Fire Lily (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  “No, no, Lily,” David said, frantic. “Mr. Vick went to Van Buren. Cecille isn’t there. The Jefferses didn’t even know she was missing.”

  “And you believed them,” Lily said, folding her arms against her laboring heart. The news of Cecille’s sporting with someone behind her back had shaken her firm belief in her cousin’s good sense. “Complete strangers. You took their word just like that?”

  “They aren’t complete strangers.” Bea Jefferson entered the corner office, and her face was pinched with anguish.

  “But like we’ve been telling you,” George Vick broke in, “this has got nothing to do with your cousin. She left here to talk to that backwoods fella, but got lost somewhere between here and there.”

  “She was to meet him that day?” Griffon asked, abruptly. “She left your shop to meet with this man?”

  “Yes, but it was to be the last time. I didn’t know she’d been meeting him,” Bea Jefferson said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “David kept the secret. Cecille didn’t want anyone to know. I found out that day. Naturally, I put my foot down on the whole business. Cecille thought the man was dashing and exciting. She wasn’t thinking clearly about him, so I told her the truth.” Bea drew in a deep breath. “He was a married man.”

  “Oh, heavens.” Lily dropped her head in her hands as her heart caved in on itself.

  “Cecille was livid,” Bea went on. “She has quite a temper, as you know. She said she was going to meet him and tell him what was what. She just had to give him a piece of her mind before she broke it off with him. But she never made it to the meeting. Something happened to her along the way. When he got to the place, she wasn’t there. He was a few minutes late, he told George, so maybe someone else … oh, I don’t know. All I know is that he didn’t know Cecille was missing. George asked him. Didn’t you, George?”

  Vick nodded and picked his teeth. “They don’t know snuff.”

  “How are you so familiar with these people?” Griffon asked Bea. “Just how did you know they live in Van Buren?”

  Bea sighed and exchanged a tortured look with her son. “They’re family.”

  “Family?” Lily asked, gasping.

  “My husband was a Jeffers. I lengthened the name after he died, and brought David here for a better life.” Bea’s eyes filled with tears. “They’re hill people, you see. Common.”

  “Dirt poor,” George Vick offered. “Not an educated one amongst ’em. Bea was right to take David away from there. He’s smart. Got a good future.”

  “This man Cecille was seeing,” Griffon said. “Is he directly related to you, Mrs. Jefferson?”

  Bea nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “He’s my nephew. David’s cousin.”

  “You lied to us,” Lily said, her voice coming out hoarse. “You said she came here for a dress fitting.”

  “Don’t blame Mama,” David said. “I kept Cecille’s secret.”

  “Why?” Lily asked.

  “Because … oh, it’s stupid.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “My cousin and Cecille said they’d tell everybody in town that me and Mama were cut from coarse cloth.” His gaze wandered to his mother. “Mama has tried so hard to separate us from the Jeffers clan, to gain the respect of people here, and I didn’t want her upset over this, so I kept quiet.”

  “Where did Cecille rendezvous with this man?” Griffon asked.

  “In a shed behind the livery,” Vick answered. “Then he’d take her to the old Sutton place. There’s a barn out there.”

  Lily covered her face with her hands. “This is too much! What would possess Cecille …”

  “That’s it,” David said. “When it came to Anson, Cecille was possessed. I tried to talk her out of seeing him, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said he was the most exciting man she’d ever met. She said he was out of a storybook.”

  Lily groaned and cursed Orrie Dickens and her fanciful tales of Gypsy fortune-tellers and sorcerers with magic wands. Griffon’s hands curved around her shoulders, and his breath tickled the side of her face as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

  “Lily, are you all right? Would you like to go home and leave this to me?”

  “Get your hands off me! Don’t touch me,” she ordered, shaking her shoulders to dislodge his hands.

  For a few moments of confusion, she saw in Griffon all that was wrong with her world. He embodied the evil and the deception that had spirited Cecille to some netherworld, and she cringed from him, her face twisting with disgust.

  Griffon stepped away from her, his mouth thinning into a taut line. In the next moment, Lily regretted her scathing words, but it was too late. His eyes, steely blue, told her that she’d wounded him. She winced, feeling his pain as if it were her own.

