But now she lay teetering on the brink of wakefulness, vaguely wondering what had roused her from sleep. She was tired, so tired her whole body ached, and she could tell from the color behind her closed lids that it was still midday. She rolled over, intending to drift off again, to seek more healing slumber—
Shouts. The stench of burning wood. Her eyes popped open, and she leapt from the bed and rushed to the window, her knees trembling.
Smoke billowed into the sky—light gray, dark gray, menacingly black—and below that, red and orange flames licked upward, rising from what looked like the soon-to-be-roofless barn.
Her animals were in there. Her heart racing, she grabbed a wrapper and struggled into it even as she ran for the door.
“You cannot go back in there, my lord! ’Tis about to collapse! They’re only animals! Not worth your life!”
Rand ignored the frantic stable hand’s warning, instead waving him toward the long bucket brigade bringing water up from the river. Coughing, he set down the badger and quickly scanned the small collection of dazed creatures. The hedgehog, the fawn, a rabbit, a weasel . . .
Lily had said she was planning to release the rat, and he prayed that she had, because he hadn’t a chance of finding anything that small in the blinding smoke. But he’d seen a shadow in the grayness . . . the fox cub, he suddenly realized. The fox cub with the broken leg.
This one cannot run,
he heard Lily say in his head.
This one could not survive without him.
He’d originally raced into the blazing barn because he needed to make sure Lily wasn’t in there. But once inside, he’d remembered her face, her gentle hands as she cared for her strays. He couldn’t leave them to die. Not the ones he had already saved, and not the fox cub, either.
To more cries of “No!” and “Stay back!” he charged again into the conflagration. What air remained was hotter than his first two trips, drier, searing his lungs. Flames thundered, their orange, white, and blue tendrils licking up the wooden walls. Black, billowing smoke threatened to blind him.
He stumbled toward Lily’s makeshift pens, coughs wracking his body as he peered through the haze, his eyes blurred with burning tears. Frantically he searched the enclosures, finding nothing. The blaze roared all around him, the sound filling his head, battering his senses. Heat lashed him in scorching waves. He couldn’t see; he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t stay in here a minute longer.
This one cannot run. . . .
He pictured Lily saying the words, kneeling beside a pen,
right there.
He sucked in a lungful of acrid air and reached down blindly, his fingers encountering soft, trembling fur.
And then he was on his way out, the cub a gasping, hot bundle in his arms, both of them searching for cool, healing air. Just as he cleared the door, a mighty crash sounded behind him, and for one terrifying moment he seemed surrounded by raining sparks.
Then there was light, and he could breathe, and someone was pulling the cub from his arms. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” someone cried, whacking him on the back. It made him cough more, and he tried to twist away, to run away, but he only stumbled. His eyes were still streaming and he couldn’t see, but whoever it was followed him.
“You’re on fire!” she screamed, and it was Lily’s voice, and he stood still and let her beat upon his back until finally she stopped.
“Oh God,” she said again and took him by the hand to pull him farther from the flames. They both collapsed to the ground. Rand rubbed his eyes, feeling grit, his head swimming in a haze of smoke and unreality.
He blinked until his vision cleared. He and Lily stared at each other, ash and soot drifting around them and settling slowly to earth like a dark, eerie snowfall.
“You saved my animals,” she whispered, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks.
“You saved
me
,” Rand croaked through his raw throat.
Still coughing, he reached a hand behind his back, but it didn’t hurt enough to be burned.
“It was your hair.” Lily coughed, too. “Your hair was on fire.”
He reached higher then, to the ribbon that bound the queue he wore when he ran, and it was still there—but the hair below it felt wiry and crumbled in his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she said, coughing some more.
