Forbidden Fire (29 page)

“Lilli, I can never thank you enough. Please, come in,” Marissa said.

“Oh, but I can't—” Lilli began. “It wouldn't be right—”

“You're always welcome,” Marissa assured her. She glanced at Ian, who looked at her approvingly. “There is no way that it could not be right.”

Both Lilli and Darrin were pressured into coming in. Marissa described the house, her assailants and the day, and Ian commented that in the morning, she would have to tell the police. Lee served cold meats and fresh bread and lemonade.

Ian insisted that Darrin take a room in the house for the night, and called the orphanage to say he would be with them. Lilli bid Ian good-night, but Marissa walked the woman to the door.

“Thank you,” she whispered again.

Lilli touched her cheek. “No, thank you. I was never your enemy, my dear. I never could have competed. I won't come again. It wouldn't be right. But I am your friend. If you ever need me.”

“Thank you again,” Marissa told her. “And we will see one another again.”

Marissa closed the door on her. Lee was waiting, and insisted on making her a hot toddy, and setting her into a warm tub. And when she was there, Ian, freshly bathed and in a smoking jacket, came for her.

For the very first time, he brought her through the doorway and made love to her in his bed. She lay beside him, sated, miraculously content, feeling so very cherished, and so very blessed.

His arms were strong around her. His lips brushed her forehead. She inhaled the rich scent of his soap and his warmth, and snuggled more closely against the crisp hair of his chest. She closed her eyes and savored the rugged feel of his hair-roughened legs entwined with hers. Thank you, God, thank you! she repeated in silence over and over again.

And she knew then that she had to tell him the truth.

“Ian?” She whispered his name.

But to her surprise, he was asleep beside her. Deeply, contentedly asleep. His face was strikingly young in repose. And very, very peaceful.

Marissa bit her lip. There would have to be another time. She could make him understand, she could tell him that she loved him too much to live a lie anymore.

And she had to believe that he would love her enough for it not to matter.

She smoothed his hair. She couldn't wake him. Her time would come.

Or so she serenely believed that night.

Fate was destined to betray her again.

Chapter Fifteen

T
hree days later Ian was at his office in the store, looking over the police reports. The Chinese flesh dealer, Lau Wang, had been closed down. One of his men had been killed in the fight; two others were in jail. But the men who had originally kidnapped Marissa were still at large, and once she had been with him in safety for the night, she had remembered the curious conversation that had gone on between the two men.

“They said something to the effect that they had already been paid, Ian. That whatever they made from Lau Wang would be pure profit.”

Lilli hadn't been able to help her. Her man had only been able to discover that Marissa was being held at Lau Wang's. She had promised, though, to have her people keep their eyes open.

Ian had let it be known on the street that he'd pay well for information regarding the kidnapping. It might have been a mistake. He'd already entertained a number of drifters and seedy characters in his office. When Arthur told him he had another visitor, Ian sighed and assumed the man had come seeking some reward.

He leaned back in his chair as the newcomer entered the office. Surprise touched him briefly, for this man was decently, conservatively dressed in a bowler and a suit.

“Mr. Tremayne?” As soon as the man addressed him, he heard in the words the man's English accent, so similar to his wife's, and his curiosity was aroused.

“Yes, I'm Ian Tremayne. Have a seat, sir.” He indicated the chair across from his desk. “How can I help you?”

The man cleared his throat. “My business was really with your wife, you see, but there's a very handsome Chinese woman at your home who is guarding the door like a lion.”

Ian smiled. Lee did have the heart of a little lioness, and she was extremely loyal to Marissa. More loyal to Marissa than she was to him these days, he thought in wry reflection.

“We've had some trouble recently,” Ian told his visitor. “Miss Kwan is understandably nervous.”

“Yes, of course. I understand. But for the sake of your wife's uncle, it's imperative that I reach her.”

“Her uncle!” Ian said with surprise.

“Theodore Ayers.”

Ian shook his head. “I”m sorry, I've no idea what you're talking about.”

The man seemed as confused as Ian. “Let me introduce myself. I'm Lawrence Whalen, curate of St. Giles's parish.”

