Chase stayed where he was for a long time. The night air grew damp and chill, the wind picked up and blew through the cracks in the barn walls. Chase wiped a hand across his face, surprised to find it damp. He cursed, then turned to finish stacking the bales.
Much later, he finished, his body so weary he could barely move. He took off the gloves and laid them on a bench by the door so that he would find them the next day. One more day…that’s all he had left.
Chase turned to collect the lantern. As he lifted it, the nail on which it was hung came loose from the pole and fell to the floor. Chase cursed, then bent to pick it up. As he did so, he saw something in the scattered hay on the ground.
What was that? He brushed aside some loose hay and found the St. John talisman ring. How had that gotten here? Chase picked it up and turned it over in his hand. It lay in his palm, cold and dull. It must have fallen from his pocket—
A whisper of movement stirred the air behind him. Chase whirled, but he was too late. The world exploded in a blinding flash of color and pain. And then…there was nothing.
The clock chimed midnight when Harriet finally gave up trying to pretend to sleep. She rose and lit a candle. She was tired and aching, her eyes hot and dry. Damn Chase St. John. Not only was he stealing her heart, but he’d stolen her peace of mind, as well.
She sighed. She wasn’t being fair and she knew it. He’d done far more than anyone could have asked. It was just that she wanted the impossible—she wanted him to love her, to love her and to love Garrett Park.
Harriet looked at herself in the mirror over her dressing table, grimacing at the circles beneath her eyes. She rubbed her cheeks, trying to find some color. Heavens, she was as pale as a ghost. Sinking onto the cushioned seat, she began combing her hair.
It was lamentably thick and sadly brown. When she’d been a child, she’d spent an entire summer without her hat in an effort to get some sort of color to it. She’d thought perhaps a startling reddish hint might appear, but instead, all she’d done was turn her skin a lightly toasted color that did little to alleviate the overall brownish cast of her appearance, but had added several unfortunate freckles to the bridge of her nose.
“Brown, brown, brown,” she muttered with dissatisfaction at her reflection in the mirror, pulling the brush through an especially troublesome knot. Perhaps, if she’d had flaxen hair and apple cheeks and not boring brown hair and a thin face, then Chase might have fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with her. Like a prince in a fairy tale.
That would have been divine. Harriet imagined what it would be like to have a man like Chase St. John all to herself. Her heart ached at the thought.
Someone pounded on her door. “Harri!” Stephen’s voice, raised in fear.
Heavens! What was wrong? Harriet hurried to open the door.
Stephen leaned on his crutches, still dressed in his nightclothes. His eyes were wild, his face white. “The barn is on fire! The wool—” His voice broke.
Dear God, no! Harriet ran to the window and yanked back the curtains. A bright reddish glow lit the predawn blackness.
Harriet’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t believe it. How could this have—“Chase!” She whirled to face Stephen. “Have you seen him?”
Stephen blinked. “No. No, I haven’t. Do you think he set the—”
“No, you fool! He was in the barn. By himself. If he fell or—” Harriet brushed past Stephen and ran down the hall to Chase’s room. She knocked once, then yanked the door open. It was painfully empty, the bed unslept in.
“Dear God, no,” Harriet said. She would never remember running down the stairs through the foyer, or out the front door. One moment, she was looking at Chase’s unmussed bed, and the next, she was standing in the yard, looking up at the barn as it bellowed huge flames. The entire structure cracked and hissed as if furious at the black sky that stretched above it.
Derrick ran up beside her, followed by Sophia and Ophelia. Ophelia had a thick robe over her nightgown, but Sophia had only a blanket over her gown-clad shoulders.
Harriet looked around wildly, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs. “Chase is inside and we have to save him. I need to—”
“No,” Derrick said firmly. “You can’t. Just look at it.”
“But Chase—”
Sophia put her arm about Harriet. “I’m certain he’s not in there. I daresay he’s in the house right now. Maybe he went to the kitchen to get a drink or—”
“I checked his room! His bed hadn’t been slept in! Please, we have to—”
“Maybe he’s in the library,” Ophelia said desperately, though her voice warbled and a tear leaked down one cheek.
