Heart of Fire

Laurel had always been sweet and terribly shy. A man like Gray Forsythe would have frightened her, not charmed her. But perhaps there was another side of the man that Corrie had not yet seen.

The earl had arrived earlier than the rest of his family and was nearly finished with his meal by the time a servant filled a plate for her and set it down on the table. Obviously, the man was an early riser. He finished the last of his eggs, cast her a final glance and excused himself from the group. The minute he disappeared from the breakfast room, the pressure in Corrie’s chest began to ease.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, fixed her attention on Charles and Rebecca, and joined in their light conversation.

“I’m afraid I have a prior engagement this afternoon,” Rebecca said. “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll have a chance to get to know each other a bit.”

“That would be nice,” Corrie said, not at all looking forward to the event. Still, getting to know Rebecca Forsythe might lead to information about Laurel and the earl.

As the meal continued, neither Charles nor Rebecca mentioned Letty’s missing husband, Cyrus—a blessing, since Corrie knew almost nothing about him.

As soon as everyone finished, she excused herself and returned upstairs. Since Rebecca had dodged her company, Corrie intended to take advantage of the time she had to herself and walk to the village. It wasn’t that far, and she was ready to begin her investigation. She hadn’t been to Castle-on-Avon since she was a girl. No one would recognize her and she was anxious to discover what she might find out.

Changing into a day dress of apricot muslin, and grabbing her shawl, straw bonnet and reticule, Corrie set off for the village.

Six

A blustery wind blew the fringes of her shawl, but her full skirts and petticoats kept her legs warm. Corrie was enjoying her walk along the trail more than she had expected, noticing how green the fields were, how the wildflowers seemed to dance in the breeze. She was shading her eyes to get a better view of the copse of trees on the horizon when she saw him, a tall male figure mounted on a huge black horse.

Silhouetted against the sun, dressed in the sort of riding breeches and full-sleeved shirt he had worn yesterday, his hair tied back as before, the earl seemed out of time and place, as if he should have lived a hundred years ago.

The moment he spotted her walking along the path, he turned the stallion and began a leisurely gallop in her direction. The beautiful horse effortlessly climbed the rise to where she stood, and the earl drew the animal to a halt a few feet away.

“Mrs. Moss. I thought you would be spending the afternoon with Rebecca. Instead you are out for a stroll.” He smiled, but it didn’t look sincere. “You appear to be enjoying yourself.”

“Why, yes I am.” The words came out in an embarrassingly breathy voice and she stiffened her spine. “Your sister-in-law was busy and I was glad for a chance to get a little exercise. It’s a bit windy, but the sun is warm, making it a perfect day for a walk in the countryside.”

He frowned, his sleek black brows drawing together. “Where is your maid?” His voice held a hint of disapproval that sent her irritation up a notch.

“The village isn’t that far, and need I remind you, my lord, I am a married woman.”

His mouth barely curved. “You needn’t remind me, Mrs. Moss. I have imagined you often in that manner.” He said it as if he meant something else, but she couldn’t quite figure out what that could be.

“I’m afraid I had better be going,” she said. “I have some shopping to do and I don’t wish to be late in my return.”

“Perhaps I should accompany you—just to be certain you are not accosted.”

“No! I mean, no thank you. I shall be fine on my own. Good afternoon, my lord.”

Corrie continued walking, trying to ignore the butterflies swirling in her stomach. She couldn’t figure out why the man affected her as he did, but she didn’t like it. And she certainly didn’t want him to go with her. She had questions to ask, and she could hardly do so with the earl tagging along.

As she continued along the trail, she dared a glance over her shoulder, saw that he was riding the opposite way, and breathed a sigh of relief. Turning her thoughts to the questions she meant to ask, she increased her pace toward the village.

The moment Letty Moss disappeared from view, Gray pulled Raja to a halt and spun the stallion in the opposite direction. Staying as far back as he could, careful to keep from being spotted, he followed the woman into the village. He saw her walk into one of the shops across from the market square and while she was inside, rode to the stable.

