She’d taken only a few bites when the unexpected happened. The brandy must have gotten too hot, for there was a sizzling sound, followed by a whoosh-whoom fit to freeze the blood, and then the entire stove seemed to be ablaze.

“Fire!” Bliss shrieked, jumping out of her chair and casting frantically about for something with which to fight the flames. She saw nothing that would do.

There was a clatter on the rear stairway and then Jamie arrived with a blanket in hand, beating out the fire. Carra and Bliss were both choking on the smoke by then, and Bliss’s eyes felt as though they were awash in scalding water.

When Jamie was sure the fire was out, he opened the back door and one of the windows, coughing. The fresh but frigid air that poured into the room was no colder than the impatience in Jamie’s eyes when he looked at Bliss.

“The brandy?” he asked, in tones too dulcet for Bliss’s comfort.

She retreated a step, her heart in her throat, and nodded. Guilt washed over her; the blunder she’d made had been a serious one, the kind her father would have punished her for.

Jamie closed his eyes for a moment and then gave a long sigh. The smell of smoke was acrid in the air. “Thank God you weren’t hurt,” he said after an interval of silence.

Carra was already about the business of cleaning up the mess on and around the stove; if she was aware of the interchange between Jamie and Bliss, she showed no sign of it.

Bliss was still braced for an explosion. “Aren’t you going to say that that was a stupid thing to do?” she asked, staring at her husband in dread and amazement.

“Do I have to say that, Bliss?” he countered, and his voice was gentle.

Her throat tightened and she shook her head, moved in a way that made it impossible to speak.

Jamie approached her and took her hands into his for a moment, giving them a light, reassuring squeeze. “Go to bed,” he ordered quietly. “You’re exhausted.”

Bliss wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. She nodded her acquiescence and climbed the rear stairway.

She was in bed and watching the flames dancing in Jamie’s fireplace when he came into the room. It had been nearly an hour since the calamity in the kitchen.

“I’ve ruined the stew,” Bliss said forlornly.

Jamie gave a lopsided grin and shook his head. “Aye, Duchess, you’ve probably done that, for a fact.”

“The worst part is,” she confided, the covers tucked beneath her chin, “that I’m still hungry.”

Jamie’s response to that was a throaty burst of amusement, which he quickly suppressed. Humor continued to dance in his blue-topaz eyes, however. “We can’t ’ave that. I’ll go back downstairs and see what I can find.”

Bliss bolted upright, shaking her head. Being a little hungry seemed a proper penance, given the fact that she’d nearly caused a catastrophe of the most horrific porportions. “No. You need to rest—”