Forbidden Fire Read Online Free Page A

hardworking young merchant had not done a thing to turn Mary aside from her reckless affair. She had never told her father about Jimmy O’Brien, and Marissa had covered for her again and again when she had left the house in sunshine or twilight to carry on her liaison.
    â€œMary!” Marissa had warned her repeatedly. “You’ve grown up with everything you might wish handed to you on a very elegant silver platter! You’re accustomed to servants and ease. Mary!” She had grabbed Mary’s small delicate hands with their silk-soft flesh. “Mary, life cannot be so easy if you elope and marry this man!”
    â€œYou don’t understand what it is to be in love, Marissa,” Mary had assured her. “I would work for him, I would die for him!”
    Such vehemence and passion from shy Mary were quite impressive. But Marissa merely replied, “And you don’t know what it is to watch children starve.”
    Their argument became moot, for it was then that they discovered the squire was ill. And it was not too long before the doctors informed Mary that there was no hope, her father was going to die.
    That night she and Marissa had grown closer than ever, crying, hugging one another through the night for what little comfort they could offer one another.
    Mary never told her father about Jimmy O’Brien. There was no need to distress a sick man so. When the squire had whispered his last goodbye and Mary had learned to live with the loss, then someday she would marry Jimmy. And in the meantime, Jimmy O’Brien stood by her side. In those weary hours when Mary’s father’s illness was greatest, Marissa would tend to the squire, and Mary would disappear with her lover. He gave her a comfort that not even Marissa could provide.
    Squire Ahearn breathed his last on a beautiful late summer morning. The sun was shining; the daffodils were in full bloom. Both Mary and Marissa had sat beside him at the huge bay window, and he had breathed in the fresh scent of the day, closed his eyes and died.
    And three days later, after a very proper funeral, he had been laid to rest in the bosom of his ancestral tomb. Despite the knowledge of certain death, Mary and Marissa had grieved deeply, barely managing to speak to one another for days.
    Marissa’s Uncle Theo had been heartily worried about her, and so, when Sir Thomas had been dead about ten days, she had left to spend time with Theo at his cottage. She had cleaned away more coal dust, and she had convinced him that Mary was raising her to an income so high that Theo no longer needed to work in the mine. His cough was bad, hacking, almost a continual thing, and Marissa could not bear it. She had just watched Sir Thomas die and she was not about to let Theo follow him. She knew that she told the truth. Mary would be a wealthy woman now, and she could provide for herself and Jimmy and, in truth, offer Marissa a very fine salary, indeed.
    But when Marissa had come back to the manor, she had discovered Mary as pale as death, sitting before the fire in her father’s library, staring at the flames but not seeing a thing. She had rushed to her friend in fear, and had found Mary’s flesh as cold as ice despite the warmth of the fire. Marissa had cried out, hurrying for the sherry. She had forced a sip through Mary’s lips, and her friend had looked at her at last, huge teardrops forming in her eyes and falling down her cheeks.
    â€œOh, Marissa!”
    â€œWhat, Mary, what is it? I am here!”
    â€œOh, my God, Marissa! How could he!”
    â€œHow could who do what?”
    â€œOh, Marissa!”
    â€œMary, Mary, calm down now. Please, you must tell me what has happened! It’s Jimmy, is it? What has he done? Why, if he’s hurt you—”
    â€œJimmy would never hurt me!” Mary cried.
    Marissa breathed a sigh of relief. “Mary, then please, what has happened?”
    â€œIt’s father.”
    But