Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

He sneezed.

“Oh!” She nearly leaped out of her skin. “You’re alive!”

“Unfortunately,” he said, trying to sit up and groaning aloud with pain. “What the hell happened?”

“I think Hal hit you.” She sounded breathless. “He and Jed are gone, but they’ve set the building on fire.”

He could smell the smoke now, strong and growing stronger. They probably didn’t have much time. He lurched dizzily to his feet, knocking against her as she also stood up. She gasped. Visions of Jed hitting her, too, filled his pounding head. An icy rage flooded him.

“What is it?” he demanded, more shaken by the possibility of her injuries than his own. “Are you hurt?”

But her voice was strong. “Just a bruise. By the way, they bolted the door when they left. We’re locked in.”

Sebastian began feeling his way over the framework. It wasn’t all that sturdy. He used his boot against it, kicking hard, but it didn’t do much damage, apart from his aching head. He took a breath, gave himself a run up, and tried again. This time there was a cracking and splintering of the wood. The third time the door broke off its hinges and hung drunkenly onto the landing.

Downstairs was a chaos of flames and smoke.

Francesca started to cough. He caught her hand in his and squeezed it hard, to gain her attention. “Follow me,” he said. He didn’t wait for her to answer, quickly moving down the stairs, feeling the heat of the flames as the fire licked at the banister. Sparks landed on them and all around them. With streaming eyes he ran for where he thought the door should be.

Fortunately Jed hadn’t thought it necessary to lock it, and they staggered out into the night, gasping in the cold, fresh air.

He spied the horse trough on the opposite side of the yard and, dragging Francesca protesting after him, went to plunge his head into it. The water was icy, but it did the trick. He was alert again, and thinking. He shook himself like a dog.

“Your head…” Francesca was watching him with streaming eyes, her face flushed and streaked with soot.

He reached up cautiously and discovered a tender lump at the back. “It’s too hard to break,” he said wryly. “He must have hit me with the butt of the pistol.”

She shuddered and half turned away, and that was when he realized the hem of her green dress was smoldering. In a moment, he thought, she’d be alight. Burning. He reached out and grabbed her.

“Sebastian?” she said uneasily, her voice rising on a wail as he swung her up and around and dropped her into the horse trough. She sank, completely.

“Are you sure no one saw me?”

Her teeth were chattering; she was drenched, hair and clothing wringing wet, but all Francesca could think about was being discovered in Sebastian’s room at the inn. She knew there would be a terrible scandal and she’d be ruined, like her sister Marietta.

He was working on the small fire, building it up with curses and slivers of wood. “The blacksmithy is burning, and the innkeeper, and everyone else in the village, is trying to put it out. So to answer your question, no, no one saw us come in.”

They’d crept around buildings and cottages, avoiding the crowd headed in the direction of the fire, and found the empty inn. Now here she stood, dripping, in the middle of Sebastian’s room. He’d dunked her in a horse trough.

“You do realize,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster, “that wool is very slow to burn. You could have put me out without resorting to such drastic measures.”

“So you’ve said…several times. There,” he added, as the fire crackled. He frowned at her, then tugged the coverlet from his bed and wrapped it around her.

“I—I suppose you thought you were saving my life,” she said, between violent shivers, “but I’m finding it difficult to feel grateful.”

“I’ve apologized,” he said evenly. He began to rub his hands over her arms and shoulders. “Would you like me to kiss you better?” he added, his voice dropping.

“No, thank you,” she said, trying not to blush.

“Pity.”

She winced when he touched her bruised shoulder. A glint shone in his eyes. “Did they hurt you?”

She pushed her wet hair back from her face. “I don’t think he meant to. Hal, I mean. We bumped into each other when we went after the pistol. He won,” she added ruefully.

“Where does it hurt?”

“My shoulder.”