“I won’t be long,” he told one of the stable boys, handing him the horse’s reins and flipping him a coin. “Take care of him till I get back.”

Returning to High Street, the main street of town, he spotted Letty coming out of the shop and stepping into the one next door. As soon as she was inside, Gray made his way to the window. Inside the shop, she examined bolts of cloth, fingering the colorful swatches of silk with tender care. Then she made her way toward the clerk. He watched the two women talking, but couldn’t hear what was being said.

Letty left the shop and went into the butcher’s store, from which she soon exited munching on a piece of ham. Next she stopped by the hatmaker’s. Letty didn’t seem to be buying much, just having a look around, but then if her tale was true, she had very little money.

She appeared to be having no illicit meetings, no rendezvous with a man, nor was she doing anything that might give Gray pause.

He told himself to return to the house and leave the woman alone, but something held him back. Instead, he waited the nearly two hours Letty remained in the village, then retrieved Raja and followed her home.

He watched her walking along the path through the tall green grasses, her hips swaying as if to some silent song. His groin tightened. He couldn’t believe such an innocent, unconscious movement could stir him that way. He nudged the stallion forward, eager to catch up with her.

She must have heard hoofbeats behind her, for she whirled toward the sound and her foot caught on an unseen obstacle in the grass. She went down with an unladylike yelp, falling backward over a big granite boulder. Her skirts went into the air and her frothy white petticoats flew up to her chin.

Gray found himself grinning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done that. He sobered, pulled Raja to a halt on the path, and swung down from the saddle.

“Here—let me help you.”

She slapped away the hand he offered, shoved down her skirts and propped herself up on her elbows, her knees still draped over the rock. “I don’t need your help. You are the reason I am in this humiliating position in the first place.”

“How is it I am at fault because you tripped?” He reached down and caught her wrist, hauling her somewhat awkwardly to her feet.

She didn’t bother to answer, just cast him a look that said it was true. The ribbons on her bonnet had come undone and her hat tumbled into the grass. Her glorious copper hair came loose on one side and hung down in a riot of curls against her shoulder. Gray fought an urge to tangle his fingers in the heavy mass and haul her mouth up to his for a kiss.

It was insane. He barely knew the woman, and he definitely didn’t trust her. Perhaps Samir was right about denying himself for too long. He made a mental note to pay a visit to Bethany Chambers, wife of the aged Earl of Devane, whose country home, Parkside, was just beyond the next village. Gray had heard the countess had returned for the summer. Though he hadn’t seen her in several months, she was a woman of strong appetites, and he knew she would welcome him into her bed.

Letty began to brush off her dress, drawing his attention to the bosom straining against her bodice. He tried not to wonder if her breasts were as full and tantalizing as they appeared, or how they might feel in his hands. Letty made no comment, just turned to begin her journey back along the path, then winced as her ankle crumpled beneath her. Gray caught her before she could fall.

She looked up at him with those jewel-green eyes. “I—I think I twisted my ankle.”

“Sit down on the rock and let me take a look.”

Letty sat carefully and Gray knelt in front of her. He picked up her foot, slid off her low-heeled leather boot and began to gently examine her ankle.

“What…what are you doing?”

“I was in the army. I want to make sure nothing’s broken.” Her stockings had holes, he noticed, though they had been carefully mended. At least part of her story appeared to be true. She was certainly in need of money.

“It is only twisted,” she said, trying to pull the sprained limb free of his grasp. “I’m sure it is fine.”

Gray didn’t let go. “Hold still, will you? You’re only making this harder.” It wasn’t the only thing getting hard. As he ran his hand over the fine bones in her feet, his groin tightened. Gray set his jaw against the unwanted arousal and continued to test each tiny bone, feeling for possible injury, trying not to think what it might be like to slide his hand upward, over the smooth silk stocking that covered a very shapely calf, all the way to the slit in her drawers, then inside to touch—

He clamped his jaw against a shot of lust and the painful throbbing of his erection. Silently he cursed. He needed a woman and badly, and though this one fired his blood, he could not have her. Not yet.

He felt her trembling and realized he still cradled her small foot in his hands.