“And?”

The stranger shook his head. “I can't understand that Marissa has never said anything to you, she is so very devoted to Theo. And to her home. You must know that she is supplying funds to the parish.”

“No, I didn't know,” Ian said quietly. He wondered why he was experiencing such a bitter sense of unease. It seemed that a huge rush of water was spilling by him, a cacophony in his ears. “Please, explain.”

“It's imperative that Marissa come for Theo, Mr. Tremayne. He joined with certain men in a strike against the mine owners, and he's being held by the law right now.”

Ian still didn't understand who in hell the man was, but he asked, “If he's being held by the law—”

Lawrence Whalen, his face mirroring his unhappiness with the situation, leaned toward Ian. “There were men killed during the riots that followed the strike. The mine owners intend to prosecute Theo for murder unless Marissa will take custody of him.” He was quiet for a minute, then he sighed. “And have her swear that she'll keep Theo out of England for the rest of his life.”

Ian stared blankly at Whalen. “Are you quite sure you know what you're talking about? My wife has no living relatives.” He knew that for certain. That was why the squire had been so determined Ian should marry his daughter.

It was Whalen's turn to look surprised. “Well, sir, Theo was Marissa Ayers's only living relative.”

“Ayers? My wife's maiden name was Ahearn.”

“Oh, no, sir! The squire's name was Ahearn.”

He was losing his mind, Ian thought. “Right. Squire Ahearn's daughter, Marissa, is my wife—”

“No, no, sir. The squire's daughter's name is Mary. Katherine Mary Ahearn. I had quite a time tracing them both to you, Mr. Tremayne. Seems Marissa never told her uncle she had married, only that she had come to the states with Miss Ahearn. Indeed, this has been a headache that has cost us a great deal of time, but a man's life is at stake, a good man's life, and Marissa has certainly given her all to the parish, and therefore the vicar was especially concerned. I'm sorry; I seem to have given you quite a shock. If we had not cared so deeply—”

“No, no. It's quite all right,” Ian interrupted him quietly. He held a pencil and it snapped in his hand. Lawrence Whalen jumped, startled. Ian gave him a bloodless smile. “If my—my wife's—uncle is in danger, then something must be done. Perhaps, Mr. Whalen, you will be good enough to accompany me to my home. The handsome lioness who greeted you at the door is also an exceptional cook.”

“Well, I'd be quite delighted, sir,” Mr. Whalen agreed.

Ian excused himself and went out to speak with Arthur, telling him he'd be gone for the rest of the day. He returned for Lawrence Whalen and rented the man a horse from the livery stable when he went for his bay.

Ian was amazed to discover that he could point out certain of the city's sights to the man. A glance at his own fingers upon the bay's reins showed him that his fingers were shaking. Inside and out he felt the staggering heat of his rage taking hold of him. It seemed incredible that he could still function normally.

Well, he had known she kept some secret in her heart. He had even suspected that she had lied. He'd never realized just how great her lie, that she had managed to make a complete fool of him. Nothing in his life seemed real anymore. He'd been a fool to trust her. A fool to let her into his heart in any way.

A fool to love her.

They reached the house. John Kwan, as always, seemed to have anticipated his arrival. He ran outside, ready to take the horses into the carriage house.

Ian preceded Lawrence Whalen up the steps to the foyer. Lee opened the door, looked suspiciously at Whalen, then at Ian. “It's all right, Lee. Mr. Whalen has come on important family business. Would you call Mrs. Tremayne down, please. Mr. Whalen, the parlor is to the left, if you would join me there. May I interest you in a brandy?”

Lawrence Whalen thanked him and accepted the brandy. Ian offered him a sweeping smile and said, “Can't join you in brandy, no, I think not. I'll have a whiskey. No, maybe I'll just have the bottle.”

He was pouring a drink when she entered the room. She was in white, beautiful, eyelet white, a dress with a high collar and sleek lines, a straight skirt except for the very small bustle at her rear. Her hair was drawn up with just a few ringlets to curl by the side of her face. Her eyes, those fascinating emerald eyes with their curious blazes and flames, were on him. Wide, interested, innocent. So damned innocent, his wife.