  “Forgive me,” she begged, looking into his eyes for a glimmer of understanding.

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice as sharp as a knife blade. “You were only reminding this arrogant Gypsy goat of his place.”

  Lily recognized those hate-filled words. Arrogant. Gypsy goat. She’d called him that. No, no. She gasped and her lungs bellowed painfully in her chest. She hadn’t called him that. Oh, God in heaven! She’d thought it.

  Chapter 4

  “Have you taken leave of your senses?” Balthazar fumed, pacing the length of the bedroom he and Griffon shared. “Generosity is a virtue, but you’ve taken it too far by asking not a penny for your services here. What if it gets around and people start expecting your help out of the goodness of your heart? How will you make a living? How will we make a living?”

  “Calm yourself, Zar.” Griffon lay on the bed, hands stacked under his head, eyes trained on the ceiling. He knew he was sulking and despised himself for it. Stinging from careless remarks made by a snippity young woman was the stuff of adolescence, he told himself firmly, but his pride still throbbed from being trounced on by Miss Lily Meeker’s high-button shoes.

  “Will we pay for our expenses from our own purses?”

  “We’re far from destitute.”

  “Howard Meeker is far from destitute as well. Much farther from it than us.”

  “Zar, have you forgotten that we’re unknown on this continent? We’ve made our reputations in England and Europe, not here. Thurman persuaded me to take on this case personally because the Meeker family is a respected one. If we find Cecille Meeker, then we’ll take a giant step in becoming credible in this country. Money is secondary at this juncture.”

  “Money is never secondary,” Balthazar grumbled, standing at the foot of the bed, his brows knit in worry. “Did you make any headway this morning? I was pleased to see no knife hilt emerging from the middle of your back.” He smiled unpleasantly at Griffon’s confusion. “Miss Lily. I half expected her to try and do away with you if given the chance.”

  Griffon shifted irritably. “As Lily suspected, the detective wasn’t telling all he knew.”

  “Lily, is it? Played out Lily’s hunch, did you?” Balthazar chuckled when Griffon scowled at his teasing. “You found out where Miss Cecille is?”

  “Not exactly, but I’ve caught the scent of the chase.” He twisted onto his side and propped his head in one hand. “Zar, do you think I’m overtly odd? I mean, if you saw me on the street and didn’t know me, would you be frightened? Would you cross to the other side?”

  “Don’t be preposterous. Of course I wouldn’t. On the outside, you’re perfectly normal. Why do you ask? Does Doubting Lily treat you as if you’re tainted?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “She’s the odd one, if you ask me. The others here are quite sociable, but her corset’s too tight.”

  Griffon laughed. “And my asking you to point out an oddity is like asking Siamese twins if the bearded lady is peculiar.” A tentative knock sounded at the door, and Griffon swung his legs around and placed his feet on the floor. “Yes, who’s there?”

  “Miss Meeker. May I have a word with you, Mr. Goforth?”

  Balthazar arched a brow
as Griffon tugged on his boots. He started to grab his jacket, then batted aside the notion.

  “Aw, to bloody hell with it. Why should I be presentable around a girl who calls me a goat? I’ll tell you all the rest after I see what she wants,” he told Balthazar. He finger-combed his hair before opening the door and stepping out into the hall. “Yes, Lily?” He heard the crackle in his voice, but didn’t give a damn. It was one thing for her to be suspect of his psychic power, but quite another for her to view him as beneath her.

  “I was wondering what you planned to do now.” She retreated, creating a discrete distance between them.

  “Actually, I was discussing what I’ve learned with Balthazar. I believe I’ll go to the place where Cecille met her secret admirer and see if I can turn up anything useful.”

  “The Sutton place, you mean? May I go with you? I can show you where it is.”

  He hooked a finger over his shirt collar and tugged. “I’m not used to wearing a leash. Can’t say that I like it,” he said, nearly growling at her.

  To her credit, she didn’t retreat, but a contrite smile curved her mouth. “You have every reason to be angry at me, but I was hoping you’d understand why I was abrupt with you at the dress shop. Hearing about Cecille jolted me. I wasn’t myself and—” She pressed her lips together to vanquish the smile. “No excuses. My snapping at you like that was rude. Please accept my apology, Mr. Goforth.”

