Heart of Fire

Corrie made a mental notation to include with the rest of the information she had collected.

Rebecca glanced at the clock. “I hope you’ve enjoyed seeing some of the house. Perhaps another time I can show you a bit more. For now you’ll have to excuse me. There are several pressing matters I must attend to.”

“Of course.” Corrie hid her feeling of relief. Though Rebecca had been unerringly polite, it was clear the woman disliked her. Perhaps she suspected Letty Moss wasn’t what she appeared, and if so, Corrie could hardly fault her. Or perhaps Rebecca simply didn’t want another woman living under her roof.

Whatever the reason, they were not destined to become close friends, and considering the reason Corrie was there, perhaps it was better that way.

Left on her own, she wandered the maze of halls, memorizing which rooms were where, slowly making her way along one corridor into the next, hoping she would be able to find her way back. As she passed the library, she paused, then, drawn by the floor-to-ceiling rows of books, stepped inside.

The grand room was impressive, each oak bookcase tightly jammed with leather-bound volumes of various sizes and shapes. It sat in one of the oldest parts of the castle, with walls of stone and wide-planked oak floors that had been worn in places over the years. And yet the wood was polished to a glossy sheen, the brass lamps on the tables gleaming. Each of the long rows of shelves had been carefully dusted, as if the books they held were of importance to the master of the house.

Corrie appreciated the value of books. Her home in London was filled with them; even her bedroom had a bookcase stuffed with volumes she treasured. She was a writer. It only made sense she was also a voracious reader.

She prowled the library, enjoying the comforting feel of the room and its familiar volumes, the slightly musty smell of old paper and ink. Laurel had also liked books. Corrie wondered if perhaps it was an interest her sister had shared with Lord Tremaine. If so, the library might hold some clue that would provide a connection between the pair. For reasons she refused to examine, a bitter taste rose in her mouth at the thought.

And the same persistent feeling that Laurel would never be attracted to a fearsome man like the earl.

She was simply too gentle, too kind, while the earl was contrary, forceful and intense.

Corrie wondered at his childhood. Gray’s mother had died when he was ten, she knew, leaving him with a father who—what? Believed he was another man’s son? Had Gray been mistreated? Had he joined the army to escape an unloving parent?

And what of his wife?

Rebecca had said Gray was incapable of love, and yet Jillian had seemed to have no qualms in marrying him. Was he in some way responsible for her death? Was that the reason for his guilt?

Corrie wandered the endless rows of bookshelves, picking up a volume here and there, recognizing a goodly number she had read. One section held classical Roman texts including Virgil’s Aeneid and a volume of poetry by Lucretius, On the Nature of Things, printed in the original Latin. Both were books Corrie had enjoyed. She had always loved school, loved learning. Her father had ignored social custom and provided her with the best tutors money could buy.

She perused the next section, pulled a volume out of the stack and flipped it open: Homer’s Odyssey. She had read the book years ago, an epic adventure that had spawned her desire to write. Just as before, the words on the page began to draw her in and she found herself rereading a favorite passage. She was so immersed in the tale, she didn’t hear the earl’s heavy footfalls, muffled by the thick Persian carpet.

“Find something interesting?” Reaching out, he plucked the book from her hand. Turning it over, he read the gold letters printed on the leather cover. “The Odyssey?” He started to frown. “You read Greek?”

Good heavens. “I—I…was just looking at the letters. They look so different than they do printed in English.”

He turned away from her, shoved the book back into its place on the shelf. “You’re in the library, so I presume you like to read. What sort of books do you prefer?”

She was Letty Moss, she reminded herself, a poor relation from the country. “I, umm, actually I don’t read all that much. Mostly I enjoy the ladies’ magazines…you know, Godey’s Lady’s Book and the like.” She flashed a beaming smile. “They show the very latest fashions.”

Gray’s mouth thinned. He nodded as if he were not the least surprised. Somehow that look rankled more than anything he could have said.

“I’m sure Rebecca has something you might enjoy,” he told her. “Why don’t you ask her tonight at supper?”

“Yes… I’ll do that. Thank you for the suggestion.”

He stood there, waiting for her to leave, tall and dark and imposing.

