Chapter 21

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The crack of splintering wood broke ahead of her, and Charlie urged her horse faster, her booted heels digging into Sir Rupert's flank. The stables burned, a menacing array of dark red and bright orange, licks of yellow, sending spirals of dark smoke unfurling into the sky. The hairs on her neck stood on end as the screams of horses mixed with children's sobs and men's shouts for more water.

People scurried back and forth as Charlie dismounted, her feet sinking into the muck made from the frantic call to put out the flames.

Throat dry, Charlie silently prayed that the fire would cease spitting and sputtering, as she remembered the way in which Greyson had spoken of his estate only moments before. The pride he had in working with his own hand, the work that he provided to the people who depended on him.

Charlie walked into the pandemonium, people flying past her, as her eyes fell upon the deafening crash of earlier. The left side of the stables had crumbled, a heap of stone and ash, mixed with flying strands of straw fluttering around faces like rain.

She had walked closer, her eyes staring in disbelief at the destruction before she was unceremoniously thrown to the side. A gruff voice rumbled in her ear, as a man's arms sheltered her body on either side.

"Oy, lad! Be careful!"

A piece of debris barely missed her head as it had shot from the inferno. Her hat was lost in the scuffle as, astounded, she turned her head to meet kind, blue eyes.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Best watch where yer going, lad." And then the older man trundled off, his back disappearing into the fray.

She was amazed as a thud shook the ground, another part of the stables shaking into shards as the heat licked at its boards, casting them into nothing more than blackened timber. Decades of work within the structure - all the hands that had nailed boards into place, their arms bulging as they settled each slat into place. Years of work turned into soot in mere minutes.

It would take years to rebuild she knew. Years in which the tenants living and thriving within the earl's sphere would suffer, not relying on the income it would bring.

It made Charlie angry. The waste that was left in its place. Charlie vowed it wouldn't end that way for the earl. She owed him, and she would do what she could.

Determined, Charlie cast her eyes toward the long line that hard formed a ways off, abled bodies - women and children and men - hauling bucket after bucket, passing the tub filled with water from person to person until it could be dashed onto the flames. She watched as remnants of water cascaded from the buckets, the frantic pitching back and forth of the handlers making it swish angrily over the wooden rims.

Charlie found herself running, falling into line as her boots sunk into the cesspit that had become of the earl's land. A bucket was shoved into her awaiting hands, a splinter slivering into her skin, unnoticed, as it was delivered to the man beside her. Her arms strained under each weight, her mind chanting that it couldn't happen. It wouldn't.

Tears tumbled down her face, and she swiped at them in frustration, the dust and smoke blowing into her eyes.

A horse whinnied, screaming in fear, as the strains of fire licked into the stalls, taunting its inhabitants with its heat. All sides of the stables were victims to the flame, men's bodies flickering in and out as they saved horses, some running out with equipment, others running next to another who coughed, their frames wracking with each one.

Charlie didn't know how long she had worked, how long since she had quenched her own thirst, before she fell back, wiping sweat from her brow with her now stained shirt. How much longer would she last? She wondered, her hands falling onto her knees, the debilitating smoke making her chest seize.

"My son! Someone, please! Save my son!"

Charlie's gaze fell upon a woman curled on the ground, her face trained to the stables as light flickered over her pale features. She was gowned in brown, a cloth pressed over her mouth, as she watched the stables.

That was when she saw him.

The earl.

His large body escaped from the plumes of ash.

Greyson's face was streaked black - a rim around his eyes the only hint of his skin beneath the dirt and grime. He led a black stallion out, trying to calm the beast, his arms clenching. The horse rose, his hooves lighting in the air as his head kicked back, skin gleaming in the firelight.

Stable hands rushed to help the earl, taking the frightened horse's reins.

Greyson saw the woman and ran over, bending onto one knee, as the woman pointed frantically at the flames, her finger shaking as she talked to the earl. Charlie saw the earl's brow furrow, his eyes scanning the dancing flames, before he took off in the direction of the stables, a hand over his mouth.

Charlie held her breath. It was a new sensation for her, the way she held herself on her toes, her eyes trained to the last spot she had seen him. Her hands wrung, sweat slicking her skin. Charlie didn't wait long before he reappeared. Greyson carried a bundle in his arms. It shook in his arms before a knobby knee fell into view.

The woman sobbed harder, holding her arms out. Greyson gave her son to her, and she kissed him on the head, holding him to her breast.

And then Greyson was gone, twisting on his heel and heading back inside.

