Fire Lily (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  He’d tossed and twisted, bedeviling poor Balthazar throughout the night, finally leaving the unfamiliar bed to sit in a chair near the window to wait for the dawn. It had not come quickly enough for him. He’d tried to discover the meaning of his dreams as his grandmother, Queen Sofie, had taught him. However, he’d made no sense of them and that disturbed him. Usually, his dreams held the future or at least pointed the way, but what could dolls and swings have to do with his life?

  His head felt full as if stuffed with cotton, and he realized he was eating the breakfast Orrie had prepared but tasting none of it.

  “Mr. Goforth? … Mr. Goforth?”

  Griffon forced his attention to his hostess. “Yes, Mrs. Meeker?”

  “You’ve hardly touched your food. Is there something wrong?”

  “No, not at all,” he assured her. “I’m a man governed by moods, and my behavior leans toward the obsessive. I either eat little or gorge myself. I sleep like the dead or hardly at all.”

  “ ’Tis true,” Balthazar attested, sopping up the last of the milk gravy in his plate with his fifth biscuit. “He’s a restless soul, that one.”

  “Dearie me,” Orrie scolded gently as she moved around the table, filling coffee cups and juice glasses. “That can’t be good for a body.”

  “I seem to be faring well enough,” Griffon said.

  “Tell us about your magic powers and how you’re going to use them to find Cecille,” Nan urged.

  He quirked one brow. “I don’t think of myself as having magic powers.”

  “What do you have, then?” Nan persisted, and the others around the table waited for his answer—even Balthazar, who surely knew it by heart.

  “A keen sense of perception,” Griffon said by rote. Having been asked this question countless times, he’d fashioned a pat answer that seemed to satisfy the unenlightened curious. “Everyone has five senses—sight, touch, taste, smell, and hearing. I have honed mine. I take more in than the average person, and therefore I’m able to perceive things others might miss.”

  The answer seemed to work nicely, although Griffon knew he’d barely skimmed the surface. What he’d been born with was a conundrum to him and to those who had studied him. Some people were blessed with musical talent, others with the ability to write, or to solve complex mathematical problems. He’d been given the ability to hear thoughts, to sense feelings, to trespass on a person’s mind. His was a gift that could be considered both a blessing and a curse.

  “Isn’t that interesting?” Nan said after a pregnant silence. Then she began buttering a steaming blueberry muffin. “How clever of you to sharpen your basic skills. We should all be so astute, so industrious.”

  “Which sense will you use to find Cecille?” Lily asked, joining in the conversation for the first time since she’d come downstairs, dressed in white eyelet and beribboned in pink. “Will you sniff her out or develop a craving for a bite of her?”

  Nan Meeker laughed uneasily. “Don’t be a goose, Lily.”

  “I’m being a goose?” Lily countered. “This man hands out a lame story about sharpening his senses and we let him think he’s appeased our disbelief? I shan’t sit here and say nothing. Cecille is like a sister to me and I want to find her as much as any of you, but at what price this time?”

  Her eyes dared Griffon to spar with her, and he felt a quickening, an eagerness to match wits with the chestnut-haired beauty. Last night he’d sensed in her a mixture of fascination and condemnation, but this morning the mix was different: more fascination, less condemnation, and a new ingredient—attraction. Just a hint of it, but there. Definitely there. No doubt she’d sooner cut out her tongue than admit it. A smile bubbled up from his heart and he couldn’t keep it from his lips. She was talking tough, but she wasn’t as sure of herself as she had been last night. Perhaps he wasn’t the monster she’d pictured, he thought, and she’d hit a snag in her plan to unmask him as a two-bit soothsayer.

  “Lily, mind your tongue,” Howard said, his brows lowered over thunderous eyes. “If memory serves me correctly, we all agreed to give Mr. Goforth a chance to find Cecille. If you had any misgivings, a week ago was when you should have voiced them. Not now when he’s traveled all this way to help us.”

  “I did voice my concerns, but the rest of you ignored me,” Lily protested. “I thought that once you saw him you’d realize he wasn’t a haloed champion but only another man looking for big purses and small minds.”

