Andrea Kane (15 page)

“Cyril, was Kassie’s mother ill?” he asked instead.

Cyril raised his brows. “Ill? Not that I know of.”

“Then how did she die?”

Cyril’s mouth dropped open. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew? Knew what?”

Cyril inhaled quickly, then let his breath out very slowly. He hoped that learning of the scandal would affect Braden’s feelings for his new wife and thus tilt the scales in Cyril’s favor.

He met Braden’s gaze directly.

“Elena Grey committed suicide fourteen years ago.”

All the color drained from Braden’s face. “My God … I had no idea.” He swallowed. “How?”

“I don’t recall all the details,” Cyril answered, studying Braden’s reaction.

“Well, tell me whatever you
do
recall,” Braden demanded.

“Apparently she threw herself from that hilly portion of their property that overlooks the sea. The fall killed her instantly.”

Braden was shaking. Wildly he wondered how much of this story Kassie knew.

“Kassie,” he murmured to himself.

Cyril heard him. “I doubt your wife knows the true story. I’m certain she was told only that Elena fell, else I’m sure Kassandra would have told you herself,” Cyril put in helpfully.

Braden uttered an angry curse and began to pace restlessly about the room. “And why could it not have been an accident?” he challenged, coming to a halt.

Cyril squinted, trying to recall an incident that had happened long ago. “I believe it had something to do with where on the ground she was discovered.” He shook his head. “Truthfully, Braden, I do not remember anything more. It was a terrible tragedy. Obviously Kassandra’s mother was not in her right mind.”

Or she was driven out of it,
Braden thought silently.

“Thank you, Cyril,” he said aloud, striding toward the doorway. “You have been most enlightening.”

“Where are you going?”

Braden paused. “To contact the authorities. I want to speak with anyone who can tell me more about Elena Grey’s death.”

Cyril leaned thoughtfully back against the bookshelves.

“I would suggest, instead, talking with the man who discovered the body.”

Cyril’s words had their intended effect, and Braden spun about, a stunned expression on his face. “Do you know where I can find him?”

Cyril sighed. He had no desire to reopen old wounds, but some things just could not be helped. He gave Braden a compassionate look. “You can find him right here at Sherburgh, Braden. The man who found Elena Grey’s body was Charles Graves.”

C
HARLES STARTED AT THE
insistent pounding on his bedroom door. He barely had time to open it before Braden flung it wide and burst into the room.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

Charles blinked in confusion. There was no possible way that Braden could know of the earlier conversation between himself and Kassandra. Then what could he be referring to?

“Tell you?” he asked. “Tell you what?”

Braden raked his fingers through his hair and bit off a curse.

“I was under the impression that we were friends … that there was honesty between us,” he growled.

Charles flinched at the accusation in his friend’s cold hazel eyes. Whatever Braden had learned, it was serious.

Charles’s heart began to pound faster.

“We are friends, Braden,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “Now close the door and tell me what this is all about.”

Braden violently kicked the door shut.

“How could you keep something like this from me?” he demanded again.

“What have I kept from you?” Charles ground out, his frustration mounting.

“Kassandra is my wife, Charles. My wife! Did you not think I had the right to know?”

Charles felt a chill begin deep inside him.

“What is it that you had the right to know?” he asked in a wooden voice.

Braden lunged forward and clutched Charles’s shoulders, digging his fingers into the hard biceps and confronting him with a mixture of anger, pain, and confusion.

“Is it true that Elena Grey killed herself?”

Charles never looked away. “It’s true.”

“And that you discovered the body?” Braden persisted.

“Yes.”

With a groan Braden released him and turned away. “Why?” was all he asked.

A great weariness descended upon Charles’s soul. “You were in your teens when it happened, Braden, and away at Eton. By the time you came home the tragedy was over. You did not know the Greys, so there was no need to tell you. And in truth,” he said in little more than a whisper, “I wanted to forget the image of that beautiful young woman lying on the beach … so still, so broken.” He closed his eyes, knowing that he had never forgotten, knowing that he never would. “It will haunt me forever.”

