Dark Fires Read Online Free PDF Page A

took a deep breath, for courage. She was standing outside the massive teakwood doors of the library, which were closed and highly forbidding. She knew, already, that this was the earl’s solitary, private domain. She had sensed that even his son was hesitant to venture forth there. She knew he was within. Not that she had asked his whereabouts—she could feel his presence.
    It was tangible.
    Jane hesitated, remembering hotly how he had found her playing childish games with his son in the nursery. She once again regretted her impulsive behavior and her flyaway imagination. She was confirming his first opinion of her—that she belonged in the nursery. Gnawing her lip, she resolved to control herself. To be graceful, dignified, adultlike. She knocked.
    There was no response.
    Jane hesitated, more sure than ever that he was within, afraid now to incur his displeasure, or worse. But she did not believe in procrastinating. She had to get this over with. Bravely she knocked again, harder this time.
    The door opened so abruptly and without any warning that Jane, leaning against it, fell forward and against his body. She did not have to look up to know it was he. He was so tall and so hard, harder than she believed possible. He caught her, exclaiming, “What the hell!” She gasped and looked up. His hands dropped from her shoulders as if he’d been burned. For an instant their gazes met, his so pale yet so dark. He was angry.
    “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. She regretted now her foolishness in seeking him out. It was like bearding a wolf in his den. Her heart was thundering in her breast.
    “I take it you want something,” he said, arms crossed.
    “May we speak?”
    He nodded and turned his back on her and paced to his desk. He sat behind it. Jane slowly crossed the room, so nervous that she didn’t pay attention to its size, the plush carpets, the thick, gleaming mahogany walls. The desk was overly large—it suited him. She couldn’t help but notice the endless piles of paperwork, ledgers, and books. She felt like a supplicant at the royal throne.
    She wasn’t sure whether to stand or sit, so she stood.
    “Well?”
    “My lord.” She took a breath, looked him in the eye. “I cannot marry.” Not an emotion crossed his face. “No?” “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “I am an actress, sir.”
    It was said with such seriousness, such conviction, that Nick felt the corners of his mouth trying to lift. He fought the urge to smile. “Indeed?”
    “Yes.” Calmer now, Jane smiled. It was so sweet the earl felt the stabbing all the way to his gut— and he didn’t like that. His jaw clamped, but she went on serenely. “You know, don’t you, that my mother was a famous actress, Sandra Barclay. And I, well, I had my first role at ten at the Lyceum Theatre.” Her eyes shone. “I was on the stage until I was fourteen,” she said, as if that explained everything.
    The earl was stunned and disbelieving. “Your mother was an actress? I find it impossible to believe that the blue-blooded Westons would allow such a woman into their noble midst.”
    Jane grew slightly pink.
    “You are a Weston?”
    She didn’t respond, pinker still.
    “You are somehow related to the family? I was led to believe you were the dear, dead duke’s grandaughter.”
    “I am,” she squeaked.
    “I see,” he said, leaning back, his face ferocious-looking now. “A bas—illegitimate?”
    She was red. “My father, the duke’s third son, Viscount Stanton, loved my mother to distraction. And she loved him.”
    “But they weren’t married.”
    Jane was both upset and angry at his prying. “He could not marry her, sir,” she said clearly.
    He raised a brow.
    “He already had a wife,” she managed.
    “Ah,” Nick said. “I see.”
    Jane swallowed, hard. Some time before he had died, her father and mother had carefully explained that they weren’t married, although they loved each other completely, and that her father already had a wife