Devil's Fire Read online

  Could he hear my heart thundering? Or see the way his words made my pulse pound? ‘You flatter me.’

  ‘This is not flattery, love,’ Hyde whispered. ‘I’ve never met a woman like you. Despite what you’ve heard — and what you walked in on — I’m a man of few friends. I crave your companionship as much as your passion, Mary Grace. My intentions are honourable, I assure you.’

  His loneliness touched me deeply, as his expression entreated me to stay. And what young woman didn’t dream of a handsome man falling in love with her, as quickly as she herself had succumbed?

  The temptation to accept Hyde’s offer almost overrode logic. Mr Fortune was wealthy, if not well liked. Never again would I wear threadbare dresses or be subject to the sneers of my father’s congregation. I could set my worries behind me and pursue my dreams of a comfortable home and a loving family.

  Or could I? Once again the tapping on the wall made me stiffen. What if Hyde didn’t want children? Would I, too, become a pariah by associating with this mysterious mortician? I told myself that his was an honest, necessary occupation, but the thought of occupying a house where corpses spent their final hours still gave me the shivers.

  And it was too soon. My first taste of loving had ushered me to new heights, but I was too giddy to make reliable decisions while Hyde held me with his beguiling gaze. When I realised what he’d left in the wingback chair, my mind returned to the matter at hand.

  ‘This is one of my quilts!’ I unrolled the bundle, grinning. Emerald velvet made a leafy jungle background, scattered with parrots of sequinned crimson and peacocks cut from sapphire and turquoise brocades. For flowers, I’d appliquéd paisley petals that shone like stained glass.

  ‘It’s one of my earliest pieces, designed while I was caring for Mama. I found these jewel-toned gowns at a second-hand shop, thinking the lush colours would cheer her,’ I continued in a more subdued tone. ‘I donated it to the Home for the Friendless shortly after she died.’

  ‘And I bought it at their charity auction, for my own mother,’ Hyde replied, his voice rising with excitement. ‘Several society types were there, and once they recognised the quilt’s originality — and the auctioneer noted the Art Nouveau influence, like Tiffany glass — the price soared. But it was worth every bit of the four hundred dollars I paid, because Mother dearly loved this piece.’

  ‘Four hundred…?’

  ‘The colours fascinated her, Mary Grace. She’d stroke each different type of fabric as though she knew its story. As though she’d worn such finery herself, in a long-forgotten life.

  ‘She hadn’t, of course,’ he added bitterly. ‘She was an unwed mother, marked by her so-called sin. It was all she could do to keep us fed, and to send me to school in presentable clothing.’

  I admired Hyde for rising above the circumstances of his birth, and providing for his mother in her declining years. Our eyes met in a gaze that recalled the women we both missed so much, which formed another bond between us. It hadn’t occurred to me that Mr Fortune would grieve like the rest of us: I had assumed if his occupation hadn’t made him immune, Madeleine’s tawdry trade would have hardened his heart.

  But the forlorn shine in those eyes told me I was seriously mistaken. He had loved his mother, as I had mine. One was a prostitute and one a preacher’s wife, but both losses had left unmendable holes in the fabric of our lives.

  ‘I’m glad it brought her comfort,’ I murmured. ‘But four hundred dollars?’

  ‘Never underestimate the value of your work,’ he replied pointedly. ‘Brother Christy has been wanting a different product — something that nets more than a jar of jelly or a pound cake — so your illustrated quilts would make you a welcome addition at Heaven’s Gate. Most people don’t realise those brandy cakes and sinfully delicious chocolates are made at the abbey pictured on their tins, by the monks and those they take in as assistants. It’s not far from here, you know.’

  ‘I had no idea. Why, Mama’s favourite raspberry jam bore that label. It was an indulgence Papa allowed her because her appetite was so unpredictable.’ I thought of the familiar cream-and-olive label, which pictured a fortress reminiscent of Old World religious retreats. ‘The jam was so terribly expensive —’

  ‘Father Luc and his monks depend on those profits for their support.’

  ‘— that I was punished for sneaking a little on to my own toast,’ I recalled with a rueful smile. ‘And I was strictly forbidden to sample Papa’s favourite, which was the bourbon-pecan pound cake. Why, I got tipsy just lifting the lid from the tin!’

