Forbidden Fire

by Heather Graham

  “Perhaps we should renegotiate, gentlemen,” the heavy-set Chinese man said. “You neglected to inform me that she is an incredible amount of trouble!”

  Ian had toured the streets, one by one, stopping to ask questions, growing ever more determined and desperate. Passing by a market, then a known opium den, Ian saw a man called One-Eyed Charlie who was a notorious—and extremely slippery—criminal. Charlie dealt in hashish, the best, and in female flesh, the most pathetic. He’d been taken downtown to jail a score of times—he had always managed to avoid conviction. Evidence disappeared, just as women disappeared.

  Seeing Charlie, Ian didn’t hesitate. He shouted the man’s name. Charlie cast his one good eye in Ian’s direction, then started through the narrow alleyways, plunging through the crowds. Ian shouted again, leaping from the horse, and racing after Charlie.

  He caught up with him in the middle of a narrow alley where clothing and animal carcasses hung in profusion. He catapulted onto the man’s back, then dragged him to his feet, nearly strangling him as he shook him by the collar. “Where is she, where the hell is she, Charlie? If she’s gone, you aren’t going to get off this time! I’ll break your neck here and now if I don’t get something!”

  Charlie burst into a spate of Chinese. Ian shook him, and Charlie switched to English as he began to turn blue. “I don’t know, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “My wife, Charlie! The whole damned city knows, and you’re going to tell me that you don’t?”

  “I don’t have her, I swear, but I’ll find her! Put me down, I’ll find her. She could be in a few places. I’ll find her—”

  “Ian!”

  He heard his name shouted as he held Charlie by the throat. He looked at the street and saw Lee Kwan coming toward him quickly. “Ian, we’ve got something. Drop Charlie. We’ve got something!”

  Ian looked at Charlie then dropped him. Charlie sprawled on the ground, then picked himself up and dusted his loose trousers, staring at Ian suspiciously.

  Then he bolted and ran like a rabbit.

  “Lee, what?” Ian demanded anxiously.

  “Lilli called. She said she sent feelers out, and she was able to get an address. She said to warn you that it could be dangerous.”

  “The address, Lee, give me the address.”

  “I’ve called the police—”

  “And they might be too late! Give me the damned address!”

  She had scratched, she had clawed, she might have cost a few of the heavy Chinese man’s helpers a new dynasty of children, but in the end it had done her little good.

  Marissa was carefully trussed and wound into a carpet. She could scarcely breathe, and she was afraid that she would lose consciousness when she most desperately needed her senses.

  She was thrown over the shoulder of a man who bore the imprint of her nails from his brow to his chin. She could see nothing. Her arms were caught to her sides by the carpet, and she thought she would die if she couldn’t breathe soon. But she could hear clearly.

  Her assailants were gone, and she had been left to the mercy of the Chinese flesh merchant. She could understand nothing of the language, but she knew that she was being sent to a ship. She was leaving the house in Chinatown, and the man she had so ignominiously wounded was making no effort to be gentle as he carried her downstairs. Her face, wound in the heavy carpet, thudded hard against his back again and again. She could not brace herself for she could not move her arms.

  She heard the shouts as they reached a rear alley. She was pretty sure the man who carried her was flanked by three others, wiry, strong young men who carried sharp knives and knew how to use them. She had fought them all until she had felt the blade of one of those knives at her throat. And the heavy Chinese man had warned her then that her value would not decrease too dearly should she bear a scar or two here or there in discreet places.

  It was impossible to contemplate what was going to happen to her. She’d been warned but she hadn’t wandered into any dangerous neighborhood. She’d been taken anyway. And now God alone knew where she would end up, she thought bleakly.

  Did it matter? She would lose everything of importance to her. This life, Uncle Theo, Mary, Jimmy …

  Ian. Love.

  All her life she had been searching. Even when she hadn’t known it. And she had finally found everything. God had given her not just a way to survive. He’d given her far more than gowns and beautiful things. He’d given her Ian. He’d given her love.

  Perhaps this was justice. Perhaps she’d been given too much. Perhaps, like Icarus, she had wanted to fly, and so God had seen to it that her wings were melted and that she came crashing to the ground.

  No! Tears stung her eyes. She could not accept defeat so easily!