“I—I do enjoy reading poetry on occasion,” she said, searching for an excuse to remain in the library. “Perhaps I might find something to keep myself occupied until tonight.You don’t mind if I look a bit longer, do you? It’s a very pleasant room.”

He studied her face. “I don’t mind. I spend a good deal of time in here myself.”

She summoned a sugary smile and waited for him to leave. As soon as he disappeared out the door, she set to work. No more time for dallying. She needed to see what was in the drawers of the big oak library desk, examine the writing table in the corner. As soon as she got the chance, she intended to visit Lord Tremaine’s study, but that would be dangerous and certainly no daytime venture.

Corrie hurried over to the desk and began to pull open the drawers. There were all sorts of musty papers, an ink pen with a broken nib, and some old books with pages missing. She wondered why the earl had not thrown the books away then thought how hard it was for her to get rid of a beloved text. Perhaps, as she had once thought, there was a side to the earl she hadn’t yet discovered.

Then again, perhaps it was Charles who had kept the books. He seemed far more sentimental.

She made her way to the writing desk. The inkwell was dry and this pen also required a new tip. Nothing had been written at the desk for some time and there was nothing to signify a connection to Laurel.

Corrie moved back to the bookshelves. Laurel loved poetry. Had she and her lover met in the castle, perhaps sat together in the library? Or had their affair remained in the dark shadows of the woods, or somewhere else lovers might tryst?

There was a top shelf full of books, a bit out of the way, that looked intriguing. It was just out of reach, so she shoved the rolling ladder over and climbed up until she could see the volumes clearly, but she didn’t recognize any of them.

The Kama Sutra was the title of one of the works. She recognized a book by the French author Voltaire, the scandalous, erotic novel Candide she’d heard whispered about, one no decent person would read. Beside it, her eye caught on a book entitled The Erotic Art and Frescoes of Pompeii.

A flutter of interest ran through her. She loved to read about foreign places. Someday she hoped to travel and write stories about the people and places she visited. The book was about an ancient town in Italy, but the title implied it was far more than a travelogue. Corrie couldn’t resist reaching for the volume, opening it up for a single quick glance.

The book fell open in her hand and she saw that the pages were filled with drawings. Her eyes grew wide at the first one that came into view. A wall painting from the Stabian baths, said the copy beneath the etching—a naked woman with bulbous breasts, resting on her hands and knees. A naked man knelt behind her, and the woman’s head was thrown back in what appeared to be a grimace of pain.

Corrie couldn’t imagine exactly what he might be doing, but her heart began to beat oddly and a drop of perspiration slid between her breasts. Hastily, she turned the page to the drawing of a mural. In it, Mercury strode naked across the picture, a huge appendage thrusting forward between his legs. Corrie just stared.

“I see you found something, after all.” The earl stood at the foot of the ladder. Corrie shrieked at the sight of the tall figure looking up at her, lost her balance and tumbled backward off the ladder. She landed squarely in the arms of the earl, the erotic book flying into the air, then falling back to earth with a soft thud, landing open in her lap.

The earl looked down at Mercury, and Corrie’s face turned beet-red.

“Interesting choice,” he said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Put me down!” She struggled to get free, trying to regain at least some portion of her dignity. She could feel the strength in the arms around her, the hard muscles in Tremaine’s powerful chest, and her stomach contracted.

The earl set her firmly on her feet, catching the book before it tumbled to the floor. He held it open, his eyes moving over the drawing.

“I approve your selection, Mrs. Moss. I think you’ll find this far more interesting than poetry, as much as I enjoy a good poem. I admit, however, I didn’t think you would be quite this adventurous.”

Corrie closed her eyes, her skin burning all the way to the tips of her breasts. “I—I just happened to see it. I couldn’t imagine what I might find inside.” She stiffened her spine. “You should be embarrassed, my lord, to keep books of this nature in your library, where any unsuspecting person might stumble upon them.”

One of his black eyebrows went up. “This particular unsuspecting person had to climb to the top of a ladder to reach them. That is hardly stumbling, Mrs. Moss.” The corner of his mouth curved. “Though should you wish to examine the rest of the pictures, I would not tell anyone.”

