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“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.
Eight
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.”
Leif didn’t disagree. “Perhaps your Mr. Petersen can help as he did before.” Leif had insisted on hiring the investigator. Now Krista was glad.
A noise in the doorway drew her attention. “Your guest, Mr. Petersen, is arrived,” the butler announced, a gray-haired man with impeccable credentials who had come to work for them shortly after she and Leif were wed.
“Send him in, Simmons.” Krista rose along with Leif to greet the investigator they hadn’t seen in nearly a year.
Dolph Petersen had helped Krista and her father discover the identity of a man trying to destroy the gazette. The villain had been ruthless and determined, willing to go to any lengths, including murder. With Dolph’s help, they had been able to stop him. Krista hoped the investigator would be able to help them again.
Petersen appeared just then in the doorway, tall and lean, his face hard-edged yet handsome. Leif’s hand settled possessively on Krista’s waist, and Dolph broke into one of his rare smiles.
“It looks like the newlyweds are still in love. It’s good to see you both. Congratulations on the little one. I heard it was a boy.”
“Thank you.” Leif’s massive chest expanded with a hint of pride. He was a wonderful father, an attentive husband and a passionate lover. Krista knew how lucky she was.
Which made her think of Corrie and the trouble she faced, and why Leif had asked the investigator to come to the house.
“Why don’t we sit down?” she suggested, guiding the small group farther into the drawing room. “Would you like some refreshment, Mr. Petersen? Some tea, or perhaps something stronger?”
“It’s just Dolph. I think we know each other well enough by now. And I’m fine.”
Krista and Leif took seats on the sofa and the investigator settled his lean frame in a chair. “So what can I do for you this time?”
Krista cast a glance at Leif, who nodded for her to begin. “You remember Miss Whitmore?” she asked. “My friend Coralee?”
“Of course.”
“Well, she has become involved in a very dangerous intrigue and we are hoping you might be able to help.”
Petersen leaned forward in his chair. “Go on.”
Trusting the man’s discretion, for the next half hour Krista and Leif explained about Laurel Whitmore’s death and that of her illegitimate child. They told him the authorities had concluded it was suicide, but Corrie adamantly refused to believe her sister would do anything that would harm her baby.
“She thinks her sister was murdered,” Leif said. “She is convinced the Earl of Tremaine is the man who killed her.”
“Grayson Forsythe?” Petersen asked in surprise.
Leif straightened on the sofa, emphasizing his incredible height. “You know this man?”
“Yes. Aside from a rakish reputation with women, Gray Forsythe is as honorable as they come. He served in the military in India and was decorated several times before he came home. Why would Miss Whitmore believe the earl would murder her sister?”
“To begin with, the earl’s estate, Castle Tremaine, sits next to Selkirk Hall. And both Laurel and the earl’s wife were drowning victims. Both died in the Avon River.”
Krista went on to explain that Jillian Forsythe’s death had left Gray with a goodly sum of money and the chance to resume his numerous affairs. She told him Corrie knew his reputation with women and thought that he must have seduced her sister, gotten her with child, then killed her to prevent a scandal.
“Interesting. Not much is known about the circumstances of Tremaine’s wife’s death. The family kept the matter fairly quiet.”
“Well, Coralee has managed to scheme her way into Castle Tremaine pretending to be some long lost cousin, and that is the reason Leif and I are so worried about her.”
“If the earl is guilty of murder,” Leif added, “Coralee could be in very grave danger.”
Petersen grunted. “The lady has guts, I’ll say that for her. I’ll do some digging, see what I can find out. I’ll also try to find out if Tremaine had a relationship with Laurel Whitmore.”
“If he didn’t,” Leif said, “find out who did.”
Petersen nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He stood up, and so did Krista and Leif. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find anything.”
Krista gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you, Mr.…Dolph.”
He smiled. “As I said, I’ll be in touch.”
Krista and Leif bade the investigator farewell and returned to the drawing room.
“I’m so glad you thought of hiring him,” she said.
“Petersen is a good man. He’ll do his best to find out about the earl.”
Krista knew he would. She just hoped whatever he discovered wouldn’t be more bad news for Coralee.
Corrie sat in her bedroom after supper. The meal had been an uncomfortable affair. Since her arrival, she had noticed a certain tension between Charles and his wife that seemed amplified when they were together for any length of time. Gray rarely appeared for the evening meal. An hour ago, she had seen him ride out of the stables, heading off toward the village.
Thinking of his reputation with women and remembering the erotic books she had found in his library, she figured he had probably gone off in search of female companionship, a notion she found oddly annoying.
A light knock sounded on the door to Allison’s small, adjoining bedroom. Relieved 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.
