Jane: A Jane Eyre Retelling Read online

  Mr. Thorneton and his staff either thought I was unaware or stupid…or didn’t care if I was suspicious of the local actions. But, having Mr. Thorneton return so quickly was nothing if not a red flag.

  I thought to go for a walk, making my way down to the lake and seeing what I could note from the path. But, I feared Mr. Thorneton would call for me and I’d be absent.

  Dinner came and there was no call for us to join him. Of course Adelia was disappointed. But, since Mrs. Fairfax was even more on edge than usual when Mr. Thorneton was in residence, Adelia read the signs and stayed as quiet as she was able.

  It surprised me for a girl as self-involved as she, that her ability to read adults was nearly flawless. That accompanied with her ability to completely ignore facts she didn’t like, made me wonder about her life before Tower House.

  The night wore on and I doubted things would fall back into their typical rhythm quickly. Adelia was too anxious for attention and Mrs. Fairfax was too quiet.

  Even Frank seemed on alert, which was unquestionably out of the ordinary.

  It was the first time I’d ever wished for the woman to talk more.

  After dinner, I was following my routine of sitting in my window, set to enjoy the evening, book in hand. It was what I did. Nothing out of the ordinary. Totally defendable…

  So, maybe—just maybe—I was keeping an eye on Mr. Thorneton’s French doors to the garden. It wasn’t as if I’d changed my routine to do so. The book was good enough that it managed to hold my attention, a gothic Victorian historical with a heroine smart enough to outmaneuver the hero and still win his heart.

  I glanced up occasionally, pulling myself out of one imaginary world into a world I couldn’t keep my imagination out of.

  By the lake, the cottage was quiet. No lights—no screams.

  Eventually, I settled into bed, the night quiet with only the rustle of the last leaves rustling outside my window. The autumn sounds shushed my mind and helped me drift to sleep, comfortable in the fact that if something was going on, Mr. Thorneton was obviously a man who could take care of it.

  Later, I felt myself jolt and wondered what could be going on to repeat the night before. Was I dreaming—too aware now of my surroundings to relax?

  But, not wanting to miss a chance to solve the mystery that was playing out around me, I rushed to my window. My gaze quickly darted down to the little house, but all was quiet.

  I sat, disappointed to have woken for nothing. To not see an answer shining up at me from the shore. And still, I waited, wondering what was going on—questioning my own sanity and wondering if all those years of being on guard had caught up with me as the worst type of paranoia.

  I rested my head against the built-in bookshelf beside me, closing my eyes and trying to relax. There was no reason to crawl back into bed until my heart rate slowed and my mind followed.

  I fought the urge to glance down at Mr. Thorneton’s rooms. It was far past time he was in bed and I knew he’d not be thinking of me. I had wondered today if he’d call me into his realm after Frank and Mrs. Fairfax were dismissed.

  Whatever had happened, they all seemed convinced that it was nothing more than kids. I guess the fact that he hadn’t felt the need to do damage control with me had to count for something.

  I was just feeling myself nod off when the acrid smell of smoke tickled my nose.

  At first, I assumed it was my imagination. I told myself to stop creating these stories and go to bed. Perhaps it was time to take a break from some of my choice reading and shift back to histories or philosophy.

  Forcing my eyes open again, I took a deep breath, assuming I was imagining the smell. But, I realized that—yes. It was real.

  I sat up, glancing around and—always expecting the worst—I expected to see a fire right there in my room.

  But, as I stood, out of the corner of my eye, the glass of the window had a dull reflection of light on it. I turned, glancing out into the darkness that curtained the cottage. Nothing showed down there, no cause for alarm at all. Below, across the courtyard, Mr. Thorneton was still up, his lights still on behind his curtain sheers.

  I took another sniff and assumed that perhaps he or Frank had stepped outside for a smoke. There was nothing wrong with that. It was just a surprise as I’d never smelled Mr. Thorneton’s cigars from across the courtyard.

