Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“ R osalie!”

Nathan’s shout was instinctual. He could hear the fear in his voice, the urgency, as the end of her dress went up in flames. But before he could move, before he could even properly understand what had happened, he was gone.

He was back in that flaming building. Red and yellow fire was licking through the rooms, clouding his vision and his ears. That was the worst part—the way all he could hear was the cracking of flames, the screams, as if it were happening now and not years ago, and all the while, the smell of smoke was filling his nose, gagging him.

“Help me! Help! I’m on fire!”

It’s not going to end that way! he told himself as Rosalie’s screams wrenched him out of the nightmare flashback. I won’t let it.

His body leapt into action. He ran forward, not even bothering to take the stairs but hurling himself over the railing and landing in a squatting position. The shock of landing on the hardwood floor sent pains throughout his legs, but he hardly noticed. His body didn’t even seem to belong to him—it was like some giant machination, poised and ready to act.

He stood and ran across the floor of the library towards Rosalie where she still lay on the ground. Her skirt was on fire, flames licking up the silk crinoline. It was thankfully small, but he knew that a fire like that could spread quickly, especially—his heart tightened painfully—in a place like this, full of books.

“Roll!” he shouted as he finally reached her. “Roll, Rosalie.”

“I can’t!” she yelled, her wild, fearful eyes meeting his. “It’ll burn me.”

“It’ll put out the flames!” he shouted, and then he was ripping off his jacket. She began to roll while at the same time he threw himself onto her skirts, the jacket first, tamping down the fire. She screamed as the fire licked up around him, but he didn’t stop.

“We have to smother it!” he yelled, and she didn’t argue again. She continued to roll back and forth while he forced himself to press the jacket down onto the flames, even as he felt it starting to burn the fabric and his fingers.

It was working but not fast enough. The dress was burning higher and higher, and soon, he knew, it would reach her legs.

I need to get it off of her!

Without thinking, he reached forward, seized the silky fabric, and wrenched as hard as he could, tearing a huge swath of it off the rest of the dress.

Rosalie let out a frightened shriek, but now that the cloth was separated from the rest of the dress, it had nowhere else to burn, and Nathan was able to smother it in his jacket.

At last, the fire was out, and he was able to sit back, breathing hard.

Without the light from the fire, the room now seemed oddly dark. He peered through the gloom, and the smoke that still clung to the air and clogged his nose with its acrid smell, to where Rosalie lay on her back, her hands still up in front of her chest in a protective manner. He was crouched over her, he realized, with a piece of her torn, burnt dress in his hands.

Slowly, he lowered the fabric. His hands were smarting, but he ignored this. He’d endured worse pain. His main concern was for Rosalie.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and he was surprised to find that his voice was husky, probably from the smoke that was still scraping against his throat.

“I-I think so,” came her small, terrified answer.

“You’ll be all right now,” he said gently. “The fire is out.”

There was a long moment of silence during which Nathan tried not to look at where the fabric had torn off, exposing her white lace chemise and even—his stomach tightened—a sliver of her calf. He looked away quickly. It was only her voice that brought his eyes back to hers.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “You saved my life. And maybe all our lives if the house had burned as well.”

How had he never noticed before just how beautiful her eyes were? They were big and doe-like and green as the ocean during a storm. And he could tell, just from looking into them, that they held similar depth.

She is no longer a girl , he thought, his heart beginning to pound. She has grown up. When he’d last seen her, she’d been a skinny, devilish thing with strong opinions and fanciful notions of love.

Now, she looked warier, more reserved, but still with that adventurous glint he remembered. And while she was still skinny—too skinny, he ought to tell James’s cook to feed her more—she was no longer gangly and awkward, but instead she was elegant and poised.

“It’s nothing,” Nathan said gruffly, tearing his eyes away from hers. He didn’t want her to think well of him for this—or get any romantic notions. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” she argued, more evenly. “You were very brave.”

“I—” Nathan wasn’t even sure what he was doing to say, but he was spared having to think of anything by the crash that came from the door as it was thrown open and several people stumbled into the room, led by Rosalie’s eldest sister, Iris Thorne, Duchess of Eavestone, and wife of his friend Phineas.

The moment their eyes locked, Nathan felt his heart sink. Despite the smell of smoke in the air, he still knew exactly how it looked: him, crouched over Rosalie, with a piece of torn fabric from her dress in his hands.

Iris’ eyes went wide then she pointed a shaky finger at him.

“Get away from my sister!” she screamed. “How—how dare you! And a friend of Phineas’?! I never would have believed it!”

“Iris!” Rosalie said at once, pushing herself upright. “It isn’t what you think!”

“Rosalie, what is going on?” her sister Violet asked. Violet spoke much more calmly, and her eyes were already scanning the room, as if looking for a less incendiary explanation.

Iris, meanwhile, crossed quickly to her sister, putting her body firmly between Rosalie and Nathan as she checked to see that she was okay.