  She began to slam her body back and forth. Someone had to notice the movement! The carpet began to loosen around her.

  “Stop!” Hands clamped down upon her brutally. She ignored them, squirming like a worm. It would do her no good, she thought desperately.

  Then she heard the voice.

  “You! You there! Stop this instant.”

  It was Ian. She could have sworn it. Her heart began to hammer, and she writhed with greater determination to make the package of carpet and herself move more visibly.

  The man carrying her did stop. Marissa felt him whirl around, and then she was dropped carelessly to the ground. There was a challenge spoken, and then she heard a thunder of footsteps.

  Frantically, she rolled out of her carpet and staggered to her feet.

  They were in the alleyway, Ian, the man who had held her and the others. The others, with their horrible, wicked knives.

  The man who had carried her roared like a lion. Then he bore down on Ian like a steam engine. Marissa screamed, but Ian paid no heed. He was assessing his enemy. He stepped aside just before the man could butt him, then slammed his joined fists down upon his attacker’s back. The man crumbled at his feet.

  But the others were encircling him now. The eternal fog was settling upon the city, and the streetlights were winking on. The knives were caught in that glow, twinkling as their owners twisted and turned them in warning.

  There was another cry and one of them broke from the group, leaping for Ian, his knife high and poised. Marissa screamed a warning again. Perhaps she was in time; perhaps he had already known. He caught the man’s arm. They plummeted to the earth together and began to roll. The two other men ran after them. Marissa gathered up her tattered skirts and did the same. In the fog, she could see nothing but the entwined figures thrashing upon the ground.

  And then one man was up.

  Ian.

  “Ian!” She shouted his name.

  “Get out of here, Marissa! Get the hell out of here!” he shouted to her.

  She couldn’t go. The other two men were taking no chances. They were approaching him together. He backed away, a careful eye on the deadly knives. One rushed him. The second started to do the same.

  “No!” Marissa shrieked. She ran forward, leaping upon the man’s back. She grasped his face, blinding him. She heard a growl burst forth from him. His hand was upon her, groping, trying to dislodge her.

  His knife went clattering down to the cobblestones. She felt herself wrenched free. In the night she saw his murderous dark eyes. And then it was as if she was flying as he hurtled her aside to deal with Ian.

  Somewhere in the night, she heard a police whistle. She tried to rise, and she staggered against a wall. She heard a gasp, and the sound of steel ripping into flesh. She screamed, doubling over.

  Ian!

  Then there were footsteps everywhere. The police had arrived.

  Suddenly arms wound around her, lifting her swiftly. She cried out, then her eyes widened. Ian, his face blackened with the grime from the street, blood streaming from a cut near his eye, looked at her. “My God!” she breathed, “I thought it was you!”

  “No,” he said softly. “Don’t look back.”

 
But she had already done so. One man lay in a hideous arch over his own knife. Police officers were hurrying around his body and the others.

  “Mr. Tremayne!” One of them called after him. “Mr. Tremayne, we’ve questions—”

  “And you can ask them tomorrow!” Ian answered. “I’m taking my wife home now.”

  She smiled and leaned against his chest. He carried her out to the street. Lee and John Kwan were in a carriage there. Lee helped her up, and Marissa leaned against her while Ian tethered his bay to the rear of the carriage. Then Ian held her again.

  “How did you ever find me?” she asked.

  “We moved quickly. Darrin saw them take you. Still, I would never have known where to look if it weren’t for Lilli,” he admitted.

  Marissa nodded. “Then I must thank her,” she murmured.

  The rest of the ride home was made in silence. It didn’t matter. Marissa felt so very comfortable. So loved. She was home with John and Lee.

  And she was cherished by Ian. He had fought for her. Risked his life for her. Killed for her. She would never question his feelings or his past again.

  Darrin and Lilli were waiting outside the house. Marissa descended from the coach and hugged the boy first. Then she looked at the woman.

  “I just wanted to see that Ian brought you home safely,” Lilli said. Her dress was subdued. She wore no makeup. She had carefully chosen her attire to come to the house, and now she was speaking very shyly.

  Behind her, Ian didn’t say a word.

  “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

  Three 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—”
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br />   “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?”