  Finally figuring I should crawl back into bed and put aside all the crazy ideas I’d been building over the last few days, I turned again to go—only to notice that the lights giving a dim glow on the bookshelf flickered.

  I turned back, looking down at his room more closely and saw that what I’d at first had assumed to be lamplight flickering was in fact a live flame.

  My brain at first couldn’t catch up with my eyes. Why in the world would there be a live flame in Mr. Thorneton’s room? But, as I stood there watching the light grow brighter, I knew without a doubt that the budding light was a danger to the man I’d thought was invincible.

  There were no thoughts to my next actions—only instinct and fear.

  Chapter 17

  Rushing from the room, I hurried past Sophie and Adelia’s door, noting that the light in their set of rooms was still off. I’d come back if the fire was a threat to more than Mr. Thorneton’s apartments.

  I hurried down the stairs, sliding at the bottom on the polished floors. Pushing through the heavy doors that lead to his office and then on to his rooms, I coughed as the smoke seeping under his door thickened as I neared.

  It didn’t dawn on me that Mr. Thorneton might not have even been in the room. He could have left, gone back to wherever it was he’d rushed here from. Perhaps he’d left a cigar smoldering. I could only imagine a breeze had caught a curtain and the thing had caught up.

  But, I didn’t hesitate. I acted as though lives were at stake before finding out if that were even so.

  Grabbing the door handle and thinking to douse the flame before calling for help, I was caught off guard by the heat of the metal and jerked back my hand as it burnt. The fire must have caught more rapidly than I’d anticipated.

  I thought to run for Frank, but worried that by the time we’d returned, the ceiling and second floor would have been caught up in the fire’s rage. I wrapped my nightgown around my hand and used it to shove my way into the room.

  I stumbled to a standstill as soon as the door fell open. The smoke rushed over me and it felt like everything was burning inside. I couldn’t make sense of where the fire was or how it was moving. It was as if the fire had spontaneously started in several different places. But, the center of it was the bed on the far side of the room, a huge, tall thing that was lit up as if it had torches surrounding it.

  Rushing over, I waved the smoke from my eyes, pulling the top hem of my nightgown over my nose and mouth, I pushed on, wading through the thick, growing smoke. It was like a living thing, following me and not letting me to my destination.

  I wasn’t sure until I reached the side of the raised bed that Mr. Thorneton was there. But, he lay on his back, one arm thrown just short of the flames licking up the side, unmoving.

  “Mr. Thorneton!” I tried to reach past the fire, tried to reach him, my heart battering away in my chest. “Mr. Thorneton!”

  He didn’t move, didn’t stir, and I feared I was too late already.

  I glanced around, knowing that a man like this wouldn’t live without an en suite, spotting the door on the far side of the room. I rushed through his walk-in closet probably lined with expensive, gorgeous clothes I had no time to admire, and turned on the shower, tossing the two towels closest to me in the water.

  Rushing back in, I immediately regretted not calling for Frank. How did the dim-lit fire I’d seen from my room turn into this inferno? The center of the room was so bright I squinted against it.

  It took just a moment to realize the base of the fire was the focused on the bedding, the rug beneath it already burnt and licking up at the sheet hanging over the edge.

&nb
sp; But, as I rushed forward preparing to throw both soaked towels on it, something stirred beneath the richly colored duvet.

  “Mr. Thorneton!” I started beating at the blankets where the flames were licking at him, dangerously close to setting the entire bed aflame. “Mr. Thorneton, wake up!”

  I wrapped the wet towels around my hands and pulled the blankets from the bed, taking only a moment to realize he wore nothing beneath the sheets I’d robbed him of. At any other moment, this might have stopped me, but all I could think of was getting him out of the bed where the flames were quickly eating up the sides.

  I rushed back to the bathroom and grabbed the cup on the counter. Filling it with water, I hurried back to the room, where smoke was becoming a veritable wall of darkness between the brightly lit bed and the door to escape.

  Rushing back to him, I tossed the water in his face, finally getting a reaction.

