No doubt Lucy had assumed Henrietta and Gemma could help each other to dress, Gemma surmised glumly.But now she must loiter about in their rooms, helpless, until either Lucy returned or their mother awoke.She certainly couldn’t appear in the public areas of the inn in her nightrail.
Fine, she grumbled to herself,if I’m stuck here anyway, I might as well try to do something useful.
She knelt down by the trunks to begin putting them to rights.She folded and smoothed and rearranged and finally ended by sitting on the damned things, but she could not make them close properly.
Giving up with an exasperated huff, Gemma blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and shivered a bit.The chill of the night air still inhabited the stones surrounding the fireplace and seeped into her bare feet from the floorboards.
Her gaze fell on the brass tinderbox set out on the simple mantelpiece.How lovely it would be to have a small fire going when Lucy returned, Gemma thought.She bit her lip.She’d seen hundreds of fires lit by countless maids, though she hadn’t paid much attention to how they went about it.But she’d watched closely as Bess used the flint and char cloth to light the fire the night before, and it had only taken her a few deft motions and a puff or two of air.
The memory rose up of Hal’s gorgeous, sneering mouth saying that lighting her own fire was no doubt beyond Gemma, and she tightened her jaw.
How hard could it be?
Ten minutes later, Gemma was forced to admit that lighting a fire was quite a bit trickier than it seemed.
First she’d struggled to strike the flint with the right force to create a spark, and then it had taken her ages to realize she needed to breathe the spark to life on the char cloth before attempting to transfer it to the nest of tinder she’d laid in the coals of the hearth.Once she finally managed that, in her eagerness she blew out the spark and had to start all over again.
Helpless despair washed over her.She slumped against the hearth.She couldn’t do it.This one, simple, basic act of daily life was beyond her.
Hell and damnation, she couldn’t even pack a trunk properly, and now this?
Frustration bubbled up in Gemma’s chest, a bitter wave of emotion that clawed open the locked box of her grief, fear, and anger.A harsh, dry sob wrenched out of her.So angry her hands shook, Gemma crashed the flint against the char cloth-covered stone again, and this time…it sparked.A tiny spark, but there and alive, and Gemma gulped back a cry of relief in time to blow gently across the cloth.The spark glowed brighter and sent up a promising trickle of smoke.
Before she could overthink it, Gemma held the bright spark to the nest of tinder in the hearth and knelt close to blow gently on it some more.
“Come on,” she whispered between breaths, all her senses trained on this one, small task that had suddenly assumed a monumental importance in her life.If she could learn this new skill and persevere and actually succeed in making a fire, then maybe, just maybe, there was the smallest chance that?—
Between one breath and the next, flames burst forth, licking along the tinder and burning it black.
With a jerk, Gemma sat up and covered her mouth with one trembling hand.She’d done it!She’d actually managed it.Take that, Hal Deveril!
She wanted to whoop like a child and dance out into the hallway, calling for her mother and sister and anyone else in the vicinity to come and admire her lovely, beautiful little fire that was even now catching along the half-burnt pieces of wood and beginning to crackle cheerfully.But of course she was much too worldly and dignified for that.
Still, relief and happiness, along with hunger and lack of sleep, made her almost giddy.It was only when she moved to stand that she realized how long she’d been folded over on her knees in that awkward position.
Her legs protested, her lower back aching with a fierce twinge, and she stumbled a little too close to the fire just as a particularly large spark burst, casting a red-hot ember onto the hem of her nightgown.
In less than an instant, the fine lawn cloth was aflame.Gemma shrieked and staggered away from the fire, rustling her skirts frantically in an attempt to smother the flames as heat seared along her bare calves in a terrifying blast.
She screamed again, and her door banged against the wall as someone flung it open and rushed into her room.
“Help,” she cried desperately, shrugging out of her linen wrapper and using it to beat at the smoldering nightgown.
Footsteps thundered toward her, and in the next second, she felt the blessed shock of water drench her from the waist down.
Before she could even look up to see who’d had the presence of mind to grab the pitcher from the washbasin, a wall fell on her.
At least, that’s what it felt like.Hard, unyielding arms came around her tightly and bore her down to the floor, rolling them both back and forth while Gemma gasped for air and clutched at the broad, muscled back of the man who’d rescued her.
“Stop,” she wheezed, whacking at his shoulders so feebly her fists probably felt like the flutter of a bird’s wings to him, but all the strength seemed to have drained from her in the moment her burning nightdress sputtered out.She was emptied like a husk, the only thing tethering her to the earth the weight of his body.“You can stop.I’m all right.”
The man finally stopped moving, and Gemma opened eyes she didn’t remember closing to see…of course.Who else?Who would she least prefer to find her in such a ridiculous situation?Her bloody nemesis.
Hal.
“You’re all right,” he repeated roughly, and Gemma flushed.
“There’s no need to take that tone with me,” she said crossly.“I’m not going to burst into tears or some such nonsense.Inevercry.”
