With a shudder of relief, Hawk reached out and hauled her close, embracing her with crushing tightness. Remembering the heat from the fire, the leaping flames, he buried his face in her hair.
“Dear God, I thought I had lost you,” he rasped, hearing the haunted note in his voice. “You could have died.”
“We all could have died,” Skye muttered hoarsely against his shoulder between coughs. “Thank God you … came when you did. I remembered hearing … that you broke … the windows to let in the rain during the nursery fire, but the … draperies were burning and wouldn’t come down.…” Cutting off her fearful co
mmentary, she tried to peer over her shoulder. “What of my uncle? Aunt Bella and the others?”
Hawk drew back far enough to assess their condition. The final flames had been extinguished, and Lord Cornelius seemed unharmed, as did the ladies, although they were all coughing intermittently. “They appear uninjured, but we all need fresher air.”
The acrid smoke was clearing, due to the rain and wind gusting in through the shattered windows, but a haze still lingered. With an arm clamped possessively around Skye’s waist, Hawk urged her away from the elements.
As she took in the smoldering ruins of his formerly elegant drawing room, though, she halted in dismay. “I am so sorry, Hawk. I am to blame.”
“You started the fire?”
“No, but I allowed Farnwell into the castle after you expressly ordered him to keep away. He hit Uncle Cornelius and assaulted Daphne and caused a lamp to break, which started the blaze.”
Skye shot the baron a scathing look where he stood near the others. “At least Farnwell helped fight the flames instead of running away like a coward, but his brutality is inexcusable.”
Farnwell must have realized his violence had gone too far, for he started apologizing for his role in the devastation in an imploring voice, “I am sorry, so very sorry, please forgive me.…”
Hawk intended to deal with the nobleman shortly, but for now his concern was for Skye and the others. She, however, seemed more fixated on the destruction, for her expression was full of remorse. “Your beautiful house. All those weeks of work gone to waste.”
“I don’t give a damn about the house. I only care about you. Are you certain you weren’t hurt?”
“My hands sting a bit.”
“Let me see.”
He carefully unwrapped the blackened linen of her makeshift mittens and saw the red welts on her fingers. His jaw hardened. “We need to take care of these burns.”
“There are medical supplies in the housekeeper’s pantry.”
“There should be an ample supply of burn salve among them,” he added grimly, steering Skye toward the door, “although how effective it will be after ten years, I don’t know.”
Before she would leave, however, she had to embrace her uncle and aunt, and then Rachel and Daphne, and make certain they weren’t too badly injured.
Only then was Hawk able to usher the ladies and Lord Cornelius from the drawing room, leaving Gilpin to assume command of the cleanup efforts. Farnwell trailed meekly after them but kept his distance, as if bracing himself for some sort of punishment.
When they reached the kitchens, Isabella took charge again, having dealt with many an injury in her long career as a friend and staunch supporter of the Guardians, but Hawk unearthed the burn ointment that had once been kept in ample supply at the castle.
Listening with half an ear as Isabella grimly related the details of how Lord Farnwell had nearly burned down the castle, Hawk personally saw to Skye’s injuries, being well versed in burn care after his own excruciating experience.
Skye seemed to realize the significance of his nursing skills, for the sadness on her face spoke volumes each time she glanced down at his hands.
She grew quieter as he completed his task of bandaging her burns and seemed reticent to accept his ministrations. And when he finished, she thanked him in a low voice and edged away, clearly trying to avoid touching him any further.
As he replaced the lid on the jar of salve, Skye finally grit out a question, as if she couldn’t help herself. “Why did you return home, Hawk? You are supposed to be in London, courting Miss Olwen.”
“I called off my marriage plans,” he replied rather casually.
She lifted her head abruptly, searching his face in disbelief. “It would be beyond cruel to jest about such a thing.”
“I agree—and I promise you, I am not jesting. One dance with Miss Olwen made me realize that I couldn’t bear to be bound to her. And seeing you tonight, surrounded by fire, made me realize that I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
“I d-don’t understand,” she stammered. “What are you saying?”
Reaching up, Hawk curved his palm against her soot-smudged cheek. “You look like a chimney sweep, did you know that?”