Wolfgang’s words rasped against his abraded throat as he surveyed the blackened bed. He stole a glance at Zel’s tight profile. His wife’s courage had saved his life. And he’d been right to stay away from her. If she’d been sleeping with him, they both would have died. “I put out the candles before retiring.” “Then what—” Zel interrupted herself. “Wolfgang, I heard a noise in the hall before I smelled smoke. Do you suppose—” He took her by the shoulders, turning her from the charred and sodden mess. “No, I don’t suppose.” “But, Wolf, you’ve been attacked before.” “My dear, footpads and thieves don’t set housefires.” To touch her, to look so deeply into the golden flames floating in her sea-green eyes, was a mistake. The elegant evening gown draping her slender form was torn and soiled beyond repair. One side of her head remained elaborately coiffed, the other side was a tangle of wild curls. He yearned to pull her to the wet carpet beneath them and take her amid the ashes, water, and lingering smoke.