  “That will suffice, Lily,” Howard said, his voice breaking, then climbing toward a shouting match level.

  “Please, Mr. Meeker,” Griffon said, verbally stepping between the two. “She has every right to question my methods.” He swung his gaze to Lily. “I hope to locate clues to your cousin’s whereabouts that others have missed. I can tell when someone is lying or trying to hide information. Often, I can learn the truth when others are stymied.” He forsook the refulgence in Lily’s eyes to confront the sadness in Nan Meeker’s. Although the woman tried valiantly to be a pleasant and charming hostess, the burden of her worries defeated her. A wave of sympathy made him yearn to lighten her load. “I wish I could promise that I will return your daughter here to you before the sun sets on another day, but I can’t. I can only swear to you that I’ll do my level best.”

  “How much will you charge, Mr. Goforth?”

  Nan gasped at Lily’s bold question, and Balthazar shook his head in sad reproach. Howard cleared his throat and blustered for a few moments before he managed some intelligible words.

  “Lily Jane, I believe you are poking your nose into my business!” Howard warned. “I will be the one to pay Mr. Goforth, not you. Ladies shouldn’t be speaking of money!”

  Nan nodded so vigorously she shook loose a lock of pale hair from its chignon. “That’s right! That’s right! Especially at the breakfast table. It’s not ladylike behavior at all, Lily, dear.”

  “Somebody in this family should be asking how much he intends to charge,” Lily insisted. “That last thief gave us a two-page report and a bill for sixty-two dollars.”

  Howard looked as if he were ready to blow like a whale. “Lily, I must insist that you retire to your room and stay there until—”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Meeker,” Griffon said, giving a careless flick of his hand to extract the fangs from Lily’s skepticism. Then he faced Lily squarely, amusement tickling his throat. He knew she strove to anger him, but he found her brash behavior delightfully different. Certainly not conduct befitting a lady, he allowed, but ladies tended to bore the stuffing out of him. He noted that her spirit was flying high, aided by gusts of righteous anger, and he knew his answer would snip her wings and send her tumbling down. “I’ll ask for nothing unless I produce results, Miss Meeker.”

  Lily sucked in a noisy breath. Howard and Nan exchanged startled glances. Balthazar looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Then Lily pulled herself up sharply and glared at him.

  “What sort of results?” she demanded. “If you trace Cecille to some other town that leads us to another blank wall, will you claim that as a result?”

  “Lily, please, it’s not your place to question our guests,” Nan said, fretfully. “Mr. Goforth will think you uncouth.”

  “I don’t care what he thinks of me,” Lily said, never letting her gaze waver from his. “Will you kindly answer my question, sir?”

  “With pleasure. If I don’t locate Cecille, then I’ll charge your family not one shilling … rather, cent.” He paused to witness the defeat darkening her eyes to umber. She had nearly perfect features, he decided, but he particularly liked her retroussé nose. He had the oddest desire to press his lips to the tip of it and then work his way down to her full, shell-pink lips. He made himself recall the conversation and forgo his fantasies for the moment. “If your aunt and uncle are pleased with my services, then I shall leave it to them to decide what amount they’ll donate to the Society.”

  “Th-the Society?”

  He nodded and offered up
a smug grin that made her frown even more mightily at him. “The American Society of Psychic Research,” he defined more clearly. “It is through the Society that I’m here.” He glanced around the table at the others. “As you must know, Edward Meeker—your father,” he threw out at Lily.

  “I know that, Mr. Goforth,” she said, nearly spitting the words at him.

  He grinned, thoroughly enjoying her feistiness. “Edward Meeker agreed to allow my mentor, Thurman Unger, to see if Cecille can be found using psychic powers. I’ve been very busy at the Society, but I can’t refuse Thurman anything. He’s like a father to me. So here I am. But any money earned should be sent to the Society, since I’m actually on loan, so speak, from it. If I find Cecille, I’ll hope that you’ll speak well of me to others so that I might build on my reputation and cast a pleasing light on the Society.”

