Sea of Fire Read Online Free Page B

sun will be up in an hour or so. Move.”
    She wanted to find out more from this man, but understood that to pursue her line of questioning would only anger him.
    With him close behind her, she opened the bedchamber door and stepped out into the dark passageway. She prayed Hannah would not hear them.
    “Walk quickly,” he ordered in a whisper.
    She did so. In a few moments they stood at the bottom of the staircase before the entryway that led outside. “Open the door,” he commanded again, still closely guarding her. Again, she obeyed.
    He backed his way out the door. His hip accidentally bumped the wood and brass stand which held her father’s walking sticks. Instinctively, he jerked and caught the stand with his free hand before it toppled and could make any further noise.
    “Don’t tell the authorities about this little episode,” he hurriedly whispered. “I’ll know if you do, and I’ll return. Only I won’t treat you as gentlemanly as this, next time.”
    He slipped out into the early morning darkness.
    She crossed her arms over her chest and stared after him until he disappeared, trying to make sense from what happened.
    Finally, she shut the door and hurried to the dining room. On the sideboard sat the drum-shaped, silver teapot she had brought home with her two days ago. A tiny hole had formed near the spout, so she had taken it for repair to the family silversmith shop of her best friend, Charlotte. One of the assistants had carefully wrapped it in silk cloth and placed it in her reticule. It wasn’t until she returned home and set the teapot on the sideboard that she realized it was heavier. Still, she was in a hurry, and it simply hadn’t dawned on her that it might not be her teapot.
    She also thought nothing about the assistant’s comment about a teapot similar to hers was in for repair as well. Many households owned the same silver pot, as it was a classic style that had failed to change over the years. New ones could hardly be distinguished from the older silver teapots save for the actual date engraved on the pot itself or the date letter or the maker’s mark on the bottom of the thick round base.
    Now, she lifted the pot to examine the base and instantly determined by the maker’s mark that the teapot was not the same as the one her mother had purchased when she was small. This teapot was only a few years old. Yet, even if that had not been the case, and the pots had been the same age, the spout showed no signs of repair. Someone unaware of a repair would never have noticed, but the owner would.
    Molds. Dies. Her intruder believed she possessed something of this sort. At first it truly hadn’t occurred to her what he was talking about, but after a few moments, she understood. She had talked with Charlotte enough to know that it would be easy for any silversmith to make the dies to counterfeit coins. Charlotte never condoned such a practice and led Elizabeth to believe that her brother Roderick didn’t either.
    She silently thanked the Lord that the intruder had accepted her silly reply about baking molds and had believed her innocent—for she truly had been unaware of any such dies in her reticule. Why would he think so, though? A teapot hardly looked similar to anything that dies for coins would be made from. She placed the teapot on the dining room table, withdrew one of the chairs from around it, and seated herself. She stared at the object a few moments, but the only thoughts that formed were about her father.
    She sighed. The note from Adam hadn’t actually said he was dead. Yet, what else could “disposed” of mean? She wanted to believe he was still alive. Put it from your mind lest you break down, she told herself and tried to focus on the teapot, but images of her father returned. He kept his work so much a secret. She hardly could believe he was referred to as cold-hearted. The intruder must have confused him with someone else. Edward Corry never so much as spoke poorly about a