Kat Martin - Heart of Fire

“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.

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.