“I can. I’ll call them, and say that I am you!”
Marissa did so, and she was heartily disturbed. Everything that Mary had told her was true. They were in a desperate situation.
The squire had even arranged for a special marriage license from the Archbishop of Canterbury. No banns needed to be cried if Mary chose to marry her guardian. The deed could be done immediately so that the man need hardly stay away from his business in America.
To Jimmy O’Brien’s credit, he swore that night that the money meant nothing to him, nothing at all. He loved Mary. His place was nothing but a hovel now, but he would work hard, so hard, and he would save the money to buy his own shop. He would live with Mary anywhere, and with their faith in their love, they would survive.
The two held hands before the fire in the squire’s library and stared into the flames, bliss in their eyes. Marissa, with her own problems facing her, left the two of them alone.
But by the next week, Mary had caught a fever. She was desperately ill, and Marissa spent all her time at her bedside, bargaining with God, pleading, promising that she would do anything to save her. Jimmy, too, sat by her bedside.
Mary had not just rescued Marissa from the coal dust. She had been her friend. Marissa had never forgotten the bitterness of those years, or ceased to long for something better for the poor people there. She was afraid that she would carry some of the bitterness and hatred to her grave. But Mary had given her hope, and allowed her dreams to fly.
There was little that Marissa would not do for her.
Mary took a turn for the better. The doctor warned Marissa then that Mary was not strong, that she needed to take the gravest care. She must avoid chills, she must not work too hard.
Jimmy and Marissa were desolate. Jimmy did love Mary, enough to give her up. There was no way for Mary to go and live in a hovel—whether love flourished or no.
“I can’t have her, and I can’t give her up,” Jimmy said, his freckled face lean and haggard and anguished. “I can’t leave my Mary!”
“I can get a new job, I can do something—” Marissa began.
“And support us all?” Jimmy scoffed. “Ah, Marissa, you are spirit and strength and wonderful courage and beauty, and I love you as deeply as does Mary. But Marissa! You’ve your uncle to care for. There’s nothing left to be done. Aye, but there is! I shall wait for Mary if needs be until we both be forty, fifty or sixty! I’d wait until my grave!”
Marissa almost smiled, he was so earnest and so dramatic.
“Jimmy, that much waiting would do in us all! No, there has to be some way, something that we can do!”
They didn’t come up with any conclusions that night. And Marissa went to bed wondering once again how the squire could have promised his young and beautiful daughter to some old and withered crony, no matter how wealthy and prominent the man might be.
It was the next day when the idea—outrageous as it was—occurred to Marissa.
Mary lay in her bed, silent, her face pale, her cheeks gaunt. Jimmy idly stood by the fireplace, teasing the flames with the poker, and Marissa sat by Mary’s bed, silent, too, no longer pretending to read.
“Mary! I can do it!”
“What?”
“I can be you!”
“Oh, my Lord!” Mary breathed. Jimmy stared at them as if Mary’s fever had caused them both to go daft.
“Oh, my God! Could we pull it off?” Marissa demanded.
“I know we could. I’ve never met this man. He’s a Californian, or something American like that.”
“But everyone here would know us—” Marissa began, then she laughed. “Mary! The solicitors already think I’m you. Oh, we can do this! We’ll plan very carefully. We’ll go to London! We’ll meet him in London.”
“Can we …?”
“Yes! We’ll start right away. We’ll agree to the terms with the solicitors. We’ll sign everything here, in York. And then we’ll keep the solicitors out of it when we meet this American in London!”
“And our names are so very close!” Mary laughed. “How convenient!”
“What are you two saying?” Jimmy demanded.
“Marissa will take my place!” Mary explained happily.
“No, we can’t have Marissa marry some ancient old being for ourselves, Mary. We can’t,” he said. And he was firm.
“I don’t have to marry him, Jimmy,” Marissa said calmly. “Just be a dutiful ward. Mary’s allowance will be released to me until her thirtieth birthday. And then Mary will receive her inheritance and everything will be fine.”