  Balthazar made a choking sound and held a napkin to his lips. His nut brown eyes bulged at Griffon, and Griffon knew that Balthazar was having difficulty keeping his mouth shut and his protests to himself. Griffon cast a warning by lowering his brows, and Balthazar gave an almost imperceptible nod of reluctance.

  “More than fair, young man,” Howard said, then glared pointedly at his niece. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lily?”

  “Yes.” She swept the linen napkin from her lap, dabbed at the corners of her mouth, then dropped the napkin neatly beside her plate. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Mr. Goforth.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, Miss Meeker, and as for my feelings, you needn’t worry. I’m made of tough material.”

  Lily pressed her lips together, and Griffon enjoyed witnessing the flags of color rise in her cheeks.

  “I should be leaving for the bank.” Howard scooted back his chair. “Linger over your breakfast,” he urged his guests. “But if I don’t open the bank right on time, I’ll have some disgruntled people on my hands.”

  “We understand,” Griffon answered him.

  “I believe I’ll take a stroll,” Balthazar announced. “I’ve never been to this fair city and I enjoy exploring new places. Won’t you come with me, Griffon?”

  “Orrie is going to the market,” Griffon said. “Perhaps she’ll let you escort her there. You could help carry her purchases home.”

  Balthazar’s glance toward Griffon bode ill will, but then he fashioned a smile for the bright-eyed maid. “Might I tag along?”

  “Don’t mind a’tall.” Orrie furrowed her brow. “How’d you know I was goin’ to market right after breakfast, Mr. Goforth?”

  Griffon tried to look perplexed, unwilling to reveal the depth of his abilities just yet. He’d found that the less people knew, the easier it was for them to accept him and his abnormalities. “You mentioned it, didn’t you?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t remember her saying anything about it,” Nan said. “But it is Friday, and Orrie always goes to the marketplace on Fridays.” Nan reached out to pat her husband’s coat sleeve. “I’ll see you to the door, dear.”

  Howard offered Nan his arm and the two left the dining room. Orrie gathered a stack of dishes and beamed at Balthazar.

  It was obvious to Griffon that she had romantic intentions toward Zar and could hardly wait to get him alone. Judging from the gleam in Balthazar’s eyes, the feeling was mutual.

  “I’ll be heading for market in a few minutes, sir,” Orrie told Balthazar.

  “Then I’ll fetch my overcoat and meet you at the street door,” the portly man said, rising to his feet, then smoothing a hand along the side of his oiled hair that was thinning on top.

  “That’ll be fine.” Orrie shoved a shoulder against the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room and hurried through, letting it flap in her wake.

  Too late, Lily realized she’d been left alone at the table with Griffon Goforth. She started to leap up and make a clean getaway.

  “You weren’t here when Cecille turned up missing?” Griffon asked.

  Affording him only the swiftest glance, Lily entertained the notion of simply leaving the room without answering him, but then she thought of Cecille. If there was a chance this man could find her cousin, then the least she could do was answer his questions. After all, he’d promised in front of the entire family not to take a cent unless he could produce Cecille Meeker. Giving a mental shrug, she resigned herself to her immediate fate.

  “I was visiting my father and stepmother in Cambridge. Cecille had written me Christmas Day. That was the last time I heard from her.”

  “Her letter reflected nothing unsettling? She appeared in good spirits?”

  “Yes.” Lily sat back and folded her arms at her waist, relaxing as much as she dared.

  Griffon drummed his fingers against the tablecloth and tried not to dwell on the outline of her breasts. “Miss Meeker … may I call you Lily?”

  “No.” The word was brittle, chilling; chipped from a block of ice.

  “Why not?” he asked, gouged by her unwillingness to pay him the smallest gesture of familiarity.

  “Because it isn’t proper for you to use my Christian name.”

  “A few minutes ago you weren’t being proper at all.”

  “Sometimes it’s necessary to forsake manners,” she said, almost snapping at him. She owed him no explanations!

  He shrugged. “Lily, why are you being so obstinate? I’ve made it clear that I’m not out to steal money from your relatives.”

