Chapter Twenty-Four
Ramsbury and Samuel examined every horse in both stables. Mr. Harrington, the lead stable hand, explained that he had heard something outside the night before. Since he slept in the main stable where Ramsbury kept his horses and thoroughbreds, it was cause for vigilance.
“Nothing seems disturbed inside or out,” Ramsbury said as they walked the perimeter of both buildings, inspecting the dirt.
“I know,” Samuel replied. “There are footprints all over the place, but they could belong to anyone. With Zeus and Thunder racing yesterday, trainers, handlers, jockeys, and stable hands were all over this area.”
“In addition to extra stable hands, I’ll have several footmen watching tonight as well. If someone was snooping around, they might come back.”
“Good idea,” Samuel said as Greyson and Hunter approached.
Greyson spoke first, “Stanton, Lady Rutherford told us what happened, although we heard people talking about it at the Red Lion Inn. Anyone would be crazy to believe such nonsense.” He nodded to the baron. “Nice to see you, Ramsbury.”
“You, as well, Greyson,” Ramsbury said.
“Stanton, Ramsbury,” Hunter greeted them. “Have you heard anything from Kirkland or from the blackguard, Portsmouth?”
Samuel shook his head. “No. Nothing. I would’ve thought Portsmouth would want to gloat in my face.”
“How’s Lady Chesterfield taking it?” Greyson asked.
“She’s shocked and angry at her father. I wouldn’t want to be him when she catches up to him,” Samuel said.
Ramsbury said, “We should join the ladies in the drawing room. There’s nothing else we can do but wait.”
The rest of the day went by slower than slow, and Samuel thought he might lose his mind from boredom and worry. When afternoon tea concluded, Greyson, Hunter, and Lady Rutherford traveled back to the Red Lion Inn, promising to look for Kirkland and send word with any news.
Dinner was a somber affair. He noticed Clarice had very little appetite, as did he.
Right after finishing eating, Clarice made it clear she was not leaving him until they had some answers, and they retired to his room.
Anna kindly lent her a night rail, a robe, a chemise, and a day dress for the morning, as they were of similar size and height.
Samuel appreciated how understanding Ramsbury and Anna were being about their unusual situation.
He could never thank them enough for making Clarice feel welcome.
Samuel requested that a fire be lit in the room, since a chill had settled in the air or perhaps in his bones.
He occupied one of the tufted chairs facing the hearth and pulled his robe tighter around his chest. Clarice, dressed in her night clothes, had a blanket on her lap and sat in the other chair.
“Is it just me, or is it cold?” he asked.
“It’s chilly,” she replied as she adjusted her blanket. “Do you want a blanket?”
“No. As soon as the fire warms me, I’m going to bed.” He sighed, letting his head fall back against the chair. “I’m fatigued. My body aches, and my mind hurts from thinking all day. I’m worried about Kirkland. We’ve heard nothing.”
She reached between the two chairs and rested her hand on his arm. “I’m exhausted, and I did nothing today. Worrying does take a toll on you. Let’s hope we receive word from Kirkland tomorrow.”
“Yes. Let’s hope.” He took her hand off his arm and held it. “Ready for bed?”
“Yes, but my legs are so tired I don’t think I can make it that far.”
Samuel, for the first time that day, felt a brief lightness in his chest, and he smiled. “I can carry you.”
By now, she was standing. “I can make it.”
They both discarded their robes and slipped under the coverlet. He lay on his back, one arm around Clarice, holding her close. Her head and hand rested on his chest, and one of her legs covered one of his, causing his body to awaken with desire. After the day they’d had, he was shocked.
The hand on his chest moved lower down, and lower still until she cupped him and he moaned. “Clarice, you little devil.” He laughed, then gasped when she wrapped her soft hand partly around his hard manhood and slid it up and down, gently at first, then harder and faster.
“Let me give you pleasure.” She removed her hand and slithered down his body. All the air in his lungs deserted him.
“What are you doing?” he croaked.
Her warm lips against his lower abdomen curved into a smile. “Come now, Samuel, use your imagination.”
“Christ,” Samuel’s body arched when she took him into her hot mouth.
Then he forced himself to relax and enjoy Clarice’s mouth on him.
One of her hands squeezed his bollocks. “Bloody hell, Clarice, I’m going to .
. . Clarice . . .” he moaned. She didn’t stop, and he spilled his seed into her luscious mouth.