“How dare you!” As insulting as the suggestion was, in truth, she would dearly love to look through the book. What had the naked man and woman been doing? she wondered. And what else might she learn?

“My apologies,” said Tremaine with a trace of mockery. “I merely thought you might find it educational…since you are a married woman and already familiar with the intimacies shared between a man and woman.”

Her face turned even redder. She remembered the book she and Krista had found in the basement of the dormitory at Briarhill Academy. It described the basics of making love, but little more. At the time, they had both been appalled by the thought of a man and a woman joined in that way.

But Krista had said that lovemaking was glorious, and considering Corrie’s reaction to Gray Forsythe, the way she grew flushed and dizzy whenever he came near, she wondered if it might not be so. Whatever the truth, it was frightening, these strange feelings he stirred.

And dangerous.

“I think it is past time we ended this conversation,” she said. “It is, at best, highly inappropriate to speak of such matters. If you will excuse me, my lord…”

Tremaine made a formal bow. “Of course. Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Moss.” The amusement had returned to his voice but there was something more.

Corrie couldn’t miss the hot look in his eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t glance away. Her heart was beating like rain on a roof, and her mouth felt dry.

She tried to imagine her sister with Gray, but the image would not come. Laurel would have required a gentle lover, someone who understood her shyness, her tender sensibilities. Corrie couldn’t imagine Gray Forsythe in any sort of understanding role. As a lover, he would be demanding, not tender. She wasn’t sure how she knew, she just did.

Turning away, careful to keep her gaze fixed straight ahead, she walked out of the library. Though she could no longer see the earl, she could feel his gaze on her, burning with the force of a flame. The gossips called him a sensualist, a master in the art of love. It was clear from the books she had seen that he was a student of the erotic.

The man must know a dozen ways to touch a woman, a hundred ways to heighten the wild sensations that swirled through her body whenever he came near. Had her sister succumbed to the aura of masculinity that surrounded him?

Each time Corrie was with him, the notion seemed more absurd.

And yet his wife was dead and so was Laurel.

The thought sent a cold dash of reality through the fire that seemed to burn through Corrie’s veins.

Eight

Krista sat next to Leif in the drawing room of the town house they had purchased in Berkeley Square. Upstairs, their five-month-old son, Brandon Thomas Draugr, Viscount Balfour, heir to the Earl of Hampton, lay napping in the nursery with his nanny.

“I hope we are doing the right thing.”

“You have not stopped worrying about Coralee since she left. You will feel better if you do something.”

“I should have already done something,” Krista said. “I should have stopped her from going in the first place.”

Leif scoffed. In the light streaming into the drawing room, his golden hair glinted and his eyes looked as blue as the sea. “Your friend is much like you, my love. Once her mind is made up, there is little chance of changing it.”

Krista sighed. Leif was right. Coralee was as stubborn as Krista. Perhaps that was one of the reasons they had become such good friends.

“Apparently Allison has been able to keep in touch with Agnes Hatfield, Laurel’s aunt,” Krista said. “We know, for the moment at least, Coralee is safe, but she is taking a terrible risk.”

Leif didn’t disagree. “Perhaps your Mr. Petersen can help as he did before.” Leif had insisted on hiring the investigator. Now Krista was glad.

A noise in the doorway drew her attention. “Your guest, Mr. Petersen, is arrived,” the butler announced, a gray-haired man with impeccable credentials who had come to work for them shortly after she and Leif were wed.

“Send him in, Simmons.” Krista rose along with Leif to greet the investigator they hadn’t seen in nearly a year.

Dolph Petersen had helped Krista and her father discover the identity of a man trying to destroy the gazette. The villain had been ruthless and determined, willing to go to any lengths, including murder. With Dolph’s help, they had been able to stop him. Krista hoped the investigator would be able to help them again.

Petersen appeared just then in the doorway, tall and lean, his face hard-edged yet handsome. Leif’s hand settled possessively on Krista’s waist, and Dolph broke into one of his rare smiles.

“It looks like the newlyweds are still in love. It’s good to see you both. Congratulations on the little one. I heard it was a boy.”