“No!” Harriet cried, her heart pounding painfully. Please God, she had to find him. She had to.
“Look!” Sophia said, tightening her hold on Harriet. “Someone is coming! Maybe they can help.”
They all turned and there, riding down the driveway was Mr. Gower. He pulled up at the sight of the fire. Then he turned and looked at them, meeting Harriet’s gaze for a long moment.
She could feel his superior smirk all the way from here.
“I daresay he saw the flames from his house,” Ophelia said. “It’s only over the ridge.”
“He can help find St. John,” Derrick said, turning as if to go to the banker. But before Derrick could take two steps, the banker turned and left, walking his horse calmly back down the lane.
Derrick halted, his hands in fists. “That cowardly bastard!”
Harriet broke from Sophia’s side and caught Derrick’s arm. “We’ll have to do this ourselves. Come, Derrick. Sophia, give me your blanket.”
Sophia unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders. “What are you going to—”
Harriet whisked the blanket into her arms and ran to the trough by the railing. She tossed the blanket into the cold water and pushed it all the way under. Then she picked it up and wrapped it around her, shivering as the cold water soaked her night rail to the skin.
Derrick grabbed her arm, Stephen and Mother followed behind him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Stephen demanded, almost shouting over the crackle of the fire.
“I have to help. He was stacking the wool, he’d have to be near the door and—”
“Harriet, we can’t let you do anything foolhardy,” Mother said, coughing as a thick billow of smoke covered them.
Derrick nodded grimly. “We’ll stop you if we have to.”
“Oh for the love oh—When have I ever been foolhardy? Look at the barn! The fire’s mainly on one side. If we go now, we can find him. If we wait, the smoke will get too thick.”
Derrick hesitated, then glanced inquiringly at Stephen. “She’s right. We could possibly—”
“No. It’s madness. I can’t allow—”
“It isn’t your choice.” Harriet tightened the blanket about her and turned to the barn.
Mother moved to stand before her. “Dear, just listen—”
Harriet quickly stepped around her and ran.
Behind her, Derrick cursed, but then yanked off his coat and plunged it into the trough.
Harriet didn’t wait. Holding the edge of the wet blanket over her mouth, she ducked low and went though the barn door.
Smoke billowed around her, stinging her eyes and sucking the breath from her lungs. Where was he? She crouched in the doorway, trying to get her bearings and remember where he was when she’d left him.
The smoke thickened, the fire cracked and popped overhead, a live creature, devouring the ancient wood as if starved. It roared with the throaty growl of a hungry bear.
Harriet could barely hear herself think. Chase was in here, she knew it. She could feel it as surely as she could feel the dirt beneath her hands, feel the smoke that tortured her eyes.
Suddenly, she found him, sprawled on the floor. Her fingers closing over his hair, his face. She shook him, trying to wake him. “Chase!” she choked, catching her breath. “Get up!�
��
Derrick materialized out of the smoke, his wet coat tied over his face. He bent over Chase.
After a second, he glanced up and yelled over the roar of the fire. “We must get him out of here. Once the fire gets to the wool—”
“Take his shoulders, I’ll get his feet.”
Derrick did as she told him and they struggled to lift St. John. It took every ounce of strength Harriet possessed, but she managed. Together, she and Derrick staggered out of the barn, choking and wheezing as they went. They half dragged, half carried their burden to the yard and then fell into a heap, gasping for breath in the cool air.
Mother was there in an instant. She looked at Harriet and then Derrick. “If you two ever, ever do something that foolhardy again, I’ll—”
“Mother,” Harriet gasped. “Chase is injured. His head—” She couldn’t go on.
Mother’s expression softened. “I’ll see to him.” She glanced at Ophelia, who hovered nearby. “Bring your brother and sister some water.” She turned and began to examine Chase.
