Beware of Virtuous Women (17 page)

"Jack!" Eleanor slapped at the carpet with both hands. "Something came crashing through the window and Beatrice tried to stomp out the flames. Her skirts caught on fire. Oh, God, the drapes! Hurry, Jack!"

He was already hurrying, pulling the bedspread from the bed and using it to beat at the flames that were crawling up the velvet draperies. "Get out, Eleanor! Someone will get the maid."

Eleanor's response to this demand was to quickly assure herself that Beatrice was in no further immediate danger, then rip off her dressing gown to use it to beat against the flames at the other side of the window.

"Damn it, Eleanor!" Jack didn't have time to physically remove her from the chamber, knowing that if the fire gained a foothold the house could be fully involved within minutes.

"Stand back from the window, Eleanor!"

Having beaten down the flames somewhat, Jack discarded the bedspread and yanked at the draperies, pulling both draperies and their moorings from the wall.

Eleanor immediately realized what he was trying to do and dropped her now-singed dressing gown in order to run to her dressing table. She picked up the small backless chair and returned to the window, using the chair legs to smash out the rest of the broken glass.

With Treacle's help, as the butler had come running as soon as he'd personally pulled the fire rope in the drawing room, Jack was able to shove the draperies past the window frame, so that they fell to the bushes that lined the rear of the mansion.

"Get some servants down there to douse those draperies, make sure they don't smolder," he ordered Treacle, then pulled Eleanor away as several servants ran into the room, each of them carrying buckets of water they threw against the window wall and floor, even though the fire appeared to be out now, with the walls streaked with black smoke and only one fairly charred circle on the wooden floor.

In the middle of that charred circle was a brick tied with burned rags.

Mrs. Hendersen and Mrs. Ryan had already unwrapped the sobbing Beatrice, and the two older women helped the maid from the room. Jack could see that half the maid's skirts had burned, and her exposed leg was fiery red.

"You acted very quickly, Eleanor. It wouldn't have taken more than a few moments to turn her into a living torch," Jack said, his mind running in several directions, but that much was clear, and had to be said.

"Papa is very stern about the possibility of fire," Eleanor told him, amazed as she realized what she'd actually done, reacting without much in the way of conscious thought. "We have drills, as he calls them, the idea being that we react immediately to any threat of fire. Fire is a sailor's worst enemy, and a highly respected one."

"It's no less of an enemy here in London," Jack answered as he turned to look at Eleanor, whose face was streaked with black smoke. Beatrice must have been brushing her mistress's hair when the brick came through the window, because Eleanor's hair was loose and... "Christ, Eleanor. Your
hair."

Eleanor lifted a hand to her hair, but it wasn't there, at least not in the quantity she'd expected, at the length she was accustomed to. And what she did touch was brittle, hard. "I...I didn't realize..."

No, she probably hadn't. But Jack did. He realized that, in her determination to save Beatrice, Eleanor had put herself in grave danger. "Perhaps it isn't as bad as...well, as it looks."

"If it's as bad as it
feels,
it's fairly terrible. I suppose I'll simply have to cut it off, won't I?" Eleanor said, looking up at Jack's soot-streaked face. He seemed so far away. Everything seemed so far away, and faintly dark around the edges. "You're very dirty, you know."

"And now the pot is literally calling the kettle black," he told her, trying to smile as the servants bustled about, now attempting to sop up the water they'd splashed everywhere. "Come with me, Eleanor. You can't stay in here."

"Just one small moment, boyo," Cluny said from behind him. "You see this? Nobody tipped over a candle in here."

Jack took another look at the brick and nodded. "I know, Cluny. Tomorrow. We'll discuss this tomorrow. For tonight—"

"Already done. Two of your footmen on the front, two more on the back. All of them armed, so it's hoping we'll have to be that they don't shoot each other. Still think his lordship is your new bosom beau?"

"I said, tomorrow," Jack all but growled as he led Eleanor toward the connecting door to his bedchamber, only to find the door had been locked.

"I...I'm sorry, I...I can't seem to remember where I've put the key," Eleanor said, feeling even more vague. Honestly, what was wrong with her?

And then she swayed where she stood and lack quickly swept her up in his arms, cursing under his breath as he brushed past hovering servants and into the hallway, barking out orders for a tub to be prepared in his chamber at once.

"You can put me down now, Jack," Eleanor said once they were inside his bedchamber. "I'm fine, really. I suppose I was simply... overwhelmed fora moment."

"How nice to know you're human," lack told her with a smile, but not putting her down until she was directly in front of one of the large leather wing chairs flanking the fireplace. "Here, let me put your feet up on this table. Sit back, Eleanor. You've had a shock."

Eleanor watched, bemused, as Jack seemed to be everywhere at once, locating a small pillow he pushed beneath her feet after sliding off her ruined slippers, resurrecting a soft woven throw he tucked at her waist, fetching her a small snifter of brandy and ordering her to sip it slowly.

"Jack, sit down. Please," Eleanor said, embarrassed by his attention. "Look at your hands."

