Andrea Kane (17 page)

In tense silence Braden smoothed down her gown and tugged her bodice back up where it belonged. He stood then, reaching down to help her to her feet.

“Let’s go back to the house,” he said flatly.

“But our picnic …” She said the first coherent thing that entered her mind.

“Another time,” he answered shortly. “The idea of a picnic no longer appeals to me.”

With a sinking heart Kassie wondered if he was referring to much more than the picnic.

S
PLASHES OF SUNLIGHT COAXED
Kassie’s unwilling eyelids to open. Soon Margaret would be in to help her dress for her riding lesson with Charles, an event that had become something of a ritual this past week. It was the only thing Kassie actually looked forward to lately … ever since that day at the stream … that last shattering moment in Braden’s arms.

With each passing day the distance between them had grown wider, the strain more pronounced, the future prospects more dismal. Braden was seldom home. And when he was, he was barely cordial, closeting himself in his study or at the stables, seeing only his business associates, his Thoroughbreds, and Charles. Kassie could feel his anger whenever they happened by one another, whenever she caught him looking at her. There was accusation there, accusation and torment. And she was helpless to stop it.

In truth, Kassie, who had dealt with blatant conflict all her life, was incapable of combating this intangible, painful tension that was beyond her understanding. She only knew that something very complicated and irreversible had happened between them, and that because of it things had altered drastically.

The door flew open and a cheerful, bustling Margaret sailed into Kassie’s bedchamber.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted her mistress, scurrying over to the windows to pull back the drapes and allow more of the morning sunlight into the room.

“Hello, Margaret,” Kassie replied, sitting up in bed and smiling faintly at her maid.

Margaret studied Kassie’s pale face and frowned.

“Did you have another dream?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Kassie shook her head. “No, Margaret, no dreams. I just had a bit of a restless night.”

Actually, she’d had a
very
restless night. The good thing was that since Kassie was only able to sleep for several hours at a time, she had been tormented but twice this week by the horrible recurring nightmare. On both occasions Braden had been away from Sherburgh, and it had been Margaret who came to soothe her, asking no questions, merely stroking Kassie’s hair and crooning softly until the trembling stopped. Kassie adored Margaret and was thankful for her nurturing aid.

But she wanted Braden.

“Shall I have a tray brought up to you, Your Grace?” Margaret asked hopefully.

Kassie sighed. She knew that Margaret was worried over Kassie’s lack of appetite and loss of sleep. The older woman was the closest thing to a mother that Kassie had known in fourteen years. A rush of gratitude swept over her, and she pushed back the bedcovers with a grin.

“That won’t be necessary, Margaret. I believe that I will go downstairs for breakfast today.”

It was worth it to see the broad smile that crossed Margaret’s lined face.

“Wonderful! It will do you a world of good to be with people, to spend some time with your husband. …” Her voice trailed off as Kassie looked away. Margaret, more than anybody, knew how things stood between Braden and his wife. Although Kassie rarely spoke of them, her feelings for her husband were transparent as glass, and the fact that the duke never visited his wife in her bedchamber was no secret to Margaret. She was half tempted to give His Grace a piece of her mind for the shameful way he was treating his new wife. But wisely, she held her tongue, partly because she knew her place and partly because she sensed that there was more to this relationship than met the eye. Whatever was amiss between the duke and duchess, they would have to work it out themselves.

Thirty minutes later, washed and dressed, Kassie made her entrance into Sherburgh’s huge dining room. She stood in the doorway, wondering if this particular room would ever cease to intimidate her. It was not just its immense size that made it overwhelming, but its elegant and intricate design. Rare and priceless statues stood everywhere between towering pillars that reached to a high, gilded ceiling and a dazzling crystal chandelier. Along the far wall of the room a fire was lit, its carefully stoked, boldly blazing flames as commanding as the white marble fireplace that housed them. Kassie’s gaze went to the massive carved mahogany table and chairs, which bespoke wealth and quality. Several attentive footmen hovered about, serving hot platters of food to Lord Cyril Sheffield, who sat calmly eating his breakfast, and to His Grace, the Duke of Sherburgh, who was at the head of the table, buried behind the
Times.