  “Griffon.” He held her gaze, eyes hooded, until she bobbed her head in agreement. “Apology accepted, but you needn’t accompany me to the Sutton property. I have a lick of sense and can find the way.” He started to turn aside, but she snagged his sleeve.

  “Please, let me come with you.”

  “Still don’t trust me? What kind of mischief do you think I can do out there?”

  “It’s not that. I’m desperate to find my cousin, and I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for reports. I won’t get in your way.”

  He knew he could wound her by telling her he needed no woman hanging on him while he worked, but retaliation seemed petty when faced with her lustrous eyes and clutching fingers. He wanted her company. She intrigued him, titillated him. She was difficult to puzzle out, and life held too few curiosities for him. Her grip tightened on his sleeve and her brown eyes implored him. She wouldn’t have believed how easily she could sway him, Griffon thought. He could hardly believe it himself!

  “Can you be ready to leave within the hour?” he asked.

  “I’m ready to leave right now.” Her hand fell away. Excitement sparkled in her eyes.

  “I’ll rent a carriage—”

  “No, we can take ours. It’s at the livery.”

  “Very well. I’ll join you out front in a few minutes.” He let himself back into the bedroom to find Balthazar pacing again. “I’m going for a ride with Lily.”

  Balthazar cut his shrewd eyes in Griffon’s direction. “Is she to be your assistant on this case, Griffon?”

  “No, of course not.” He laid a hand on Balthazar’s shoulder. “Don’t take this personally.” He winked and gave the man a jocular hug. “I merely want time alone with the russet-haired lass.”

  Balthazar gasped audibly. “You’re not attracted to that brazen-tongued girl, are you? Why, she … she thinks you’re loathsome, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “Methinks she protests too much,” Griffon loosely quoted from Shakespeare. “You know how I love to convert skeptics.”

  “If you prefer her company to mine …” Balthazar shrugged.

  “Come, come. Don’t take offense. Why not chase Orrie’s skirts while I’m chasing Lily’s? That maid fancies you something fierce.”

  “That she does.” Balthazar looked pleased. “And she’s not a bad sort. She has an open mind and a game spirit.”

  “And a fair figure,” Griffon added. “Plump, but pleasingly so. I’ll be back before nightfall and we’ll speak at length,” Griffon promised, fitting his hat on his head. “I’ll want your counsel.”

  “On the missing person case or the protesting woman?”

  Griffon grinned. “Both, quite possibly.”

  * * *

  The buggy rattled over the cattle guard and onto property formerly owned by the old Sutton family. Deserted now, the acres of farmland were overgrown. The farmhouse had burned a year ago, leaving only a rocky foundation and a tilting chimney to mark its passing. In the distance stood the humpbacked barn, unpainted but surrounded by early wildflowers. Spring was hard on the heels of winter, chasing the blustery old man out of Arkansas earlier than usual.

  During the journey Lily had answered Griffon’s questions about Cecille, which were numerous, but she welcomed them. She’d hoped to gain a new perspective on her cousin, since the Jeffersons had revealed that she didn’t know Cecille as well as she’d thought.

  “It appears your cousin is quite popular,” he commented as he handled the reins with authority, guiding the bay horse and buggy across the open field to the barn.

  Lily tightened her bonnet’s bow under her chin and gripped the handhold as the buggy jostled over the soggy ground. “She’s lively company. Cecille loves to laugh and she’s always ready for an adventure.”

  “And you have your share of beaus, as well.” At her sharp look, he added, “The dressmaker’s son is quite taken with you.”

  She felt her face flame, not wholly from embarrassment. David Jefferson was a touchy subject, especially since she’d learned he’d kept secrets with Cecille. “Not really. Oh, David likes me,” she allowed with a flip of her hand, “but he’s one of Cecille’s castoffs.”

  Griffon angled a sideways glance at her. “Castoffs? He was rejected by Cecille?”

