Fire Dragon's Angel by Barbara Blythe

Author:Barbara Blythe
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pelican Book Group

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Ceressa stared numbly at the woman who had joined them in the graveyard. She was possessed of an exotic beauty with ebony locks carefully coiled and curled and flashing eyes of gray. She was tall and slim, reminding Ceressa she was short and much rounder in certain places.

“Phyllis,” Latimer said while Ceressa dug her nails into his arm, frightened by the fierce look in the beautiful woman’s eyes, “it’s good to see you. Ceressa”—he turned to her—“may I present Mistress Phyllis Carruthers, Bartholomew’s daughter?”

“Oh,” was all that Ceressa could manage while Phyllis Carruthers regarded her with searing malice and a hideous twist of her lovely mouth. It was as though the woman considered her a vile rodent.

Latimer grasped Ceressa’s hand as he walked over to the dark-haired woman whose gray eyes now conveyed coldness and displeasure. Ceressa sensed that Latimer and this woman were more than casual acquaintances.

“This must be the bride, fresh from London.” Her words dripped venom as she intentionally bypassed all attempts at civility. The flames of anger flared beneath Ceressa’s breast while she prayed that she would hold her tongue.

Jerking her gaze back to Latimer, Phyllis snarled. “You did this to humiliate me because you know Torrence favors me.”

“Phyllis, humiliating you was never my intent. You also know I never indicated things would move beyond friendship between us. Your interest in Willshire is your concern, and I have no right to interfere.”

Ceressa tensed, trying to extricate her hand from his grip. How friendly had Latimer been with this unpleasant woman?

“Why did you marry her?” Phyllis demanded as though Ceressa wasn’t present. “You couldn’t possibly love her.”

Ceressa gasped, but Latimer kept his gaze focused on the irate woman.

“She can’t mean to you what I do. Your uncle forced you to do this.”

“I did this of my own will.”

“She’ll never make you happy.”

“I’m satisfied with my decision,” he said coldly. Latimer didn’t sound convincing, Ceressa thought, her inner fury mounting.

“You’re a liar, Latimer Kirkleigh,” Phyllis screeched, making no effort to comport herself in a ladylike manner. “And I despise you.”

“I had hoped we could remain friends,” he said evenly.

“Friends?” Phyllis repeated as though the word left a bad taste in her mouth. Ceressa saw the muscle twitching in Latimer’s jaw. “Never, never, never.”

“That’s your choice.”

“I thought you cared.” There was a piteous warble to her voice, and Ceressa almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

“I do. But not in the way you imagined.”

“I’ll be the laughing stock of the county,” she said and sobbed. “Everyone thought we were to marry. I thought—” She suddenly stopped herself and seemed to gather her composure. “Never mind. I hope you and your London chit are happy together.”

“You will never again insult my wife,” Latimer replied, his voice laced with steel.

“And if I do, what will you do?” Phyllis goaded, moving purposefully up to him, while raising her chin haughtily.

Ceressa had taken all she planned to take from this irrational, arrogant woman. “It’s not what he’ll do, it’s what I’ll do,” Ceressa announced, wrenching her hand free of Latimer’s grasp.

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