Ophelia brought a bucket and dipper. Harriet sipped the water and rubbed her chest where it burned, trying hard not to think. If she thought about Chase, alone in the barn, injured and bleeding while flames crackled about him, she would cry. Cry and cry until she could cry no more. She closed her eyes and said a fervent prayer. He was so special. So dear. She loved him so much that—She opened her eyes. She loved him.
Mother rocked back on her heels, her face grave. “I can’t believe it.”
Harriet’s heart dropped. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Her voice cracked.
“No. He’s breathing. And he’s not bleeding badly at all. It’s this.” She pulled back his shirtsleeves. “He was tied, Harriet. Both his hands and feet.” She met Harriet’s gaze with a frightened look. “Harriet, someone tried to kill him.”
Chapter 26
The St. Johns hate as hard as they love. ’Tis the way o’ them and I don’t see them a-changin’.
Little Bob, the coachman, to Miss Lucy, Lady Birlington’s maid, while meeting for a tryst
Doctor Blackthorne shook his head. “It’s a sad business this.”
Harriet, who had been hovering beside the couch, stepped forward quickly. “What? Is he well? Do you need some water? Or should I—”
“Harriet,” Mother said, taking her daughter by the arm and leading her to a chair. “Come and sit here and let the doctor do his job.”
Harriet subsided into the chair, her hands clasped before her. She said a quick prayer, though she kept her gaze fastened on Chase. He looked so pale, lying there on the couch, his clothes and face smeared with soot, his hair matted with blood. Dr. Blackthorne had said no stitches were needed, but Harriet wasn’t sure she believed him. All she knew was that if Chase St. John would live, she’d never want for anything again.
The door opened and Sophia came in. “Mother! A coach just arrived!”
“A coach?” Mother went to the window. “Who could that be?”
Doctor Blackthorne reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle. He uncapped it and waved it beneath Chase’s nose. Almost immediately, Chase coughed and sputtered.
He waved his hand weakly, batting it away. “For the love of Hera, get that out of my face!”
Harriet didn’t think she’d ever heard a sweeter sentence. She leaned forward and grasped his hand, holding it between both of hers. “Thank God you are well!”
Chase looked at Harriet, then looked past her to the doctor, and then past the doctor at the rest of the Wards, who were all lined up on the other side of the room, watching him with anxious expressions. His gaze wandered back to Harriet, and he took in the fact that she was wearing a bedraggled night rail, long black soot stains on the knees and streaking her face.
He tightened his grip on her hand. “Good God, what happened to you?”
She only managed a tremulous smile as a large tear made a path down her cheek, cutting a streak through the dirt and soot. “There was a fire—and the barn—you were—”
To Chase’s utter amazement, she burst into tears. Not tender tears he’d previously seen, but heavy sobs that tore at his heart. Wordlessly, he reached out and pulled her down to the settee, holding her tight.
Her cries muffled against his shirt, her tears making a warm wet splotch, Chase silently held her, waiting for her tears to subside.
From across the room, his gaze met Mrs. Ward’s. She, the doctor, Derrick, Stephen, Sophia, and Ophelia all stood, watching. He reddened, but he refused to relinquish his hold on Harriet. “She’s crying,” he said defensively.
“So we see,” Mrs. Ward said, a faint smile on her lips.
“And hear,” Sophia added helpfully. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and there was a trembling smile on her lips.
Chase clamped his mouth closed. He was not going to get into a discussion about this. All he wanted was for Harriet to stop crying. He rested his chin on her head and rubbed her back. “Easy,” he whispered. “Easy, love. I’m fine. Really I am.”
She clutched his shirt and sobbed harder.
The door opened and the gaunt housekeeper stood in the doorway. “That fellow Gower has come, and with him are those two men from the bank.”
Stephen squared his shoulders. “Bring them in, Jane. We’d best get it over with. The wool is lost and there’s nothing more to be done.”
Ophelia sighed and dropped into the window seat, her skirts billowing out about her. “All that work—for nothing.” Her voice echoed hollowly.
“Nonsense,” Sophia said with false cheer. “We had a lovely time and I’m certain I’ll never laugh as hard as I did when I saw Mr. St. John’s sheep.”
