Where Passion Leads (Berkeley-Faulkner #1)(99)

“Guillaume,” she said, tears coming anew to her eyes as a smoky breeze engulfed them.

His puzzled expression disappeared as he grinned at her. “I thought it was you,” he said, shifting his leg slightly as the child wrapped her arms securely around his knee. “And then I thought, no, it could not be . . . not unless you had lost every bit of the good sense I previously considered you to have. . . . Mon Dieu, Mira didn’t come with you, did she?”

“No.”

“Thank heaven. Now, the next question is, whose baby is this?”

“I don’t know—I hoped there would be a place where they are keeping stray children until the parents can find them.”

“There is. I will relieve you of this”—he looked down ruefully at the little creature clinging to his leg— “charming burden. But even though the worst of the fire is over, it isn’t safe for you to wander off alone.”

“What do you mean, the worst is over? The church—” “The fire won’t reach it. They will be able to confine it to the cottages—Dieu, I can’t really believe you’re here.”

“I couldn’t wait at the château. I had this terrible feeling—”

“Lady angel, you aren’t supposed to be here,” he said, the bittersweet color of his eyes shining with subtle lights of amusement.

“I’ve been looking for Rand,” she said. “I haven’t seen him anywhere. Is he all right? Have you seen him? When and where do you think he—?”

“Slower, jolie ange . . . don’t worry—the last time I saw him, he was helping to move the children from the vicar’s cottage. He is fine.”

“I don’t see him—which cottage? That burning one?” “Ah, zut,” Guillaume said, following the direction of her trembling finger. “Oh, hell . . . yes, that one. So it has caught fire. I hope everyone is out.”

Rosalie fled from him, picking up her skirts to run faster toward the blazing structure. Flames filled the windows on the second floor, making the cottage look like a multieyed demon. If Rand was in there, he was trapped in an inescapable inferno. She was paralyzed as she stood there in the light of the blaze, one hand pressed to the base of her throat. With a sound of thunder, the roof fell in, sending up a shower of sparks that danced and floated like thousands of fireflies. Rosalie started, her stomach caving inwardly, all the air leaving her lungs. Her lips moved in a soundless prayer, and then she felt her legs turn to rubber.

“Was anyone in there?” she whispered as she staggered to an old man who stood nearby, his eyes fastened on the mountain of burning rubble. “Was anyone in there?” Rosalie repeated, tugging at his sleeve, and he turned to her with empty black eyes. She backed away from him in panic, thinking that it was all an awful dream, and from then on everything changed into a succession of pictures that moved with quicksilver speed. Something hit her hard around the waist and wrapped around her so tightly that she could not make a sound . . . at the same time, a string of foul curses floated about her head, and she was turned like a rag doll as someone began to tug and beat at her gown. Dazedly Rosalie began to understand that the garment had caught on fire, that one of the sparks must have set the fragile material burning, and that if her rescuer had delayed one second longer she would have been devoured in an immediate, fatal blaze.

She was uprighted and held firmly against a hard, tightly muscled surface, the arm that had been cutting around her waist loosening so that a large masculine hand could splay across her h*ps and press her closer. Rosalie’s face was pressed against the warm, golden skin of a man’s throat, and as she smelled the familiar scent of it, she relaxed into trusting stillness. Her arms lifted to clasp his broad shoulders, her upper body leaning against his powerful chest as she listened to the disturbed quickness of his breating.

“Rand,” she said, her terror subsiding as she felt his inexhaustible strength enfold her protectively, and the nightmarish sickness fell away from her. After the most blissful moment of her entire life, she pulled her head back to look up at his face. His skin was smudged with soot, which ringed under his topaz-colored eyes and gave him the startling appearance of a lion. The firelight flickered over his dark face and illuminated the singed ends of his gold-streaked hair. He’s unharmed, she thought, and stared at him with a diamond-bright gaze. It did not take long for her to become aware of the fact that he was not at all happy to see her.

Thirteen

In all my being is no ripple of unrest

For I have opened unto you The wide gates of my being

And like a tide, you have flowed into me.

—Author Unknown

Goddammit!” Rand snarled, his grip biting as he held her away from him and kept her at arm’s length to take a quick and thorough inventory of her condition. “If that dress wasn’t half-burned off already, I would lift your skirts and thrash you for an hour!”

Before she could reply, he shook her roughly, and Rosalie gritted her teeth to keep them from clacking together. Then Rand was still, holding her so close that they were eye-to-eye. “I told you to stay at the château! It is dangerous for you to be here! Damn you!” She was subjected to another vigorous shaking, and Rosalie thought dazedly that her bones would start to rattle together if he didn’t stop soon. She decided to throw in a word or two on her own behalf.