  His eyes fluttered open, dark and dilated. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been drinking. But now, as I beat out the rest of the flames on the bed, he struggled to rise, wrapping the sheet around himself as he did.

  “Jane.” His voice was sharper than I expected. “Leave them.”

  He shoved me toward the French doors to the courtyard, pushing at them when they stuck. With a sharp roar of anger, he muscled one open and shoved me out the door, into the cold courtyard. My feet froze immediately on the flagstone, the late autumn cold creeping through the soles of my feet and dousing my whole body as I’d tried to douse the fire.

  Mr. Thorneton looked back at the room he’d just rushed us out of, the smoke still slipping through the glass-framed doorway. I watched him, study first the house, then his gaze swept the courtyard before it turned to gaze down the lawn to the water, pausing on the near-bare branches barely hiding the little house.

  When he seemed content with what he saw, he finally turned back to me, his gaze settling on me in a hard, measuring way.

  “Stay here.” He turned, not even waiting for a reply to the command he expected me to follow, and stalked back into the room. A moment later, I heard the telltale sound of a fire extinguisher I wish I’d known about before. The lights dimmed… dimmed… dimmed and faded out.

  Mr. Thorneton appeared in the doorway, his gaze quickly sweeping the courtyard again before landing on me and hovering there, taking me in. He was clothed now, a black t-shirt pulled on in haste with dark jeans.

  “Sir?” I was lost for what to say. This wasn’t the normal reaction for someone who had just nearly been burnt alive.

  His gaze dropped to my chest where I could only imagine my breasts were more than aware of his attention against the thin cotton that covered them.

  He was to me in three steps, sweeping a dark, plush robe around me, his hand stilling as he held it closed. We stood there—me, swallowed by his robe, him, outfitted in all black. He was, if anything, oddly aware compared to how he’d been when I’d pulled him out of bed. I breathed in the scent of him like I had before when thinking it my only chance. Under the smoke, he still smelled like the spice I got glimpses of in passing. I realized my eyes were closed and I opened them to find him staring down at me, closer than I expected. Then before I could say a word, he swung me up into his arms, hefting me against the hard wall of his chest like I was a child, light as Adelia.

  “Jane,” he said, just above a whisper like he was surprised to find me there in his courtyard. “My little elf.”

  He strode through his room, slowing to glance toward the bed that was almost his funeral pyre. I watched as we passed, the smoldering mass of sheet and raised wood. The fire was surely contained, but more striking now as the flames were gone and the smoke cleared was that my first impression had been right.

  There were several torch marks along the floor at the corners of the bed—almost certainly not an accident.

  No. Not an accident at all.

  He set me down, settling me gentling and holding my waist a moment longer as if I might tip over. As if I was the one who may have been drugged.

  As if realizing my thoughts, his hand went to his head, a look of annoyed confusion causing me to worry about him.

  “Are you okay, sir?”

  He glanced around the room again, taking in everything he may have missed before. I could all but hear him recounting to himself the evening leading up to this. As I stood watching, he strode over to this nightstand, slightly scarred by the licks of flames that had danced across it from where the bedding brushed it. Picking up the glass that sat there, he sniffed it, his brows lowering as he examined it.

  He set the glass back down and turned, taking me in for what may have truly been the first time since I’d awaken him. His gaze swept me from my disheveled hair to my bare feet, pausing here and there—probably to examine my soot covered face.

  I could feel the ache in my hand throbbing as I hadn’t been aware of it before, the adrenaline finally seeping from my body. I glanced down at them to see small blisters raising on my palms where I’d grabbed the door handle and gotten singed before racing for the towels.

  With his hard, steady steps, he took my arm and pulled me through the far door to his office, pointing at one of the heavy, deep leather chairs across from his desk.

  I sat.

  It wasn’t a question of obedience but more that I wanted—no, needed—to know what was going on.