She had never seen a man so invested in his people, work so hard for his livelihood, and if Charlie had any doubts about seeking shelter with the earl before, they were gone now. This man was nothing like her uncle. Nothing like the pompous dandies of the ton or men like Simpton who saw nothing more than a pretty face and the turn of an ankle.

Straightening her spine, Charlie was about to make a place for herself back in the line when her body happened to fall to the small figure at the front. The lad looked no more than twelve or thirteen, his arms trembling as he wrestled with the spigot. He pushed down, his whole body lifting with the effort before he fell back to the ground, his breath gusting as his body shook.

The slow trickle of water began again. He looked ready to collapse and Charlie hurried over. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, already having cast off her coat.

"Here now, lad," Charlie said, placing her hands on his slim shoulders. "Let me."

A face soaked in soot glanced at her, his brown eyes wide spools in his face. "But Papa says I can't stop. The earl needs us -"

"Go, little one," she whispered, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she pressed against his back. "I can do this. Take care of the buckets instead."

The lad smiled at her - a wobbly thing - mumbling "thank you" as he shuffled off. Charlie watched from the corner of her eyes as he ran towards another young lad, no more than sixteen or seventeen to her eyes, as he was placed into the line, hefting another bucket as it made its rounds.

Charlie lost herself in the labor, then. Everything became a bundle of noise and color, red and orange and yellow; gray and black and purple. The screams and shouts, the crashes and oaths, were lost as she never stopped her motions.

Pull down, push up.

Pull down.

Push up.

Her muscles pulled, her lungs burning, but she kept up the steady pace, filling one bucket only for another to take its place.

It might have been minutes, perhaps hours before the need for more buckets dwindled. A cry shouted, laughter breaking into her frantic pace. She glanced up, filling one last bucket, to find the flames nothing more than dark clouds of smoke.

The stables were in shambles, the left side nothing but rubble while the middle bowed under its weakened beams. Charlie walked closer, her shirt dampened with sweat, as she took in the debris. Blankets were scattered, burned edges still smoking. Slivers of wood covered with damp straw littered the ground, crunching beneath the heels of her boot.

Pieces of tack became mines to navigate, bodies glancing upon the wreckage.

But the right side, Charlie noticed, a pleased grin spreading across her face, lay mostly untouched, the fire having been quenched before it could greedily consume it. A whole row of stalls stretched to out. One section that could still be in use.

Placing her hands on her waist, Charlie stretched her sore muscles, tensing as they pulled taut and shifted. A prickling tickled her skin and Charlie's gaze flicked up. It clashed with the smoky gaze of the earl.

The sight of him sent a shock through her body.

She had lost the earl after he had come out with the boy, risking his own safety for the woman's son despite having to look within the burnings remnants of the building. A pang went through Charlie at the thought.

The earl was a good man, she knew - someone who would take care of his people. Even now, women and men walked to him. Some patted him on the back, Greyson's great shoulders shaking from the force of their jovial relief, others whispered, shaking their heads - pity and sorrow in the downtrodden slope of their shoulders at the destruction.

What caught her attention, however, had little to do with the circumstances.

At some point, Greyson had undressed, his shirt a sodden bundle at his feet. He had hands on his hips, glancing at Charlie from beneath his eyelashes. His bare chest was streaked with soot and ash, but it did nothing more than outline his masculinity and his strength. Greyson commanded his surroundings - his bulk rippling with power, an energy, that caused a tingle to start low in her belly.

If anything, his gaze sharpened on her, roving over each dip and curve, taking into account each scratch or burn, any mark that may have resided on her person from the fire.

Her nipples tightened at the intense scrutiny. Her legs pressed together trying to stifle the ache his perusal caused between them. Her lungs burned from something altogether different - a breathless feeling that made her limbs feel weightless, her knees weak.

Charlie had the sudden urge to run to him. Not only to offer comfort, but to take it.

If she threw her arms around his neck, buried her face within the breadth of his chest, how would he react? If she licked the spot where his neck met his shoulder would he growl low in his throat, his arms sweeping around her?

Her eyes took him in, an unexpected fluttering in her breast. She admired the rolls of muscle on display, the dips at his hips that she wished to grasp, the trail of thick brown hair that trailed into the edges of his breeches.

His chest heaved, his eyes becoming a stormy spark as he started for her. Charlie held her breath, as he made long strides, purposeful.

Until a cough sounded behind Charlie and she jumped guiltily, her hand coming to her hair. A pair of familiar blue eyes met hers.

