Consumed by Fire
Authors: Anne Stuart
Tags: #Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Romance, #Suspense, #Contemporary Women
ALSO BY ANNE STUART
ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
T
HE
I
CE
S
ERIES
On Thin Ice
Silver Falls
Fire and Ice
Ice Storm
Ice Blue
Cold As Ice
Black Ice
S
TAND
-
A
LONE
T
ITLES
Into the Fire
Still Lake
The Widow
Shadows at Sunset
Shadow Lover
Ritual Sins
Moonrise
Nightfall
Seen and Not Heard
At the Edge of the Sun
Darkness Before Dawn
Escape Out of Darkness
The Demon Count’s Daughter
The Demon Count
Demonwood
Cameron’s Landing
Barrett’s Hill
C
OLLABORATIONS
Dogs & Goddesses
The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes
A
NTHOLOGIES
Burning Bright
Date with a Devil
What Lies Beneath
Night and Day
Valentine Babies
My Secret Admirer
Sisters and Secrets
Summer Love
New Year’s Resolution: Baby
New Year’s Resolution: Husband
One Night with a Rogue
Strangers in the Night
Highland Fling
To Love and To Honor
My Valentine
Silhouette Shadows
ROMANCE
Wild Thing
The Right Man
A Dark and Stormy Night
The Soldier and the Baby
Cinderman
Falling Angel
One More Valentine
Rafe’s Revenge
Heat Lightning
Chasing Trouble
Night of the Phantom
Lazarus Rising / reprint as Here Come the Grooms
Angel’s Wings
Rancho Diablo / reprint as Western Lovers
Crazy Like a Fox / reprint as Born in the USA
Glass Houses / reprint as Men at Work
Cry for the Moon
Partners in Crime
Blue Sage / reprint as Western Lovers
Bewitching Hour
Rocky Road / reprint in Men Made in America #19
Banish Misfortune
Housebound
Museum Piece
Heart’s Ease
Chain of Love
The Fall of Maggie Brown
Winter’s Edge
Catspaw II
Hand in Glove
Catspaw
Tangled Lies / reprint in Men Made in America #11
Now You See Him
Special Gifts
Break the Night
Against the Wind
N
OVELLAS
Married to It (prequel to Fire and Ice)
Risk the Night
HISTORICALS
S
CANDAL
AT
THE
H
OUSE
OF
R
USSELL
Never Kiss a Rake
Never Trust a Pirate
Never Marry a Viscount
T
HE
H
OUSE
OF
R
OHAN
The Wicked House of Rohan
Shameless
Breathless
Reckless
Ruthless
S
TAND
-
A
LONE
T
ITLES
The Devil’s Waltz
Hidden Honor
Lady Fortune
Prince of Magic
Lord of Danger
Prince of Swords
To Love a Dark Lord
Shadow Dance
A Rose at Midnight
The Houseparty
The Spinster and the Rake
Lord Satan’s Bride
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477828472
ISBN-10: 1477828478
Cover design by Jason Blackburn
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014957576
For everyone who’s been asking me for more Ice books. Here it is.
Contents
PART ONE—BEGINNINGS
Chapter One
Evangeline Morrissey sank down on the rock wall, hot, dusty, sweaty, and tired. Her legs ached from climbing the hills beyond the tiny Tuscan town of Cabrisi—she’d underestimated how far she’d gone, and the way back was daunting. It was early afternoon but the sun was bright overhead on this hot spring day, and she leaned forward and rubbed her sore calves.
She frowned at the sturdy sandals she’d worn. Usually they served her well, but right now her feet hurt, and she just wanted to find a place to curl up and sleep for a little while, just a fifteen-minute nap out of the baking sun.
Fortunately she knew just where to find such a sanctuary.
The church of St. Anselmo was rarely used, a sixteenth-century remnant of a once denser population in these hills. Surely no one would object to her presence; as usual she wore a knee-length denim skirt rather than shorts, wrapped a shirt around her waist that she used to cover her arms, and had a kerchief on her head to keep her ridiculously curly reddish-brown hair in place. It was her standard costume, guaranteed to appease even the most fundamental of clerics no matter what their faith, and had served her in Spanish mosques as well as ancient synagogues. While she’d been working on her advanced degree in Medieval Religious Architecture, she’d naturally ended up spending time in a lot of places of worship, and she’d kept the uniform ever since. She simply had to remember which places required her to cover her head and which didn’t.
The last bit of road approaching the church was steep, and her calves were in agony by the time she topped the rise. She stopped, momentarily startled.
She’d never seen a vehicle in this place, never passed anyone other than Father Francisco as he glumly paced the empty aisles. This time there were three cars parked beside the small church—a Bentley, a smaller, more discreet black Lexus, and a humble Fiat. Were some sort of officials having some kind of meeting about the fate of the church? Would they abandon such a beauty, allow it to be ruined by vandals, its stained glass windows shattered by the Italian equivalent of street punks? Surely not. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the church or its architecture—she barely had a page of notes on the place—but it was a sanctuary of peace and respite on a hot day, and she was a pilgrim of sorts, wasn’t she?
She crossed the graveled area that could barely hold more cars than were already there, stepped into the cool darkness of the narthex, the traditional front entrance hall of the church, and blinked at the dense shadows lit only by the sun beaming through the rich, jewel-like colors of the stained glass window at the far end of the nave. She could see one man in the pews, his head bent in prayer, and with surprise she recognized the balding pate of Signore Corsini, the friendly Italian businessman from the hotel. There was no sign of the priest or whoever had come in the other cars. She turned to her right, slipping into the shadows. The tiny chapel off to one side would provide the private respite she needed, and she paused to light a candle and put an offering in the box before heading in. She always lit a candle, never sure whom she was praying for. Asking God for money or success in her profession seemed totally crass, and everything else in her life seemed in decent shape, so she’d come to the decision she was paying it forward, at least in terms of prayer, and she was happy with that.
She sank into the last of the five rows of pews in the chapel, sighing with relief. She’d overestimated her energy; the remnants of the old town wall were much farther than she thought, and she was worn out. She’d trained her body to nap efficiently: fifteen minutes and she’d wake, refreshed and re-energized. She put her hands on the pew in front of her, rested her forehead on them, and fell asleep immediately.
The sound woke her. She jerked awake, blinking at the darkness, before she remembered where she was. She’d either slept longer than she should have, or not long enough—she felt disoriented, confused, and she shook her head, as if the physical act could toss off the cobwebs.
She tried to recall the sound that had startled her. It had been a strange, unexpected noise, almost human, and her skin prickled with the sense that something was wrong.
Pushing herself up, she quickly crossed herself, wondering as usual if she was doing it backwards, and stepped back out into the narthex, coming to an abrupt halt as she saw two people enshrined by the bright sunlight pouring in the outer doors.