"What about my—oh," Jack said, holding his hands out in front of him, fingers spread, turning them over to get a good look at them. The backs of both hands were very red and, he began to notice, rather painful. "I'm only singed. What about you? Are you burned anywhere? Other than your hair, that is."

"My hair is quite enough, thank you," Eleanor said, holding on to the snifter with both hands, those hands trembling slightly as the enormity of what might have happened began to dawn on her. At first there was nothing to do but react to the sound of the shattering glass, to the sight of flames flaring upward when Beatrice had bravely but shortsightedly attempted to stamp out those flames with her foot.

Jack watched as Eleanor sipped at the brandy, then shivered and made a face, obviously having not experienced the strong taste until that moment.

God.
When he'd seen her, saw her silhouetted against the growing flames...

"Why do you think he did this?"

Jack shook off his thoughts and looked at Eleanor. "Chelfham? Then we are agreed this was no random act. And here I thought I was such a wonderful fellow and he'd be happy to welcome me as one of his partners."

Eleanor was feeling warm from the brandy, very nearly giddy, in fact. "I suppose I shouldn't have to worry now about just what to wear to his lordship's ball."

Jack smiled at her courage. "But it doesn't make sense, Eleanor. What good is killing me without first knowing more about me? The scope of my.. .business. The routes, my contacts both here and across the Channel. Dead, I can tell him nothing."

"Yes, and if the man was going to take aim at you, you'd think he'd plan something that held more possibility for success." Eleanor took another sip of brandy, beginning to think it didn't taste too terribly like one of Odette's medicines.

And then she had a thought, a very disturbing thought, one she couldn't possibly share with Jack.
Had he really been the target tonight? Or had she betrayed herself somehow? Had the fire just proved her right, proved Papa right?

"Eleanor? You've gone white as ghost beneath those smudges," Jack said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I didn't feel my injuries at first. Do you hurt somewhere? Is it your leg?"

"Uh....no. No, I'm fine." She tried to sit up more against the back of the chair. "I really do need a bath, though. Do you suppose someone could fetch one to another bedchamber and I'll—"

Jack gently pushed her back down. "You're staying here. Someone's bringing water for a hot tub and I'll have Mrs. Hendersen find some nightclothes for you somewhere since anything in your chamber has to smell badly of smoke."

"No, Jack, don't be silly. This is your bedchamber. I couldn't put you out. It's bad enough I have to be shifted. And I really should go check on Beatrice. Odette taught me a few things about ointments and such, and I know that nobody should put butter or lard on her burns because, well, I don't remember why, but I should go tell them to—"

"Eleanor, you're staying here," Jack said firmly. "It's settled. Ah, and here comes the first of the water for your tub. And Mrs. Hendersen, good. You'll take charge, please? Don't listen to a word Mrs. Eastwood says, for the poor woman is slightly delirious. She needs a good bath, fresh clothing, and to be tucked up in the bed behind me, all within the hour. And have someone bring some hot water to my dressing room."

"Delirious? Jack!" Eleanor tried to get to her feet but the pillow beneath her legs slid to the floor and she got herself tangled in the knitted throw. "Jack, I will
notbe
put to bed like a child. Jack?"

But he was gone, the door to his dressing room firmly closed behind him.

"He must love you very much, Mrs. Eastwood," Mrs. Hendersen said, folding back the screen in the far corner to reveal a large, hand-painted tub. "Now, you just relax and we'll soon have you put to rights. Goodness, what on earth will we do with that hair?"

"Mrs. Hendersen, I have no idea, although I do believe scissors will be involved," Eleanor said on a sigh, then reached for the snifter and drank some more brandy. It probably wasn't what she should be doing, but it was the only thing that she could do at the moment.

Tomorrow, first thing, she had a confession to make. She'd already left it too long. The clear light of day might change her mind on the matter, but for now, the possibility that she, not Jack, had been the earl's intended victim seemed more than slightly plausible....

Jack, dressed in a clean shirt and pantaloons, sat behind the desk in his study once more, looking apprais-ingly at Cluny, who was being remarkably quiet for a man whose ability to form an opinion was championed only by his willingness to share it with the world.

That silence, of course, didn't last too long.

"I have no choice. I have to alert Ainsley," Jack said, once the subject of the flaming brick had been discussed from every possible angle.

"Easily enough done," Cluny agreed, nodding his head. "Tuck up a note with our little Miss Becket as you shove her in the coach for her ride home."

"You sink your teeth into an idea and won't let go, don't you, Cluny," Jack said, getting to his feet. He'd had enough of sitting. Enough of thinking, of talking. "She stays here. I couldn't let her go in any event, not unless you and I both traveled with her, and we're not going anywhere."

"You think Chelfham would try to grab her somewhere along the road? Use her to get what he wants from you? Damn, boyo, you are thinking deep, aren't you. Kudos to you. Now, that said, what do we do with her? And don't try to tell me you're still thinking of trading secret for secret. We've no time for that sort of maudlin pap now. Chelfham's too close, and getting closer. And not, boyo, in case you're harboring any cheery thoughts, because he wants to be your new bosom beau."