  “Mr. Goforth, please restrict your questions to Cecille and her disappearance or I shall leave the room.” She fiddled with the tablecloth while the voice of reason chastised her. Be civil, it urged. He makes you nervous, but that’s not his fault. Lily glanced at him. He was smiling, his silvery blue eyes as inviting as a spring-fed pond. “Mr. Goforth,” she began, but he made a scoffing sound.

  “Griffon,” he said slowly. “Can you manage that? Come now. Try. Grif-fon. You can do it.”

  Lily tightened her hands until her knuckles looked as if they might split the skin. “I’m not an imbecile.”

  “That’s right. You’re an intelligent young woman, so behave yourself.” He’d made his voice crack like a whip, and she responded as he’d hoped. Her eyes flashed with fire and blood pooled in her cheeks.

  “You ill-mannered misogynist! How dare you speak to me in that way!”

  A smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. “Misogynist, am I? Far from it, Lily. I happen to adore women. I find them utterly fascinating, confounding, and tantalizing. I even find you attractive, although you conduct yourself as if you’re queen of the shrews.”

  Hot anger pumped through her. “I hate you.”

  “I’m heartbroken,” he said, unfeelingly. “Truly.” Then he stood and strolled to the six narrow windows set in the east wall of the dining room. He could feel the heat of her anger directed at his back.

  Irish temper, he thought, seeing the dark red color of her hair in his mind’s eye. She was probably an inferno in bed. “You mentioned a report from the private investigator.” It amazed him he could ask intelligent questions while a corner of his mind dwelled on matters of lust. She stared holes through his back, so he finally turned sideways to look at her. God, she was a beauty! Why hadn’t some lucky chap grabbed her and swept her to the altar? he wondered, then thought she might intimidate men of social standing. She wasn’t one to follow behind or demur.

  “What about the report?” she asked, wondering why he was looking at her as if she were a riddle.

  He blinked, bringing his thoughts into focus. “Mightn’t I see it?”

  “Ask Uncle Howard for it. Better yet, conjure it up for yourself.”

  “Why are you blocking my efforts to find your cousin?”

  “Simple. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you.”

  He sent her a look that called her a fool. “The report; can you lay your hands on it?”

  Seeing that he was determined to make her fetch for him, she marched from the dining room and into he
r uncle’s small study off the front parlor. Finding the detective’s report was an easy task, and she returned to Griffon within minutes. Lily thrust the parchment at him as if it were a dirk. He took it and slanted it toward the light streaming in from the bank of windows. She could see the ring on his middle finger clearly. A gold griffon, she noted, surreptitiously examining the bas-relief of the leonine creature. Her gaze lifted, almost against her will, to the mark of a rebel—the gold earring. Something about it appealed to her, and she found that agonizing.

  It’s all that rubbish Orrie fed me as a child about wandering Gypsies and romantic nomads, she thought. Then she noticed the scar—a faint, pinkish curving at the outer corner of his left eye—another sign of a pirate dressed as a banker, she fancied, taking in his proper gray suit, shirt, and striped silk jabot. A wolf in sheep’s clothing?

  Under other circumstances, she would have found him darkly, dangerously handsome. But she reminded herself again that, even though he’d sworn his honesty to her family, he still claimed to possess magic. A man of true character wouldn’t cling to such buffoonery. He had to be up to something. He simply wouldn’t work for free. One didn’t perfect a trick only to tell everyone how it was done!

  Lily whirled, intent on leaving him to his reading.

  “Wait, Lily,” he said. “This report says …” He frowned, looking up from the paper. “It’s incomplete. The detective writes that Cecille was seen in Van Buren, but he doesn’t tell how he knew to look for her there.”

  “Perhaps he’s psychic,” she rejoined with a stinging smile that only received a chiding from Griffon. Sighing, she moved closer to him, lured by his detection of what had angered her about the sketchy report. He smelled better than any man she’d encountered in Fort Smith. His scent was musky—a combination of wood smoke and fresh lemon. Clean, bracing. She caught his sideways regard of her and hurried to speak to cover her girlish attack of nerves.

  “Don’t you find it atrocious that he asked Uncle Howard to pay for that pitiful pile of non sequiturs?”