“Whose life has he destroyed?” Lydia demanded.

And she could hear her sister’s answer as if she spoke it out loud. Mine, she cried. Mine.

Lydia’s muffled coughing woke her, and for a moment Elinor lay there, not moving. Something was wrong, she felt it in her bones, and she sat up, squinting in the darkness around her. Her eyes burned, her throat ached, and she heard the ominous crackling sound, far too close. Horror filled her—fire in these rickety old parts of town were disastrous, spreading through streets and alleyways, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them.

She shook Lydia, scrambling from the bed, her eyes burning. “The house is on fire,” she said. “We have to get out.”

Lydia was already alert, grabbing her robe and pulling it tight around her as Elinor went for the door. Smoke was pouring in under the doorjamb, but the wood itself was still cool, and she yanked it open, only to be momentarily blinded by the wall of smoke that billowed in.

“Nanny!” she screamed, fighting her way through the smoke, stepping out into the hallway just as Jacobs stormed by. He was heading for Lady Caroline’s bedroom. She heard the laughter then, her mother’s silvery voice chuckling merrily, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Jacobs kicked the door open, and flames poured out of the room. He didn’t hesitate, charging into the fire, and a moment later he emerged, a small figure bundled in his arms. He headed for the front door, looking back at them. “Follow me!” he shouted from above the noise of the crackling flames.

“Mama!” Lydia cried, but then from beyond the flames the voice came again, singing a bawdy sailor’s song in a hoarse, scratchy voice.

“He’s got Nanny Maude,” she said. “Go with him. I’ll see to Mama.”

“No, I won’t leave you!” Lydia said, but Elinor simply shoved her toward Jacobs, and he was strong enough to catch her arm and drag her to the door, even as he held Nanny Maude’s slight figure. He seemed to be having trouble with the flimsy front door, and a moment later he simply kicked it down, charging out into the cold night air with the two women.

“‘There was a jolly tinker, who lived in Southern France…’” her mother sang, the hoarse sound a shadow of the once-light soprano that had captivated so many men. Ignoring the flames, Elinor pushed into the room. Lady Caroline was curled up on the floor, crooning, as the flames ate through the silk covers of her bed and started up the bedposts.

“Mama!” Elinor cried, trying to move closer. There was a river of flame between them, and if she jumped across there was no guarantee she could get back. Her mother was so slender and frail she could easily pull her to safety, if she could just be persuaded to reach out.

Lady Caroline’s glazed eyes focused on Elinor. “Where’s my daughter?” she croaked. “Where’s my Lydia?”

“She’s safe, Mama. You need to come with me, and I’ll bring you to her. Just stand up and come to the edge there, and I’ll lift you over.”

Lady Caroline’s cackle matched the noise of the fire. “You look like him. Like your father. He wants to kill me, and you do too. Get me Lydia. I’m not going anywhere without Lydia.”

The path of flames widened, eating up the flooring between them, and Elinor’s panic increased. “You don’t want to hurt Lydia, Mama. If she comes back in this house she could die. Just stand up and walk over here and I’ll bring you out safely. Trust me, Mama. I’ve never done anything but love you.”

“Love?” She laughed heartlessly, and by a cruel twist of fate she was once more lucid. “What do you know of love? No one’s ever loved you in this life. No one ever will. I won’t go where it’s cold. It’s warm here, and it’s cold outside.”

“Mama!” The smoke was so thick Elinor could barely see her, but her bare feet could feel the flames getting closer, and if she waited much longer she wasn’t going to get out of the house alive. She couldn’t leave her there, wouldn’t…

A strong arm came out of the darkness, snaking around her waist and lifting her up. She shrieked in protest, but the stranger paid no attention, scooping her into strong arms and moving through the burning house. Rafters fell behind them, and she could hear her mother’s screams of laughter as they burst through into the cold night air.

She found herself dumped down on the snow with little ceremony, and she tried to run back into the house, but the hands that hauled her away were painful, and she turned in rage, and even the sight of Francis Rohan looking back at her had no effect on her. “I have to save her!” she cried as her mother’s screams and laughter echoed into the night.

“She’s not worth dying for, child,” he said, his voice cool and practical, and she hated him. “And I’m afraid it’s too late.”

He spoke the truth. The burning house collapsed in on itself, and her mother’s voice was shut off, gone completely, and she heard Lydia’s sobs.