"Who ye be, child?"

Charlie found the same older gentleman who had saved her earlier from injury beside her. He eyed her, his gaze inquisitive.

"I -" Charlie cleared her throat, remembering her role. "I'm Charlie, Sir. The earl hired me on as a stable hand."

Charlie cast another glance in the direction she had last seen the earl.

He was gone.

Ignoring the sense of loss that went through her, Charlie returned her eyes to the suspicious ones before her.

"He did, did he? I thought his lordship had business in London?"

"He di-" Charlie broke off, almost having admitted that he had, in fact, attended her ball. Damnation, she thought. At the rate she was going, Charlie might as well have just given up her ruse all together.

"Ah, well," Charlie began again, "the earl happened upon me -" 

Charlie hesitated, wondering how much to tell the man of her circumstances.

He waited, the shuffling of bodies going unnoticed. His hair was dark with smoke, but he had patient, blue eyes. He was short of stature, coming no more than an inch or two above Charlie's own five foot four height. He made up for that, however, in pure state of purpose - an air of command settling across his broad shoulders. Charlie forced herself not to shift at the intimate glance.

"This is our new stable hand. Charlie." A heavy hand landed on Charlie's shoulder and she jerked, her eyes jumping behind her where none other than the earl stood. To her dismay, Greyson had redressed, his shirt tucked haphazardly into his trousers. She couldn't stop her eyes from scanning his body briefly before her attention was snagged on the feel of his hand on her - the warmth penetrating the thin confines of her shirt.

The earl studied her silently, and a prickling of danger awoke on Charlie's skin. Whether from without or within, Charlie couldn't be certain. Their eyes met, and Charlie felt her breath leave her body.

He desires Charlie, she reminded herself. Not Lady Charlotte.

And yet...it was as if...

"He'll be with us for a while -"

The earl's voice scattered her thoughts, his gaze penetrating on her as his voice lowered. For a moment, Charlie could have sworn he was looking at her lips.

"- and I'll be counting on you to see to the lad's upkeep." At this, Greyson's somber gaze fell upon the man before him. It was hard, his jaw clenched, and Charlie had the feeling that it was a warning. As if the earl was concerned for her welfare.

Which didn't make bloody sense.

Why the devil would the earl care so much for a stable hand he had just met? One who had offered nothing but trouble so far, delaying his journey, and injuring his person?

Charlie winced at the bruising which had turned a mottled shade of green. 

As much as she tried, Charlie couldn't shake off the guilt. Because of her actions at the inn's stables, Greyson now had another mouth to feed  when he had the rebuilding of his stables, his own tenants and staff to see to.

For that matter, Charlie once more wondered why the earl had even forced the issue of her accepting a situation with him.

It was enough to have Charlie determined to relieve the earl as soon as possible.

She couldn't stay here.

Her uncle a threat or not.

Greyson's hand left Charlie's shoulder and she shivered, a gust of cold wind pricking at her previously warmed skin.

"Have the men head home," Greyson said then, breaking into the tense silence. "They've done enough for today."

Charlie watched as the earl walked away, his brow furrowed as if he were in deep thought. The man cleared his throat, and her gaze shifted to him. He offered his hand. "Ye can call me Williams then, Lad, seein' as we'll be working in close quarters."

Charlie's eyebrow went up. "Will we?"

"Aye. I'm the earl's stable master."

Charlie cursed as the man turned, no doubt believing she would follow. 

The stable master!

Out of all the men to work for the earl, she had to bump into the one who would be in charge of her duties. As Charlie glanced around her, noticing the damage, the overreaching smell of smoke squeezing her throat, it appeared she would have little opportunity to plan her escape.

If Charlie had been determined to remain unseen within the earl's stables, it seemed she had done a fine damned job of it.

Hell, she thought sullenly, Williams had most likely caught her ogling his lord!

What he must think of her!

Charlie tried to ignore the knots in her stomach, groaning as Williams turned back to her with a, "Hurry on, lad. If ye be wantin' to eat."

With a last look in the direction the earl had gone, Charlie wondered how the devil she got herself in these situations.

And if, perhaps, she should be more concerned with predicting the actions of a thoroughly unpredictable earl.


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**Author's Note: An update! Hooray! Sorry it's been a few days. I noticed some pacing issues so I've been trying to pick up the story line a bit. Let me know what you all think!

Also, don't forget to vote and comment! It gives me that extra kick I need to update quicker :)  Thanks for sticking with me, all!**

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