Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

a deep breath and struck it again. A tiny glow dropped on to the tight twist of paper.

      ‘Please light,’ she begged. The fire flared. ‘Hah.’ She nodded in triumph and balanced the logs on top. Now for tea. She marched to the pantry. Hearing Sissy’s steps behind her, she called out, ‘Put the rest of the wood on the hearth and then set the table.’ She tucked a loaf of bread under her arm and grabbed a pat of butter and a jar of jam.

      Sissy screeched. Eleanor whirled around. A lump of soot lay on the floor, a black monster writhing with red glow-worm sparks. The rug at Sissy’s feet smouldered. At any moment it might burst into flame.

      ‘Sissy, move.’ Panic sent her voice up an octave.

      The child remained glued to the spot, coughing as choking black smoke rose around her.

      Heart pounding, Eleanor dropped everything and ran. She caught Sissy by the arm and thrust her out of the front door. She flew back inside.

      Rubbing her eyes, Sissy poked her head in. ‘The rug is on fire.’

      ‘Stay there.’ Flames played among the ragged ends of the rug. Glowing soot took flight in the draught from the door and landed on the tablecloth. It flared up. Oh God, soon the whole place would be alight. She glanced wildly around. Her father’s calm voice echoed in her ears. Smother a fire.

      She ran to the bedroom, pulled a blanket off the bed and ran back to toss it over the flames. Smoke billowed up. Vaguely, she heard Sissy screaming, ‘Fire!’

      The door burst open. A tall figure loomed through the rolling smoke like a warrior wreathed in mist. He wrenched the blanket from the floor and beat the flames into submission. The burning tablecloth went out of the window. Water from the bucket by the sink sluiced over the rug.

      Eleanor peered at her rescuer through streaming eyes.

      The Marquess of Beauworth flapped the singed blanket, chasing the last of the smoke out through the open window. ‘Good thing I was riding by. It looks like the day King Alfred burned the cakes.’

      She stiffened. ‘It was the chimney, not my baking.’

      He grinned. He was teasing. She tried to smile back, but as her gaze roved around the disaster, her shoulders sagged. The rug was naught but a charred ruin. A few minutes more and the house might well have burned to the ground. Sissy might have been hurt. Her legs turned to water. Heart racing, she dropped down on the sooty sofa. ‘Thank you, my lord. I dread to think what might have happened had you not been on hand.’

      He shrugged. ‘You seemed to have things under control.’

      She hadn’t, but she was grateful for his kind words. Her heart slowly returned to normal and she looked around at the mess.

      Sissy’s head appeared around the door. ‘Is it out?’

      ‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘But don’t come in. There’s soot and water all over the place.’

      ‘Your horse is loose on the other side of the stream,’ Sissy said. ‘Won’t she run away?’

      ‘She won’t go anywhere without me,’ the Marquess replied with a smile.

      Sissy’s head disappeared.

      Eleanor pulled herself to her feet, her knees shaking and her hands trembling. She began to roll up the remains of the evil-smelling carpet.

      ‘Let me.’ The Marquess took the rug from her hands. It followed the tablecloth into the front garden, as did the blanket.

      He glanced curiously around the room. How he must scorn their poverty, whitewashed plaster bellying from the damp stone walls, sticks of furniture acquired by Martin from who knew where. Lit by a lattice window, the room looked positively dreary. She hoped the shame did not show on her face.

      ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save the rug.’ He sounded sorry. She hadn’t expected that and she smiled.

      He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his teeth flashing white against his soot-grimed face. He looked nothing like the elegant Marquess she’d met earlier. She giggled. ‘You look like a sweep.’

      He dragged a sleeve across his brow. ‘No doubt.’

      Taking the bucket to the door, she called out, ‘Sissy, fetch water from the well. Bring it back and then come inside.’

      She turned back to her rescuer. ‘Will you take tea with us?’

      He hesitated. What was she thinking, inviting someone like him to take tea? In her present circumstances, she was far beneath his touch. She tried to hide her chagrin with a diffident shrug.

      He smiled and her heart did a back flip. ‘Yes, thank you.’

      She knew she was beaming at him, but she couldn’t help it. She dashed for her pitcher of water in the bedroom. She filled a small bowl, setting a cloth, soap and towel alongside it.

      ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Use this to wash. There is a mirror above the sink.’

      The Marquess stared at his blackened hands. ‘Good idea.’ He took off his jacket, something no gentleman would do in the presence of a lady, but she couldn’t hold it against him. Not when he’d saved them. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and she saw that his forearms were strong, corded with sinew that shifted beneath his tanned skin as he scrubbed. A shimmer of heat rose up her neck. A little squeeze in her chest made her gasp.

      She shouldn’t be looking. She shifted her gaze to his back. It didn’t help. The way his broad shoulders moved beneath the fine cambric of his shirt created more little thrills. Her heart gave a jolt at the weird sensation. What on earth was wrong with her? This man was her enemy.

      Do something else. Tea. She’d offered him tea. Set the table. That was it. Gaze averted, she hurried for the dresser. Where was Sissy with the water?

      ‘Miss Brown?’

      ‘Yes, my lord?’ She turned.

      As he wiped his jaw with the damp cloth, his gaze travelled over her face in a long, slow, appraising glance. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

      ‘You look quite smutty yourself,’ he said with a smile. He reached out with the cloth and dabbed at her nose. She couldn’t breathe. She snatched at the cloth.

      Laughing, he caught her hands in his large warm one and wiped them clean. Such strong hands. She seemed bereft of the will to move.

      He stepped back, his head cocked to one side. ‘You know, you have a streak on your chin. If you will allow me?’

      Her heart thundered in her chest. Her body clenched with another delicious thrill as the tips of his fingers, feather light on her jaw, tilted her chin towards the light. She held perfectly still, afraid she might do something rash like place her hands on his shoulders for support. Her pulse raced unmercifully as gently, softly, he dabbed her chin, her cheek, her nose, the water delightfully cold on her heated skin.

      Long dark lashes hid his eyes as he lowered his gaze to his task. The scent of sandalwood cologne and smoke filled her nostrils. His expression softened, then his glance flicked up and caught her watching.

      Amber glowed like sunbeams in the depths of his warm brown eyes. He bent his head and his parted lips hovered above hers. Heat radiated from his body and her heart skipped and thudded.

      She struggled to catch a breath, as if something tight restricted her ribs, and feared he would hear the soft pants for air she couldn’t control.

      His cheekbone filled her vision, clearly defined above a lean suntanned cheek. A whisper away from her skin, his dark brown hair curled at his temple. She held her breath, while her heart raced wildly. For the life of her she couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

      He brushed his lips across her mouth, warm and dry and soft. A mere whisper of the kiss he’d given her in the dark on a moonlit road.

      A lightning bolt seemed to shoot through her body, hot yet pleasurable. She