Andrea Kane (40 page)

A small smile flitted across his face, and he lifted his hand to trace a line down her pert nose to her mouth. “Yes, I recall,” he murmured, rubbing her lower lip softly. “My independent, honest Kassie. Different from any other lady of my acquaintance.”

The tenderness in his eyes was her undoing. It had been absent for too long, its reappearance a poignant memory of all she had lost. “Not so different after all,” Kassie whispered, all her defenses crumbling. “I miss you, Braden.” Her voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

“Kassie …” Her words pierced his heart, reminding him that she was the only one in the world who could reach that deep inside him. He cupped her beautiful, earnest face in his hands and lifted it to his.

Kassie’s heart began a frantic hammering in her chest, and her eyes slid closed just as Braden’s lips brushed hers once, twice, then claimed her mouth for a deep, drugging kiss of aching possession. Kassie stood on tiptoe, leaning into him, answering his kiss with her own and telling him without words that she wanted more. Just as she knew, without words, that he intended to give it to her.

Lifting her off the ground, Braden gathered Kassie to him and began to walk toward the house.

“Oh … pardon me.”

Both Braden and Kassie jumped at the sound of Charles’s voice. They had been so absorbed in each other that they hadn’t heard his approach.

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his face flushed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Kassie felt Braden tense, felt the magic shatter into a thousand empty fragments.

“You’re losing your touch, Charles.” Braden’s tone was glacial. “Silent, undetected arrivals and departures are usually your forte.”

Charles winced, and Kassie gasped, “Braden, stop it!”

Braden released her in one whisk of motion. “Consider it done.” He ignored the stunned, hurt look on her face. “If the two of you will excuse me, I have work to do.” He turned to Charles, his expression closed. “Star is being cooled down. Little Lady needs to be ridden. Noble Birth is favoring his right side. Any other information you can get from Dobson.” Without a backward glance he stalked off.

“I’m sorry, Kassandra,” Charles said quietly.

Kassie shook her head, still staring after Braden in amazement. “Don’t be. It isn’t your fault.” She gave Charles a stricken look. “Why is he so filled with anger?”

Charles gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Braden’s emotions all appear to be very close to the surface right now. His anger is a good sign, one I haven’t seen in over a week. At least it appears he is no longer apathetic toward me. I feared his indifference far more than his anger.” Knowing blue eyes twinkled. “Nor does it seem that he is indifferent toward you, does it?”

Kassie flushed. “I suppose not.” She watched Braden disappear from view. Shaken by their encounter, she mulled over the reality of her husband’s unexpected show of rage and the joy of his equally unexpected show of passion. Diametrically opposed reactions—and additional complications in her already tangled life.

Charles was watching her thoughtfully. “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked astutely. “I am really quite a good listener.”

Kassie hesitated. How wonderful it would be to unburden herself to Charles, to tell him everything—the memory of her mother’s death, the reality of Elena’s lover, the possibility of her father’s guilt, and the horrible nightmare that seemed to hold the key to it all. But Charles had enough to bear, with his estrangement from Braden and his tenuous position at Sherburgh. No, now was not the time.

“Thank you anyway, my friend,” Kassie said softly, touching Charles’s hand. “Soon. But first I must attempt to deal with it on my own.” She sighed. “For now, I believe I’ll go to my room and rest. The thought of a ride no longer appeals to me.”

Charles watched her go, an enigmatic look on his face. Eventually she would talk to him. It was only a matter of time. And once he was certain how much she actually knew, he would have a very difficult decision to make. One he had been dreading for an eternity.

Braden stormed into the house, slammed into the library, and poured himself a brandy. He was livid, and he wasn’t exactly certain why. Was it his encounter with Kassie, or his encounter with Charles? All Braden knew was that his mind screamed with unassuaged bitterness; his body throbbed with unfulfilled need. And he felt an aching, wrenching void in his gut.

He tossed off his drink.

“Braden?” Dr. Howell poked his head into the library, concern written all over his face.

“Yes, Alfred.” Braden’s voice was laced with impatience. “What is it?”

Alfred came in and closed the door behind him, ignoring Braden’s dark humor. “I need to see you. Now.”

