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Authors: Lady Hellfire
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away. She turned and headed for the house.
De Granville swung off his horse. He ran past her without a glance and disappeared inside the house. Kate kept her attention on putting her feet down and picking them up, putting them down and picking them up. The rain had faded to a drizzle when de Granville reappeared. His face was blackened, and the moisture made tracks through the smudges on his cheeks.
The marquess called to someone named Fulke. AsKate reached the front steps, the marquess and another man were talking hurriedly with the Maitland butler, Crossthwaite. Kate stood on the porch in a daze watching the Marquess of Richfield try to save Maitland House.
At last she gathered her wits and crept back inside and upstairs. Quick work and the help of the rainstorm had confined the fire to the area around Ophelia’s room, but the flames had burned through to Kate’s room before the servants and the marquess’s men could completely subdue it.
The hall past her room was a charred, black cavern. Kate passed several men on their way out, carrying jagged pieces of wood. As she walked, the floor got warmer and warmer, but she kept on, her gaze fixed on the hole where Ophelia’s door used to be.
A white silk wall loomed in front of her. She looked up at the Marquess de Granville. His face was smeared with grime and sweat, and the shirt, soaked by perspiration and rain, clung to his chest. In the light of a nearby candle, his eyes took on the luster of the green in a stained-glass window. Kate stepped to the side, intent on finding Ophelia, but the marquess put his arm across her chest.
“It’s not safe. But we were lucky. The fire burned through the roof and the rain helped put out the flames.”
She shoved his arm away. “You went in.” She took another step, but her arm was clasped by long fingers.
“Your mistress is dead. There’s nothing left that a woman should look upon.”
Kate yanked her arm free. Tears started and wouldn’t be stopped. “I know she’s dead. She didn’t come with my mother and Aunt Emeline and me. I’ve known she burned to death ever since we got out of the house.”
Ignoring the marquess’s apologies, Kate hurried back down the stairs and out onto the porch. Sophia and Aunt Emeline were there. As she approached, her watery vision revealed the marquess talking to her mother. Katestopped in confusion, then realized that the man before her wasn’t de Granville. He was older than the marquess. She wiped her eyes and took in the upright posture, silver strands in the black cap of hair.
Behind her she heard the thump of a boot. Those tensile fingers gripped her arm again. She was about to object when the older man spoke.
“Alexis, I have offered the hospitality of Castle Richfield to the Maitland ladies.”
The fingers on her arm tightened. Kate looked up at the finely etched brows that drew together, the slightly squared chin. Down-curved lips formed words.
“Damn and blast you, Fulke.”
Chapter Four
Alexis stood motionless, his hand clamped around a strange woman’s arm. Wind blew in his face, but it didn’t cool the flush in his cheeks. He released the lady while he battled for control of his temper. Ophelia was dead, and he couldn’t find within himself anything resembling grief. The war had taken it all, and he was ashamed.
His control was little better than it had been in those horrible days of weakness after he first returned from the Crimea, and now Fulke stood in front of him and openly invited this family of social mountain goats into his home. He wanted to shout at all of them that the dead woman was one of his lovers and he didn’t want her family and its sorrow invading his already somber domain. Instead he inclined his head and murmured an apology. Fulke jumped in to save him.
“My cousin has only recently recoveredfrom wounds and illness gained in the war.” Fulke bent over the snuffling Emeline and patted her hand. “I fear his strength has been taxed and
De Granville swung off his horse. He ran past her without a glance and disappeared inside the house. Kate kept her attention on putting her feet down and picking them up, putting them down and picking them up. The rain had faded to a drizzle when de Granville reappeared. His face was blackened, and the moisture made tracks through the smudges on his cheeks.
The marquess called to someone named Fulke. AsKate reached the front steps, the marquess and another man were talking hurriedly with the Maitland butler, Crossthwaite. Kate stood on the porch in a daze watching the Marquess of Richfield try to save Maitland House.
At last she gathered her wits and crept back inside and upstairs. Quick work and the help of the rainstorm had confined the fire to the area around Ophelia’s room, but the flames had burned through to Kate’s room before the servants and the marquess’s men could completely subdue it.
The hall past her room was a charred, black cavern. Kate passed several men on their way out, carrying jagged pieces of wood. As she walked, the floor got warmer and warmer, but she kept on, her gaze fixed on the hole where Ophelia’s door used to be.
A white silk wall loomed in front of her. She looked up at the Marquess de Granville. His face was smeared with grime and sweat, and the shirt, soaked by perspiration and rain, clung to his chest. In the light of a nearby candle, his eyes took on the luster of the green in a stained-glass window. Kate stepped to the side, intent on finding Ophelia, but the marquess put his arm across her chest.
“It’s not safe. But we were lucky. The fire burned through the roof and the rain helped put out the flames.”
She shoved his arm away. “You went in.” She took another step, but her arm was clasped by long fingers.
“Your mistress is dead. There’s nothing left that a woman should look upon.”
Kate yanked her arm free. Tears started and wouldn’t be stopped. “I know she’s dead. She didn’t come with my mother and Aunt Emeline and me. I’ve known she burned to death ever since we got out of the house.”
Ignoring the marquess’s apologies, Kate hurried back down the stairs and out onto the porch. Sophia and Aunt Emeline were there. As she approached, her watery vision revealed the marquess talking to her mother. Katestopped in confusion, then realized that the man before her wasn’t de Granville. He was older than the marquess. She wiped her eyes and took in the upright posture, silver strands in the black cap of hair.
Behind her she heard the thump of a boot. Those tensile fingers gripped her arm again. She was about to object when the older man spoke.
“Alexis, I have offered the hospitality of Castle Richfield to the Maitland ladies.”
The fingers on her arm tightened. Kate looked up at the finely etched brows that drew together, the slightly squared chin. Down-curved lips formed words.
“Damn and blast you, Fulke.”
Chapter Four
Alexis stood motionless, his hand clamped around a strange woman’s arm. Wind blew in his face, but it didn’t cool the flush in his cheeks. He released the lady while he battled for control of his temper. Ophelia was dead, and he couldn’t find within himself anything resembling grief. The war had taken it all, and he was ashamed.
His control was little better than it had been in those horrible days of weakness after he first returned from the Crimea, and now Fulke stood in front of him and openly invited this family of social mountain goats into his home. He wanted to shout at all of them that the dead woman was one of his lovers and he didn’t want her family and its sorrow invading his already somber domain. Instead he inclined his head and murmured an apology. Fulke jumped in to save him.
“My cousin has only recently recoveredfrom wounds and illness gained in the war.” Fulke bent over the snuffling Emeline and patted her hand. “I fear his strength has been taxed and
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