Heart of Fire. Kat Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