There was no way. His eyes were watering, his lungs were burning. There were only two exits from the room- the door, now bowing from the heat, and the windows, one of which he was hanging outside of. He would have to search from the exterior of the manse.
With this thought in mind, Simon dropped out of the window, landing in a crouch amid the profusion of mint. After the polluted air in the library, the crisp scent was a welcome relief.
He looked around for Lysette, but she was gone, most likely to join the others. He was glad, relieved that she was safe.
Freed from his concern for her, Simon ran along the wall in search of others who might need rescue.
Chapter 7
'Vexing woman,' Edward muttered as he descended V the front steps of the Orlinda manse. He had hoped to leave Corinne Marchant behind, but she remained with him-the feel of her in his arms, the sweetly floral scent of her, the sting of her palm against his cheek.
And the way she spoke to him…
'Contrary female.' His fists clenched along with his jaw.
He almost reconsidered his decision to walk home in lieu of splurging on a hackney. Although a long walk would clear his mind and take the edge off his lust, a carriage would put greater distance between him and Corinne in a shorter amount of time. Distance that might temper the urge to go back inside and apologize. The itch to charm her properly and win her regard was nearly overwhelming.
Despite knowing her motives were impure, he wanted to scratch that itch.
There was no possibility that her interest was genuine. She was too beautiful, too wealthy, too well connected to find anything noteworthy about him-other than his work for Mr. Franklin.
It was not the first time he had been approached as a gateway to Franklin. It was, however, the first time he considered allowing it to happen for personal gain.
As his feet hit the front drive, his pace increased. His conscience told him to put any thoughts of a possible liaison between himself and Corinne far from his mind. If he did not seek her out, he doubted she would approach him again. The thought caused a sharp pang of regret.
'Damn you.'
He had never seen a woman more lovely. She had the face of an angel and a body built for sin. If anyone asked him to describe his epitome of perfection, he would point to Corinne Marchant. But that was not the problem. He could resist the lure of the flesh; his cock did not rule his head.
No, it was not the drive to rut with beauty that drove him mad. It was her eyes. So hard at moments, as if she had lost all feeling. Then, suddenly warm and lit with wry amusement. Some part of him believed he was responsible for those glimpses of the private woman. Those ephemeral sightings made him want to see more of her, all of her.
Edward growled. He was used to having what he wanted. A modest man, he rarely wanted much and never anything beyond his means. The attraction he felt toward Corinne defied reason. They had nothing in common. What was the lure?
She was damaged. The bruised and haunted look that wracked her features after he'd kissed her bespoke deep scarring.
Someone had abused her terribly.
Fury coiled tight within him. Her past was no deterrent. Instead, it made him want her more. The desire to protect her was as powerful as the desire to mate with her. He wanted rights to her. More precisely, he wanted the right to find those responsible and mete out the justice they deserved for damaging such perfection.
Dangerous thoughts, dangerous feelings. They had no place in his regimented and orderly life, just as Corinne had no place there.
A scream rent the night, one so filled with terror it stopped him midstride.
He turned to face the manse again, seeing nothing amiss from the front, but certain the sound had emanated from there. He was frowning at the elegant, columned facade when more screams disturbed the peaceful eventide. He set off at a run.
The liveried footmen and groomsmen standing at the front drive left their stations and sprinted up the stairs before him. The moment the door opened, thick, black smoke roiled out. The four servants paused on the threshold, gaping.
'Fetch buckets from the stables!' Edward ordered.
'Yes, sir.' The two groomsmen ran back down the stairs and around the side.
He shouldered his way in front of the remaining horrified footmen. 'You two, come with me. We must make certain everyone vacates the house.'
Together, they plunged into the wall of smoke. Intolerable heat assailed them, the flames fed by the newly opened door. Struggling to see through watering eyes, Edward drew in a choked breath and stumbled as scorching, soot-filled air burned his throat and singed his lungs.
He was suffocating by the time they reached the ballroom, a journey hampered by the need to feel along the wall to find their way. They split up when they reached their destination, groping their way through the many planters and columns in search of anyone yet to flee. Black smoke rolled in through the doorway behind them in ever-expanding plumes. It tumbled across the soaring ceiling and began to lower in a malevolent cloud. Edward's heart raced madly, his hands swiping impatiently at the tears that stung his heat-sensitized cheeks.
Surely Corinne would be safe. She'd left when he did. She was most likely home now, cursing him to Hades.
Thank God. He would be insane if she was here.
'Mr. James! Mr. James!'
Edward altered course, moving in the direction of the hoarse, unrecognizable voice calling out to him. A moment later, Comte Desjardins lurched into view from the depths of the cloying, burning smoke. His thin frame was wracked by violent coughing and he lunged at Edward, catching him by the shoulders.
'Corinne,' the comte gasped, his reddened eyes glistening with near-hysteria. 'Is she with you?'
A chill swept down Edward's spine, in spite of the intense heat. 'No, she left.'
'Are you certain? S-she was… to ride with me-' Desjardins coughed so forcibly that black spittle coated his lips. '… retiring room…' he wheezed. '… have not seen her…'
'Dear God.'
Edward grabbed the comte's arm and dragged him our to the terrace, where the rest of the guests gathered. Then, he ran around the side of the manse, searching for windows with light, fighting a rising panic that threatened to paralyze him.
A woman in white stood outside an open window from which tendrils of smoke wafted.
'Go to the others,' he ordered. 'On the rear lawn.'
She hesitated, her masked face gazing up at the window.
'Now!' he barked, in a tone no sane person refused.
Nodding reluctantly, the masked woman lifted her skirts and moved toward the rear of the house. Edward heard a distant scream at the same moment a masculine leg appeared over the sill. Assured of the safety of the woman's paramour, he darted for the side gate.
No Corinne. Where in hell was she?
Edward sprinted around the front of the manse and burst through the gate on the other side, narrowly skirting the stairs that led down to the delivery entrance. He was halfway along the length of the manse when he sported Desjardins gesturing frantically before a window.
'Is she in there?' Edward rasped through his burned throat, skidding to a halt.
He studied the window through gritty eyes. Shadows danced sinuously against the glass.
Smoke. Too much of it. He could not see into the room.
'I saw movement,' the comte croaked. 'Perhaps-'
The window exploded outward in a shower of broken glass, forcing them to duck beneath crossed forearms. A