“Thank you.” Leif’s massive chest expanded with a hint of pride. He was a wonderful father, an attentive husband and a passionate lover. Krista knew how lucky she was.

Which made her think of Corrie and the trouble she faced, and why Leif had asked the investigator to come to the house.

“Why don’t we sit down?” she suggested, guiding the small group farther into the drawing room. “Would you like some refreshment, Mr. Petersen? Some tea, or perhaps something stronger?”

“It’s just Dolph. I think we know each other well enough by now. And I’m fine.”

Krista and Leif took seats on the sofa and the investigator settled his lean frame in a chair. “So what can I do for you this time?”

Krista cast a glance at Leif, who nodded for her to begin. “You remember Miss Whitmore?” she asked. “My friend Coralee?”

“Of course.”

“Well, she has become involved in a very dangerous intrigue and we are hoping you might be able to help.”

Petersen leaned forward in his chair. “Go on.”

Trusting the man’s discretion, for the next half hour Krista and Leif explained about Laurel Whitmore’s death and that of her illegitimate child. They told him the authorities had concluded it was suicide, but Corrie adamantly refused to believe her sister would do anything that would harm her baby.

“She thinks her sister was murdered,” Leif said. “She is convinced the Earl of Tremaine is the man who killed her.”

“Grayson Forsythe?” Petersen asked in surprise.

Leif straightened on the sofa, emphasizing his incredible height. “You know this man?”

“Yes. Aside from a rakish reputation with women, Gray Forsythe is as honorable as they come. He served in the military in India and was decorated several times before he came home. Why would Miss Whitmore believe the earl would murder her sister?”

“To begin with, the earl’s estate, Castle Tremaine, sits next to Selkirk Hall. And both Laurel and the earl’s wife were drowning victims. Both died in the Avon River.”

Krista went on to explain that Jillian Forsythe’s death had left Gray with a goodly sum of money and the chance to resume his numerous affairs. She told him Corrie knew his reputation with women and thought that he must have seduced her sister, gotten her with child, then killed her to prevent a scandal.

“Interesting. Not much is known about the circumstances of Tremaine’s wife’s death. The family kept the matter fairly quiet.”

“Well, Coralee has managed to scheme her way into Castle Tremaine pretending to be some long lost cousin, and that is the reason Leif and I are so worried about her.”

“If the earl is guilty of murder,” Leif added, “Coralee could be in very grave danger.”

Petersen grunted. “The lady has guts, I’ll say that for her. I’ll do some digging, see what I can find out. I’ll also try to find out if Tremaine had a relationship with Laurel Whitmore.”

“If he didn’t,” Leif said, “find out who did.”

Petersen nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He stood up, and so did Krista and Leif. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything.”

Krista gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you, Mr.…Dolph.”

He smiled. “As I said, I’ll be in touch.”

Krista and Leif bade the investigator farewell and returned to the drawing room.

“I’m so glad you thought of hiring him,” she said.

“Petersen is a good man. He’ll do his best to find out about the earl.”

Krista knew he would. She just hoped whatever he discovered wouldn’t be more bad news for Coralee.

Corrie sat in her bedroom after supper. The meal had been an uncomfortable affair. Since her arrival, she had noticed a certain tension between Charles and his wife that seemed amplified when they were together for any length of time. Gray rarely appeared for the evening meal. An hour ago, she had seen him ride out of the stables, heading off toward the village.

Thinking of his reputation with women and remembering the erotic books she had found in his library, she figured he had probably gone off in search of female companionship, a notion she found oddly annoying.

A light knock sounded on the door to Allison’s small, adjoining bedroom. Relieved that her friend had returned to her room, Corrie hurried over to open it.

“I’ve been worried about you,” she said. “Where on earth have you been?”

“I was talking to Hilde Pritchard, one of the kitchen maids. The woman is a dreadful gossip—for which I am eternally grateful.”

Allison sank down on the bench at the foot of the big four-poster bed, and Corrie sat beside her. “So what did you find out?”

Allison tucked a lock of dark hair up into her mobcap. She was still dressed in the simple black skirt and white blouse that had been provided for her as Corrie’s maid.

