Dark Fires Read Online Free PDF Page B

wall before his Irish-bred hunter. Just how in hell was he going to find her a suitable husband when he had not been among Society since the murder trial?
    And he felt it then, anguish, dread.
    But with iron control, he shoved both feelings deep, deep inside.

6

    Jane passed a sleepless night. She tossed and turned, both miserable and angry. She would never give up her dreams, yet she sensed that the earl would be as immovable as a stone wall. Again and again their conversation replayed itself in her mind. The words became lost among the images. Mostly his image, dark and threatening. He had not a jot of compassion in his entire large, hard body. His eyes were silver ice. If she wasn’t careful, she would probably be married within the fortnight.
    Knowing him now, as little as she did, sensing the dark, hot anger pulsing within him, she thought that perhaps what they said was true, perhaps he had killed his wife. After all, where there’s smoke there’s fire, and he had been on trial for the murder—the trial of the Earl of Drag-more had been sensationalized by the press, making headlines every day for a week. It had only been three and a half years ago. Jane had seen some of the papers. That particular week Matilda and the parson had argued vehemently once over whether he was guilty or innocent, Matilda certain he had done the grisly deed. She had won that battle. But he had been acquitted. Some time during this period he had gained the popular title the Lord of Darkness.
    And then she remembered his hands.
    She saw them clearly, big and powerful, hands that could kill. Yet how could a murderer’s hands stroke a little boy’s hair with such tenderness? Jane was assailed with the memory of how, earlier, in the nursery, Nick had not been able to take his palm out of Chad’s thick hair. The power had been cowed by gentleness, such gentleness …
    Jane hoped he hadn’t killed his wife. Suddenly she wished she could remember the details of the case. She had only been fourteen, and she hadn’t read the papers, just glanced at the headlines and listened to Matilda and the parson fighting.
    When she finally fell asleep she dreamed. But not of the murder. She dreamed of his hands, big, gentle, stroking Chad’s hair. Except the hair changed from brown to blond. And he was stroking her hair. His warm hand, throbbing with life, slid to her neck, cupping it. And across her shoulder, down her arm … The pleasure was unbearable. She awoke stretching like a cat, sensually, languidly, a smile on her lips. Her breasts felt full and aching, and her nipples were small and hard, rubbing against the thin lawn of her nightgown. Jane did not want to wake up. She touched her breast, a small caress, held it, then her hand drifted to her belly and paused. Her gown was twisted up around her thighs, which were spread open, sprawling lasciviously. She recalled then, in a flash of clarity, that she had been dreaming of his touch, and she went pink. Yet it had been so real.
    She would never dream that dream again!
    Thank God he would never be able to read her mind!
    Jane leapt from the bed and washed and dressed in a plain blue-striped dress. She wished now that she had brought her crinoline, but because she hated it and never wore it at the parsonage she hadn’t. She wondered if he expected her to take her breakfast in the nursery as well. She was seventeen, not six. She would not—even if he thought her a child. Still, as she went downstairs she was soundless, purposefully, and outside the doors to the breakfast room she hesitated, momentarily unsure, even afraid to enter. The room was empty.
    Relief was vast, but there was a tingling of disappointment too.
    The sideboard was still graced with hot, covered serving dishes and platters. His place was empty, the plate gone but the setting still there, left in disarray. Jane could still feel his presence, or so she imagined. There was no setting for her. With determination, she went out and into