The urgency of Dr. Howell’s tone penetrated Braden’s ire. “Is it Kassie?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes.” Alfred held up his hand as Braden tensed in alarm. “There is no cause for panic. Kassandra is well. But the conversation she and I had today disturbed me, and I feel it is my duty to discuss it with you without delay.”

Kassie heard the rumble of male voices as she passed the library. She paid them no attention, walking up the stairway to the sanctuary of her bedchamber. Her lips still tingled from Braden’s kiss, and all the feelings she had forced from her thoughts this past week sprang free. She had deluded herself into believing she could exist in Braden’s house, yet be his wife in name alone. She could not. Nor could she return to being the innocent young girl of two months past. For she was a woman now, with a woman’s needs and a woman’s passions. And she needed her husband to make her whole.

Flinging herself upon her bed, Kassie succumbed to tears.

“Kassandra?”

Kassie jumped, staring wet-eyed at Cyril Sheffield. “Oh … Cyril.” She brushed away her tears with the back of her hand, struggling for composure. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He walked over to her bedside and drew her gently to her feet. “Can I help?”

It was too much. At the kindness in his tone the dam broke, and her tears exploded into wrenching sobs. Cyril put comforting arms around her, drawing her to him, stroking her hair lightly. Kassie pressed her face to the soft wool of his deep green morning coat, wishing she could bury herself in its warmth, keeping her pain at bay forever.

It was not to be.

When her sobs had subsided to occasional sniffles Kassie drew back, embarrassed at her inexcusable behavior. It was the second time she had lost control in front of Braden’s uncle. “Cyril, forgive me,” she managed. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He kept his hands on her shoulders. “What has made you weep like this?” he probed, his eyes dark, piercing.

Kassie felt a warning twinge at his question, knowing instinctively that the implicit meaning was
who,
not
what.
“Nothing,” she lied, seeing his jaw tighten. “This is just a very trying period for me. My father’s death was very sudden.”

Cyril did not answer but continued to stare at her. Her discomfort grew, for she could feel a suppressed anger beneath Cyril’s soothing gestures.

Kassie pulled away. “Thank you for your concern, Cyril,” she said coolly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like some time alone.”

He pressed his lips together, and for a moment Kassie thought he meant to refuse her pointed request that he leave. Then he nodded. “As you wish.” He gazed at her a moment longer, then turned and left the room.

It was midnight before Kassie slept.

After spending much of the day in her room she was mentally exhausted, but physically wide awake. Sleep was difficult and, when it finally came, fitful.

The nightmare unfurled like a dark blanket of shadows.

The scent of lilacs … her mother. Two voices … Elena’s, frightened; the man’s, angry, pleading … deranged. Herself … afraid … exposed … fleeing.

The trees were everywhere, yet they could not hide her. The shrill scream rang out, then echoed eerily throughout the night. The beast roared in response, raising its great head, looking about for its prey.

It found her.

She could not get away. He was gaining upon her, coming closer and closer, until there was nothing between them but the lingering scent of lilac and the abyss of death.

She screamed … Braden’s name … but he could not hear her, for no sound emerged. She could feel the beast’s breath upon her face, hear the rumblings of his rage, see his eyes glitter with madness.

She cowered, knowing he meant to kill her.

Green. Everywhere there was green. Before her. Beneath her. Why was there so much green? The ground. It was coming closer … closer … she was hurtling toward her death.

Braden … Braden … Braden …

“I’m here, sweetheart … I’m here.” Braden shook Kassie again, more terrified than he had ever been in his life. For nearly five minutes she had been calling for him, hoarse, anguished cries. He had ordered Margaret away, demanding to be left alone with his wife, convinced that he was the only one who could help her. But for the first time, even he could not rouse her from her sleep. “Kassie!” She still wasn’t hearing him. Bracing himself, he drew back his hand and slapped her hard, wincing at the thought of hurting her. “Kassie!”

She blinked, panting, the dazed look fading from her eyes as the effects of the nightmare subsided. Slowly she focused on her husband’s clamped jaw and grim expression. “Braden?” He was shaking more violently than she. “Braden …” She reached up to caress his nape tenderly. “I’m all right,” she soothed. “Truly I am.”

