What have I done?
The refrain spun in her mind, giving her no peace. She had no thought of Hoolihan as Yvette galloped back toward South Park. The horrible sound of the explosion sounded again and again in her ears. She deserved to be in that warehouse. She was the one who deserved to die, if die someone must. If any of the men were hurt, she didn’t know what she would do.
The stables appeared so normal, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had occurred. She slipped off Yvette’s back and forced herself to do what she must. All her movements were utterly mechanical. When she finally slipped through the bedroom door, she felt faint with fear. She jerked off her clothes and stuffed them under the bed.
“Mr. Del! Wake up! It’s a fire!”
Chauncey stared wide-eyed toward the door, seeing Lucas surge into the room. Delaney moaned softly beside her.
“Mr. Del!” Lucas limped to the bed, ignored Chauncey, and began shaking his master. “Wake up!”
Delaney jerked awake. His head felt stuffed with cotton. He blankly at Lucas for a moment. “Fire?” he repeated, trying to shake the heavy veil of weariness from his mind.
“The warehouse! Damon is downstairs. Quickly!”
Delaney jumped from the bed, oblivious of his nakedness. He pulled on his trousers, shirt, and boots in rapid succession.
“What is it, Del?”
“A fire, love,” he said, turning to regard his pale, disheveled wife. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t leave the house, Chauncey. Lucas is staying here with you.”
Even with this emergency he doesn’t forget his protection of me. She felt numb with guilt. Swiftly Delaney leaned down and kissed her. “Stay put,” he said again, then strode out of the room, leaving her to gaze after him with pain-filled eyes.
She heard the front door slam. Such a final sound. What if he is killed? What if . . . ?
Chauncey dressed quickly. The house was well lit by the time she made her way downstairs. Mary was talking to Lucas, with Lin hovering beside them, wringing her hands. It was four o’clock in the morning.
“Make tea and coffee, please, Lin,” she said, shocked at how calm her voice sounded. “Mr. Del should be back soon. He’ll need it.”
What if the laudanum makes him slow? What if there’s another explosion? What if . . . ?
She wasn’t aware that she’d moaned until she felt Lin’s thin arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Mr. Del be just fine, Miss Chauncey. Just fine. You see.”
She sobbed, deep racking sounds. She felt Lucas’ strong arms go around her, and she leaned against him, all her guilt and anger at herself flowing out, like a dam bursting. She banged her fists against Lucas’ solid chest, sobbing over and over, “No! Please, no!”
Lucas said nothing, merely held her. Over her head he mouthed the words “Some hot tea” to Lin. Gently he led Chauncey into the drawing room. He efficiently laid a fire and lit it.
“Do you know anything, Lucas?”
He frowned at her flat, emotionless voice. The tears and loss of control he understood, but this?
“No, ma’am. Damon just said they’d nearly got the fire out and he came to get Mr. Del.”
“I see.”
Lin brought in the tea, and Chauncey sipped at the scalding liquid. She wasn’t aware that her hands were trembling until she spilled the blistering tea on her forearm.
“Oh!” It was a burn. Fires burned. Flesh. People died in fires, horrible deaths.
Lucas took the cup from her hands and set it on the table beside the sofa. He saw the dazed fear in her eyes and prayed that Mr. Del would return home soon. He had no idea how to handle this situation.
The minutes went by with agonizing slowness. Chauncey was huddled on the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring unseeing into the fire.
Lucas heard approaching horses and quickly let himself out of the house. If Mr. Del was hurt, he wanted to know it first. Thank God, he thought when he saw him dismount. He was covered with soot, black smudges on his face, but he was fine, just fine.
“We didn’t lose too much,” Delaney said, managing a smile for Lucas.
“Lord, I’m glad you’re back in one piece! Miss Chauncey is in a bad way, Mr. Del, a very bad way.”