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How Emily could see anything through the smoke and darkness was beyond him. Already, he could barely make out the people in the bucket line behind them. But she had recognized him from several feet away, and she had never been one to imagine things. If she thought she’d seen something, the chances were good that she had.

They approached the tree line together. Ash floated in the air above them, and Adam’s lungs burned. He coughed, straining to identify anything beyond the row of tree trunks.

“What did you see?”

“A shadow. But it moved like a man.”

Adam’s muscles tensed. In this poor light, it would be impossible to tell the difference between Oliver, Phoebe, or the perpetrator of this fire.

“Where did you see it?” Adam asked.

“Somewhere over here between the trees.” She moved closer to the nearest tree and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Oliver! Phoebe!”

Adam stepped around her and touched the nearest tree trunk. It was warm. None of these trees were on fire yet, but the heat being generated by those that were aflame had reached them. He moved to the next one, scouring the area as far as he could see.

“Oliver! Phoebe!” Emily called out again.

A moan. So slight he barely heard it above the wind. He swiveled. Where had it come from?

“Oliver! Phoebe!” he called.

“Over here.”

The words were little more than a croak, but they were enough. Adam was beside Oliver in seconds. Leaning against a tree, his groom was barely upright. Adam slid Oliver’s arm around his shoulders and wrapped his own arm around the groom’s waist.

“Emily! I’ve found him,” Adam yelled.

His sister came running, her eyes wide. “Oliver! What happened?”

“I tried . . .” Oliver began. Even with Adam’s assistance, the groom could barely move his legs. “Tried to reach you. Couldn’t do it. Had to rest.”

That Emily had seen Oliver’s failed attempt to move out of the trees was nothing short of a miracle. But they needed another one. And they needed it now.

Adam’s grip around Oliver tightened. “Where is Miss Hadford?”

Oliver’s head lolled as he put all his energy into speaking. “Was headin’ fer the fire. Miss Hadford was behind me. Saw a man in the trees. Chased after ’im.” He took a shuddering breath. “He must ’ave hit me on the ’ead. Don’t remember anythin’ after.”

Dread swept over Adam in a tidal wave. If Phoebe had been right behind Oliver, there could be no doubt that the man who had attacked him had seen her. Had he left her for dead too, or was she with him still?

“Who was he?”

“Never . . . never seen him afore.” Oliver sagged against him.

“Emily, he needs water.” Adam had barely spoken the words before his sister was running back toward the river.

“Can you describe the man?”

“Dark jacket. Light breeches. Hair to ’is shoulders.”

Half dragging Oliver away from the trees, Adam recited his words over and over again. Dark jacket. Light breeches. Hair to his shoulders. The description could fit almost anyone. But who would hate him enough to do this? There was only one man for whom he had ever felt such animosity—and he had been in London this very morning.

The vision of Freddie Payne running down the alley in a black jacket, beige breeches, and shoulder-length hair hit him like a fist to the stomach. He gasped and then coughed on the ash-filled air. Oliver groaned. Adam tightened his grip on the groom and pressed forward. What were the chances that Payne could have reached Dunsbourne Manor before him? With a good horse, it was possible. With Payne’s tendency to do the unthinkable, it was probable.

Emily came running with one of the precious buckets. Behind her, another figure loomed, moving slower but with equal purpose.

“There are no cups,” Emily panted. “Can you manage with a bucket, Oliver?”

“I daresay.”