Overcome by the fact that
she
was comforting
him,
Braden tugged Kassie into his arms, holding her fiercely. Weak with relief, he was now more than ever determined to unearth the nightmare’s malignant core and to expunge it forever.

For a long while he said nothing, merely clasping Kassie tightly in his embrace. Then he attacked the ghosts head on.

“Was it the same?”

“Yes … no …” Kassie drew herself upright, sensing Braden’s resolve and forcing herself to recount the still-fresh details. “It was clearer this time. All of it. I could hear their voices … two voices. Mama’s and …
his.
The beast was furious; I could see it in his eyes. And I could see the trees, and the grass, and the ground far below. Everything was green. So much green.” She covered her face with her hands. “And the air was scented with lilacs. Braden, Mama always smelled of lilacs. …” Kassie’s voice broke.

Braden felt a jolt of fear. It all fit with Alfred’s theory that Kassie had witnessed Elena’s murder—and that the murderer was still alive. The question was, would Kassie be able to accept this horrifying possibility? Further, could her remarkable internal strength, already severely taxed, rally enough to withstand the strain?

Gently Braden tugged Kassie’s hands away from her face, interlacing her fingers with his. “Sweetheart, the nightmare is getting worse, not better.”

She inhaled sharply. “Don’t you think I know that?” she whispered. “I told Dr. Howell—”

“I know you did,” he interrupted.

Kassie nodded. “He spoke to you,” she stated. “I assumed he would.”

Braden stood, pacing back and forth as he carefully considered his next words. But there was no putting off the inevitable. “
Ma petite,
we need to talk.”

She tensed instantly. “What is it?” Her voice was high and frightened.

“The night of your parents’ argument,” he began quietly.

“You mean the night my mother died?” She was steeling herself; he could feel it.

He nodded. “I believe that something else happened that night, Kassie. Something even more horrible than the argument you overheard.”

“I know,” she choked out. “My mother fell to her death. Or rather, you believe my father pushed her.”

Braden sat down beside her. “I agree that your mother was pushed. But your father might not have been the one who did it.”

Kassie gasped. “What are you saying? You think someone
else
murdered my mother?”

“Quite possibly.” Braden took her cold hand in his.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You … don’t … know,” Kassie repeated slowly. Then she gave an hysterical laugh. “Then how are we to find out, Braden? Who can we ask?
Who does know?
” she shouted, coming to her knees.

“You do.”

Silence hung in the air.

Kassie sank back onto the bed. “What?” Her voice was barely audible.

Braden forced himself to go on. “You were little more than a baby, Kassie, and probably very frightened by the argument you overheard. You followed your mother when she went out. Maybe she met someone, maybe she was followed … I don’t know. But whoever was with her is probably responsible for her death.”

Kassie wrapped her arms about herself, feeling the familiar chills begin. She closed her eyes. “This is all your theory?”

“No, not mine. Dr. Howell’s. But I agree with it. And,” he concluded in an agonized tone, “if he is correct, the murderer still lives … or your dreams would have subsided.”

Kassie opened her eyes slowly, staring up at Braden as the impact of his words sank in. “You think the murderer is still alive?”

“Yes.”

Something inside her seemed to snap.

“Then I shall find him.” In a wild flurry of motion Kassie flew to the wardrobe and began yanking gowns out one after the other. “I shall find him,” she repeated again and again, blind to her frenzy of activity.

“The hell you will.” Braden stalked over, whirling her about and shaking her out of her hysterical, trancelike state. “Have you lost your senses?”

Suddenly an eerie, unnatural calm registered on Kassie’s face.

She shrugged, her eyes vague. “Possibly. It doesn’t matter, Braden. I have already lost everything else—my pride, my strength, my mind.” She gave a hollow laugh. “So you needn’t worry.” She turned away.

Feeling Kassie’s withdrawal, seeing her teeter on the brink of emotional collapse, Braden discovered the real meaning of stark terror—the terror of losing something vital to his very existence. Of losing Kassie.

Vehemently he dragged her into his arms. “Damn you, stop it. Don’t talk like this. I can’t bear it.” He crushed her into him, willing the fight back into her eyes, the spirit back into her soul. “Dammit, Kassandra,” he choked, “don’t you dare leave me. I need you.” He buried his face in her hair. “God help me, I love you.”