Braden was not ready to feel sympathy; he could feel only anger.

“And do you still think there is no need to tell me, Charles?” he got out, a muscle working furiously in his jaw. “Now that I am married to her daughter, is it still no concern of mine?”

“It happened over fourteen years ago,” Charles protested.

“But when I first met Kassie and spoke of her to you, you said nothing. And when we dragged her bastard of a father to his cottage in a drunken stupor,
still
you said nothing. And when I told you that Kassie was to be my wife,
still
you said nothing.
Why not?
”

“Because I wanted no shadows present to mar your happiness,” Charles replied quietly. “Kassandra is totally unaware of the true circumstances surrounding her mother’s death. To tell her would only cause her senseless pain. And to tell you would only intensify the anger and hatred you already carry within you.”

Braden met his gaze. “You believe she took her own life.”

Charles’s eyes were filled with sadness. “No fall could have hurled her such a distance outward from the base of the jutting land. It had to have been intentional.”

Braden slammed his fist against the wall. “Damn it, didn’t she care that her daughter was little more than a baby? That she needed her? What kind of a woman would—”

“The kind that was beyond caring … beyond hope … overpowered by fear.”

“Fear.” Braden repeated the word slowly. That was the second suggestion that Elena was afraid of something. First Cyril had said it. And now Charles.

“Do you think that Grey drove her to suicide?” he asked Charles bluntly.

“We have both seen the harm he is capable of inflicting, Braden. What makes you believe that his wife was spared it?”

Braden felt sick. He crossed the room and sank down upon Charles’s simple, neatly made bed, lowering his head into his hands.

“Did she look like Kassie?” he managed at last.

“Yes. Kassandra is the image of her mother.”

Braden raised his head. “Charles … I’m sorry. I had no right to—”

Charles cut him off with a gentle shake of his head. “There is no need to apologize, Braden. I ask only that you understand my motives. I made the decision to keep this from you because it is in the past, and I felt that bringing it back would cause both you and your wife much pain. If I did the wrong thing, it is I who must apologize.”

“I don’t want Kassie hurt,” Braden stated.

“Nor do I,” Charles agreed. “She deserves to be happy—to be happy and loved.”

Braden stood.

“Where are you going?” Charles asked curiously.

Braden reached for the door handle and paused. “To spend some time with my wife.”

The door shut quietly behind him.

Charles stood alone in the room, a ray of hope penetrating his earlier resignation.

“Your Grace? Your Grace!”

Perkins hastened through the hallway, his pace as rapid as his dignity would allow. Relieved to have at last located the duke, the harried butler immediately noted His Grace’s displeasure at being deterred from his destination. Having heard Perkins call out, Braden paused halfway up the staircase, impatiently awaiting the butler’s approach, his dark brows drawn into a frown.

“Yes, Perkins, what is it?” Actually, Braden didn’t care what it was. It would have to wait. Right now all he wanted was to find Kassie. He had already searched the entire main floor, and there was no sign of her.

“I have a message for you from the duchess.”

That got Braden’s attention. “From Kassie?”

Perkins nodded vigorously. “Yes. Her Grace asks that you join her at the stream on the far side of the estate as soon as possible.”

Braden tensed. “The stream? Why? Is she all right? Her father hasn’t tried—”

Perkins gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No, Your Grace, there has been no sign of Mr. Grey at Sherburgh. You would have been notified at once.”

Braden relaxed slightly. “Did she tell you why she wanted me to meet her there?”

“No, she did not. She just said she was going for a walk and asked me to give you that message.”

“How long ago was that?” Braden tried not to feel uneasy, but he hated the thought of Kassie being alone in so isolated a spot.

“Barely an hour ago.”

Braden headed for the door.

“Star has been saddled and brought around front, Your Grace,” Perkins called after him.

Braden turned and smiled. “As always, you anticipate my every need, Perkins. Thank you.”

Braden mounted quickly, trying to shake his odd sensation of discomfort. The earlier events of the day could be the cause, he thought. Still, he wouldn’t feel content until he saw Kassie safe and unharmed.

