Andrea Kane (4 page)

Braden had no chance to question him about the curious comment before Robert continued.

“I have no money t’offer you for your kindness,” he drawled, leaning back against the satin seat covering.

“I assumed as much,” Braden answered coldly. “Fortunately, I am not in need of your money, sir.”

Robert nodded, his head lolling against the cushions. “I thought not,” he muttered, his lids drooping. “Noblemen rarely need anything. And what they need, they take. Even if it belongs t’someone else.” His words trailed off, and his chin dropped upon his chest.

“He’s out cold,” Charles said in disgust.

Braden nodded. “It is just as well. He sickens me.” He glanced over at Charles, but the older man’s earlier reaction had disappeared, and he was quite himself again.

“You are concerned for his daughter?” he asked Braden with his usual insight. He remembered Braden’s recounting of the night he’d stumbled upon Kassandra and knew that Braden had never forgotten that meeting.

Again Braden nodded. “Yes, I am. And I will continue to be until I see for myself that she is well.” He stared broodingly out the carriage window, wishing he had not chosen to stay away all this time, had not forced himself to resist the frequent urge to see Kassie. Pangs of guilt, of doubt, besieged him.

“What sort of life could she possibly have had with only that man for guidance?” he wondered aloud, remembering that Kassie had said her mother was dead. He threw a scathing look at Robert’s crumpled figure, then returned his worried gaze to the passing scenery around them.

Charles’s expression had hardened at Braden’s words and was again set in grim lines of anger. Lost in his own thoughts, Braden did not notice. His only concern was for Kassie.

He reflected once again upon their first and only meeting. Certainly he had sensed her life was somewhat lonely and difficult, just as he had sensed that she, like him, possessed an innate resilience to combat her pain. But not until five minutes ago had Braden considered the possibility that Kassie was faced with a burden so great that its magnitude far exceeded the scope of her defenses. Something she was powerless to fight alone.

It was up to
him
to protect her from that parasitic excuse for a father.

The intensity of his own reaction startled Braden. He dismissed as absurd the fleeting thought that what he was feeling was far more complex than mere protectiveness. Kassie was, after all, little more than a child, while he was a grown man who had never really known childhood at all.

There were several hours of travel ahead along rutted roads. The trip was spent in silence, each man plagued by the afternoon’s events.

It seemed an eternity before the carriage veered to the right, heading toward the Scarborough coastline. A short time later the road worsened, became rougher and more uneven. The carriage bounced unsteadily over the poorly paved surface, making its way to the Grey house. In the distance Braden saw the cottage and its grounds jutting out over the sea. He scanned the area, seeking out Kassandra. She was nowhere in sight. Not that much was visible over the tall and undisciplined lawns. Braden frowned. The grounds had been shamefully neglected and rose in uneven clusters of green and brown. Huge bunches of weeds towered over drooping flower beds.

Braden was struck by an inexplicable sense of dread. He swung out of the carriage almost before it had come to a complete stop.

Simultaneously the sound of joyful barking filled the air, and seconds later a floppy-eared beagle bounded into view. From his mouth dangled what appeared to be a lady’s shawl.

“Percy!” a feminine voice called out. “Bring that back at once!”

Braden did not need to ask to whom the voice belonged. He would have recognized that musical sound anywhere.

Breathless with laughter, hair streaming down her back, Kassie tore across the grounds, her gown held high above her ankles so as not to impede her progress.

The beagle came to a grinding halt, turned, and wagged his tail at his panting mistress.

“Percy!” She reached where he stood and stopped. “I need my shawl! Give it to me!” She held out her hand, oblivious to her audience.

Percy perked up his ears and looked to the right and to the left, trying to decide which way to go in order to fetch whatever it was his beloved Kassie was so eager to have.

Kassie sighed with exasperation, placing her slender hands on her hips. “Percy,” she said, striving for patience, “my shawl is not somewhere out there. It is the thing that you are holding in your mouth.” She leaned over, tugging on the material that hung from the dog’s clamped teeth. “
This
is my shawl.”