  As Hyde smiled, I realised that Papa had acquired his taste for this liquor-laced cake about the time he came into that large donation. I glanced at the brandy bottle on Mr Fortune’s desk, and sure enough, there was that same label.

  ‘The monks raise the fruits they use, in their vineyards and orchards. They’re practically self-sufficient, and they finance the Home, as well,’ he added proudly. ‘Although I’ve invited you to stay with me, you could do worse than working there for a few months. Since your quilts would sell for so much more than their other products — and since you alone would sew them — I could strike a deal with Father Luc. Seems only fair that a portion of the quilt income be deposited in your own account, to establish your finances for when you return.’

  Images of Friar Tuck, or perhaps St Francis of Assisi, stomping grapes and stirring great vats of chocolate, made me look more closely at Hyde’s brandy bottle. The stone bulwark on the label, with its towers and lozenge-shaped windows, came straight from a medieval fantasy. Germanic script made the name HEAVEN’S GATE equally appealing, as did the glowing product description and a paragraph about the monastery.

  ‘These products have always been sold in Colorado?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then why don’t I know anyone who’s been to Heaven’s Gate?’ I challenged. ‘Surely carriage tours — or a cog railroad like the one on Pike’s Peak — to this fascinating place would bring in a big income.’

  Hyde’s laughter made his dimples flicker. ‘It’s a religious refuge, Mary Grace, not a tourist attraction! A rather reclusive order, where the residents devote themselves to prayer when they’re not making pralines or bottling brandy. Many of the orchard and kitchen workers once stayed at the Home, or were labourers who lost their jobs in this recent recession. They live in cottages and receive their meals and clothing as their pay.

  ‘And it’s as though the laws of nature conform to the abbey’s needs,’ he continued in awe. ‘Snow like we’re having now is unheard of at Heaven’s Gate. The temperatures stay balmy enough that the vineyards thrive, and the inhabitants don’t even need coats.’

  A glance out the window startled me. While I’d been at Mount Calvary these three hours, the world outside had been blanketed with white. I shivered, trying to imagine a place like Hyde described.

  It sounded appealing. Yet my visions of prayerful, hooded figures chanting down candlelit aisles felt foreign to me. ‘I’m not Roman Catholic,’ I pointed out, ‘and despite my religious upbringing, I’m not really suited to the contemplative, celibate life — as we’ve both discovered.’

  ‘I’m hardly a candidate myself,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘But I’m in charge of distributing Heaven’s Gate’s products, and I oversee the budget for the Home. Brother Christy appreciates my work, and he’ll welcome you for your pleasant disposition, Mary Grace. Not to mention for the profits from your quilts.’ Hyde’s eyes glowed as he came up behind me, urging me back against his tall, sturdy frame.

  ‘But I’ll miss you,’ I whispered. ‘And — and these stone walls on the label look so intimidating. What if I can’t live up to my agreement? What if I don’t fit in?’

  Turning me, Hyde smiled his reassurance. ‘I’ll gladly pay off whatever remains of the agreement we draw up, Mary Grace. I’m the last man who wants to see you unhappy. You could establish yourself as an artisan whose work is not only recognised but sought after. Work that
could provide you with a tidy income.

  ‘And although you think you’ll miss my attentions while you’re there,’ he went on softly, ‘I suspect you have…reservations about taking up with a man who lives in a morgue. That’s quite understandable, you know.’

  My cheeks went hot. He’d sensed my fears, knowing the elegance of this house would never disguise its distasteful function. Hyde kissed me until I melted against him, returning his passion with gratitude and a rising desire.

  He laughed, stroking my hair. ‘If we decide to take up housekeeping, I’ll buy us a cosy little love-nest, Mary Grace. A haven where you can sew, and a refuge from the morbidity I deal with each day. I want you to sleep on your decision, however. I travel to the abbey on Fridays, but this snowfall might keep us here until the road up the mountain becomes passable…’

  His voice faded into a promise of lovemaking to come, which made me tingle with the warm breath that was tickling my ear. Spearing his fingers into my hair, Hyde captured my mouth with his tongue and pulled me so close I could feel his arousal through our clothing. Would either of us get any work done, if we lived together?