Gray cleared his throat. “I don’t think there are any broken bones.”

“I told you, I am fine.”

He slid her boot back on and tied the laces, carefully helped her up from the rock. She took a step and nearly fell. “Oh, dear.”

“You need to keep your weight off that ankle. You’ll have to ride home with me.”

He didn’t give her time to argue, just scooped her up in his arms and settled her in the saddle, one leg on each side of the horse, her full skirts bunching around her knees. Raja danced and sidestepped as Gray swung up behind her, but Letty didn’t seem to be afraid. At least not of the horse.

“What a beautiful animal,” she said, trying to keep her balance without touching him.

Gray almost smiled. It wasn’t going to happen, and since he had no choice but to see her safely home, he might as well enjoy himself. He wrapped an arm around her waist and nudged the stallion forward. Letty tried to scoot away, and nearly unseated them both.

“I would advise you to sit still, Mrs. Moss, before we both wind up on the ground.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were returning to the castle.”

“Lucky for you, I wasn’t ready to go home just yet.”

She turned, tilted her head to look up at him. “You weren’t following me, were you?”

“Now, why would I do that?”

Letty made no reply, but her wariness did not lessen. They rode silently along the trail until the horse started up a rise and Letty began to slide backward in the saddle. She grabbed a handful of the stallion’s thick mane to hold herself in place, but it did no good, her bottom coming to a snug rest between his thighs. Even through the fabric of her skirt and petticoats, he could feel the heat of her, the roundness of her flesh, and he went hard just thinking of the soft, womanly curves beneath her gown.

“I hope I’m not making you too uncomfortable,” she said.

Uncomfortable? Good God, he ached with every heartbeat. “I’m afraid that is an understatement.”

She started to move, squirming to put some distance between them, making him harden even more. Gray stifled a groan. “Hold still, dammit. Just stay where you are.”

Letty’s head came up. “You don’t have to swear. If you will recall, this is your fault in the first place.”

She had accused him of that, he remembered with a hint of amusement. “Sorry, I forgot.”

They didn’t talk again until the castle came into view. Gray rode directly up to the front, where a groom stood, waiting to take the reins. Gray swung from the saddle, then reached up to lift Letty down, finding her waist was so small his hands wrapped completely around it.

“Thank you,” she said softly. He noticed she was breathing a little too fast, and figured he must be right about her. Her experience with men was obviously limited. Cyrus was a much older man. Perhaps his desire for a woman had declined with his years.

As Samir suggested, perhaps Letty’s needs would surface, and if that happened, Gray would be delighted to oblige. At least he would be once he had assured himself she was no threat to him or his family.

He looked down at the top of her head, at the fiery curls resting against her small shoulders, and fisted his hands to keep from reaching out to touch them. She might not be a woman of great intellectual capacity, but she set fire to his blood, and should she wind up in his bed, he wouldn’t waste time talking.

She looked up at him as he lifted her against his chest to carry her up the front steps, and another surge of lust hit him like a fist.

Holy God. Samir was right. It was past time he took a woman. He would send a note to Bethany Chambers. Gray just hoped he would receive her reply very soon.

In her quilted satin robe, Coralee sat in the middle of the massive four-poster bed, her legs tucked up beneath her. She had babied her ankle for the past few days, and the limb seemed to have fully recovered. Perhaps she owed some thanks to Gray Forsythe, but she didn’t want to think of him now.

Instead, she fixed her attention to the bundles of pale pink letters, bound with pink satin ribbon and carrying traces of Laurel’s favorite perfume, that rested on the faded counterpane. Corrie had brought the letters with her from London, all that remained of the sister she had loved.

An ache throbbed in her heart as she reached for a bundle, each letter filed by the date of its arrival. She located the two stacks she had received in the past eighteen months, and untied the first one. Last year, her sister had been living at Selkirk. In August, she had journeyed to East Dereham in Norfolk to spend time with Agnes’s older sister, Gladys. There was only one letter written each month during the time she’d been there.

Corrie now knew she’d been pregnant, growing heavier each day with the child she carried. Her time must have been absorbed with thoughts of the babe, and yet she’d been afraid to tell even Corrie about the infant she would bring into the world.

