Her cheeks flushed pink. She took the dressing gown clenched in her fingers—the one she’d used to beat out the flames—and draped it over herself. Once white, it was streaked gray and black from his hair. “You shouldn’t be here, either,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was running and saw the smoke.” His head cleared, and suddenly he realized the fire was still raging. “Go inside, Lily. Lie down. Your animals are safe.” Even now, a couple of women were busy moving them to the stables. “I need to help here.”
He pushed to his feet and came face-to-face with Lily’s mother.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You should go inside, too. You’ve done enough.”
“But the barn—”
“It’s hopeless, and the rest is under control.”
Rand turned to see. Although the bucket brigade was still operating full force under the direction of her husband, the men weren’t fighting the fire, instead drenching the surrounding area to prevent its spread. The barn itself—or what was left of it—was burning merrily despite their earlier efforts.
Lady Trentingham forced a wan smile. “It was old and needed replacing. So long as no one’s hurt, it’s no great loss. Come inside. I’ll fetch some water so you can rinse off the soot.” Without waiting for his agreement, she hurried toward the house.
His hands were coated in black, and he wanted to wash his face as well. He reached to help Lily rise. The sunshine was dimmed by the veil of smoke overhead, but not so much that he couldn’t see a faint outline of her form through her thin white nightdress. He thought it wise not to mention that, however. She sneezed twice during their slow progress to the house and looked even worse than he felt.
Well, her poor red eyes and nose did, anyway. The rest of her was as lovely as ever.
By the time they stepped indoors, Lady Trentingham had a basin and towels set up in the drawing room. She ushered them both inside, handing Rand a clean white shirt and Lily a fresh dressing gown and a pair of shears. “I must see that ale is brought to the men—I’ll be back to check on you two in a few moments!” she said before rushing off.
Lily hurried into the dressing gown and belted it tightly at her waist. Exhausted, Rand slowly unwound the ribbon from his hair, then looked down at his grayish shirt, noticing all the tiny black holes where sparks had singed it and marked his skin. Wincing, he began to strip it off.
Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t avert her eyes.
He paused, remembering he was supposed to win Lily by demonstrating the depth of his feelings. But surely a bit of temptation couldn’t hurt, either?
Hoping she’d find him tempting, he pulled the shirt over his head and turned to the water.
TWENTY-TWO
LILY’S GAZE WAS affixed to Rand’s back, watching the way his muscles moved as he scrubbed all the black soot off his hands and arms, then his face and neck. She’d never seen a man’s bare back, unless she counted Rowan’s, but he was still just a boy. And Rowan’s back didn’t look like Rand’s, either; it looked rather like her own or Rose’s. Rand’s tapered from wide shoulders down to narrow hips, and every muscle was defined beneath the dewy skin—sweat-dampened, no doubt, by the intense heat inside the barn.
Feeling her own temperature rising, she dropped onto a chair.
Drying his face with a towel, he turned. “Why did she give you scissors?”
“Hmm?” Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze from his chest and looked down to where her fingers, white-knuckled, gripped the shears. “I suppose she thought you’d want to cut off the burned part of your hair.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” His voice sounded husky—from the smoke, she imagined. But whatever the reason, his deep, guttural words seemed to vibrate through her bones. He tossed away the towel and grabbed her father’s shirt. “Will you cut it for me?”
“Me? Cut your hair?” Her breath was coming short. He dropped the shirt over his head and tugged it into place. Though it was a bit small, it did cover him sufficiently.
She couldn’t decide whether she found that a relief or a disappointment.
“Well, I cannot cut it myself, not and make a good job of it,” he said reasonably, shoving the bottom of the shirt down into his breeches. “Most of it’s on the back of my head,” he added.
“It? Oh, your hair. Yes. I suppose it is.” She began to clear her throat, but when that hurt, she coughed instead. “Sit down, and I’ll do my best to cut it.”
“I cannot.” He indicated his filthy breeches and the cream-colored upholstery. “Can you stand?”
She did, though her knees felt shaky. Her illness must be worsening. Her arms felt weak when she raised the scissors and began snipping off the scorched hair. It smelled awful and looked even worse.
“I’m so sorry,” she said from behind him, mourning the gorgeous mane.
He shrugged, the shirt stretching across his wide shoulders. “It was my only vanity. It’s probably as well that it’s gone. I’ll have more time for my work now that I won’t be caring for it.”
He was obviously jesting, and she laughed at the mental image of a valet combing out Rand’s hair and rubbing sweet-smelling oils into it, as Lily’s maid did every night.
She was glad he wasn’t angry. And her animals were safe. Her heart swelled as she carefully snipped. “Why?” she asked quietly.
“Why what?”
“Why did you risk your life to save them?” She