  As I reached for his shirt buttons, he gently ended our embrace. ‘Such a responsive woman,’ he murmured. ‘But I’m a negligent host, keeping you from the dinner Yu Ling’s prepared. And it’s unfair of me to influence your decision with kisses.’

  ‘All’s fair in love and war,’ I quipped, and allowed him to usher me upstairs to his living quarters.

  By not looking at the coffins displayed in the parlour, I could appreciate the mansion’s architectural details — the grand staircase, polished to a proud shine, lit by a crystal chandelier that glistened like a million stars. The flocked wallpaper and the carpets were the rich reds and blues of Impressionist paintings, and as I ascended on Hyde’s arm I pretended I was already the lady of such a fine house. A pleasant fantasy indeed, considering how he pulled me close on each landing, for a soul-searing kiss.

  When we entered the second-floor hallway, Hyde escorted me towards a large room at the back of the house. ‘When this mansion was converted into a mortuary, the kitchen remained on the main floor,’ he explained, ‘so Yu Ling sends up the meals on a dumb waiter for Sebastian to set out. I hope you don’t mind if they join us. Seems ridiculous to dine alone, when my staff need to eat, too.’

  We stepped into a room dominated by a massive walnut table, where stew and fresh bread were laid out. Twelve chairs waited like silent guests, but only four places at one end were set. Tapers flickered in the brass candelabra, lending a romantic air to this room full of ponderous sideboards and gilt-framed mirrors. I was about to compliment the china pattern — elegance like I’d never known at home — when hearty male laughter rang out in the room we’d just passed.

  Hyde pulled out a chair to seat me, but when the laughter mixed with lusty moans, he grinned impishly. Holding a finger to his lips, he motioned for me to follow him to the wall. Then, silent as a thief, he slid a small section of panelling aside to reveal a rectangular hole just large enough for the two of us to peek through.

  What I saw made me gasp, so as Hyde pulled me closer he covered my mouth with his hand. Yu Ling stood before a beefy, bearded man who sprawled in an armchair with his pants around his ankles. As she teased his large, red erection with an ostrich plume, he grasped himself as though he were aiming a fire hose at her. The Celestial squealed with delight, dodging his quivering feet while tormenting him with her feather.

  ‘They love this game,’ Hyde whispered. ‘It’s a contest to see who lasts longest when —’

  ‘Oh, God, drink me,’ the man rasped, his face contorting. ‘Hurry it up, or Hyde’ll think he wants to share you.’

  My eyes widened. Yu Ling positioned herself between the man’s knees with a coy grin. She then made her mouth into a tight ‘O’ and approached his bobbing cock, with a hunger that made my insides flutter.

  The man beside me sucked in air, watching this scene with growing arousal. His nostrils flared, and then the hand at my waist snaked down to grab my skirts. Within seconds, Hyde’s fingers slipped into my bloomers and he’d braced himself against my backside.

  When Yu Ling’s lips met the man’s bulbous red head, my lover gyrated against me. ‘Oh, Mary Grace,’ he breathed, ‘if you could do that to me some time…the touch of your tongue would make me insane. That lucky bastard Sebastian.’

  The two people we watched seemed to act out Hyde’s fondest fantasy. Sebastian’s dark head rolled from side to side with his outbursts. Like a man possessed, he grasped the Celestial’s neck and urged her on. Yu Ling seemed just as caught up in his pleasure, pumping her head repeatedly, bearing down, then sucking up the length of his impressive shaft.

  The fingers inside my sex lips matched the pair’s frenetic rhythm. My inner voice told me I should be appalled at what I now witnessed, yet I writhed against Hyde’s hand, unable to take my eyes from the spectacle in the next room. When my legs parted of their own accord, he plunged his thumb up my pussy until I almost cried out from the unexpected pressure.

  Sebastian’s hips twitched so unpredictably, I wondered how the serving girl could keep up with his wild motions. She continued to suck him in and let him out, with the ease of a sword-swallower at a side show. He grimaced and bucked, throwing his shoulders back, and let out a hoarse cry that sent my own spasms spiralling. I ground myself on to Hyde’s hand, while he in turn rutted against my backside. The wetness I shot out triggered a groan he muffled against my shoulder. His own urgent throbbing followed.

