Page 98 of The Duchess Trap
She knelt beside the smallest girl, smoothing her tangled hair. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. All of you are safe.”
The child nodded, clutching her hand. Catherine’s vision swam, but she smiled anyway.
Behind her, Duncan spoke with the constable, issuing orders, his voice steady again. Yet every few seconds, she felt his eyes on her, a silent tether between them. He stared at her for a long moment, something fierce and helpless in his eyes, before turning away and continuing the conversation.
Catherine stayed where she was, surrounded by the children, her arm throbbing, her heart caught between gratitude and grief.
All they had…all the gifts she and Duncan had given them for Christmas…all the new coats and hats, boots and gloves were gone. The celebration that had lasted for ages just a few days before was long forgotten as the entire orphanage vanished in a flash of flame and smoke.
She had saved them.
But something inside her whispered that the fire had only just begun.
CHAPTER 27
“See to the remaining embers,” he said. “I want every spark dead before dawn.”
The constable nodded sharply, barking orders to his men. Buckets clattered, voices rose and fell. The air still shimmered with heat, thick with the smell of smoke and wet ash.
Duncan’s own lungs burned from it. His throat ached, raw from shouting. But it was not the fire that set his blood alight. It was the circumstances. Duncan understood that accidents happened. Fires were not exactly unheard of, especially in this part of town. But Brightwater had stood for years. There had been times when the building had been in desperate need of repair, but they had remedied that—he and Catherine. They had restored this place so that it looked grand and was a place these children could be proud to call their home.
And someone took that security away from them.
Try as he might, Duncan could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. There was no reason the orphanage should have caught fire, and yet…
“Your Grace?” The constable’s voice cut through the noise. “What shall we do with them till the building’s seen to?”
Duncan dragged his gaze away from her. “Move them to higher ground for now. Keep them warm.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He turned away before he could say more. The chaos around him blurred—men shouting, horses stamping, the hiss of steam where water met flame—all of it dulled beside the sound of Catherine’s voice as she murmured comfort.
He had almost lost her tonight. The thought hit him with sudden force. He could still see her in the doorway, coughing, eyes red from smoke, holding the child as though her own life meant nothing beside his. That image would not leave him. Nor would the panic that had seized him when he saw her stumble—the wild, animal terror that she might fall and vanish beneath the collapse.
He had not known he could feel that. Not since he was a boy. Not since he lost his mother and father.
He crossed the courtyard toward her before he could stop himself. The children parted instinctively when he approached,all except one small girl who clung stubbornly to Catherine’s arm.
“Duncan,” Catherine said softly when she saw him, her voice hoarse from smoke. “They’re frightened.”
He looked down at her. “So are you.”
Her lips curved faintly, exhausted but defiant. “Not for myself.”
He wanted to argue. To tell her she’d done enough, that she was trembling so hard she could barely sit upright. But he knew that tone, the quiet steel that no command could break. So, he nodded once and turned to the nearest footman.
“Have the carriages made ready,” he ordered. “All of them. And send word to my steward—Belgrave House will be opened within the hour. It will house the children and staff till Brightwater is repaired.”
The man blinked. “Belgrave House, Your Grace? That’s?—”
“Do it,” Duncan said, his tone leaving no room for question. “And fetch blankets, food, anything that can be spared.”
The footman ran off. Duncan looked back at Catherine. She was listening, though she pretended not to. Her hand smoothed the hair of a little boy asleep in her lap, but her eyes flicked to him, soft with something like gratitude.
“You don’t have to—” she began.
He cut her off gently. “I do.”