But was she his wife? He wasn't even sure about that anymore. What the hell was legal and what wasn't?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that his hands were still shaking. It felt as if the whole of his body was on fire. The witch. Entering his life so completely. Listening to his dreams. Wedging her way into the hearts of the orphans. Captivating his employees. Stealing his heart, making him think he could live again.

He'd been better off with whores.

He smiled icily. “Hello, dear.”

“Ian, what—”

And then she saw Lawrence Whalen, and it was apparent that she must have realized that the gleam in Ian's gaze was absolute fury. She fell silent for a moment, then she quietly greeted Whalen.

“Mr. Whalen. What—what has brought you all the long way to America?”

“It's your uncle, Marissa. I've explained to your husband.”

“Oh, my God!” The color drained from her face. If anything could be said to her credit, she loved this uncle. That much was true. “Mr. Whalen, is he all right? Has something happened? Oh, dear Lord—”

“Now, now, don't distress yourself, Miss Ayers. I'm sorry, Mrs. Tremayne. Marissa.” Lawrence Whalen was on his feet, patting her hand. She was going to fall, so it appeared.

But then she was such a wonderful actress.

Ian used a foot to drag a chair up behind her. “Sit, my love. Do take a chair. Mr. Whalen will explain.” She stared at him for a moment, aware of the edge to his voice even if Mr. Whalen was not. She had to be wondering just what course he would take now that her deception was discovered.

He didn't blink. He wanted her to worry.

And at the moment, he didn't have the least idea of what he wanted to do. All he knew was that he was more furious than he could remember being in all his life.

And hurt.

Damn, but why hadn't she told him?

Because everything between them had been a lie, from the very beginning to the bitter end.

And he was so damned angry because he was so damned hurt. He wanted to reach out and shake her. He wanted to hear her cry, just as he wanted to cry out even as he stood there, staring at her.

She tore her eyes from his at last and gave her attention to her guest, and she seemed to understand a great deal more than he about what was going on.

“Please, Mr. Whalen, what happened? Uncle Theo was not supposed to be working! I left him plenty of money—”

“I'm sure you did,” Ian commented dryly. He saw her color, but she did not look at him.

“It was a matter of his friends, Mrs. Tremayne,” Whalen told her quietly. “They were striking against conditions. Theo joined them. He wouldn't have it any other way. He's one of their leaders, always has been, working or not. You know your uncle. That Mr. Lacey had been terribly hard on the miners, you see. He cut the wages. Well, you know what those wages were to begin with!”

“But what did Uncle Theo do?” she asked. She sounded like a lost girl, Ian thought. She could so easily have drawn his sympathy. He stiffened. No, she had done that already.

“Lacey had brought in men, and there was a scuffle, and some of the men were killed. He wants to charge Theo with murder.” He was quiet for a minute. “And ask for the death penalty.”

“No!” Marissa cried.

And Ian almost reached out to her. Almost.

“The vicar went to Lacey, Mrs. Tremayne. And Lacey will drop the charges if you'll just come for Theo—and swear that he'll not set foot in England again.”

“But he couldn't have been guilty. Uncle Theo is not a murderer—”

“Mrs. Tremayne!” Whalen interrupted very softly. “You've been gone awhile now. But have you forgotten the power Lacey wields?”

She stood, clenching her fingers into fists at her side. “There is no problem, Mr. Whalen. I'll come for my uncle immediately. Mr. Lacey has nothing to fear from us,” she added bitterly.

“No,” Ian said flatly, leaning against the cherrywood liquor cabinet. “You won't be going anywhere.”

She stared at him, startled, her eyes growing very wide. He could almost see the desperation washing over her. “Ian, I'll do anything. I'll—I'll do anything,” she repeated. It must have been very hard to talk with Mr. Whalen there. “I must go for my uncle.”

“I repeat, my love,” he said with an edge. “You'll not be going anywhere. I—”

“Ian, for the love of God, please!”

“Well!” Mr. Whalen said, nervously twisting his hat with his fingers. “I can see you need some time alone. Mr. Tremayne, I can leave—”