All About Love (Cynster 6)

If Molly the seamstress was in there, he could do nothing to save her.

He looked down at Phyllida. She'd slipped from his shoulder when he'd fallen and now lay unconscious beside him. He hauled in a breath and felt it score its way into his lungs. Gasping, he rose-to his knees. He couldn't manage his feet.

Head whirling, he wrapped an arm around Phyllida and locked her to his side, dragging her with him as he crawled off the path, onto the lawn, taking the most direct route away from the house. He reached a point where the lawn sloped down toward the trees. He lay down, pulled Phyllida's unconscious form to him, cradling her face into his chest, protecting her head and shoulders with his arms-then he rolled.

Their momentum carried them most of the way down; they fetched up on a shallow shelf of mossy grass, well away from the burning cottage.

Lucifer lifted his head and looked back at the cottage. Flames shot through every window, greedily licking up the outside walls. It was the ultimate death trap.

Phyllida lay unconscious, barely breathing beside him. Still alive.

He exhaled, closed his eyes, and flopped back on the grass.

The wind shifted, carrying the taint of smoke as far as the common. A fire in

the country at this time of year triggered an immediate response. Men came running with pitchforks, sacks-anything they could lay their hands on.

The Thompson brothers were the first to come thundering up. Others arrived on foot, still others on horses, some saddled, some not. Grooms, stable lads, footmen, and their employers all turned out. Lucifer glimpsed Basil stalking the scene, shouting orders. Coat off, Cedric wielded a pitchfork, breaking up thatch as it fell away, dispersing it so those with sacks could beat the flames to death.

Focused on the cottage, no one saw them. Lucifer lay still, head pounding, too weak to move, and listened to the almost indiscernible huff of Phyllida's breathing. The sound held him to consciousness, to some degree of lucidity.

Then the flames started to falter, running out of fuel. The cottage had burned more or less to the ground. Thompson retreated into the garden to catch his breath, and saw them.

He let out a surprised "Oy!" and came lumbering down the slope.

Others turned, saw, and followed. Lucifer braced. He waved Thompson to him; with the big man's help, he managed to sit. The backs of his hands were scorched, as were the pads of his fingers. His hair had largely escaped, but his coat was ruined, shoulders and back pocked with burns and scorch marks. A crowd gathered about them-Oscar, Filing, Cedric, Basil, Henry Grisby, and more. Every face was shocked, deeply and utterly shocked. Clearing his throat, Lucifer managed to say, "I found her unconscious in the cottage. It was already well alight."

Filing pushed through and went to his knee beside Phyllida. She lay on her stomach, her face to the side. Gripping gently, Filing raised her shoulder just enough to confirm she still lived, still breathed. He eased her back to the cushioning moss. "We'll have to get you both out of here-Phyllida needs to be back at the Grange."

Lucifer closed his eyes. The world was still swaying. "Sir Jasper?"

"The Grange household left the church before the alarm was raised."

Lucifer wasn't sure if that was good or not. Sir Jasper would have been shaken, but he could still have counted on the older man to take charge. He himself was not up to it at present.

Basil hunkered down beside Phyllida. He stretched out a hand and lifted a fallen lock of her hair back from her face. His face was set, blank with shock. Phyllida's hair was scorched here and there; her blue gown had fared worse, even worse than Lucifer's coat. Thankfully, she'd worn a cambric walking dress, not one of her thin muslin gowns. With luck, she would escape any major burns. Basil's hand shook as he drew it back; he had paled.

So, too, had the others. Henry Grisby caught his breath and volunteered, "Dottswood's closest. I've a farm cart I can bring up the old lane. It'll still be a way away, but…" His voice trailed away.

Filing nodded. "Yes, Henry. That's the best suggestion. Go, now."

Henry nodded. He drew back, his gaze on Phyllida. Then he turned and started climbing the slope, slowly, then more quickly. At the top, he broke into a run.

"Terrible, terrible." As shaken as the rest, Cedric straightened; the effort he made to regain his composure was visible. He looked at Lucifer. "Was it about that hat?"

Lucifer looked at him, then glanced at the smoldering cottage. "I believe she had the hat with her."

Phyllida regained consciousness on the journey back to the Grange. The gentle rocking of the cart, the freshening breeze, tugged her back to reality. She opened her eyes and was immediately beset by a paroxysm of coughing.

A large hand closed over hers.

"It's all right. You're safe."

She looked up; through stinging tears, she saw the face that, in the moment she'd thought would be her last, had been the only face in her mind. Her last instant of lucidity had been filled with regret-regret for what they wouldn't have a chance to share. Closing her eyes, she let her head slump and gave silent thanks. Fate had been kind-they still had their chance.

Sliding her fingers in his, she clung. "Who saved me?" His coat was burned, an unsalvageable wreck.

"Hush-don't talk."