Kassie turned her face toward the sunshine, glorying in its wondrous warmth upon her skin. She had discovered this beautiful spot quite by accident during her morning’s explorations and had fallen in love with it. It reminded her of her beloved beach, though they bore no physical resemblance to each other. Still, both places had a certain wildness, and at the same time a certain peace; an ability to soothe her senses and fill her soul. Yes. This was to be
her
spot. She had known it at once.

Contentedly, Kassie drew lazy circles in the clear waters of the stream with her bare feet. Her new haven was quite deserted, giving her the freedom to do what she would. She had taken immediate advantage of this, eagerly removing her slippers and stockings and hiking up her skirts so she could revel in the cool waters. It was perfect … utterly perfect.

Sighing with satisfaction, Kassie closed her eyes, wondering for the hundredth time when Braden would come. She knew he had returned to Sherburgh, for Margaret had whispered that detail to her while arranging her mistress’s hair—the hair that now cascaded about in total disarray, Kassie noted with a grin. Well, that was what happened when one skipped about in a stream. She would rearrange the thick tresses before going back to the house, but for now she would enjoy the feeling of her wild, loose curls tumbling down her back in carefree abandon.

The breeze caught the wonderful aroma of the food beside her, and Kassie’s stomach growled insistently, reminding her that her appetite was as impatient as she. But she had to wait, for the neatly laid place settings upon the blanket were for two. All that was missing was Braden. Until he arrived she would simply enjoy her solitude.

But Kassie was not alone.

The man stood behind the tree, totally obscured from view. Observing, yet unobserved. Intoxicated. Brooding.

She is waiting for someone,
he thought;
that is obvious. Probably her husband.
He frowned.
I cannot allow myself to be misled by the air of innocence that still clings to her. I was fooled by that once before
…
but never again.
The faded image swam before his eyes. The most beautiful of women, she had seemed the purest of ladies on the surface, but in reality she was a conniving slut. Damn her.

He blinked. All that was over now. She was long since dead and gone. But she had left behind this perfect likeness of herself to taunt him.

Not this time,
he told himself.
This time I will get what I want. She will provide me with everything that life has already taken away.

His mind cloudy from the liquor, he took a purposeful step forward.
She will pay
…
oh, yes, she will pay.

The sound of a horse’s hooves brought him up short. Someone was approaching. He shook his head to clear it. The sound grew louder … closer.

With a sense of panic he drew back.
Am I mad?
he asked himself.
After all my careful planning will I now risk discovery? No. I have come too close to relinquish my claim. Wait. I must wait.
Silently, unseen, he retreated into the thick wall of trees, retracing his steps until he was gone.

Braden rode quickly, effortlessly, scanning the area and cursing himself for leaving Kassie alone. He was about to call out her name when he spied the bright colors of the blanket that lay upon the grass.

At that moment Kassie stood, her face registering delight at seeing her husband.

“Braden!” she smiled, waving at him.

Braden slowed, then dismounted, his curious gaze taking in everything at once: Kassie’s adorable, disheveled appearance and the neatly set “table” beside her.

He turned to her with a tender smile, all his earlier anxiety fading. “And what is all this?”

“
This
,” she replied, her dimples deepening, “is a picnic.” She gestured toward the basket. “I had Cook pack everything I could think of. We have enough food and wine for four or five meals, I should say.” Her candid blue-green eyes searched his. “Are you pleased?”

He took her hands. “I am both pleased and touched.”

“I know how busy you are,” she said hesitantly.

He smiled brilliantly. “I am never too busy for you,
ma petite
.” Her hopeful look made him feel like a bastard. After all, it wasn’t her fault that he could barely stand beside her without wanting to ravish her. In her mind he had simply been ignoring her.

She tugged at his hands. “Come and see our dining room! I have been most productive while awaiting your appearance.”

He glanced down at the soggy hem of her gown, at the small, bare feet that peeked out from under it. “So I see. Have you been wading?”