Page 63 of Betting on a Duke
She moved up his body and kissed him deeply. Then she returned to her original position and whispered, “Go to sleep, my love.”
“But . . .”
She kissed his chest. “Sleep. You always put my needs before yours. Now I’m returning the favor. Sleep. I promise tomorrow will be a better day.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
Samuel preferred Clarice to fall asleep before him, but he could no longer keep his eyes open. The pleasure she had given him melted every muscle and tendon in his body, and sleep pulled him in.
What seemed like a moment later, Samuel yelled, “What?” hearing what he thought was someone pounding on the door. Now that he was wide awake, he realized the sound wasn’t knocking; it was crackling and popping. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the room. He extricated himself from Clarice, jumped out of bed, threw on his robe, and looked at the hearth—only ash and coals remained.
“Oh, God.” Fire, the house was on fire. “Clarice, wake up. There’s a fire.”
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Did you say fire?”
“Yes. Get up!”
He handed her her robe and took her hand. “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”
Pausing at the door, Samuel felt the wood. Warm, but not hot. He opened it a crack, then wider, making sure they weren’t walking into flames. No flames that he could see, just smoke everywhere. As they headed toward the main stairs, they bumped into Ramsbury and Anna crawling on the ground.
“We need to alert the servants,” Samuel bellowed.
“Already did. The servants’ stairs were clear, they all got out. We were coming for you. We can’t go down the main staircase,” Ramsbury yelled. “We need to go down the servants’ staircase at the end of the east wing hall. Let’s hope the fire hasn’t spread there by now. Come, it’s back this way. Stay low so you can see and breathe.”
Samuel, knowing he was wearing undergarments beneath his robe, removed it and tossed it aside. When he saw Clarice crawlingbefore him, struggling, he yelled, “Pull the fabric up to your waist so you can move faster.”
She complied, and before long, they reached the servants’ stairs at the end of the hall. The stairs ran along the outside wall of the house, and Samuel prayed they were still clear of flames.
Nausea washed over him. Had his parents and brother tried fighting their way out of Stanton Hall only to be met with flames and smoke at every turn? Did they know they were going to die? Did they burn to death, feeling every excruciating lick of the flames?
“Samuel, Samuel,” Clarice was yelling at him. “Hurry.”
He hopped to his feet and followed her onto the servants’ stairs. The smoke was thick and stung his eyes. He used his hands to feel for the walls, praying that Ramsbury, Anna, and Clarice were still ahead of him. He tried to hold his breath, but when he felt his eyes bulging, he instinctively opened his mouth and inhaled a lungful of smoke-filled air, which made him cough. Still, he continued feeling his way down the stairs. Two flights. They were only up two flights. The smoke cleared. He saw darkness and fell outside the door, inhaling a lungful of clear air.
Ramsbury and Anna stood, holding each other as they cried, their eyes never leaving the ghastly scene of the east wing burning. Every available hand was throwing water where the east wing met the main house. The outside was stone; only the inside would burn, but they had to keep the fire from spreading.
He got up with Clarice’s help. They moved next to Ramsbury and Anna. Tears ran down his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
Clarice held him tightly and whispered into his ear. “Do you think my father...?”
“No.” But as he said the word, he wondered. His parents and brother died in a fire. He never once thought it was set intentionally. Never suspected Portsmouth of having anything to do with it. But now, his mind screamed and wouldn’t be ignored.
“Did everyone get out?” Ramsbury yelled to the butler.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Thank God.” He turned to Samuel, “We need to water down the stables. We can’t have any flying embers igniting them, and we need to get the horses to the paddock for safety.”
“Already moving,” Samuel said as he and Ramsbury hurried off. Anna and Clarice followed close behind.
Approaching the main stable, they saw stable hands wetting down the barns, and all the horses were already in the paddocks. Mr. Harrington, the head of the stables, approached them, escorting a boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. “Baron, I found this trespasser trying to torch the stables.” He shoved the boy to his knees. Mr. Harrington had tied his hands behind his back.
“Send for the constable.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ramsbury moved until he stood right in front of the boy. “Who hired you? And don’t lie to me, boy, because you had no reason to burn my life down.”
