Heart of Fire. Kat MartinЧитать онлайн книгу.
broad shouldered, with a flat stomach and long, muscular legs clearly outlined by his snug black riding breeches. Looking into those penetrating dark eyes, she found it easy to imagine an innocent young woman like her sister succumbing to such sheer masculinity.
“It is difficult to know where to begin….” Corrie gathered her courage and prepared to get into her role.
“Just tell me why you’re here, Mrs. Moss.”
Fine. So much for the long, heartrending performance she had planned to give. “Well, my lord, to put it bluntly, your cousin Cyrus—my husband—left me high and dry and ran off to adventure in America. I have waited nearly two years for his return and still have received no word of him. I have no family, no one to help me. I have spent my last farthing getting to Castle Tremaine, my lord, and I am desperate for your help.”
Those dark eyes traveled over her, taking in her simple garments, the tatters that had been carefully repaired, making a thorough assessment of her bosom, which was quite full for her size and apparent even in a gown that was buttoned to the throat.
“As I said, I have never heard of Cyrus Moss. I do not doubt that he is some distant relation, since my sister-in-law has said so, but how do I know you are actually his wife? For that matter, how do I know he even has a wife?”
She had come prepared for this. According to her sources, Grayson Forsythe was a highly intelligent man. He’d been a major in the army, a man who had traveled to far distant countries. He would not be the sort to be easily duped.
Corrie reached into her reticule and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. The forged marriage certificate hadn’t been cheap—or easy to come by. But she was in the newspaper business and she had some very good connections.
She crossed to where he stood and handed the papers to the earl, hating the fact she had to tilt her head back to look at him.
“The first document is a certificate of my marriage to Cyrus Moss three years ago, which was duly recorded in the church. The other is a letter from Cyrus, addressed to me as his wife and posted to me from the city of Philadelphia in America.”
She had worked on that bit of tomfoolery herself, writing the letter with the heavy pen strokes of a man.
The earl perused the letter, reading where Cyrus professed his love and promised to return. Happily for Corrie, her sources assured her he hadn’t yet set foot on English shores.
“Cyrus met your father on several occasions,” she said as he finished and refolded the papers. Corrie hoped her information was correct. “I believe my husband held a high opinion of the man. Since the late earl is no longer with us, I am coming to you for help.”
Tremaine frowned at the mention of his father, and she wondered if there had been some ill will between the two men. He seemed none too pleased as he handed back the documents, and Corrie held her breath.
Finally, he sighed. “If you will follow me into the study, I will write you a bank draft and you can be on your way.” He turned and started walking.
Corrie fought a surge of panic. “Wait!”
Lord Tremaine turned. His attention fixed on her face and she felt again that odd floating in her stomach.
“I said I would give you money. What more do you want?”
Her eyes welled with tears. It wasn’t that hard to do since her plan was about to fail. “I—I am in need of a place to stay, my lord—but only for a while. In a few weeks’ time, I shall come into a small inheritance. My father set up a trust, you see. When I am two-and-twenty, I shall be eligible for a monthly stipend that will see to my comfort. It isn’t much, but it should be enough to keep me in simple fashion until Cyrus returns.”
The earl’s slashing black eyebrows drew together. “Your father and mother are dead, then? You have no one else who might aid you?”
“As I said, I have no living relatives. It is one of the reasons I married Cyrus. With no one to look out for me, I needed his protection. Unfortunately, his protection didn’t last all that long.”
“How long were you and Cyrus together before he left?”
“Just a little over a year.”
The earl studied her for several long moments.
Corrie took a deep breath, her eyes tearing as she prepared to release a wailing sob she hoped would add a bit of persuasion. The earl held up his hand to forestall the outburst.
“There is no need for that. You may stay…at least until I can figure out what to do with you.”
Her face lit up. She gave him a watery smile, brightened by an inward surge of relief. “Thank you, my lord. I shall be forever in your debt.”
He merely nodded. “I’ll speak to Rebecca, tell her we’ll be entertaining our cousin for a while.”
“This is very kind of you, my lord. I’m sure Cyrus would be even more grateful than I am.”
Tremaine ignored the remark, turned and started for the door. As soon as he stepped out of the drawing room, Corrie sank down on the sofa, her legs no longer willing to hold her up.
She had done it! She had managed through a bit of deception to weasel her way into Castle Tremaine! As soon as she was settled, as soon as the Forsythe family had begun to let down its guard and trust her, she would begin her search.
Corrie’s lips thinned. Gray Forsythe might be one of the handsomest men she had ever met, but that didn’t mean he was innocent of murder. And if he had killed her sister and baby Joshua, the Earl of Tremaine was going to pay.
Gray stalked through the halls, his ill humor worse than it was before he left the house. He wasn’t exactly sure how it had happened, but somehow, during her appearance in his drawing room in her mended garments, during the minutes she had looked up at him so pleadingly with her thick-lashed, jewel-green eyes, he had let down his guard and allowed a woman he had never met move into his house.
He didn’t understand it. He had seen through her theatrics from the start, the false tears and wringing hands, the beseeching looks and trembly voice. But during her performance he had also caught a flash of something that intrigued him. He thought it might be desperation, for he was certain that was there, but this seemed more like determination. Whatever it was, it had interested him enough to let her stay.
Gray shook his head. For all he knew, Letty Moss was a charlatan, there to cajole him out of his money, rob him or worse.
He thought about the petite young woman with the fiery copper curls peaking out beneath the soiled brim of her bonnet, and almost smiled. He had been a soldier, a man who’d commanded troops in the British Army. If she gave him any trouble, he would simply toss her out on what held the promise of being a very attractive derriere.
The thought stirred him in a way he didn’t expect. Since Jillian had died, he had slept with few women. It was his conscience, he knew, that kept him from indulging more in the pleasures of the flesh he so enjoyed, guilt that he was alive and Jillian was not. That he had not been there to protect her when she’d needed him.
He looked up to see Rebecca approaching down the hall.
“I hope you were a gentlemen about it,” she said with a smile. “I realize she hoped you would let her stay here at the castle, but—”
“She’s staying.”
“What!”
“It won’t be for long. She’ll soon come into a monthly stipend that should be enough to provide for her until her husband returns.”
“But…but we don’t even know her. How can you simply let her move in?”
The smile he gave her was sardonic. “You are always chiding me about my manners. It would be the height of bad taste to toss a member of our family in need of assistance out into the street.”
“Yes, but