Nathan peered at the figures behind Violet. Two other people had followed the sisters into the room, and they were now staring at him open-mouthed, not even attempting to hide their shock. One was the Countess of Rockford, who was discreet enough, but the other, Mrs. Bingham-Cortley, was a notorious gossip.

His heart sank. Mrs. Bingham-Cortley wouldn’t hesitate to tell everyone she met that he had tried to ravish Miss Rosalie Crampton.

It will go so well with what they already think of me , he thought bitterly.

“Ladies,” he said, standing and bowing to them, “I know that this looks terrible, but I assure you, Miss Crampton is correct: it is not as it appears. Miss Crampton tripped as she was leaving the library, and the candle she was holding caught her dress on fire. I had to rip the fabric to help put it out and keep it from burning her. Look, you can see that it is burned as are parts of Miss Crampton’s dress.”

He held the fabric out to Iris, who looked at it suspiciously before turning back to her sister.

“Is that really what happened?” she asked her, and Rosalie nodded.

“Yes, I came into the library, and when I realized His Grace was here, I turned to leave but then tripped, and my candle set my dress on fire.”

Violet stepped forward and took the fabric from Nathan, examining it closely. When she looked back up at him, her frown had lessened. “This is severely burned, and there’s the smell of smoke.”

“And look, there are scorch marks on the ground,” Nathan pointed out, gesturing at the hardwood floor below Rosalie. Once again, he caught sight of a tiny portion of her calf, and his mouth went dry.

Focus, you fool! Your reputation, and that of the girl, is on the line!

“Hmm.” Iris didn’t look so convinced, and she looked imploringly at Rosalie. “You can tell me, darling, if he tried… Well, if he took liberties with you. I would believe that you are innocent, and I would go after him with the full force of the law. Eavestone would be on your side, I know it!”

“It was nothing like that!” Rosalie said, her eyes wide with shock. “The Duke acted as a hero, as my savior! I am indebted to him. Without his quick thinking, I might have died or gotten truly injured.”

Violet looked convinced, but Iris bit her lip, and Mrs. Bingham-Cortley stepped forward.

“Are we really to believe that the Beast of Carramere saved this young lady from a fire and not that he was the cause?” she asked contemptuously. “The way I see it, he likely caused the fire by trying to force himself upon her!”

“How dare—” Nathan began, his temper flaring at once, but Violet cut him off.

“The Duke is an honorable man,” she said sharply to Mrs. Bingham-Cortley. “He is my husband’s cousin, and I can vouch for his character. And if my sister says he is innocent, well then, I believe her. She has been through enough trials with evil men that I believe she wouldn’t lie to save one.”

She looked at Rosalie now, and Rosalie nodded swiftly. “Indeed, I am telling the truth,” she confirmed. “His Grace saved me, and he acted the perfect gentleman.”

This last comment brought a knot of guilt to Nathan’s stomach. He hadn’t, and never would, taken liberties with an innocent young lady, but he hadn’t been a perfect gentleman. A perfect gentleman wouldn’t have given her reason to run from the library. A perfect gentleman would have left the moment she entered so as to avoid causing her any scandal.

Mrs. Bingham-Cortley seemed to be thinking along the same lines because she said, “Even if the man is innocent, it is still a scandal that the two of them were in here together—and for so long!” She looked suspiciously at Rosalie. “And don’t try to tell me you were leaving the moment you realized he was here. I saw you enter the library a quarter of an hour ago! That was enough time for?—”

“I would advise you not to say a word more,” Iris snarled, standing and turning on Mrs. Bingham-Cortley with a savage look on her face. “Or you will be hearing from the Duke of Eavestone.”

Mrs. Bingham-Cortley humphed. “I’m not saying anything the rest of you aren’t thinking,” she said huffily, and then she glared at Nathan. “Which is that His Grace should do the honorable thing before he causes the Crampton girl any more scandal than she has already endured.”

Mrs. Bingham-Cortley turned then and stormed from the room. The silence that she left behind was foreboding.

The guilt in Nathan’s stomach now bloomed to dread. He couldn’t look at either of the Duchesses or Rosalie. Do the honorable thing. There was no mistaking what that meant. But he had no intention of marrying Rosalie. She deserved better than him.

He looked up. Violet was staring at him, and he thought he saw her attempt to smile at him, but Iris was glaring daggers at him. Finally, he forced himself to look at Rosalie. Her expression was shocked and fearful, and it was like a knife to the heart.

She doesn’t want to marry me either. I’m a stranger, and worse than a stranger, I am a man with a reputation almost as bad as her father’s.

He opened his mouth to speak, and she drew back. “Miss Rosalie, will you—” but he couldn’t get the words out. This was not how he had imagined proposing to his future wife, and from the arrested look on her face, it wasn’t what she had envisioned, either. “Will you please excuse me?” he finished, and while he thought he saw Rosalie’s shoulders slump in relief, Iris was now looking daggers at him. “Before I cause you any more trouble,” he finished dully.

He knew it was the right thing to do, sparing Rosalie from himself, but as he left the library, Nathan couldn’t help but feel that he had taken the coward’s route.