Heart of Fire. Kat Martin

him.”

      “I can understand your feelings.” The earl’s gaze assessed her, moved along her throat and over her bosom, down to the span of her waist, a slow, thorough perusal that made it suddenly hard to breathe.

      “You…you do?” He was standing close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the power in his tall, masculine frame.

      He was wearing a clean white shirt and a pair of black trousers fitted closely, as was the style, but no coat or waistcoat. His hair was clubbed back as it had been before. Corrie realized he was a man who paid little heed to convention. Combined with the rumors she had heard, it made him terribly intriguing.

      She didn’t think he was wearing cologne, and yet she caught the faint, pleasant scent of sandalwood, and wondered at the source. The fragrance seemed to wrap around her, fill each of her senses, and she trembled.

      “You’re cold. Perhaps you should go back inside.”

      She swallowed. “Yes…yes, I believe that’s a good idea.” But she wasn’t cold in the least. In fact, she felt overly warm. He made a faint bow, his black hair gleaming in the light of the torches, and she felt a strange pull low in her belly.

      “Good night, Mrs. Moss.”

      She stepped backward as if to protect herself. “Good night, my lord.” Then she turned and started down the path.

      She was used to men’s attentions. She was the daughter of a viscount, after all, and though she was a bit too outspoken, perhaps a bit willful, she knew that when she was ready for marriage, she would not lack for suitors. She enjoyed the company of men, had never been afraid of a man before, yet now, as she fled the garden, Corrie had to force herself not to run.

      Gray watched the petite young woman with the fiery curls hurrying off down the garden path. In the light of the torches, she was lovely—skin as smooth as glass, luminous green eyes, and a lush mouth the color of roses. She was a beautiful woman, small but elegant, the sort to make a man think of silk sheets and even silkier thighs, though Gray suspected that perhaps she did not truly know that.

      Still, she was not at all what she wanted him to believe, and that made him wary.

      Gray made a rude sound in his throat. She had told him she’d lived with his cousin for more than a year, then said it was less. It was obvious she had never lived in the country, to say nothing of on a farm. Who was she? he wondered again.

      For the past two years, since Jillian had died, Gray had felt restless in a way he never had before. The few women he had bedded had given him little satisfaction, just a few brief hours of sexual relief. He felt as if he had no purpose, no direction.

      When he had first inherited the earldom, he’d had so much to do he’d had little time to think, had been exhausted at the end of each day. There was a great deal to learn about being an earl, and Gray had enjoyed the challenge. He had enjoyed his life, and his bachelorhood. He’d had any number of mistresses back then, and though he had tired of them easily, he always saw them well settled when the brief affair was over.

      Then he’d been introduced to Jillian. She was young and beautiful, though a little too shy and a bit more reserved than perhaps he would have liked. But it was time he took a wife, time he did his duty and provided an heir, and Jillian and her family had seemed eager for the match.

      Ten months later his wife was dead and he was once more alone.

      Gray moved silently along the west wing hallway toward the master’s suite. Since Jillian’s death, he’d grown more and more restless, prowling the estate, searching for something but unable to discover what it was. With the arrival of the woman, for the first time in weeks he felt his interest piqued. Letty Moss posed a mystery and Gray meant to solve it.

      He reached his suite, pulled open the heavy carved door and went into the rooms that had belonged to his father. The sitting room, with its gold velvet draperies and dark oak furniture, stirred unpleasant memories and somehow weighed Gray down. He walked on through, his mind returning to Letty Moss and what he might discover about her.

      “Good evening, sahib.” His manservant, Samir Ramaloo, walked out of the bathing chamber adjoining the bedroom. Wisps of steam from the marble tub, prepared for Gray’s nightly bath, followed in his wake.

      “Good evening, Samir.” The small, dark-skinned man had been Gray’s manservant in India during the three years he had served there in the army. Each officer kept a full retinue of servants, staff necessary for surviving the hot, arid, demanding climate.

      With his impeccable service, Samir had made himself indispensable. He had also become Gray’s teacher, introducing him to the customs and conventions of the exotic land, and giving him the insight to appreciate a country so different from his own. More than a servant, Samir was his friend—and the wisest man Gray had ever known.

      “Your bath is ready, sire,” he said now, glancing up with eyes so black they looked like bottomless pits.

      Gray merely nodded and continued past him toward the marble bathing room.

      “Your mind is far away,” the Hindu said, knowing him well enough to sense that something was on his mind. “You think of the woman. I saw her this morning when she arrived and again tonight. She is very beautiful.”

      “Yes, she is.” She was lovely, like a perfectly modeled porcelain doll. Likely with the same empty head. She had presented herself as a young wife married briefly, then abandoned by her husband. Gray knew women, and as skittish as this one was, he was sure she had barely known the touch of a man, and probably had never known fulfillment.

      It made her story somewhat convincing, and yet he believed there was far more to her tale.

      Interesting. That was Letty Moss.

      Samir helped Gray disrobe, then stood aside as he stepped into the steaming water and settled his shoulders against the back of the marble tub.

      “It is said the woman is your cousin.”

      Gray scoffed. “By marriage, and so far distant the relationship is meaningless.”

      “She has no husband?”

      “She’s married. The man left her penniless and went off to seek his fortune.”

      “Ah, then she is in need of a protector—and you are in need of a woman. You ignore the desires of the flesh, but they gnaw like a beast inside you. Perhaps you can give this woman what she needs and she will do the same for you.”

      “She has a head full of feathers,” he said, trying to convince himself Samir’s words held no appeal, “and she is not what she seems.”

      “Ah, a puzzle for you to solve. That is what makes her interesting.”

      “She is that. I’m not sure why she’s here, but I intend to find out.”

      “That is good. Then you can allow yourself to pleasure the woman and enjoy her yourself. I will see what I can learn that might be of use.”

      Gray made no reply. He needed to keep a close eye on his so-called cousin, make sure she didn’t cause any problems. Samir’s watchful gaze might be helpful.

      Whatever her story, Gray would soon find out the truth.

      And perhaps, as Samir suggested, once he knew it, there could be other, more intimate things about Letty Moss he might find out.

      Corrie’s heart pounded madly as she hurried along the hall toward her bedroom. She didn’t like the feeling at all. She reached her room, pulled open the door, and found Allison waiting inside.

      “I thought you might need help getting out of your gown,” she said.

      “Thank you, Ally.” Though she could certainly use the help with her buttons and corset, Corrie wasn’t all that happy to find the dark-haired girl there. Not while her own mind was still swirling, replaying those unsettling moments with the earl in the garden.

      “Did you