Jaw clenched, he stopped and took her face between his hands, forcing her eyes to his. “He’s dead!” he roared over the deafening noise. “He went up the stairs, and the roof collapsed! Now come, before you’re dead as well!”
A glassy look of despair began to cloud her amethyst eyes as she went limp beneath his hands. Her knees buckled. He scooped her into his arms and ran to the wagon.
After flinging her light frame up front, beside Davis, he made to climb up after her.
She stiffened, bolting straight up. “My trunk!” she screamed, pointing at the homely object. It sat mere feet from the shop, flames from the front wall reaching deadly fingers in its direction. But one look at her face convinced him he’d have to retrieve it, or she’d attempt to do so herself.
“Go!” he shouted at Davis, slapping the nearest horse on the rump for emphasis. Davis lifted the reins, and the wagon lurched, inching down the street.
The heat was incredible. A window burst as Colin raced toward the shop, the blast scattering glass and releasing clouds of smoke that seared his lungs anew. Coughing, his eyes streaming tears, he knelt to lift the trunk.
How on earth was a small trunk so heavy? He let it drop and, grabbing one handle, dragged it clunking down the rutted street to where the wagon crept along. Waving the children back, he managed to heave the trunk into the wagon bed, then ran around and swung up to the bench, taking the reins from Davis, who scrambled to join the others in the back.
“Are you hurt?” He forced the words past his raw throat. “Amethyst?” What had her father called her? “Amy?”
At the sound of her name, she looked up, her glazed eyes registering first confusion, then disbelief.
“Lord Greystone?”
Before he could respond, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears.
Colin placed one arm around her, gingerly and then tighter. The sobs wracked her slight body. Hot tears soaked through his shirt, wetting his shoulder.
Long, gut-wrenching minutes passed. They progressed several blocks before she choked back the tears and slowly lifted her red-rimmed eyes to meet his.
Dark purple smudges marred the delicate-looking skin beneath her eyes. The fire had been burning since Sunday; she’d likely not slept for days.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
She nodded her head miserably.
“Where can I take you?”
Sniffling, she gave a vehement shake of her head. “Nowhere,” she said in a trembling whisper. Her eyes filled again and threatened to brim over. “I have no one.”
Discomfited, he turned back to the road. No one? It couldn’t be so; surely she knew someone who would take her in. Her father had perished, true—he’d seen that with his own eyes—but what of a mother? A relative? A neighbor?
He felt her take a shuddering breath. Keeping her eyes lowered, she bunched up his discarded surcoat to make a pillow and lay down on the bench, her knees drawn up like a small child. Less than a minute later, her breathing slowed and evened out in the rhythm of sleep.
He drove on, absently smoothing the damp hair off her face, letting his gaze wander over her slumbering form draped along the length of the seat. Something vaguely unnerving fluttered and settled in his stomach as he turned onto Lothbury and headed west.
SEVEN
“SHE’S TOUCHING me.”
Rubbing his dry, burning eyes, Colin glanced over his shoulder at the children in the wagon bed.
“He’s looking at me oddly.”
Colin clenched his teeth and turned his attention back to the road, where it seemed every inhabitant of London was ahead of him. A leisurely carriage ride from London to Cainewood Castle normally took about five hours, but the sun was setting, and after six hours they weren’t even a quarter of the way there.
They could walk to Cainewood faster than they were moving, he thought irritably.
“She won’t stop humming.”
“Ouch!”
He had to find somewhere to stay before major warfare broke out. For the past hour, he’d stopped at every inn along the way and sent Davis to inquire about available lodging. Colin was beginning to believe every room in the kingdom was taken.
When Davis came out of the last one, shaking his head, Colin had briefly considered bedding outdoors for the night. But although it was warm, there was a persistent wind, and he shuddered at the thought of trying to make nine children comfortable with not so much as a blanket.
Nine children and Amy Goldsmith.
He glanced down at her grimy face. Amethyst Goldsmith—whoever would have thought? He’d left her shop two weeks ago with no intention of ever going back, ever purchasing another piece of jewelry, ever seeing her again. And now here she was, dropped—literally—right in his lap.
He could’ve laughed himself silly, if not for the tragic circumstances of their reunion.
She’d moved up in her sleep, and her head now rested against his leg. He smiled to himself, picturing her turning red with embarrassment if she knew. He allowed himself to touch her, skimming his fingers down her arm, encircling one dainty wrist.
Just to check that her pulse was still steady, of course—she’d doubtless inhaled a great deal of smoke.
It was quite steady.
For the dozenth time, he fervently thanked God she was alive.
When she stirred, Colin hastily withdrew. Amy murmured something incoherent, then settled back into sleep. Her long black lashes looked feathery against her ashy, tear-streaked cheeks.
Colin tore his gaze away and stared straight ahead at the congested road. The top of Amy’s head still pressed against his leg. Being near her felt so very different from being near Priscilla. He’d kissed Priscilla before, but never had he felt this…flustered. Yet she was his betrothed, and she was beautiful, intelligent, exactly what he wanted—and Amy was just a shop girl he’d smiled at once.
He was more familiar with