Percy barked playfully in response, which immediately freed the damp, crumpled shawl. It fell to the ground in a ruined heap. Percy stared down in astonishment, as though realizing for the first time that the object his mistress had been pursuing was in his possession all along. He wagged his tail proudly at having been the one to find it.

Kassie shook her head, stooping to pick up the wet garment. “Oh, Percy, what am I to do with you?”

In reply the dog leapt up to lick Kassie’s face with an enthusiastic pink tongue until Kassie dropped to her knees and hugged the silky-haired animal to her chest.

“I do love you,” she whispered, “although you will never be the scholar that I had hoped you would be.” She kissed his smooth fur. “But your heart is loyal and loving, and your friendship means the world to me.”

Not prone to sentiment, Percy squirmed in her embrace, attempting to free himself. It was then that he spotted the unfamiliar carriage and its occupants.

A furor of barking exploded from the little dog as he sped off to defend his mistress. Kassie rose, the soft folds of her plain apple-green gown draping to her ankles. Her heart began pounding wildly in her chest at the sight of the tall, handsome man that stood forty feet away, watching her so intently. She took a hesitant step toward him. Surely he must be an apparition, the same wondrous daydream that she relived time and again in her mind. And that this time, just like all the others, she would open her eyes to find that it was no more than a fantasy.

Seeing her uncertainty, Braden walked toward her, taking in every detail of the miracle time and maturity had wrought. In place of the blooming young girl he’d met on the beach was a thoroughly intoxicating woman who, even in a drab, faded gown and with her disheveled hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders, could rival the most exquisite portrait ever captured on canvas.

He stopped inches before her and smiled down into her brilliant blue-green eyes.

“Braden?” It was both question and statement, spoken breathlessly through trembling lips.

“Hello, Kassie.”

H
ER ELATION DIED A
rapid death when she saw why Braden was there.

Numbly Kassie watched her bedraggled father being hauled out of the splendid carriage. She barely heard Braden’s gentle explanation of the circumstances surrounding his appearance at her door, for all her dreams were shattering around her. Unconsciously she began to walk toward the entranceway of her house … and away from Braden.

Shame. All that registered in Kassie’s mind was the shame of having Braden see her life as it really was. It was not the worn state of her clothing nor even the deteriorated condition of the cottage that embarrassed her so. But her father, in his usual, dreadful drunken state, having to be delivered home in such a disgraceful, pathetic fashion … that was the true reason for her humiliation.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to give in to the urge to cry. The fact was that for a moment, just a fleeting moment, she had actually thought Braden had come to see her. That she had been in his thoughts, as he had dominated hers. Obviously she was wrong. Well, he would never know how much that realization hurt her. Never.

Kassie threw back her shoulders and looked straight ahead as she neared the cottage, showing neither her hurt nor her shame. Her protective mask was in place. Keeping her pain and fear locked up inside was, by now, second nature to her. She had done it all her life.

“Kassie.” Braden’s long strides brought him abreast of her. Percy ran along beside him, barking distrustfully and sniffing at Braden’s heels. Braden ignored him. “Kassie,” he said again, taking her arm and halting her progress.

She stopped in her tracks and raised her composed face to his. “Yes?”

Braden studied her expression, a mirror of one he had worn countless times and knew only too well, so he wasn’t fooled by it now. “It’s good to see you,” he said softly.

Kassie gave him a careful smile. “I’m glad to see you, too,” she answered. “It’s been a very long time.”

Her unasked question hung between them, but Braden heard it as clearly as if she had voiced it aloud.

“Kassie,” he began, wondering how on earth he was going to explain his absence all these years. An absence that, to Kassie, would seem nothing short of abandonment. He cleared his throat roughly. “When we met you were a young girl. I thought it best not to …”

Percy found his opportunity, lunging at Braden’s feet and sinking his teeth into the soft leather of his boot. Growling with rage, the beagle held on, eyes fierce with challenge as he waited to see what his adversary would do.

“Percy!” Kassie was horrified. “Stop that immediately!”

The little dog, unused to his mistress’s strong display of emotion, let go of the boot and barked expectantly, awaiting further praise.

“I apologize for Percy’s behavior,” Kassie told Braden, her disapproving gaze still fixed on her panting dog. “He’s not used to my receiving guests.”