He shrugged, still feeling dazed. “It hardly matters. It will grow back.” They both coughed together. “Did the smoke get to you, too? Or are these sympathy coughs?”
he said with a weak smile, then frowned, looking closer, finally noticing how she looked. “You’re wearing a nightdress. You’re ill, aren’t you? Rose is at Lakefield now, as usual, but she failed to mention that. You’ll catch your death—you shouldn’t be out here.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. She took the dressing gown clenched in her fingers—the one she’d used to beat out the flames—and draped it over herself. Once white, it was streaked gray and black from his hair. “You shouldn’t be here, either,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was running and saw the smoke.” His head cleared, and suddenly he realized the fire was still raging. “Go inside, Lily. Lie down. Your animals are safe.” Even now, a couple of women were busy moving them to the stables.
“I need to help here.”
He pushed to his feet and came face-to-face with Lily’s mother.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You should go inside, too. You’ve done enough.”
“But the barn—”
“’Tis hopeless, and the rest is under control.”
Rand turned and looked. Although the bucket brigade was still operating full force under the direction of her husband, the men weren’t fighting the fire, instead drenching the surrounding area to prevent its spread. The barn itself—or what was left of it—was burning merrily despite their earlier efforts.
Lady Trentingham forced a wan smile. “’Twas old and needed replacing. So long as no one is hurt, ’tis not a great loss. Come inside. I’ll fetch some water so you can rinse off the soot.” Without waiting for his agreement, she hurried toward the house.
His hands were coated in black, and he wanted to wash his face. Imagining he looked like hell, he reached a hand to help Lily rise. The sunshine was dimmed by the veil of smoke overhead, but not so much that he couldn’t see the outline of her body through the thin white nightdress. He thought it wise not to mention that, however. She sneezed twice during their slow progress to the house and looked even worse than he felt.
Well, her poor red eyes and nose did, anyway. The rest of her looked magnificent.
By the time they stepped indoors, Lady Trentingham had a basin and towels set up in the drawing room. She ushered them both inside, handing Rand a clean white shirt and Lily a fresh dressing gown and a pair of shears.
“I must see that ale is brought to the men,” she said and rushed off.
Lily looked shocked to be left alone with him, but Rand was too tired to care. She hurried into the dressing gown and belted it tightly at her waist. He pulled the ribbon out of his hair, then looked down at his grayish shirt, noticing all the tiny black holes where sparks had singed it. With a shrug, he began to strip it off.
Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t avert her eyes.
Seduction
, he remembered. Hoping she was enjoying the view, he pulled the shirt over his head and turned to the water.
Lily’s gaze was glued to Rand’s back, watching the muscles ripple as he washed all the black soot off his hands and arms, then his face and neck. She’d never seen a man’s bare back, unless she counted Rowan’s, but he was still just a boy. And Rowan’s back didn’t look like Rand’s, either; it looked rather like her own or Rose’s.
Rand’s tapered from wide shoulders down to narrow hips, and every muscle was defined beneath the taut skin.
Feeling her fever rising, she dropped onto a chair.
He turned, drying his face with a towel. “Why did she give you scissors?”
“Hmm?” Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze from his chest and looked down to where her fingers, white-knuckled, gripped the shears. “I suppose she thought you’d want to cut off the burned part of your hair.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” His voice sounded huskier than normal, from the smoke, she imagined, but whatever the reason, the deep words seemed to vibrate right through her. He tossed away the towel and grabbed her father’s shirt. “Will you cut it for me?”
“Me? Cut your hair?” Her breath was coming short. He dropped the shirt over his head and tugged it into place.
’Twas a bit small but did cover him sufficiently. She couldn’t decide whether she found that a relief or disappointing.
“Well, I cannot cut it myself, not and make a good job of it,” he said reasonably, shoving the bottom of the shirt down into his breeches. For some reason, watching that made her breath come even shorter. “Most of it is behind my head,” he added.
“It? Oh, your hair. Yes. I suppose it is.” She started to clear her throat, but that hurt and she coughed instead.
“Sit down, and I’ll do my best to cut it.”
“I cannot.” He indicated his filthy breeches and the cream colored upholstery. “Can you stand?”
She did, noticing her knees felt shaky. Her illness must be worsening. Her arms felt weak when she raised the scissors and began snipping off the scorched hair. It smelled terrible and looked worse. “I’m so sorry,” she said from behind him, mourning the gorgeous mane.
