The Water Nymph: The Arboretti Family Saga - Book Two by Michele Jaffe

Author:Michele Jaffe [Jaffe, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Romance, Historical, Romantic Suspense, Historical Romance, Mystery & Suspense, Suspense, FICTION/Romance/General
ISBN: 1416598715
Amazon: B00HQ8BLT8
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2014-01-07T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The hangings of the bed were a wall of fire, and flames crept along the edges of the coverlet toward Crispin and Sophie at its center. Crispin sat bolt upright, rolling off Sophie and pushing away the smoldering coverlet beneath them simultaneously. The black smoke stung his eyes, his throat, as he turned from side to side, seeking a way out of the scorching inferno. The fire and smoke blocked the rest of the chamber from his view, and he did not know if it, too, was alight, but it had to be their destination, because their only hope was to get off the raft of fast-moving flames that drew ever closer. He saw a small gap in the flames to his left and was pulling Sophie toward it when one of the beams from the canopy of the bed came crashing down in front of them, flaming, blocking their way, and setting fire to the sheets. The only way out now was through the fire. Crispin, coughing, dragged an only slightly smoldering blanket over his shoulders, covered Sophie with the rest of it, gathered her into his arms, and pushed backward through the flames.

His skin screamed in protest as it passed through the sheet of fire. He felt like he was being boiled, scorched alive, like he was being peeled, jabbed by a thousand hot pokers, and then, abruptly, it was all over. They were through the wall of flames.

The rest of the room was mercifully untouched, but as he stood looking at the bed, another piece of the canopy broke off with an awful noise and slid to the ground near where they were standing, sending out sparks and streams of flame in two directions. Crispin was too furious, too filled with wrath at whoever had done this, to notice that Sophie was not moving at all, that she was staring transfixed at the flames, a haunted, glazed expression in her eyes. She neither clung to him nor looked at him but lay, tense and terrified, in his arms.

Even if he had noticed, there would not have been any time to think about the strangeness of her behavior. He had to summon the household to help him put out the fire before the entirety of Sandal Hall was a pile of ash. But first he had to conceal Sophie.

The privy, just through the library, was the best place to hide her, he concluded—no one would have cause to enter it—and he hauled her there, depositing her gently in the middle of the room.

“Stay here, make no noise,” he commanded.

She did not nod, gave no indication of having heard him, but just stared into space, standing where he left her as he quickly shut the door behind him.

In the hours that followed, the entire household, the entire neighborhood, went to work dousing the blaze. Even the old beggar woman who lounged on the Strand came to help, looking furtively

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