She tore herself away from him, going in search of her sister. Lydia was kneeling in the snow by Nanny Maude, and she’d covered her face, weeping. Elinor knelt beside her, putting her arms around her, holding her tight. There were tears on her own face, she realized with surprise. She’d given up on her mother long ago, and the King of Hell was right, she wasn’t worth dying for. Even at the end she’d rejected her, and yet still Elinor wept.

He had moved to stand over them, and she ignored him, hugging her sister more tightly.

Jacobs appeared out of the shadows, white runnels of tears against the soot-dark face. “We need to get Nanny someplace,” he said in a voice choked with pain or the fire. Or both. “She needs a doctor.”

“Put her in my coach,” Rohan said, his orders crisp and clear, and Elinor wanted to pull away from Lydia and scream at him. She had no choice. Lydia’s grief was more important than her rage. “We’ll have my cousin come to check on her,” Rohan said. He moved away from her, wisely, and raised his voice. “Reading, why don’t you see to Miss Lydia. I’m sure she’d appreciate your strong arm. She needs to get out of the snow and into the carriage before she freezes to death.”

Elinor considered holding on to her, but Charles Reading had appeared out of the darkness and Lydia went to him, letting him fold her into his arms, leaving Elinor alone on her knees in the snow. Alone with Rohan.

“You can’t stay there all night,” he said.

“You let her die.”

“I kept you alive. You can get up on your own or I can carry you, whichever you prefer, but I expect you’d rather have me keep my hands to myself,” he said in a weary voice. “Make up your mind. I’m cold, and I’ve ruined another pair of shoes. You really are wreaking havoc on my wardrobe.”

She forced her head to turn, to look up at him, and she didn’t disguise the fury in her eyes. She was awash with pain, and there was nowhere else she could direct it but at her cool nemesis.

He looked down at her, and his smile was crooked. “But how charming,” he murmured. “You despise me. Feel free to, poppet, but I’m getting you out of the snow and into my carriage now, before my feet turn to icicles.” He held out a hand to her, waiting for her to take it.

She didn’t want to touch him. She wanted to curl up in a ball and weep, but Lydia was waiting for her. She put her foot out, expecting to rise gracefully, but the pain in her feet was excruciating, and her legs wouldn’t hold her.

He caught her before she fell, and scooped her up into his arms again, carrying her toward the waiting coach. He dumped her in, unceremoniously, and Lydia reached for her, pulling her onto the seat beside her.

Rohan closed the door behind them, remaining outside the crowded carriage. And a moment later they were off, leaving him behind, standing alone in the snow beside the still-burning grave of their poor, lost mother.

15

Elinor fell back against the tufted seat of the carriage, too shaken to move. The carriage was made for four, and with the five of them crammed in tightly there was scarcely room to breathe. There were tiny silver candles in each corner, encased in glass holders, and they shed enough light that Elinor could see Nanny looking very bad indeed.

She wanted to throw her hands over her face and scream, she wanted to hide and weep. She could do no such thing. This was her family, what was left of them, and she was needed. She straightened her back.

“How is Nanny Maude, Jacobs?” she asked, her voice rough from the smoke she’d inhaled. “Was she burned?”

Jacobs shook his head. “The shock, more like. And the smoke. She’s an old lady—this will be the death of her—”

“It will be no such thing!” she said sharply. “His lordship’s cousin is a doctor, and I expect he’ll be waiting for us as soon as we get there.” Get where? she asked herself. Though she knew the answer.

“She’s not breathing too well,” Jacobs said gloomily. His voice broke. “Her ladyship’s gone, and now Nanny Maude…”

“Stop it!” Elinor said. “We’re not going to lose Nanny Maude.” She turned to Lydia and froze. Perched on the very edge of the narrow seat, Charles Reading held her in his arms, and she was sobbing quietly into the elegant shoulder of his coat, one hand clutching the fabric in a fist.

Elinor reached for her, to pull her away, and then her eyes met Reading’s, and she froze, in shock. She’d never seen such naked pain, naked longing, in anyone’s eyes. She hadn’t even known such depth of emotion existed. He was holding Lydia so tenderly, her curls tucked beneath his chin, and he was murmuring comforting words to her. Words Lydia needed to hear, words that Elinor didn’t have, not then.

She could sort that out in the morning. At the moment she couldn’t begrudge her baby sister any comfort she could find, no matter how unsuitable it might be. Reading was a member of the Heavenly Host, a libertine and a reprobate. He was no fit match for Lydia, but at that moment she couldn’t bring herself to care. Let her take what comfort she could.