Upon seeing her enter Cyril stood, his dark brows raised in surprise.

“Good morning, Kassandra. What a pleasure to have you join us for our morning meal.”

Kassie smiled. “Good morning, Cyril. I decided it was time to stop being so lazy and learn to rise at a reasonable hour.”

Braden lowered the newspaper slowly to the table and rose to his feet.

“Good morning, Braden,” Kassie said softly.

She could see it again, that confused, pained look that appeared briefly in his eyes, then vanished.

“Good morning, Kassie.” He drank in her presence, damning himself for the feelings that refused to be quieted. Nothing had changed since that day by the stream—not his determination, not his ambivalence.

He saw the soft, questioning look she gave him as she sat down, and he felt an irrational burst of anger. What did she want of him? Damn it, she was no longer a child. Surely she must have
some
idea of what he was going through.

Until their picnic Braden had been willing to shoulder all the responsibility for curbing his desires, and all the blame when he could not. But everything had changed that day. Because just as he was sure that he had never known true passion before that moment, he was equally sure that Kassie had felt it, too. There had been neither fear nor revulsion in her response to his touch. She had asked him—no, begged him—to continue. Not with words, but with her body, which spoke to him in a language all its own. He had felt it, tasted it, reveled in it. Never had he wanted a woman that way, uncontrollably, irrationally, totally. He had been like an untried schoolboy, aware of nothing save the desperate need to join himself to her, to spend himself in her body, to give her pleasure.

And then she had pulled away.
Why?

She was afraid, his conscience shot back. And he was a miserable blackguard to allow anger to mingle with his guilt and remorse.

He clenched his hands in his lap, watching her chat amiably with Cyril over her eggs.

She was so damned beautiful, so meltingly desirable. Her body was exquisite. Just the memory of it made Braden tremble like a callow youth. And he had bared only part of it to his hungry gaze, his seeking hands. The greatest treasure was left unknown and unexplored.

God, how he wanted her. It was becoming obsessive, his dreams filled with possessing her, his body no longer willing to heed the dictates of his mind. That angered him.

But he wanted her to want him as well, to welcome him into her arms, into her body, into her heart. That terrified him.

And all the while he kept asking himself which of Kassie’s emotions would win out in the end, her fear or her desire.

“Braden, will you be leaving Sherburgh today?” Kassie asked, turning her haunting blue-green eyes to him.

Braden folded the newspaper and placed it beside his plate. “As a matter of fact, I need to speak with Charles and make some arrangements. He and I will be leaving for London in the morning.”

“Why?” The moment it was asked Kassie wished she could recall the foolish question. She had heard enough from Charles to know that a big auction was to be held at Tattersall’s that week.

Braden looked at Kassie’s disappointed face and felt himself thaw. “Charles and I must attend the auction, and I must meet with some fellow Jockey Club members at the Subscription Room. We are discussing the possibility of buying additional land at Newmarket.” He smiled in spite of himself. “It will only be for a few days,
ma petite.
I should be home by week’s end.”

Kassie nodded, appalled at her lack of control. She had all but begged him not to go! Composing herself, she replied, “Of course. I understand. I’ll be just fine.”

Cyril cleared his throat, trying to diffuse the obvious tension in the room.

“I shall take good care of Kassandra while you’re away, Braden,” he assured his nephew.

“I’m sure you will.” Braden took a final sip of lukewarm tea and stood. “I had best be on my way.”

“Will I see you before you leave?” This time Kassie managed to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

Braden nodded. “I’ll see you this evening before you retire.” He strode from the room.

Kassie flushed. Cyril would have to be blind and deaf not to infer from Braden’s remark that they lived separately, not as husband and wife.

If he did, he kept it to himself, nonchalantly finishing his breakfast and continuing their chat.

“So, are you enjoying your riding lessons with Charles?”

Kassie looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were aware that Charles was teaching me to ride.”

