The Firebrand by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online Page A

true. That very day he'd bought two cases of rare champagne, packing them away to bring out on the occasion of her wedding. It was a sentimental gesture, though he was not a sentimental man. But Christine had found a place in his heart where softness dwelled, and he cherished her for finding that part of him.
    Tightening his grip on Diana's hand, he felt his wife's mounting fear, heard it in the little gulping breaths she took. As he forged ahead, Rand bargained with fate: He would devote more time to Christine. He'd work harder to please Diana, quit flirting with women no matter how provocative he found them and find a way to make Diana more content in her role as wife and mother. If only he could save his child.
    Everything came to a standstill at a jammed intersection near Courthouse Square. Too many streets converged here, and chaos ruled. Disoriented, Rand wasn't sure of the way north.
    "Which way to Water Street?" he bellowed at a passing drayman with a lurching, overloaded cart. The man didn't look at him but pointed. "You've got three blocks to cover and it'll be hard going. There's a bad flare-up ahead." A gap opened up and he drove his cart through it.
    Rand pressed on. He noticed that Diana had fallen silent again, and he slipped his arm around her waist. "We'll get there," he promised, but a sudden explosion drowned his words.
    "Look at the sky." She pointed at the wavering, burnished horizon ahead. "The whole city is on fire."
    He led the way up a side street. In the middle of the roadway, a police paddy wagon had broken its axle. Swearing, the driver opened the wagon and fled while
    the conveyance disgorged a dozen convicts in striped shirts and trousers. Some of the prisoners swarmed into burning shops, but one of them advanced on Rand and Diana. Firelight flashed in his flat, dangerous eyes as his gaze traveled over Diana's gown and jewels.
    He raised a rocklike fist. "Give me all your valuables. Now."
    Diana gave a squeal of alarm and buried her face in Rand's shoulder.
    Rand pulled away from her. In an instant, his fear for Christine and frustration with the crowds crystallized into a pure and lethal rage. He didn't will himself to act, but the next thing he knew, he had the convict shoved up against a concrete wall, his hand clamped over the man's windpipe.
    "Get the hell away from us," Rand said, his voice harsh with a deadly purpose.
    The looter gagged, clawing at the hand on his neck. Rand let him go and backed off, sick at the thought of what he'd nearly done. The convict staggered away and disappeared into the crowd.
    "Heavens, Randolph, I've never seen you like that," Diana said.
    The breathless admiration in her voice did not please him. He took her hand again. "We're almost there. Hurry."
    "I can't see a thing through this smoke."
    Rand pulled her along as fast as he could. Buildings burned from the roof down and others from the ground up. People dropped bundles from windows and exterior staircases. A ladder crew helped women trapped in a tall building, and the rescued ladies scattered like ants when they reached the street.
    "Surely Sterling House has already been evacuated. Becky Damson would have fled to safety." Diana's eyes streamed as she spoke between panting breaths. "Yes, Becky's got a good head on her shoulders. She is probably already at the lakeshore with Christine, waiting for us to find them. That is where we must go—to the lake."
    Rand could think of no reply and she didn't seem to expect one. He prayed Diana was right about the nursemaid. Miss Damson had been recommended by the concierge of the hotel. But Rand had assumed she would be an adjunct to Diana, not a substitute.
    He ground his teeth together, for he knew if he spoke they would be words of recrimination. And what was the point of that, especially here and now?
    The wind picked up, and there was no way to stay ahead of the flames. He could hardly see his own wife in the thick curtain of smoke. For a few detached moments he