Francie had gone upstairs to retrieve her pistol. Her father's pistol. Along with being practical, it was one of the few things she had left from him. In the bedroom she'd been overwhelmed with all the things she couldn't save. Things that belonged to her, Phoebe, and Lydie. Things that had belonged to her mother. How was this fair? Had life not taken enough from her already?

Then she'd heard Reggie's panicked voice because she wasn't at the door. She'd put on her pelisse and cloak, and run down as quick as she could, trying not to breathe too deeply in the already smoky air. He was standing there, still stripped to the waist, like a gladiator in a story. Dirty, bruised, and furious. She knew that he worried about her, feared that he couldn't keep her safe. But then he kissed her, and it was everything gentle and safe in the world. She almost forgot they were standing in a burning building, possibly about to run into the arms of hired thugs.

Then he broke the kiss and pushed her back while he unlocked the door. He pulled out his own pistol before shoving the door open forcefully. His review of the alley deemed it safe, because he waved her out. As she ran down the steps she couldn't believe that it had only been a week before that she'd stomped up them to find Phoebe being threatened. And then she'd shot Reggie. Good God, what if she'd killed him? What if she'd never known the dear, sweet man that he was?

She heard the alarm being rung in town and cries of "Fire!" going up on the street. By the time they made it to the main thoroughfare there were dozens of people and someone was shouting to form a bucket line. She looked at the front of her home of the past ten years being engulfed in flame and could feel her whole body shaking. Reggie pulled her close. Apparently he'd thought to pull his shirt on in the alley so her nose was buried in the lawn fabric that smelled faintly of citrus. She felt the first sob run through her like a pulse. Why did she have to lose everything? Why? He held her tightly as she cried, his cheek resting on the top of her head. When she took a deep, shaky breath he spoke into her hair.

"I need to help them."

She pulled back to look at the townsfolk forming a bucket line to the well. Of course they should help. It wasn't only her home that would burn down. She nodded and wiped at her tears with the backs of her gloves. Then she joined Reggie in the line passing water to douse the shops. It was backbreaking work and they were at it for hours. By dawn she couldn't tell what was sweat, tears, or splashes from the buckets, but she was soaked and covered in soot. She and Reggie had kept her belongings close at hand, but she hardly had the strength to gather them when the bucket line broke up. He helped her gather her things and took her arm.

"Hopefully we can get a room at the Inn."

She let him tug her along, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other she was so sore and tired. The innkeep was reluctant to sell them only one room as they weren't married, but Reggie leaned across the counter in a threatening manner.

"If you think I will leave her alone after they burned her shop down you are daft. And if it's funds for a second room you are after you can try billing my brother. I wouldn't recommend it, but you can try it."

The innkeep held out a single key. "The best room in the house, m'lord. Top of the stairs and to the right. Door at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, kind sir."

Reggie took some more of the burden out of her hands and motioned toward the stairs with his chin. She climbed the stairs slowly, aching in every possible place that one could ache. Somehow he managed to get her and their meager belongings in the room.

"Rest," he said. "I'll see about having them send up a bath and something to eat."

When he slipped back out the door she looked at the tidy bed and then at her own bedraggled clothing. She sat in one of the straight-back chairs instead. It seemed she dozed off because she startled awake when he knocked before entering again. Two servants set up a bath and toted hot water up to fill it. It seemed like a dream, really. She'd never had servants or been able to stay in a private room at an inn. The only time she'd seen such luxuries was at Sabre's house in Derbyshire. Even Francie's uncle, although a gentleman, didn't have the funds for a large number of servants. Was this what Reggie's life was really like? He was overseeing the bath as though the servants were his crew to command.

When the bath was full and the servants had left he crouched down in front of her, taking her hands. "You can bathe first. Will ten minutes be enough time?"

He was talking to her as though she were addled, and she had to admit that perhaps she was. "It takes me ten minutes to wash my hair," she observed.

He chuckled and kissed her hand. "Fifteen, then? I don't fancy taking a frigid bath myself."

"I will do it in twelve. You can set your watch by me."

He dug into his satchel and pulled out a pocket watch. After winding it he said, "Very well. Twelve minutes it is."

She regretted her confident words when he stepped out of their room and she hardly felt like she had the strength to stand up, much less complete her bath in less time than usual. But he was correct, time meant the bath was cooling. She struggled to stand, disrobe, and then eased herself into the steaming water. Ouch, but she should have let him bathe first! It felt like she was being boiled alive! She scrubbed with the little bar of soap as quickly as she could, and was out of the water in record time. She wrapped herself in a bath sheet and threw her cloak over her shoulders before opening the door.

"Reggie?" she called out.

She heard his boots on the stairs almost immediately. Once he reached the hallway he hurried toward her. "Is everything all right?"

