“Can be rebuilt.”
“With what?” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I have no funds for reconstruction. The girls will have to be scattered among other institutions, if any will take them. Everything I’ve worked for…”
This is what she truly fears. Not death, not injury, but the failure of her mission.
An idea formed in Hugo’s mind—audacious, practical, and entirely self-serving. But as he watched her struggle to maintain her composure while her world literally burned around her, he realized it might be the solution to both their problems.
“Lady Sybil,” he said carefully, “I believe we should discuss my debt to you.”
She looked at him with confusion. “Your Grace, surely this isn’t the time?—”
“On the contrary. I think this is exactly the time.” He stepped closer, noting how she tensed slightly but didn’t retreat. “You saved my daughter’s life. Tonight, you risked your own life to save two children who had no one else to protect them. You are precisely the kind of woman I need.”
And the kind of woman I want though that’s a complication for another day.
“I don’t understand,” she said, wariness creeping into her voice.
The flames behind her cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp intelligence in her eyes. Even covered in soot, her hair wild from smoke and heat, she was beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten.
Dangerous territory. Stick to practical matters.
“What sort of proposition?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.
Hugo opened his mouth to respond, but another crash echoed through the night as more of the roof collapsed, sending sparks dangerously close to the nearby cottages. He looked around at the displaced children, the weeping staff, and the villagers still frantically working to contain the blaze.
What am I thinking? This is hardly the time or place for such a conversation.
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice returning to its usual authoritative tone. “This is neither the time nor the place for such discussions.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she breathed. “The orphanage was my home and my work.”
“Then you’ll come to Vestiaire Castle,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “As my guest, while we discuss terms.”
Terms for what, exactly?
He wasn’t entirely sure yet, but he knew with absolute certainty that he couldn’t let someone with her capabilities simplyvanish. His daughters needed guidance, and she clearly needed resources.
A practical arrangement. Nothing more complicated than that.
But even as he tried to convince himself, Hugo couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation could change everything.
Chapter Three
“Marge, please, you mustn’t blame yourself for this.”
Sybil kneeled beside the makeshift bed where the orphanage cook lay curled on her side, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks. Around them, Hugo’s grand ballroom had been transformed into an impromptu dormitory—thirty-seven girls of various ages tucked into hastily arranged cots, their soft breathing the only sound in the cavernous space.
“It was my fault, Miss Sybil,” Marge whispered, her voice thick with guilt. “That blasted pan of oil—I only turned away for a moment to fetch the salt, and when I looked back…”
“Accidents happen,” Sybil said firmly though her own heart was breaking. “No one could have predicted?—”
“But I should have been more careful! Thirty years you’ve been building this place, and I destroyed it all in a single moment of carelessness.”
No, not carelessness. Exhaustion. We’ve all been working ourselves to the bone.
Sybil smoothed the older woman’s graying hair back from her forehead. “The girls are safe, Marge. That’s what matters. Everything else can be replaced.”
Can it, though? With what money? What resources?