“Will it?” Jimmy demanded, walking over to Marissa. “And what of you? Will you spend ten years of your life alone? What of love for yourself, Marissa? What happens when you meet the man who can give you all that your heart desires?”
Marissa felt a coldness seal itself around her heart. “Jimmy—”
“You know nothing of love, as yet,” he interrupted her softly.
“I know a great deal about hunger and death,” she reminded him. “If I can take care of Theo, then I will be fine. And, Mary willing, we can even provide a small school there so a few other children may escape. Jimmy, I will be fine!”
Jimmy never was pleased with the plan. He fought it night and day. But Mary and Marissa had made up their minds, and the plan was put into action.
When they received the first correspondence from old Ian Tremayne—a short, curt missive to inform Mary when he would be coming—they were ready with their reply. Mary and Marissa composed it together, and Marissa wrote out the note in her flowing script. They had decided it would be necessary for Mr. Tremayne to become accustomed to Marissa’s writing. Miss Katherine Ahearn fully understood the conditions of her father’s will and was ready to abide by them upon her guardian’s arrival.
The solicitors were informed that Miss Ahearn would abide by all her father’s wishes, and Marissa and Mary learned that it wasn’t necessary for Mary to sign papers—only Ian Tremayne’s signature was necessary to release her funds. Mr. Tremayne already had her funds in his trust, and all other papers.
The solicitors indicated that they were more than willing to be present for her first meeting with Mr. Tremayne, as they fully understood the awkwardness of the situation.
They were impressed with the calm, cool maturity of the young lady who informed them that it would not be necessary at all.
And that was how they came to this day … now … waiting.
There was a knock at the door. Mary stared at Marissa in pure panic, and Marissa managed to smile at last. “It’s all right, I promise, Mary. Think about it. I have always been able to charm old men. Mary! We made it past the solicitors! Now go on with you, get into the bedroom.”
Mary sped past her, still white.
The knock came again, louder. There was an impatient note to it.
Then Marissa heard the voice. Deep, resonant, confident, the kind of male voice that spoke of authority and power. The kind that could enter the lower spine and send spirals racing up and down the back.
“Miss Ahearn! Are you there?”
The first twinge of unease seized her. She knew the voice. Knew it very well. It had even haunted her dreams, it had intruded upon her spinning her golden webs of aspirations, her hopes of glory.
She did not touch the door, but suddenly it burst open.
Him …
The tall stranger with the startling deep blue eyes. The eyes that touched her the way his voice touched her. Raking over her with a blaze of fire.
Arrogant, powerful, sharp. How could she possibly play out a deception upon this man with his hardened gaze, his determined manner, his ruthlessness? No anger or impatience with herself could quell the trembling at the pit of her stomach.
It was the surprise, she assured herself. The surprise and the fear. He would know her, he would remember.
“Miss Ahearn! I am Ian Tremayne.”
Impatience flashed through his cobalt gaze when she still failed to reply. “I
have come to fetch you home. Is something wrong? Are you all right?”
No, no, no! She was not all right at all! This was not an older gentleman to be twisted and swayed to her own will.
This was the lad who had carelessly tossed a coin her way. The brash man who had sent her tray crashing to the floor, who had laughed and told her that she should come to America.
This was the stranger who had broken into her dreams and reminded her that beneath her veneer she was a little coal rat.
The stranger had a name at long last.
Ian.
Ian Tremayne.
And already, his sharp blue eyes were narrowing. With recognition? She could not tell. Oh, no! He could not remember her! She had been a child that first time! And later, she had been a maid in a shadowed hallway. He could not remember, he could not!
“Miss Ahearn?”
“Yes, yes! I—I am Katherine!” she said, having found her voice at last. She struggled for a smile, but it eluded her. She managed to raise her hand, and he lifted it to his lips and brushed it with a cordial kiss.
