Kat Martin - Heart of Fire

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.

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.”