Page 20 of Winter's Waltz
“Where are the flames?” she asked. “Has the fire brigade been called?”
“The kitchens, and yes.” He was frowning at her.
The devil was handsome even in the shadows, his hair disheveled quite as if he had run his fingers through it in distress. “Right. Take Arthur and wait on the street. Wouldn’t do for me to be responsible for the death of a princely lord.”
In truth, she wanted him—and her beloved dog—safe. A man like Lord Sundenbury would only be an encumbrance in a situation like this. She needed him out of the way so she could concentrate on the task at hand. Namely, saving her business and everyone she employed both.
Her boots were on her feet and she was rushing across the room.
The marquess followed her, Arthur on their heels. Down the hall, then the stairs. Smoke was getting thicker as they progressed. The shouts of distress louder. She was not going to lose her hell. Nor one single soul.
She vowed it.
“Damn you, Genevieve.” The marquess stalked after her, following as she made her way toward the kitchens.
Gen’s mind raced. How could there have been a fire? The chef had been absent today. Every meal which had been served had been cold. No fire in the grate when she had been within, settling her ledgers. Nor should there have been one.
Nothing about this made sense.
The taste of suspicion mimicked the bitterness of fear in her mouth. A wall of smoke greeted them as they reached the hall leading to the kitchens. She turned to the marquess, placing a staying hand on his arm. “I meant what I said, Marquess. Take Arthur and go to where it is safer. I’ll not have my dog getting lost in the smoke because you are too stupid to listen to reason.”
“Tell me which one of us is racing toward the flames and I will tell you which of us is not listening to reason.” He was scowling at her now, waving distractedly at the smoke billowing around them. “Please, Genevieve. Come with me. The men are doing all they can, and if the fire is too far gone, your presence will not be sufficient to aid them. All you will do is get yourself hurt or worse in the process.”
“And who would care if I do?” she snapped. “Go, lordling. You are neither wanted nor needed here. You will only be in the way. Youarein the way.”
Arthur barked. The marquess took her arm.
“Genevieve, please. This is madness.”
“I protect what is mine,” she told him.
And she did. From the time she and her brother Gavin had been old enough to remember, they had been taking care of each other. No one else had given a damn about them, especially not their mother. When they found the rest of the Winters, their family had expanded. Now, she had those she employed here as yet another part of her family.
Bonds were important to Gen.
So was saving this damned hell and everyone within it.
She stalked past Sundenbury, coughing and choking on the thick smoke as she made her way into the kitchens. Within, she found—blessedly—only smoldering rubble. No flames. Peter, who had been a trusted friend something in the vein of a brother to her for these many years now, was at the helm. Fire buckets were traveling down a line, the men dousing the ruins of the kitchen table and nearest wall.
Lamps were lit far enough from the origin of flame to cast light upon their labor but not near enough that they would become imperiled should the flames have grown. It was, surprisingly, a scene of calm.
Like the quiet of the streets after a rainstorm.
It never lasted long.
“Peter!” She reached his side, waving at the thickened air before her in an attempt to dispel it. “What has happened?”
“Fire,” he clipped. “Started ’ere in the kitchens. ’isnabs was awake and ’eard glass smashing. Thought to wake us all. Good thing is, we ’ad a line of fire buckets. Fire brigade ’asn’t come yet, and already ’ave it out, we do.”
And before she had even raised a hand to help them in their efforts. Shame washed over her, along with relief. The two intertwined.
Until the entirety of what Peter had just relayed to her settled into the cracks and crevices of her agitated mind.Hisnabshad been the one to note something was amiss.
She turned to Sundenbury, who was once more a grim specter at her side, Arthur adoringly lingering at their feet. “You are the one who discovered the fire?”
He nodded, clenching his jaw. “Yes. But I am not the one who fought it.”
“I sent ’im to see that you were safe, miss, soon as I seen what we were up against.” Peter shook his head. “If ’e wouldn’t ’ave told us about the fire, every one of us would ’ave been burnt right up.”