He smiled, dabbing at his mouth with a linen napkin. “I saw the two of you yesterday. I was most impressed with your progress. Didn’t you say that you couldn’t ride?”

Kassie regarded him thoughtfully. “I did say that. Charles is helping me to learn. The horses at Sherburgh are magnificent.”

“Yes, they are,” he agreed. “And I’m sure it will please Braden very much if you become an adept rider. His Thoroughbreds mean a great deal to him.”

“I know.” She smiled. “And I can understand why. They are loving and affectionate and gentle.”

Cyril inclined his head to one side. “They can also be high-handed and skittish, especially with a new, inexperienced rider. Just be careful. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

Kassie pushed back her seat and stood. “Thank you, Cyril,” she told him warmly. “Thank you for your concern. I will not let my enthusiasm overshadow my caution, I promise.”

He chuckled. “Good. Now run along and change clothes for your ride. You and I will have much time to talk over the next few days. After all, it is my job to look after you during Braden’s absence.”

He watched her go, pleased with the outcome of their chat. Actually, considering the way things were progressing between Braden and his new wife, Cyril expected that his job would not be difficult at all.

Kassie tossed in her bed, tears of frustration burning behind her eyes. How much longer could she go on without sleep? She was totally exhausted, her body craving rest, and yet her turbulent emotions refused to release her to the peace of slumber.

Through the closed door that connected their bedchambers she could hear the muffled sounds of Braden’s deep, rich baritone giving last-minute packing instructions to Harding. The idea of Braden leaving Sherburgh made Kassie feel more alone and more frightened than she had since the day she ran from her father’s home. It struck her that she had unknowingly become dependent upon her husband in a way that she had never permitted herself with another person. She needed him emotionally, physically. And
that
reality was what made her pull back.

Unbidden, the memory of their picnic came to mind. Being in Braden’s arms, letting him touch her,
begging
him to touch her, with a helpless abandon that made her weak just to recall. With a lifetime of experience screaming its warning, how could she allow herself to be so vulnerable to another person?

Kassie closed her eyes. There was no turning back. She had to take the risk. She was in love with her husband, and come hell or high water, she was bound and determined to make him love her.

But tomorrow he is going away, Kassie thought, and she shivered with an internal chill.

The dream crept inside her.

It was night. She was alone … walking … pervaded by cold, chilled by apprehension. The sweet scent of lilacs hung in the air. An eerie silence prevailed. Then voices, harsh, pleading. Movement, rustling, heavy steps. The cold grew sharper. The apprehension swelled and exploded into raw fear. She began to run. Desperate to escape. Knowing she could not. A piercing scream split the night. The beast growled, reared back, and lunged. She was falling … down, down, into a bottomless well of blackness.

And the beast’s laughter echoed wildly about her as she fell to her death.

Someone was calling to her, lifting her, dragging her back from the blackness. Kassie struggled wildly against the strong arms that gripped her, suddenly aware of her own sobs and gasping breaths.

“Kassie! Stop fighting me! I’m not going to hurt you! Sweetheart, it’s me … Braden. Open your eyes now!”

Kassie heard the command and, with the greatest of effort, opened her eyes. Disoriented, she stared up at Braden’s worried face.

“Braden?”

He nodded, tightening his grip about her. “Yes, love, it’s me. I’m here.”

“I was dreaming,” she murmured. She voiced the obvious fact aloud, hoping to make the reality sink in that much faster. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings again. Braden was sitting on her bed, holding her against him and stroking damp strands of hair off of her forehead.

“Yes, you were,” he replied soberly, searching her eyes for any remaining traces of incoherence. There were none. “Kassie, how often do you have these … dreams?”

She sighed, laying her weary head against his shoulder. She noted that this time he was still fully dressed, probably because he had not yet been to bed.

“It varies,” she answered softly. The aftermath of the dream was still very much with her, the cold and the fear making her tremble. “They vanished completely during my first week at Sherburgh,” she murmured, half to herself. “But lately they’ve been relentless, more frequent than ever. Since the day my father was here—”