  When rational thought returned, Hyde slid the panel back into place. He steadied me while I caught my breath, then licked his fingers.

  ‘Quite a nice appetiser,’ he said with a wink. ‘More appealing than oysters. And much nicer than having to share a woman, too.’

  His eyes plumbed mine, as though to ask if the favour his Celestial had done for Sebastian seemed feasible to me. Then he helped me smooth my skirts and guided me to the table. With utmost courtliness, he seated me at a corner and took his place at the head, beside me.

  Seconds later we were joined by the couple we’d spied upon, who were acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Hyde stood, smiling at the man whose dark beard and hair made such a contrast to his own features. ‘Mary Grace, this is Sebastian Hatch, my sextant and business assistant. Sebastian, you probably remember Miss Michaels from when we —’

  ‘What man could forget such an angelic face, and such stunning auburn hair?’ Hatch crooned. He bowed over my hand, kissing it slyly. ‘We’re pleased to have you, Mary Grace. Yu Ling seldom meets young ladies her own age, and she was terribly excited about readying your room for the night.’

  His beard tickled my skin as he bussed my knuckles, his dark eyes fixed on mine. How could such common, polite words sound as though secret meanings peeked out from behind them? And how could this debonair man, dressed as fashionably as his employer, act like he could devour me while Hyde looked on — even though he, too, had just enjoyed a stunning appetiser?

  These mysteries played with me as we ate our delicious stew. Men had never expressed such open admiration for my attributes, and being seated across from one and beside another set me on edge. I was also aware of Yu Ling’s sloe-eyed gaze, as she sat beside Sebastian. Her obvious interest unsettled me, after watching her suck on the sextant.

  Our conversation implied subtle double meanings while we all pretended we hadn’t pleasured ourselves before dinner. This charade would’ve excited me more if I hadn’t been the newcomer — unaware of household customs, and wondering if I were to be served up as dessert.

  The Celestial brought us a raisin-studded bread pudding, however. I tasted brandy as well, and by the time I finished the dessert and my wine, my entire body tingled. Before today I’d rarely imbibed, so the laughter and attentions of my new friends went to my head. I found out how tipsy I’d become when I tried to stand up, and Hyde had to steady me.

  ‘You’ve had a
tiring day,’ he said kindly, excusing us with a nod to his staff. ‘Thank you both for a wonderful meal. I think Mary Grace is ready to retire.’

  ‘Shall I run her a bath?’ Yu Ling asked. She cocked her head at a coquettish angle, her eyes alight with Oriental mystique.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Hyde replied.

  Once again I had the feeling this young woman couldn’t wait to get her hands on me, and that Hyde would indulge her. Yet now, after such good food and drink, the idea didn’t seem as repugnant…perhaps because of the shine in my benefactor’s eyes. I sensed he wouldn’t allow the play to go further than my relative innocence would tolerate. I’d simply have to trust him.

  He showed me through the parlour where Sebastian and the serving girl had performed, and the adjoining library. Both rooms featured deep green walls and over-stuffed furnishings of sage and tan, without the ostentatious air of the first floor. His own suite, dominated by a four-poster bed of mahogany, exuded a rich masculinity in its royal blue, red and gold decor.

  Hyde smiled at my awestruck gaze until the sound of running water beckoned us. We then entered the largest bathing room I’d ever seen, and were enveloped in rose-scented steam rising from the clawfoot tub. Candles chased the evening shadows into the corners, inviting me to slip into the soothing water.

  I turned to my host with a shy smile, which he kissed. Cradling my face in his hands, he opened my lips with his tongue to explore, to ignite my inner fires so effortlessly. As I wondered just how many times we could make love in a day, I realised the water had been shut off. The hands unfastening my dress belonged to a silent someone who’d come in behind me.

  When I balked, Hyde’s kiss became more insistent. I understood then that he was distracting me so Yu Ling could perform her duties, as well as to accustom my body to a woman’s touch…a potentially exciting exploration of my sensuality.

  The Celestial made quick work of removing my clothes. Her breath teased my skin as my shift fell around my ankles. Her murmurings, a soft Chinese chatter, conveyed an excitement she couldn’t contain as she slipped her fingers beneath my stockings to remove them.