Braden chuckled, squatting to offer the suspicious dog his open hand. “He is
definitely
Hunter’s son,” he told her, coaxing the dog to accept his gesture of friendship. “He’s loyal to you. That’s as it should be.”

“Loyal, yes,” Kassie sighed, “and a warm, loving pet … but severely lacking in intelligence. I have tried and tried, but to no avail. Even his name hasn’t helped.”

“His name?” Braden, stood, perplexed, and desperately tried to control his amusement. Obviously Kassie took her pet’s inadequacy quite seriously.

“I had hoped that by dubbing him with the forename of so great a poet I would inspire him to live up to Shelley’s genius.”

Braden’s lips twitched in spite of his best intentions. “You named your dog after Percy Shelley?” he managed.

She nodded. “For all the good that it’s done, yes.”

“Oh, Kassie.” He laughed, reaching for her instinctively. “You are such a treasure.”

Just then James Gelding, the Greys’ only remaining servant, scurried out of the house to the carriage and assisted Charles in half dragging, half carrying Robert toward the door.

The tender reunion between Kassie and Braden shattered into bits.

“I must go to him,” Kassie murmured, tugging away from Braden and hurrying off, Percy at her heels.

Braden frowned after her, more than a little bothered by Kassie’s reaction. It was as if she were responsible for Robert, rather than the other way around. Automatically Braden followed Kassie toward the house. He already knew that he would hate what he found there.

Kassie shooed Percy out from underfoot, then stepped into the barren hallway as her father was helped inside. “Oh, Father,” she sighed. She said no more, but Braden arrived in time to see the utterly stricken, defeated look on her face. It made him wish that Robert Grey had been crushed beneath the carriage wheels.

“He’s all right, Kassie,” he assured her. “Only a bit out of sorts.” They both knew it was a lie.

Braden stationed himself by Kassie’s side, wanting to give her whatever support he could.

“Where would you like us to take him, Miss Grey?” Charles asked in his deep, precise voice, his sharp blue eyes fixed on Kassie’s face.

Kassie blinked. “Oh, please … don’t trouble yourselves anymore. I will see that he gets to bed.”

“No.” Braden stopped her with one word.

“He’s my father, Braden,” Kassie protested, raising her chin defiantly and meeting his gaze. “And my responsibility.”

God, she was beautiful. Her skin was flawless, her features delicate and fine-boned. And those eyes … the most unusual shade of blue-green imaginable on this side of heaven, with flecks of gold scattered throughout, beneath the longest, thickest black lashes he had ever seen. Braden could feel something tug inside him, something he had felt only once before but remembered as if it were yesterday.

He took a deep breath, caught her small hand in his large, hard one, and gave it a brief squeeze. “Charles and your man can manage it, Kassie. Your father is too heavy for you to carry alone.” He pressed on, anxious to spare her pride. “It is not unusual for a man to overindulge upon occasion.”

She smiled, and the splendor of it left him breathless. “Thank you, Braden” was all she said.

Robert blinked and tried to clear his vision. “Kassandra?” he tried. His daughter … talking to the young nobleman who had brought him home … what had he said his name was? Braden Sheffield, that was it. The Duke of Sherburgh. Sheffield. Damn, why was that name so familiar?

“Yes, Father?”

Robert could swear that the duke was looking at Kassandra, not only with recognition, but with tenderness. No, that was impossible; they’d only met once. He lifted his head and looked up at the two men who were leading him purposefully to the staircase.

“Oh … James … all right … yes, I am very tired … think I’ll go to bed.” He glanced behind him in time to see Kassie’s move to follow stopped by the duke’s hand on her arm.

“Kassie … don’t,” Braden murmured, willing her to remain.

She hesitated, then nodded. “All right, Braden.”

Braden. She knew his forename. Robert tucked the final coherent thought away. So their previous acquaintanceship was not his imagination. Nor was the look in their eyes when their gazes met. Damn. He would allow no complication to his plans. None at all.

Kassie stared bleakly after Robert’s retreating figure until he and his two escorts had disappeared atop the second-floor landing. Then she turned back to Braden.