Harriet hiccupped a sob, then pulled away from Chase. “G—give me a moment to compose myself. I’ll talk to Gower—”
“No, you won’t,” Mother said briskly. “You aren’t in any shape to talk to anyone. Just lie there on the settee with Mr. St. John and let me deal with this mess.”
“Lie on the settee with Mr. St. John?” Harriet blinked down at him.
Chase grinned and pulled her back to his side. “Do as your mother says.”
Mother beamed.
“I’ll bring the gentlemen in,” Jane said with a fierce glower, “but I will not bring them anything to eat.”
Doctor Blackthorne replaced the smelling salts in his bag. “I can see that I’m not needed here. I’ll be off.” He glanced at Mrs. Ward. “I’ll stop back by this evening to make certain everyone is well.”
Mrs. Ward nodded. “Thank you so much. I will walk you out, but—”
He held up his hand. “Don’t even think of it.” He made his way to the door, stopping briefly by the settee. “You’re going to have the devil of a headache.”
Chase shrugged. “I’ll live with it.”
The doctor eyed Harriet, who was snuggled neatly beside Chase. “I daresay you will.” With a wink, he left the room.
A moment later, Jane returned, the bankers in tow.
Stephen came forward. “Gentlemen.”
Gower nodded his head. “Stephen. Mr. Silverstone, Mr. Picknard, and I were just looking at the barn. It’s still smoldering, but it seems a complete loss.”
“It is,” Stephen said shortly.
Gower smirked. “I thought it would be best to bring them out here myself so that they could see the damage firsthand.”
Chase had never wanted to box someone’s ears so badly in his life.
Stephen lifted his chin. “We might as well make this easier on all of us. Mr. Silverstone, Mr. Picknard, we cannot pay the note.”
Gower brightened. “There! I told you that—”
“Mr. Gower!” Mr. Silverstone frowned at his assistant. “One does not gloat over others’ misfortunes. This is a sad business. These people have worked hard.”
Chase looked at the Wards’ faces, at the hopelessness in their expressions. He caught Harriet’s gaze and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Don’t despair.”
She smiled then, and though it was a tremulous smile, he knew what it cost her. “I am not despairing. We will come about, one way or another. Even without Garrett Park, we are still a family.”
His heart warmed. He was graced by the beauty of the woman he held in his arms. “You are the most generous woman I have ever met.”
She placed her free hand on his face, her fingers gentle. “I love you, Chase St. John. And nothing is more important than that.”
He couldn’t speak. Not one word. His heart bounded with joy, his soul burst into song, but not a single word came forth. And he knew in that moment that he had indeed finally found the strength he needed to face whatever the world had to offer.
He captured Harriet’s free hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “Harriet Ward, I love you.”
Tears filled her eyes once again, but they were held in check by the huge smile that graced her lips.
“That’s enough of that!” Gower said, his face red. “We are here on official bank business. I have no wish to see—”
“Goodness!” Ophelia said from where she sat perched on the window seat. “You won’t believe this!”
“What?” Sophia asked. “What’s happened?”
“There’s a carriage and eight in the drive! Two of them! And they both have crests on the doors and footmen and—”
Jane stood in the door. “If you are going to announce the guests, then I’ll go back upstairs and change the linens.”
“Who is it?” Stephen asked, looking completely confused.
Mr. Silverstone cleared his throat. “Perhaps Mr. Picknard, Mr. Gower, and I should leave so that—”
“No,” Chase said, pushing himself upright. He pulled Harriet with him and settled her on the settee beside him. “Sorry, sweet, but we’ve guests.”
Harriet snuggled in beside Chase, her heart humming. But before she could speak, a shadow darkened the doorway.
A man walked into the room. He was tall—only slightly more than Chase—but he exuded a raw power that made even Mr. Silverstone stand more at attention. He was soberly dressed, yet in the height of fashion, a blue sapphire nestled in the center of his cravat.
How to Treat a Lady Page 28
