wondered how many escaped. How many had been trapped. In the morning, would the reports read that every soul there had been saved? Sarina desperately hoped so but had seen the fire lick its way rapidly across the village, consuming every structure and human in its path.
That was only wishful thinking. She coughed again, a hard, wracking pain, and the three of them stopped while she caught her breath. Liam’s hands rubbed soothing circles on her back, and Prescott held her free hand as she gasped. Thankfully, it wasn’t long after that when they reached the house Prescott and Liam had rented.
Highfield Manor lay in darkness, save for the cluster of candles illuminating the front door. They trudged up the long driveway, which no doubt offered a stunning view of the manor house in daylight and from a carriage.
Closing her eyes, Sarina swayed on her feet as Prescott opened the door and dealt with the stunned and speechless butler. Liam ordered a footman to boil water and one of the maids to quickly prepare a room for Sarina. She didn’t really care what the servants assumed as to her place here. She was cold, wet, and tired. She listened as Prescott gave an abbreviated version of the events in Kingsnorth, though word had already spread as to the devastation.
In the privacy of a guest room opposite Liam’s and next to Prescott’s, Sarina stripped off her soiled cloak and gown and left them in a heap on the floor, reeking of smoke and ash. Picking up the linen square, she dipped it in the steaming, fragrant water and ran it over her skin. When she finished, the water had blackened, but her skin felt clean and fresh. Her hair was another story, but all things considered, Sarina decided to ignore that.
The scratch at the door startled her and she scrambled for her soiled chemise, quickly slipping it over her head even as she called out for the servant to enter.
A plump and smiling young woman held out a heavy brocade men’s dressing gown even as she curtsied and bobbed her head. “Mister Trevelyan said I was to bring you this, Miss. I’m terribly sorry to hear about the fire.”
Sarina nodded and took the robe, slipping it over her shoulders despite the chemise. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice still sounded scratchy and her lungs burned whenever she tried to take too deep a breath, but she managed a smile at the girl.
“I also sent for another pail of hot water,” the girl continued. She bustled over to the sooty water and grimaced down at it as she picked it up carefully. “I thought you may want to wash your hair, remove the stench of smoke.”
“Yes.” Sarina nodded gratefully. “Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you.”
The girl nodded, managed a bobbing curtsey while holding the basin, and left. Sarina used that time to drop the chemise back onto the floor and wrap the robe once more around her. Her extremities had warmed now, and the room was heating nicely from the fire the servants had started almost immediately. She looked at the fire but walked to the window, gazing out at the landscape.
From here she couldn’t see Kingsnorth—only a vast lawn of snow. Leaning her head against the cold window, Sarina closed her eyes. Calmer now, steadier, every breath felt easier to take and she did so, breathing deeply just to feel the cool air fill her lungs.
Another scratch at the door signaled the servant, and Sarina opened it while the footman brought up a second pail of hot and fragrant water.
“Shall I help you with your hair?” the girl asked shyly.
“Please.” Sarina smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Iris, Miss,” Iris said with another bobbing curtsey then set about wetting Sarina’s hair. It didn’t take long, and Iris had a wide-toothed combed in her pocket she used to brush out the thick snarls.
“Are you hungry, Miss? Shall I fetch a tray?”
“That would be lovely, Iris. And can you see to my gown? I’m afraid it’s quite ruined, but as I have no other clothes…” She trailed off. She had no other clothes with her at all. They’d all burned in the fire.
Iris gathered her gown and undergarments in a heap, bobbed again, and quickly left. Within moments she was once more at the door, tray in hand. Sarina wondered if the girl had run down to the kitchens and back again.
“It isn’t much,” Iris said, looking down at the floor, “but I brought you an extra chemise.”
Touched, Sarina took the chemise with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“One of the boys who works here ran back from Kingsnorth,” Iris continued in a brighter tone. “He said it seemed as if most of the people in the village had survived.” Iris smiled encouragingly at her. “It’s a good thing.”