A kiss that burned her fingers. That brushed and yet seared her flesh.
“Please sit down, if you will, ma’am. We’ve much to discuss of your father’s will. We shall try to handle this all amicably since I guarantee you it was none of my own doing.”
She was still standing in front of the settee. She seemed unable to move. Suddenly his hands were upon her shoulders, pressing her down to the settee. Then his voice came so close to her ear that the whisper of his breath touched her flesh. “It was not of my doing, but I gave Sir Thomas my word that I would carry out his wishes. And I intend to carry them out, my dear, I feel obliged to tell you. And I will do so, Miss Ahearn. I promise, I will do so.”
Chapter Two
He was sitting beside her, easily, relaxed, staring at her pointedly, rudely, with no apology. She might still be trembling inwardly, but Marissa would be damned if she would let him intimidate her again. She lifted her chin slightly to speak. She remembered the mannerisms of every one of Mary’s rich and imperious friends, and she spoke softly, yet with her own form of arrogance.
“Mr. Tremayne, no one was more shocked than I that my father should have made such an arrangement. We were very close. Obviously, I have no wish for a guardian. Any more than you, sir, seem to have a wish to be one. With a minimum of effort, I’m sure we can reach an amicable understanding.”
His brows arched with a certain amusement, then the curl of a smile suddenly faded and he was frowning. “Didn’t we meet before?”
“No, Mr. Tremayne, we did not. I was not at the manor the day you called.”
“How do you know I called?”
“I—I assumed you called upon Father some time—he had not left this country for years before his death.”
“Ah,” he murmured. Then he was up, striding the small parlor once again. “I shall wish to return to San Francisco as quickly as possible. Is that agreeable with you?”
She shrugged. “If it’s necessary. Of course, I understand that a young woman could be quite a burden to you. If you wish, I’ve no problems with the idea of your administering the estate from America while I remain in London.”
He smiled again, slowly, and for a moment, there was a certain tenderness about his gaze that softened the rugged planes of his face and made him appear very handsome. “My dear Miss Ahearn,” he murmured softly, “I did not wish this responsibility, yet I take it very seriously. I would not dream of leaving a young lady of your tender age in such a city unattended.”
“I would not be unattended. I have very good friends.”
“So I imagine,” he said wryly. Then he paused once again. “Are you sure we have not met?”
“Quite sure,” Marissa said, locking her teeth against the sudden bitterness that filled her. No, he would not remember her. She had simply been the dirtied child in the mud. The maid with her hair pulled back and her face in the shadows. She was safe.
But a small tremor shook her, and she lowered her lashes quickly. “I can assure you, Mr. Tremayne, that I am a very responsible young woman, independent and able to care for myself. You could leave me with all good conscience.”
“No,” he said flatly. She raised her eyes to his cobalt blue ones and found them hard and emphatic. She suddenly longed to throw something at him. He brooked no opposition to his will—indeed, he would not even listen to reason!
But that was all right. They had all agreed that they would move to America if necessary. Jimmy could start up his business in California. They could live very near; it would work out!
“If you intend to argue with me further, Miss Ahearn, please save us both the time and effort. I had not expected a wayward child, yet if you persist …”
He was threatening her! she thought. His tone was low and pleasant, but there was definite threat behind it. If she persisted, what? she wondered indignantly.
Once again her chin rose. She wanted to argue for the sake of argument, just to prove to him that she’d be damned if she was about to follow some Yank’s orders.
But it probably wasn’t the time for an argument. Discretion, Sir Thomas had assured her, was often the better part of valor.
“I had thought to make this as convenient as possible for both of us,” Marissa said sweetly. “But if that is not your wish …”
“Girl, this hasn’t been convenient from the start,” he said impatiently, then exhaled slowly and apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that this is a shock for you. You have recently lost your father and been informed of a guardian. And of course the terms of his will were quite stringent.” Once again, there was a slight glimmer of compassion and tenderness in his eyes, yet it seemed quickly to be gone. Once again, despite her own predicament, Marissa found herself wondering about the man. What had given him that edge of hardness, and even ruthlessness, when he could be so gentle at times?