She moved up his body and kissed him deeply. Then she returned to her original position and whispered, “Go to sleep, my love.”
“But . . .”
She kissed his chest. “Sleep. You always put my needs before yours. Now I’m returning the favor. Sleep. I promise tomorrow will be a better day.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
Samuel preferred Clarice to fall asleep before him, but he could no longer keep his eyes open. The pleasure she had given him melted every muscle and tendon in his body, and sleep pulled him in.
What seemed like a moment later, Samuel yelled, “What?” hearing what he thought was someone pounding on the door.
Now that he was wide awake, he realized the sound wasn’t knocking; it was crackling and popping.
The smell of smoke hung heavy in the room.
He extricated himself from Clarice, jumped out of bed, threw on his robe, and looked at the hearth—only ash and coals remained.
“Oh, God.” Fire, the house was on fire. “Clarice, wake up. There’s a fire.”
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Did you say fire?”
“Yes. Get up!”
He handed her her robe and took her hand. “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”
Pausing at the door, Samuel felt the wood. Warm, but not hot. He opened it a crack, then wider, making sure they weren’t walking into flames. No flames that he could see, just smoke everywhere. As they headed toward the main stairs, they bumped into Ramsbury and Anna crawling on the ground.
“We need to alert the servants,” Samuel bellowed.
“Already did. The servants’ stairs were clear, they all got out.
We were coming for you. We can’t go down the main staircase,” Ramsbury yelled.
“We need to go down the servants’ staircase at the end of the east wing hall.
Let’s hope the fire hasn’t spread there by now.
Come, it’s back this way. Stay low so you can see and breathe. ”
Samuel, knowing he was wearing undergarments beneath his robe, removed it and tossed it aside. When he saw Clarice crawling before him, struggling, he yelled, “Pull the fabric up to your waist so you can move faster.”
She complied, and before long, they reached the servants’ stairs at the end of the hall. The stairs ran along the outside wall of the house, and Samuel prayed they were still clear of flames.
Nausea washed over him. Had his parents and brother tried fighting their way out of Stanton Hall only to be met with flames and smoke at every turn? Did they know they were going to die? Did they burn to death, feeling every excruciating lick of the flames?
“Samuel, Samuel,” Clarice was yelling at him. “Hurry.”
He hopped to his feet and followed her onto the servants’ stairs.
The smoke was thick and stung his eyes. He used his hands to feel for the walls, praying that Ramsbury, Anna, and Clarice were still ahead of him.
He tried to hold his breath, but when he felt his eyes bulging, he instinctively opened his mouth and inhaled a lungful of smoke-filled air, which made him cough.
Still, he continued feeling his way down the stairs.
Two flights. They were only up two flights.
The smoke cleared. He saw darkness and fell outside the door, inhaling a lungful of clear air.
Ramsbury and Anna stood, holding each other as they cried, their eyes never leaving the ghastly scene of the east wing burning.
Every available hand was throwing water where the east wing met the main house.
The outside was stone; only the inside would burn, but they had to keep the fire from spreading.
He got up with Clarice’s help. They moved next to Ramsbury and Anna. Tears ran down his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
Clarice held him tightly and whispered into his ear. “Do you think my father . . .?”
“No.” But as he said the word, he wondered. His parents and brother died in a fire. He never once thought it was set intentionally. Never suspected Portsmouth of having anything to do with it. But now, his mind screamed and wouldn’t be ignored.
“Did everyone get out?” Ramsbury yelled to the butler.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Thank God.” He turned to Samuel, “We need to water down the stables. We can’t have any flying embers igniting them, and we need to get the horses to the paddock for safety.”
“Already moving,” Samuel said as he and Ramsbury hurried off. Anna and Clarice followed close behind.
Approaching the main stable, they saw stable hands wetting down the barns, and all the horses were already in the paddocks.
Mr. Harrington, the head of the stables, approached them, escorting a boy, perhaps sixteen or seventeen.
“Baron, I found this trespasser trying to torch the stables.” He shoved the boy to his knees.
Mr. Harrington had tied his hands behind his back.
“Send for the constable.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ramsbury moved until he stood right in front of the boy. “Who hired you? And don’t lie to me, boy, because you had no reason to burn my life down.”
“N-n-no one.”
He grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced the boy to look at him. “I said, don’t lie to me. You’re going to pay for your crimes. Don’t you want the person who hired you to pay for his? I’ll say it again. Who hired you?”