  “After a time. He was her escort for a month or so, but Cecille grew tired of him, so she tossed him my way. She does that, despite my objections. I like David and he likes me, but I’m fairly sure he only escorted me to be near Cecille. Especially after what we heard today.”

  “Not necessarily.” He reined in the horse. “You still don’t entirely believe that your cousin could take part in a secret affair, do you?”

  “It’s not something I particularly want to believe.” Lily stared at the abandoned barn, trying to picture it as a trysting place. She imagined Cecille slipping into the barn with a dark stranger; kissing, fondling, caressing. The image wavered and broke up as her heart rejected it. “Why wouldn’t she tell me about this man? Cecille and I talked about everything.”

  “Would you have approved?” Griffon asked, tying off the reins and setting the brake. “Would you have encouraged her to keep seeing the man?”

  “Heavens, no!”

  He delivered a sage look before jumping nimbly from the buggy. He came around to her side and offered his hand. “Cecille probably decided she didn’t want a naysayer casting a pall on her latest adventure.”

  Lily considered this and agreed. If Cecille was anything, it was headstrong. Lily slipped her gloved hand into Griffon’s and let him help her to the ground. He wore knee-high boots, and the choice was a smart one since mud and puddles dotted the area around the barn. Keeping her hand in his, Lily hip-hopped over the ground, trying not to soil her skirt hem.

  Sunlight slanted through cracks in the walls and ceiling, illuminating the inside of the barn.

  “I do believe they were here,” Griffon murmured, hands propped at his waist, head thrown back, eyes closed. “Something secretive went on here. I still feel it. A kind of thrill in the air. Cecille liked coming here.”

  Lily observed him for a few moments, battling against a desire to believe him. Her rational self prevailed, but just barely. Something—probably a rat—scurried to a corner of the barn, ruffling through the hay strewn over the dirt floor. Drawn to the loft, she started to ascend the wobbly ladder.

  “Be careful.” Griffon’s hands circled her waist to steady her. “Perhaps I should go up first.”

  She stepped away, tingling from their brief physical contact, and he climbed with the agility
of a cat. Lily moved more slowly, hindered by her petticoats and slick-soled shoes. Aside from smelling dank from the recent rain, the barn held a bird cage odor. Their intrusion set off a flurry of wings. Lily glanced up at swooping owls, startled sparrows, and even a couple of pigeons.

  “Quite a roost up here,” Griffon said, gripping her elbows to help her to stand beside him. “I’m wondering if Cecille would climb up here. It doesn’t appear too inviting.”

  Lily straightened, acutely aware of the warmth of his hands on her arms, got her bearings, and glanced around the mote-filled area. The loft door was open, letting in sunlight. Reaching out, she laid her hand against a smooth cypress post that supported the roof. A sudden chill passed over her and her vision dimmed. The world compressed around her, and her sight narrowed to pinpoint a scene. She felt detached from her body.

  She saw a man, and while she didn’t know him, the eyes she now used were familiar with his dark hair and swarthy complexion. Tall and sinewy, he leaned against another support beam, a cocky grin riding his thin lips, his black eyes dancing. He waited for her to approach him. She felt herself moving, although a part of her knew she remained immobile. It was her mind that moved to him. He uncrossed his arms to embrace her. Anger pulsed through her and at him. The man stopped smiling, caught the anger, and flung it back tenfold. Hands gripped her forearms, and her vision blurred as the man shook her. She wobbled like a rag doll. Anger dissolved into fear. A voice, thick with fury, bludgeoned her.

  “You think I’ll letcha go just like that?” The hurtful voice enveloped her, and then she saw that it was the stranger talking. She saw his lips moving … like a dream, like in a nightmare. “You’re my everythin’. I’m not lettin’ you go. You hear me? I’ll do what I have to. You’re mine, Goldilocks. Mine … forever an’ ever an’ ever. Jes’ like in them storybooks.”

  Her mind struggled violently, shaking the keyhole world apart. Light flooded into her eyes again. She blinked, felt warmth seep under her skin and dispel the chill that gripped her. Her muscles felt stiff as if they’d been frozen. A face swam before her. Fingers bit into her upper arms. She winced, cried out in fear. Was it the stranger? Was he here with her?