He shrugged, the shirt tightening across his wide shoulders. “’Twas my only vanity. ’Tis probably as well it is gone. I’ll be able to concentrate on my work now instead of caring for it.”
She laughed, glad he wasn’t angry. And her animals were safe. Her heart lightened as she carefully snipped.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you risk your life to save them? You don’t even like animals.”
“I don’t
dislike
animals, and I’d certainly never want to see any creature suffer. Just because they’re not my reason for living doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“Oh.” It sounded so simple when he put it that way. So reasonable. So Rand. And she wanted to say that animals weren’t
her
reason for living, either—that people, especially special people like him, were much more important.
But she shouldn’t be saying something like that, because he might get the wrong idea. And then she might be tempted to break her promise to Rose, and then—
“But if you want the God-honest truth,” he continued,
“I wasn’t thinking of the animals when I saved them. I went in looking for you, afraid you might be trying to save them yourself. And then, when you weren’t there—”
His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “When I rescued those creatures, I was thinking of you, Lily, and how you’d feel if they perished.”
She stopped snipping and started shaking. He’d saved animals for her, risking his life and losing his hair in the process. He couldn’t . . . she couldn’t . . .
“Lily?”
“I’m almost finished.” She drew a deep breath and made a few more cuts. But it was hard to concentrate, because she was afraid she’d just fallen in love with Rand Nesbitt.
She hadn’t seen him in a week—a week spent craving his kisses, a week spent searching her soul. A week spent at war . . . a ceaseless battle between her own growing feelings and her loyalty to her sister. A sister who was getting more and more annoying in her seemingly hopeless pursuit of Rand.
And this—this impossibly selfless, wonderful thing that he’d done for her—was threatening to push her over the edge. Push her, for the first time in her life, into breaking a promise. Rose would never forgive her, but that hardly mattered, because even more important, she would never forgive herself.
He turned and met her eyes, and she feared her knees might buckle.
“Are you finished?”
“I think so.” She sneezed, and then coughed, and then gave a long, deep, miserable sniffle. “Yes, I am finished.”
“You should go to bed, then. I’ll walk you to your chamber.”
“Rand, you cannot.”
“Of course I can.” He took her arm and started marching her toward the staircase. “You’re ill and I’m exhausted. I can assure you nothing untoward will happen.”
Truth be told, she was glad for his support as she trudged up the steps. Beatrix appeared and followed behind. “Thank you,” Lily said primly when he’d delivered her to her door.
“Go on, get in bed.”
Supposing he wouldn’t leave her alone until he saw her settled, she sighed and picked up the cat, then climbed under the covers, still wearing her wrapper. “Thank you,”
she said again.
Rand remained standing on the threshold. “May I come in?”
Lily’s heart hitched, and Beatrix began hiccuping.
“’Twould be quite improper.”
“Your mother left us alone.”
“She does things like that. Mum has never been overly concerned with propriety.” She sneezed, embarrassingly loudly, and Beatrix leapt to the floor. “At least so long as others are not around to observe.”
“Ah,” he said, “I remember. The Ashcroft motto.
Interroga Conformationem
, Question Convention.” He glanced down to where Beatrix was ribboning between his legs, rubbing against his smudged boots. “What the devil is she doing?”
“She likes you.”
“Why?”
Lily shrugged. “Why not?”
“I’m a dog person.” He sidled into the room in an attempt to get away, apparently forgetting that Lily hadn’t granted permission. Bored by his disinterest, Beatrix scampered out the window to join Jasper on a tree branch right outside.
Rand immediately strode to the window. “There is ash drifting in,” he said as he slammed it shut. When he turned, he stood stock-still and looked around.
Lily followed his roaming gaze, trying to envision her bedchamber through his eyes while she dabbed her stuffy nose with a white-on-white monogrammed handkerchief.
White carpeting covered much of the dark oak floor.
Her bed was hung with white lace panels and piled with plump white pillows. More white lace draped the windows. Her dressing table and washstand boasted white marble tops.
“’Tis very virginal,” he finally said.