  Before I knew what he was doing, he’d gone back into his room, returning with a first aid kit. He went down on one knee before me. My nerves were frayed and tired and nearing hysterics, but the sight of my employer on one knee before me had a startled giggle bubbling up from some unknown part of me.

  Before I could say anything, he had smoothed a cool ointment across my palm and wrapped it in a bandage he cut to fit. He stared at the hand, so small in his own, as if it offended him. As if, by having to care for it, he had taken on some responsibility he did not care to have. I watched the crown of his head as he stared down, wondering what went through that mind of his.

  A man, always in control, now on his knees before his nanny who had saved his life.

  I could only imagine he was disgusted by the odd shift in the natural order of his world.

  He rose, tossing the ointment back in the kit, and turned to stride away, apparently done with the little care he had given me.

  I was not offended. I was, if anything, surprised at the attention he’d given me and my needs. He was not a man to mind others and so, to have been brought in so close was more than I would have expected.

  Crossing behind the table, he stood, arms crossed, head bowed—a decision obviously in the making. Then, he snatched his phone off the desk and hit a button. Whoever he called must have been told to be on hand because he answered almost immediately.

  “I need you at Tower House ASAP. Come prepared.” Mr. Thorneton waited a moment for confirmation before replying “good,” and hanging up.

  He turned, the heavy desk a barricade between us now, and studied me.

  After a moment, he spoke words that took me by surprise, “Jane, you mustn’t tell anyone what you saw tonight.”

  Of all the things he could have said, that was not what I expected.

  “But, sir, someone tried to kill you.” I couldn’t understand the way he was already pulled together and asking me to dismiss what I’d seen.

  Mr. Thorneton glanced toward the door to the destroyed bedroom, seeming to take in the extent of the damage for the first time, and ran his hands through his thick, unruly hair.

  “There’s more here than you know. More than I can or will tell you, but you must trust me.” He came around the desk and back to me. Reaching out, he gently took my unburnt hand and pulled me to my feet. We stood, huddled together in the large room, his voice just barely above a whisper as if someone might hear. It was shockingly intimate to stand with him so and my mind did a quick loop through the adrenaline again, pulling back when he continued. “Jane, Tower House is a safe place for you. I promise you this. Nothing will h
appen to you or the girl. But, you must leave this to me. No questions. No discussion with the others.”

  I stared at him, confused about why this would be. Wouldn’t it be smarter to put the house on notice?

  Someone had tried to kill him.

  Then, it struck me.

  What type of man was he that someone would attempt to kill him and his first concern was to silence the talk before it could begin?

  “Do you understand what I am telling you?” he urged.

  I wanted to say no. No, I do not understand. But instead, I did what seemed the best way to continue on here as the nanny in a well-paying job that was allowing me to live in this nice house.

  And so, I nodded.

  He stared past me, over my shoulder for a moment, as if coming to a decision. Then, his gaze met mine again, the blue of his eyes almost black, framed by lashes so dark they felt like feathers of midnight.

  “I need you to return to your room and go about tomorrow as if this didn’t happen. I will handle everything.”

  He stepped back again, obviously dismissing me.

  With nothing further for me to do, I took my dismissal and rose, making my way to the door.

  “Jane.” The sharp snap of my name stopped me just as I reached the heavy paneled doors.

  I turned back. He stepped toward me, towering over me in a way he hadn’t earlier. Where before I felt the chill of the night of a big house and the broken doors, now I felt only the heat of him.

  He took my bandaged hand in his again, turning it over and letting his thumb lightly ride across it.

  “I knew the first time I saw you, that I wouldn’t mind being in your debt.” He paused, glancing away. “You are…a trusted soul.”

  The words struck me as odd, but the man had most likely been drugged and nearly been murdered.

  So, I answered.

  “Thank you,” then nodded, because anything more would be too much. Before I could babble, I rushed out of the room, closing the office doors behind me.

  I made my way back to my room, the cool wood of the stairs reminding me of the flagstones outside, the scent of smoke clinging to my hair and the robe I was still wrapped in.