“In. There.” He motioned with the knife again and thrust her forward. She fumbled to find the doorknob while keeping her attention fixed upon the glinting blade.
Mouth dry, she twisted the doorknob, pressed against it with her free arm, and edged in. Mr. Jones released her to slam the door shut. She studied the empty bedroom for some sort of weapon, but he remained so close she wasn’t certain she could even reach the washstand to smash a bowl over his head or snatch the candlestick from the fireplace. She might be able to dash to the window and pound on the glass, but would she get a knife in her back for her troubles?
“Better hurry or the fire might reach here.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “You started the fire?”
“I needed to get to you. My stepmother does not welcome me in this house.”
“Because you are trying to take everything from her. And knowing Mary, she would still welcome you if you but asked.”
“That woman took enough from me!” he yelled, his face turning so red. “She took my father. Took my mother’s place…” He stopped, inhaled, and thrust the knife in her direction. “Give. Me. The. Letter.”
Clem took another step back, hands held aloft. She glanced at the door. She couldn’t make it without getting past him but was he really going to kill her over a letter? Risk a hanging for some potential profit?
She squared her shoulders. “I am not giving you the letter, Mr. Jones,” she said as calmly as she could muster. “And you are not going to hurt me. It would be more trouble than it’s worth and I am fairly certain you are not a murderer.”
“You know nothing of me, my lady.”
Pressing her dry lips together, she eyed the door once more. No matter what, she was not handing over the letter, so she did not have many choices. Continue to negotiate or escape?
“If you look over there—” she gestured to the gilded bureau in one corner of the room “—you’ll find the letter.”
As soon as he looked at the piece of furniture, she raced forward. She grabbed the doorknob, twisted it. The scent of smoky air beckoned as she opened it.
A fist connected with her face. Pain burst through her cheek. Her vision blurred. She staggered a few steps back and collapsed to the floor as he slammed the door shut and loomed over her. She spied the glint of the knife through muddled sight and the throb in her cheek.
Mr. Jones spoke to her through gritted teeth. “The letter. Now.”
∞∞∞
The moment all this dead uncle stuff started, Roman should have moved in with his aunt, dog sensitivities be damned. Now apparently her house was on fire and who knew where Aunt Mary and Clementine were. He’d never forgive himself if either of them were harmed.
Reins gripped tight, he pushed his horse hard down the road, weaving between other riders and carriages, aware of the acrid scent of smoke lingering in the air. He couldn’t see flames though and only a puff of smoke rose into the clear sky from where he was. Perhaps the fire was not as bad as suggested when he’d seen one of Aunt Mary’s friends in the park. Maybe they were safe.
Dear God, he hoped so.
When he entered the street on which his aunt’s house sat, he didn’t slow. A crowd had gathered outside the gates, and he tethered his horse and shoved his way through.
“Out of the way,” he commanded, barely able to get in through the gate.
He hastened up the front path, scanning the building as he went. The smoke appeared to come from the rear of the house, so he cut left and sprinted around the side of the house to spot Aunt Mary and the dogs, all huddled by the coach house. Several people stood around the smoldering stable and Roman approached the gardener whose skin sheened with sweat and soot.
“What happened?” Roman asked.
“Not sure. Was a quick fire to be certain but not too big. It made a ton of smoke thanks to the hay, but we managed to put it out with some help.” The gardener nodded toward the roof. “We’re lucky it did not take or else it might have spread to the house.”
For the first time since he’d heard the news whilst taking a ride through the park, he allowed himself to relax.
Roman patted the man on the back. “You have my thanks for your quick actions.”
“Lady Clementine ordered everyone about,” he said. “You should thank her.”
Glancing around, the tension worked its way back into his spine. “Where is she?”
“William said she was looking for your aunt.” The gardener nodded toward his mistress. “Thankfully Mary was out at the time and missed the worst of it. Who knows what we would have done with those dogs running around.”
Roman didn’t reply. He strode over to his aunt and whipped off his jacket to set it around her shoulders. Aunt Mary had never been the fragile sort, but she appeared it now, her gaze fixated upon the smoke still drifting from the stables.