"Bath too hot," she complained simply, stepping back into the room to let him enter.

"No such thing," he said with a laugh, walking over to test the water with his finger. "It's already cooling." But then he turned back to look at her in the light from the window and frowned. "You're bright red."

"Too hot," she said again and tucked the cloak closer around herself.

He tipped her chin up. "I'm sorry. We won't do that again."

"Where should I go while you bathe?" She looked down at herself and flapped the fabric of the cloak. "I don't have anything to wear."

"Just go lie down on the bed."

"Scandalous," she said.

"Then don't watch." He pulled his shirt off first. She'd almost grown used to seeing him without his shirt on. Then he removed his boots. And after raising an eyebrow at her continued staring he unbuttoned the falls of his breeches. She felt an entirely different heat than that of the bath bloom in her cheeks and turned away. She was only so bold, it seemed. She crawled under the blankets with her back to him, curling up like a cat. She'd thought they might chat while he bathed, but she felt asleep within moments.

 

***

 

Reggie hadn't dawdled in a bath in ages. Soon it would be too chilled to enjoy, but just now it was still pleasantly warm. His eyes returned to the bed again. Francie's hip curved up just enough to make it clear there was a woman sleeping there. He wasn't sure quite what he would do after the bath. Join her in bed? Although fair exhausted from fighting the fire, he apparently wasn't too exhausted to consider what that might lead to. He knew he wanted her and now she had nearly nothing. Just an uncle in London, a cash box, and an old pistol. And a tattoo. He chuckled to himself. His feisty, unpredictable Miss Walters. She lived like a pauper but was cousin to a countess.

He should ask her to marry him. He should tell her... Well, tell her everything. How his father was a viscount. How his family might be slow to warm to her but it didn't matter because she was marrying him, not the entire Burnham lot. How he knew he couldn't live without her now.

He rose from the bath but couldn't find anything to dry himself with. He settled for one of his cleaner shirts. Francie didn't stir on the bed. Should he join her? He shouldn't go too far away or that defeated the point of protecting her. When he'd been downstairs the constable had come to chat with him about the fire. Seemed the boys from London were no longer to be found anywhere in town. It was highly suspected they'd started the fire. Out of petty revenge, Reggie assumed.

It didn't matter now. The only thing that mattered was keeping Francie safe. And, hopefully, convincing her to marry him. He didn't know how the wicked little beast had wound him round her finger so aptly, but she had. She was stuck with him now. He stopped arguing with himself about what to do and slipped under the covers with her. When he pressed up against her back she sighed in her sleep. He kissed her on her damp head and pulled her closer.

This was his heaven, he thought, with his very own sharp tongued angel.

He didn't know how long he'd slept, but it was dark outside their window and he could hear men in the tavern downstairs. Francie moved restlessly in her sleep, though he wasn't sure if she was bothered by a dream or the noise.

"Shh." He smoothed her hair away from her face and she rolled over to snuggle into his chest.

He wasn't sure precisely how many tests the Lord would make a man go through but just now seemed a particular challenge. He had only to kiss her awake. She would be willing. More than willing. He didn't know if she loved him as he did her, but he knew that she wanted him. She didn't even entirely know what that meant yet, but he would teach her. He ran a palm over her hip, her ribs, and up to the swell of her breast. She sighed but didn't move away. His thumb teased at her peak until the nipple stood hard and rigid against his touch. He wanted her with such an intensity that he was lightheaded. What would her nipple taste like against his tongue?

God, was he so craven as to seduce her before proposing marriage? He supposed that he should address his suit to her uncle, but did that figure if he'd already compromised her? What would he do if they spent their whole trip to London screwing, only to have her uncle say no?

He pushed himself from the bed before he could talk himself into continuing. She sat up, not able to see him in the dark.

"Reggie?"

"I'm fine." He knew his tone was curt, but he was a hair's breadth from making a disastrous decision with her. She was what mattered, not his desire to fuck her senseless. He pulled on his trousers and boots. "I'm going downstairs to find out what's going on. Get some rest, we leave for your uncle's in the morning."

"Reggie?" She sounded confused.

"Keep the door locked while I'm gone," he said as he slipped through it. "Don't open it for anyone you don't know."

He fled down the stairs to join the men drinking. Everything had seemed so simple, even a few days ago. Before he'd realized how much she meant to him. He could have lost her in the fire. He could lose her if her uncle didn't approve the marriage. He could lose her if she simply didn't want to marry him. Bloody hell, his chances seemed dire.

But she had an affection for him, he was certain of that. And couldn't  an uncle that hadn't seen her in years easily be swayed by the son of a viscount? He didn't know, but he needed to find out before he drove himself mad wondering about it.