Corrie’s eyes misted as she reread one of the letters, this one dated March 20, when Laurel had been preparing to leave Selkirk Hall.

I feel restless and uncertain. I had such dreams for the future and now they seem sullied, darkened by pain and despair. And yet I have known love. I cannot tell you how that feels. Love makes the parting worth the sadness.

Corrie remembered receiving the letter. She had penned a reply, asking her sister about the man she had fallen in love with, and why they couldn’t marry if the two of them cared for each other. She had also asked the man’s name.

Laurel’s next letter had not come until a full month later, after her arrival in East Dereham. She had ignored Corrie’s questions and instead talked about life on her aunt’s farm.

Corrie had assumed her sister’s infatuation had faded and that she hadn’t been truly in love. Corrie’s own life was so busy the subject never came up again. Instead, sparse as they were, Laurel’s letters grew more and more cheerful. On September 18, she’d written:

Though it is autumn, it is sunny today, with warm bright rays filtering through the branches of the trees outside my window. Orange and yellow leaves are beginning to fall and I can hear birds singing, the hum of crickets in the dry fall grasses. Lately, the world seems somehow brighter, and I find myself awakening each day with a sort of wonder at all God has created.

As Corrie looked back, she found it clear, from the difference in the first letters and those coming later, that something in Laurel’s life had changed. Now Corrie knew that her sister was expecting a child, and it was obvious from her letters how much she looked forward to being a mother, how much she looked forward to the future.

A lump swelled in Corrie’s throat to think how very short that future had turned out to be.

She finished rereading the letters but found no clue to the man Laurel had loved.

Was Gray Forsythe that man? When Corrie was around him, she found it hard to think. It was as if he had some sort of magic power, some mysterious quality she found nearly impossible to resist. Had Laurel felt it, too?

Corrie thought of the afternoon two days ago she had spent in the village. While pretending to shop, she had begun a subtle investigation into Laurel’s death. She had casually mentioned the young woman from Selkirk who had drowned in the river several months back and, as always, people were eager to gossip.

“She done kilt herself,” the butcher’s wife said. “They say she lost her innocence to some man and couldn’t stand the shame she brought down on her family.” The raw-boned woman shook her head. “Don’t seem right for a young girl to meet such a tragic end.”

At the hatmaker’s shop, the story was the same—though it was clear her father’s attempt to hide the secret of Laurel’s illegitimate child had failed.

“It must have come as a terrible shock to his lordship…findin’ out his daughter weren’t pure as the driven snow the way she seemed.” As the heavyset woman worked on the hat she was making, she leaned over the counter. “There were a babe, I hear,” she whispered. “Drowned right along with her.”

Corrie felt a wave of sadness followed by a jolt of anger that the villagers should think the worst of someone as sweet as Laurel. Reminding herself why she was there, she widened her eyes, pretending shock and disbelief. “What a dreadful thing to happen. Does anyone know the father?”

The beefy woman stuck a feather into the band of blue velvet around the brim of the hat. “Heard tell it were the vicar’s son, but most don’t believe it. They think it was one of them fancy lords up to the castle.”

Corrie’s stomach knotted. “Which one?”

The hatmaker shrugged. “No one knows for certain. That dark one’ll take a woman’s fancy. Ain’t no doubt of that.”

No doubt at all, Corrie thought.

“There’s the married one, but his wife keeps a pretty close watch on him.” The milliner smoothed the feather, checked its position in the hatband. “The other one, young Lord Jason, they say he’s stolen the virtue of half the milkmaids in the county. Like I said, nobody knows for sure, probably never will.”

But Corrie intended to find out. Thanking the woman for the bit of conversation, she had walked out of the village convinced her suspicions were not unfounded.

Local gossip named one of the men in the castle as the mostly likely father of Laurel’s child. Corrie would do some checking on the vicar’s son, and Thomas Morton, one of Squire Morton’s four boys, since Agnes had made mention of him. But it was Gray Forsythe whose wife had drowned in the same river as Laurel, Gray Forsythe who remained at the top of her suspect list.

