Heart of Fire. Kat MartinЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Gray didn’t really understand it. He was a man of lusty appetites. Why this one had snagged his interest so strongly he could not say. There was something about her he couldn’t quite figure out, and perhaps the mystery drew him. Whatever it was, he wanted her and he was fairly certain she wanted him.
They were both mature adults. At thirty, he wasn’t too old for Letty—or whoever she turned out to be. It really no longer mattered. She posed no threat that he could discover. Whoever she was, if he had run across her in London, he would have made her his mistress. She needed money. He would set her up in a cottage somewhere near. He would treat her well, see her financially cared for and, in return, she would service his needs.
Gray almost smiled.
On the morrow, he would send a note of apology to Bethany for failing to arrive for their intended assignation. In the meantime he would begin his campaign to bring Mrs. Moss to his bed.
With that thought in mind, Gray headed toward the stairs leading up to his suite in the west wing of the castle. It was dark in the house. Only the gas wall sconces Rebecca had installed were burning, leaving just enough light to find his way. He climbed the stairs, strode down the corridor and pulled open the heavy door.
The curtains were drawn and an oil lamp burned on the bedside table, the wick turned down low. For an instant, he figured Samir must have anticipated his return in that uncanny way he seemed to have and lit the lamp for him. Gray frowned. Even Samir couldn’t have read his thoughts tonight. They were too uncertain.
Stepping quietly into the sitting room, he surveyed the interior. The hair prickled at the back of his neck. The sixth sense he’d developed in the army was kicking in, telling him someone else was in the room.
At first, the space appeared to be empty. Then his gaze lit on the heavy gold velvet draperies and an unnatural bulge there. A pair of feet peeped out from underneath—small, feminine feet, he saw, encased in soft kid slippers.
The shoes were too fine to belong to a servant, yet a bit scuffed with wear. With a flash of certainty, Gray knew those small feet belonged to Letty Moss.
What was she doing here?