“Yes.” Sarina nodded and felt some of her tension ease at the girl’s words. “That is a good thing.”
The chemise was old and slightly musty, but Sarina didn’t care. She made to put it on, then changed her mind and draped it carefully over the vanity bench for tomorrow. Feeling much refreshed, Sarina slowly ate the cold chicken and bread.
Sarina poured herself a cup of tea and stood by the window. Her room overlooked side gardens, covered with snow and ice, the trees barren and the moon shining brightly down. The door suddenly opened and Prescott stood there. Shocked at his boldness, she moved only to put the teacup on the small table by her window.
Prescott came up to her, his hands on her shoulders as if to embrace her. His thumbs brushed the bare skin of her throat. “Are you all right?”
Swallowing hard, Sarina managed a nod. He’d cleaned up as well; his brown hair was wet and slightly curly, and his face was clear of soot and smoke. She half turned back to face the window, as if doing so made the moment less intimate.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I should be.”
She looked up into his dark eyes, saw the concern and something else there. Choosing not to catalogue that something else, Sarina met his gaze straight on. “Guilt,” Sarina admitted. “Because I know my family is safe and I’m relieved. I also know so many others lost their lives tonight.”
“You have no need to feel guilty,” Prescott told her, turning her fully to face him. “You protect your own. There’s no shame in that. If I hadn’t been with you—”
His mouth was hard on hers. This was no gentle first kiss, but one of passion and life. Sarina shuddered, a bolt of that illicit sensuousness shooting through her at the feel of his mouth on hers. Her fingers curled into his clean shirt, and it was only then Sarina realized he wore no vest or jacket, only his shirtsleeves and breeches.
She didn’t care. And when Prescott deepened the kiss, swept his tongue across her lips, against her own tongue, she surrendered to his touch. Slowly Prescott broke the kiss and pulled back. Dazed, a hot flush of need swaying her closer to him, Sarina blinked.
And saw Liam standing there.
“Liam,” she stuttered, the flush of desire deepening to one of embarrassment.
He didn’t say a word, just looked at her with a hard, unreadable look that made his blue eyes glitter like sapphires. When he moved, Sarina didn’t know what to expect. But then on
e hand cupped the back of her head and drew her closer, the fingers of his other hand brushing her cheek.
The kiss claimed her as surely as Prescott’s had. Liam tasted like whiskey, his tongue sweeping into her mouth and tasting her surely. There was no hesitation, even though she’d just kissed Prescott.
When he broke the kiss, Sarina shook her head, trying desperately to understand what had just happened. Her head swam with need, and the ache she so often felt around both men had amplified. Backing up, she stopped only when her hip bumped the windowsill.
Twisting her fingers into Liam’s robe, she looked between both men, utterly mortified and yearning for a completion to the hunger clawing through her.
“I still don’t understand,” she repeated, now more confused than before Liam had kissed her. She’d been so certain he’d be angry, that he’d believe she’d chosen Prescott over him. Not that he’d kiss her as well.
“You were right,” Liam said. He stood beside Prescott, and neither looked as if they planned a duel at dawn. “One of us having you is impossible when we both love you.”
Her heart flipped in her chest and she forgot how to breathe. Slowly breathing in so as not to cough, Sarina tried to understand what had just happened. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but at this…she shook her head.
“What is this, then?” she whispered. “A good-bye?”
Prescott shook his head and said harshly, “No.” He looked from her to Liam then back again. And now his eyes were infinitely tender. “No, we can’t say good-bye to you.” He took a step closer. “Neither of us can say good-bye. What’s developed between us can’t be forgotten. Or discarded.”
“It isn’t an easy thing, falling in love,” Liam admitted quietly. Sarina’s gaze swung back to him, and she wondered how this night had taken such a turn. “Especially when you know another, a man you regard so highly, is in love with the same woman.”
Lady's Temptations: A Winter's Regency Menage Page 3