Violet Fire by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online Page A

assessment of womankind—not very flattering .”
    â€œI am not a hypocrite.”
    He grinned. “Grace, somehow I don’t think you’re in danger of being labeled that.”
    He would never take anything seriously. She turned her back on him abruptly. “I have to go.”
    â€œWait a minute.” His large hand closed around her elbow, stopping her. Her head turned back to him, she glared and pursed her lips. He was insufferable; he smiled. “So, Gracie, how about a stroll along the river?”
    She stared, appalled.
    He came closer.
    She moved backward.
    His dimples appeared.
    Her heart raced.
    His teeth flashed white against his skin. Her back found the wall. His hands, one still holding the doll, found her shoulders. “Dare I risk it?” he breathed. “You’re pretty even with those ridiculous glasses.”
    She couldn’t respond.
    â€œAnd you know what?” His mouth seemed to have drifted closer.
    She stared into his blue eyes and was barely aware of anything but the man whose breath, tinged with tobacco and brandy, touched hers. He stared back intently, the dimples having disappeared.
    She opened her mouth to speak.
    He leaned forward, his eyes dropping toward her mouth. “Your mouth…your mouth is beautiful…begging a man’s kiss…”
    He is going to kiss me , Grace told herself. She couldn’t move.
    â€œRathe? Darling? Where are you?”
    He smiled, with a shake of his head and a shrug, but did not move away. “Damn,” he said softly.
    â€œRathe?”
    He stepped back then, tucking the doll under his arm. “I’m in the nursery, Louisa.” Still his eyes held Grace’s warmly. Too warmly. Grace felt herself flushing to the roots of her scalp.
    Louisa rounded the corner, looked at them without breaking stride, and as she reached Rathe, hugged his free arm close to her breast. “Darling, John said you were here. I was so hoping you’d come for supper. What are you doing upstairs?”
    â€œSaying hello to the girls,” Rathe said, smiling at Louisa. “And comforting Margaret Anne. She broke her doll.”
    â€œI see you met Miss O’Rourke.”
    â€œYes indeed,” Rathe said.
    â€œDon’t flirt with the help, Rathe,” Louisa snapped.
    Rathe laughed. “Don’t be a shrew, sweetheart, it’s not becoming.”
    She stared, her fine nostrils flaring.
    He put his arm around her. “What kind of welcome is this?”
    Grace felt like an intruder. Something sick welled up inside her as their relationship became clear to her. “Not the kind I had in mind,” Louisa said suggestively.
    Grace escaped with a mumbled excuse. She fled to her room and closed the door on the lovers. She was trembling and even angrier than before, if that was possible. The man was not just the worst kind of scoundrel, he was the worst kind of flirt—callous, insensitive, selfish. She detested him.
    It just wasn’t fair that he was so handsome.

Chapter 4
    â€œWhat do you think?” Robert Chatham asked.
    â€œI think,” Rathe breathed, every nerve in his body tingling, his heart racing, “I think I am very, very excited.”
    It was a perfectly beautiful Mississippi morning, still early enough to be cool, a few picture-perfect clouds floating overhead, birds singing high in the dogwoods around them. Rathe stood with his hands deep in the pockets of his tweed jacket, one breech-clad knee braced against the white paddock fence, his high boots gleaming. He looked the epitome of a Southern gentleman as he watched Chatham’s colt run across the pasture, intent despite his nonchalant poise. He’d come to Natchez not only to see to a few of his local business interests, but to have a look at this yearling. Now he was glad he’d made the trip, especially if it meant the colt would soon be his.
    Suddenly, though, Rathe realized that his desire to possess