As she sat there now, in the middle of the bed, her sister’s letters scattered around her, Corrie remembered the feel of the earl’s hard body, the warmth and strength of his arms as she had ridden back to the castle with him. It wasn’t difficult to believe he could have seduced her shy, innocent sister.

Corrie glanced at the clock on the mantel. She had begun to gather the first pieces of the puzzle. As soon as she got the chance, she would take a look around the house, see what else she might find out.

Seven

At Charles’s insistence, Rebecca gave Corrie a brief tour of the house. It was clearly the last thing the woman wished to do. Still, she remained distantly polite, and Corrie did the same. Any chance to glean information was a welcome opportunity.

“The castle was built in 1233,” Rebecca told her as they stood in the great room in what had been the original keep. A huge fireplace dominated one wall, and heavy carved beams supported the floors above. The medieval style had been preserved through the years, and now the space served as the formal dining room.

“Of course, the house has been refurbished and added onto dozens of times. Gray’s mother took great care to see it modernized. I’ve made a number of changes myself.” There was pride in Rebecca’s voice when she talked about the castle, which was magnificent, a grand medieval palace with all the modern luxuries and most elegant furnishings.

“How long has the Forsythe family lived here?” Corrie asked.

“It’s been family-owned for more than two hundred years.”

“So the earl lived here as a boy?”

“Yes.”

“What was his family like? I mean, Gray and Charles were brothers. Were they brought up in happy circumstances?”

For a moment, Rebecca seemed uncertain how much she should say. “There were three brothers but no sisters. James was the eldest, the apple of his father’s eye. Charles was the baby and he was indulged a good deal.”

“And Gray?”

Rebecca shook her head, moving the golden curls on her shoulders. She was gowned in pink-and-white silk. With her creamy complexion and cornflower-blue eyes, she was a confection of loveliness, the perfect English rose. And yet Corrie sensed a core of steel inside her.

“Gray was different,” she said. “He was dark where the rest of the family was fair. He was outspoken and often headstrong. He and his father…didn’t get along.”

“Is that why he joined the army?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “He was a second son. It is commonly done.”

“I heard he was in India.”

Rebecca nodded. They moved out of the great hall down one of the numerous corridors. “He was stationed there for three years before James fell ill. I think Gray resented having to return. He was always a bit of a wanderer. Once he became the earl, he was forced to settle down and accept his responsibilities.”

Corrie followed her down the hall, past several beautifully furnished drawing rooms. “Was that the reason he married?”

“I suppose it was. It was his duty to produce an heir, and Gray wasn’t the sort to shirk his duty. Jillian was beautiful and she had money and social position.”

Corrie’s interest stirred. “Was she in love with him?”

“I think she was mostly in love with the idea of being a countess. Jillian was still a child in many ways.”

Corrie had come here for answers. She pressed for more. “Just before Cyrus left the country, he received a letter from one of his friends.” Hardly true, but a way to broach the subject she needed to discuss. “The note mentioned the countess’s death.”

“Yes. There was a boating accident. Her death was extremely hard on Gray.”

“He must have loved her very much.”

Rebecca turned toward her. “I don’t know if Gray is capable of love. Certainly, he cared for her a very great deal. He blamed himself for not being there when it happened, not being able to save her.”

So the earl wasn’t there when his wife died. More information to file away. There would be time to examine it later.

They moved along the hallway into the long gallery, where portraits of the men in the earl’s family hung, floor to ceiling, on the walls. Most of them were blond or had light brown hair and looked nothing at all like Gray, whose hair was midnight-black, his features dark and more defined, more masculine.

“Gray’s mother must have been dark complexioned.”

Rebecca arched a delicate eyebrow. “Clarissa Forsythe was as fair as Charles. She claimed Gray got his coloring from the women on her mother’s side of the family.”

Claimed. It was an interesting choice of words. Corrie studied the wall, finding not one portrait that remotely resembled Gray. Perhaps there was some doubt as to the earl’s parentage. Perhaps that was the reason he and his father had not got along.