Times when he was not crossed, she reminded herself. She would have to take great care with him.
She found herself studying him again. He was tall, very tall, and well built, with broad shoulders and lean hips. He wore his clothing with a casual flair. Today he was in black boots, form-hugging black riding breeches, crisp white pleated shirt, black velvet jacket, silk vest and cravat. His body, she was certain, was well muscled beneath the fabric, yet it was his face that made him so imposing a man. His features were handsome, well-drawn and well-defined. He was clean-shaven with arched, clean dark brows, and his chin was firm while his cheekbones were high and well set. His mouth was generous and full, a sensual mouth when it curled to a smile, a forbidding one when it was set in a line. His eyes were his greatest power. They seemed to carry endless years of wisdom. Sometimes weary, sometimes as cold as ice, sometimes alive with a hint of humor, but mercurial, ever changing. He was somewhere around thirty years old, she thought, yet his eyes were much, much older.
“Stringent, indeed,” Marissa murmured.
“And I repeat, very definitely not of my choosing,” he said. His gaze left her. With his hands locked together at the base of his spine, he paced the room once again. “I cannot be gone long. My business concerns are varied and demanding, and it was not easy to get away. I plan to head back as soon as all necessary arrangements are made. You will be more at your leisure, and I do understand that you might need time to say your goodbyes to friends, to close up the manor and—and to move to a place nearly half a globe away. I think, however, that once you have made the move, you will find yourself pleasantly surprised. My house is large and spacious, I am nearly never around, and when I am, I have a tendency to keep to myself.” The last was said somewhat bitterly, and again she found herself wondering about the man. “There is nothing I can do about the fact that none of your money is to be released to you unless the terms of the will are carried out exactly—”
“What?” Marissa was instantly on her feet. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought you understood. Your funds ar
e to be held in trust until your twenty-fifth birthday should you agree to the marriage, and held until your thirtieth birthday if you should not.”
“Yes, yes, I do understand that! But there was to be an allowance!”
He shook his head impatiently. “The allowance holds true only if you choose to marry. I’m sorry. I thought you understood that. But I am a wealthy man, Katherine, and I do not intend that you should suffer.”
Taking anything from him would be suffering, she was certain of it. She was already deceiving him. If he ever discovered the truth …
She sat, suddenly so weary that she could not stand it.
What now of Jimmy? He was a good man. With a little help, he could have been a fine merchant, perhaps a wealthy man in his own right.
And what of Uncle Theo?
And Mary … Oh, dear God, could Mary bear another shock?
“There must be something wrong. Terribly wrong. I have seen the lawyers—”
“You must see them again if you still do not comprehend the will,” he said, irritation touching his tone. “I shall try to explain it very simply. If you agree to the marriage, your allowance is to begin upon the date of the nuptials, and you will receive the bulk of your inheritance upon your twenty-fifth birthday. If you choose not to marry, then your allowance will begin upon your twenty-fifth birthday, and the bulk of the inheritance will become yours upon your thirtieth birthday. Do you understand?”
“I cannot live like that!” she gasped.
He paused, staring at her, and one of his ink dark brows raised high. “You will have to, Miss Ahearn.”
“But I cannot! I’ve my personal expenses—”
“You will be provided with a home, and I shall, of course, do my best to see to your needs.”
“I don’t want your charity!” she exclaimed. “Oh, dear God!” she murmured suddenly, and sank back to the settee. That she had even tried to be decent to this man when everything was a disaster! She looked up at him sharply. “We must break the will!”
“There is no way to break the will, I assure you,” he said calmly. “The squire was entirely of his right mind throughout his entire life.”
Forbidden Fire Page 3