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dressed only in nightgowns, shawls, and slippers.
"Where's Beatrix?" Amelia asked. At the same moment, the estate bell began to peal, its high, clear tone
traveling in every direction.
"I told her to ring it," Win said. The sound would bring neighbors and villagers to help, although by the
time people reached them, Ramsay House would probably be consumed in flames.
Merripen went to lead the horse from the stable, in case that went up, too.
"What's happening?" Amelia heard Leo ask hoarsely. Before anyone could reply, he was seized by a
spasm of coughing. Win and Poppy remained beside their brother, murmuring gently to him. Amelia,
however, stood a few yards apart from them, knotting her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
She was filled with bitterness and fury and fear. There was no doubt in her mind Leo had started the fire,
that he had cost them the house and had nearly succeeded in killing them all. It would be a long time
before she could trust herself to speak to him, this sibling she had once
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loved so clearly and who now seemed to have transformed into someone else entirely.
At this point there was little left of Leo to love. At best he was an object to be pitied, at worst a danger
to himself and his family. They would all be better off without him, Amelia thought. Except that if he died,
the title would pass to some distant relative or expire, and they would be left with no income whatsoever.
Watching Merripen, illuminated in the cloud-blunted moonlight as he worked to pull first the horse and
then the barouche from the stables, Amelia felt a surge of gratitude. What would they ever have done
without him? When her father had taken in the homeless boy so long ago, it had always been regarded by
the residents ofPrimrose Place as an act of charity. But the Hathaways had been infinitely repaid by
Merripen's quiet, steady presence in their lives. She had never been certain why he had elected to stay
with the Hathaways it seemed all to their advantage rather than his.
People had already begun to arrive on horseback, some from the village, some from the direction of
Stony Cross Manor. The villagers had brought a handpump cart pulled by a sturdy draft horse. The
wheeled cart was sided by troughs, which would be laboriously filled with river water, people carrying
buckets back and forth. Cranking a wooden lever would push the water through a leather hose and expel
it through a metal nozzle. By the time the process was under way, the fire would be raging out of control.
However, it was possible the handpump would help to save at least a portion of the house.
Amelia ran to the approaching villagers to describe the shortest route to the nearby river. Immediately a
group of
men, accompanied by Merripen, set off at a run toward the water, buckets swinging from the yokes on
their shoulders.
As she turned to go back to her sisters, Amelia bumped into a tall form behind her. Gasping, she felt a
familiar pair of hands close over her shoulders.
"Christopher." Relief flooded her at his presence, despite the fact that he could do nothing to save her
home. She twisted to look up at him, his handsome features bathed in erratic light.
He pulled her close as if he couldn't help himself, pressing her head to his shoulder. "Thank God you're
not hurt. How did the fire start?"
"I don't know." Amelia went still against him, thinking dazedly that she had never expected to be held by
him again. She remembered this, the way she fit against him, the security of his embrace. But
remembering that he had betrayed her, she wriggled free and pushed her hair from her eyes.
Christopher released her reluctantly. "Stay away from the house. I'm going to help with the handpump."
Another voice came from the darkness. "You'll be of more use over there."
Amelia and Christopher both turned with a start, for the voice seemed to have come from nowhere.
With his dark clothes and black hair, Cam Rohan seemed to emerge like a shadow from the night.
"Bloody hell," Christopher muttered. "One can barely see you, dark as you are."
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