Heart of Fire. Kat Martin

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      “Just take your time,” Rebecca said encouragingly.

      “I met Cyrus through friends of my parents, and in the beginning of our marriage, we were happy. Being older by nearly twenty years, he doted on me. Perhaps he loved me too much and that was the problem. You see, Cyrus had very little money, only what he inherited from his father, and that seemed to dwindle quite rapidly once we were wed. But Cyrus was determined to give me the things he believed I deserved.”

      Rebecca’s blue gaze drifted over Corrie’s worn garments. “And where is Cyrus now?”

      “Well, you see, that is the crux of the matter. Cyrus wished to give me the best of everything—which is the reason, I suppose, that he left England and headed for America to make his fortune. Cyrus had plans, very big plans, and he had friends there he believed would help him.”

      “I do seem to recall Charles mentioning a distant cousin who left England for America in search of adventure.”

      Corrie nodded vigorously. “That was Cyrus. According to his letters, he arrived there safely. Then his letters stopped coming. I haven’t heard from my husband in nearly two years.”

      “I am sorry to hear that, Mrs. Moss.”

      “Even worse than losing Cyrus, my funds have run out. Frankly, Mrs. Forsythe, I am quite destitute. I am here to humble myself and beg the earl to offer me shelter. If he refuses, I don’t know what I am going to do.” She dabbed the handkerchief again, ready to break into sobs if she thought it would help.

      Rebecca began to frown. It was not a good sign. “You are not asking to take up residence here, are you?”

      “Well, I—”

      Just then voices drifted in from the stone-floored entry. One Corrie recognized as belonging to the butler, but the other was deeper, more resonant.

      “I believe the earl has returned,” Rebecca said, rising gracefully from her place on the sofa. A faint knock sounded as she floated across the drawing room, and an instant later, the butler slid open the door.

      “His lordship is returned,” the gray-haired man said. “I have informed him of his visitor.”

      Corrie still sat on the sofa.

      It was a very good thing.

      The man who walked through the door was not at all what she had expected. This man, with his black hair tied back in a queue, was dressed not in a tailcoat and trousers, but mud-spattered black riding breeches, black knee-high boots and a full-sleeved white shirt. With his fathomless dark eyes, he looked more like an eighteenth-century highwayman than a wealthy English lord.

      “Gray! I was hoping you would return. We have a guest, just arrived—your cousin Cyrus’s wife, Letty Moss.”

      Those piercing eyes swung in her direction and seemed to hold her prisoner there on the sofa. “I didn’t know I had a cousin Cyrus.”

      “I’m sure Charles has mentioned him. He is the son of your deceased third cousin, Spencer Moss. Spencer lived near York, as did Cyrus, if I recall. Mrs. Moss has come quite a distance to see you.”

      Tremaine didn’t apologize for his rather disheveled appearance, simply turned and made a faint bow in her direction. “Mrs. Moss. Welcome to Castle Tremaine. Now, if you will excuse me, there are several pressing affairs I need to—”

      “I should like a word with you, my lord.” She rose from the sofa. “It is a matter of some importance and I have traveled quite far.”

      One of his black eyebrows arched up. It was clear he wasn’t used to a woman speaking out as she had just done. For a moment he simply stared, as if taking her measure in some way.

      The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “I suppose…since you have traveled, as you say, quite some distance, I can spare a moment.” There was something in that hard-edged smile that made her stomach lift alarmingly.

      Tremaine turned to his sister-in-law. “If you will excuse us, Becky…”

      Rebecca’s smile slipped. “Of course.” She retreated toward the sliding doors, but didn’t look happy about it. Corrie got the distinct impression the earl’s sister-in-law wasn’t pleased to think his impoverished distant cousin might move into the house, no matter how large it was.

      The earl waited until the butler closed the drawing room doors. “You wished to speak to me. What can I do for you, Mrs. Moss?”

      He didn’t invite her to sit. It was clear he didn’t expect the interview to take that long. Corrie steeled herself against a hint of irritation, followed by a rush of nerves. The earl was even more handsome than rumors about him had said. He was very tall and extremely 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,” СКАЧАТЬ