Devil's Fire (3 page)

‘Missy Mary,’ she said with a slight bow. ‘Yu Ling come for your bath.’

Hyde’s housekeeper intended to bathe me? I didn’t want assistance while I washed, and I certainly didn’t want this stranger touching private parts that oozed with my juices, and Hyde’s! I clutched at the clothing draped over me, aware of how exposed I was beneath the flimsy fabric.

‘I — thank you, but I can bathe myself,’ I murmured.

Her bow-shaped mouth curved as she bobbed again. ‘Mister Hyde, he give me job of everybody’s care. Yu Ling much rather tend Missy Mary, with her hair like fire and her pretty skin, than the stiffs downstairs.’

I laughed. That Mr Fortune’s serving girl kept her sense of humour despite her ghastly job impressed me. I could only speculate about the sort of care she gave Hyde — but that wasn’t my place, was it? Maybe he’d saved this exotic young woman from the streets, just as he was about to act on my behalf. So I concentrated on the matter at hand.

‘You may set the basin down and go on about your other duties,’ I insisted gently. ‘I’d rather wash myself. Thank you.’

Was that disappointment in her eyes? Before she could press her point again, Hyde opened the door, carrying a large fabric bundle and some dresses on hangers. He quickly assessed the situation. ‘Let’s discuss tonight’s dinner, Yu Ling. Then you can prepare a guest room for Miss Michaels. The lavender one in the west wing would be the warmest, don’t you think?’

I flashed him a grateful smile as he and his housekeeper gave me some privacy. Kneeling to straddle the basin, I lathered myself with soap that smelled like lemon grass. The hot water felt heavenly against my sticky thighs, while rubbing myself with the washcloth rekindled the sensations Hyde had awakened between my legs.

The image of Yu Ling washing me there, intent on removing our juices from my auburn curls, aroused me by surprise. I could imagine her enigmatic smile as she parted my thighs, kneeling to inspect me…separating my swollen lips with her slender fingers while cupping handfuls of water against my quivering slit.

As I imagined her teasing me there, then thrusting her fingers inside like Hyde had done, my thoughts raced out of control. My hand went between my legs. Somehow Fortune’s image appeared, as well, urging Yu Ling to fondle me while he held me from behind, a captive in their conspiracy. Heat rushed through me, and these illicit images — my secret, solitary act — drove me to another blinding climax.

Where had all this passion come from? I felt so sticky I had to wash myself again. On wobbly legs, I crossed to where Hyde had left two dresses, plus lacy bloomers and a matching shift. I tried not to think about who they’d belonged to — he’d had any number of customers and lovers, after all — as I slipped into the underthings. I chose the gown of green and ivory stripes. It felt large, but was nicer than any dress I owned, made from a lightweight wool that draped richly around my figure.

I was pulling my hair into a presentable twist when a low whistle coaxed me to turn around. Hyde had slipped in behind me.

‘I thought that dress would become you, Mary Grace,’ he said as he paused beside the chair. ‘Leave your hair down. That untamed fire falling around your shoulders excites me.’

‘And what doesn’t?’ I shot back. Then I turned away, embarrassed.

Hyde chuckled kindly as he took me by the shoulders. ‘You’re right,’ he whispered, ‘and I make no apologies for my desires. You’ve led a sheltered life, so you don’t realise how men gaze at you and wish they could love you the way I have. No need to be ashamed of your natural beauty, or your need for affection, Mary Grace. Our Creator made you this way.’

How did he always draw upon my religious beliefs to twist a point to his own advantage? I laughed as he peppered my neck with kisses designed to make me feel better about my outburst, and myself.

‘I shouldn’t make fun of you, Mr Fortune,’ I replied. ‘I believe we were about to discuss my possible employment at Heaven’s Gate.’

‘L
et me start by inviting you to stay here, with me,’ he said. His baritone voice flowed like the fudge sauce the monks made, rich and sweet, while his eyes glowed with that beguiling cinnamon glint. ‘Now that I’ve discovered such a wonderful lover, I hate to let her go.’

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.’