“Hilde is quite friendly. She has worked here a very long time, so she knows a lot about the family. She says there was a great deal of animosity between the earl and his father. Apparently after his mother died, Gray’s father treated him very badly. He was punished for the slightest infraction. Once he was caned so badly the housekeeper felt compelled to summon a physician.”

Dear Lord. “Why did his father treat him so cruelly?”

“According to Hilde, the late earl didn’t believe Gray was truly his son—though until the day she died, Lady Tremaine swore she had always been faithful.”

Sympathy for the young boy Gray had been rose up inside Corrie. A child with a father who beat him, living in a home without love….

She forced herself to think of Laurel, of her pregnancy and abandonment, her senseless death. Ruthlessly, Corrie tamped any sympathy down.

“Did you ask Hilde about the earl’s wife?”

Allison nodded. “It seems Rebecca had planned an outing that day. A number of guests were invited. There was to be a picnic and a boat ride down the river. At the last minute, Gray declined to go with the rest of the group. Half an hour into the journey, the craft sprang a leak and very rapidly sank. Charles was able to help Rebecca reach safety, but Jillian’s garments must have caught on something beneath the surface, and she sank out of sight so fast no one was able to save her.”

Corrie felt a rush of sadness for the loss of such a young life. It was followed by an unexpected pang of relief.

“So it truly was an accident.”

“Apparently so.”

Still, Tremaine could have murdered Laurel. Coralee revised the thought. She was coming to suspect the earl less and less, if for no other reason than she couldn’t imagine the man in the role of Laurel’s beloved.

“Perhaps the earl wasn’t the one,” Allison said finally, parroting Corrie’s thoughts.

“Perhaps not. But there were two other men in residence at the castle much of last year. According to Aunt Agnes, both Charles and Jason Forsythe, the earl’s cousin, were living here when Laurel died. If it wasn’t the earl, it could have been either one of them.”

“I heard Lord Jason is due to arrive on the morrow.”

Corrie had heard that, too. “So it would seem. I’ll have a chance to meet him, see what he is like. In the meantime, the earl has gone out for the evening. If we’re lucky, he’ll be gone all night—which means I’ll be able to search his room.”

“His room? But you just said—”

“When it comes to women, Tremaine is a rogue without conscience. I have to make certain he wasn’t the man who fathered Laurel’s child.”

Allison eyes widened. “What if he comes back while you are in there?”

“I’ll stay alert, but I don’t think he will. He doesn’t appear to be the sort to go long without female companionship, even should he have to pay for it.” Which, as handsome as he was, she doubted very much. Corrie ignored a second stab of annoyance.

“Perhaps I should come with you,” Allison suggested, but the uncertainty in her hazel eyes said she didn’t really want to.

“I’ll have less chance being discovered if I go by myself.”

It was true, and relief shone in Allison’s face. “His valet was in the kitchen when I left. He’s an interesting little man. I’ll try to keep him talking until you are finished.”

“Good idea.”

“I’ll wait up for you. I won’t be able to sleep until I know you are safe.”

Corrie just nodded, glad to have a friend there in the castle.

With a last glance out the window to be certain no lone rider approached, she lifted the skirt of the drab gray dress she had chosen to make her less noticeable and headed out the door.

Gray rode Raja into the stable and swung down from the saddle next to a sleepy groom.

“I would ’ave waited up, milord,” Dickey Michaels said in his thick Cockney accent. “I thought ye was gonna be gone fer the night.”

“I thought so, too, Dickey.” He handed the reins to the sandy-haired youth. “See Raja is watered, grained and rubbed down before you put him away.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take real good care o’ ’im.” The boy led the stallion away and Gray started back to the house.

He’d been on his way to Parkside to see Bethany Chambers when he changed his mind. He needed sexual relief and badly, but somewhere along the route, he’d recalled the lady’s spoiled disposition and constant demand for attention. On a hill halfway to her house, he’d pulled Raja to a halt. Need or not, the lady was just too much trouble.

On top of that, he realized, he no longer had the least desire for the lovely Lady Devane.

Dammit to hell and gone. Another female had caught his fancy and it seemed no other would do.