Andrea Kane (5 page)

“I appreciate your kindness in bringing my father home.” She moved her hands nervously, smoothing her rumpled gown. “But I’m not quite certain how to thank you.”

Braden flashed her a teasing look, determined to restore both her spirits
and
her pride. “Well, you
could
offer me a drink and some pleasant conversation.”

Kassie blinked. “Oh! Of course! Forgive me … I have totally forgotten my manners.” She gave him an impish grin, the dimples in her cheeks making her look, for a scant second, like the young girl he had met on the beach. “But that should not surprise you, for, if you recall, we did agree that I was not a lady.”

“No, as I recall we agreed that you were unlike any other lady of my acquaintance,” Braden corrected. “In truth, that makes you the greatest lady of all.”

Kassie’s smile faded, and she automatically glanced toward the deserted staircase.

Braden followed her gaze. “Your value is not determined by your father, Kassie. It is determined by you alone.”

She nodded, then turned and gestured for him to follow. “Come. We can use Father’s library.”

Braden followed her across the small hallway to the dim room. He couldn’t help but notice the poor condition of the cottage. The paint was peeling, the floor was scratched, its wood lackluster, the furnishings sparse and drab. The library smelled dank and was permeated by the lingering stench of liquor. Braden’s stomach lurched in protest.

Kassie lit some lamps and turned in time to see the repugnant expression on Braden’s face.

“It has been a difficult year for us,” she said defensively, “and all of the servants are gone except James. I do my best to keep the house tidy, but—”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me.” Braden didn’t realize how severe his tone was until Kassie winced. But the true reasons for their “difficult year” enraged him. “I am not judging you on your affluence, or lack thereof,” he continued, this time more gently. “I just had no idea. …” His words trailed off. There was no point in continuing this conversation, he decided, for anything he said would upset her or insult her. This new, very adult Kassie was a proud, fiery woman; the challenging spark in her eyes made that clear. He, of all people, knew the importance of respecting that pride.

“I believe you have become Kassandra,
ma petite
,” he murmured.

The drastic change in subject, his surprising words, and his melting smile startled her, and she gave him a questioning look.

Braden walked toward the dreary, dark sofa next to which Kassie stood.

“You told me that you would use your full name when you were grown,” he reminded her. Without thinking he reached out and took a strand of her soft hair between his fingers, rubbing it slowly, carefully, studying the shimmering highlights that cascaded into a vibrant cloud of black silk down her back. Her sweet scent drifted up to him, and he inhaled its wonderful, familiar freshness. Of its own accord his gaze fell to her lips, which were softly parted and slightly moist. The total impact took his breath away.

Three years and countless women suddenly evaporated into nonexistence.

Troubled by his powerful response, Braden coughed and moved away. “I’ll take that drink now,” he said in an oddly strained voice.

Kassie nodded numbly, then walked over to fetch the decanter and pour Braden a brandy. Her legs were shaking so badly, she feared she might collapse. For a fleeting moment she had glimpsed the Braden that filled her dreams, her thoughts. She knew in her heart he had wanted to kiss her. Just as she had wanted him to … desperately.

The amber liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass as Kassie tried unsuccessfully to steady her trembling hand. Braden took the drink, watching the flush that stained Kassie’s cheeks.

“Sit with me,” he heard himself say.

She sat beside him on the sofa, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

There was no point in idle chatter. The currents between them were too potent, Braden’s feelings too acute. Torn between the desire to hold her in his arms and the equally strong need to assure himself of her well-being, Braden opted for the latter. It was safer. Carefully he placed his untouched brandy on the low table beside him.

“Kassie, do you spend much time with your father?”

“No.” She averted her gaze.

“When we first met you told me that your mother had died.”

Kassie swallowed, then nodded. “She died when I was four.”

All Braden could think of was his poor, precious Kassie growing up alone, with only a selfish drunk of a father for company. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Everyone says I look just like her,” she continued, wanting anything but his pity.

“Then she must have been beautiful.”

A pained look crossed her face. “I don’t remember very much about her.”

That was odd. Braden would have thought that Kassie’s steel-trap mind would have retained every detail of her mother’s character. But he wisely refrained from voicing his thought aloud. Now was not the time.

Seeing the haunted sadness in her eyes, Braden felt a twist of emotion he readily acknowledged … a deep sense of protectiveness. He reached for her, drawing her gently to him.

Kassie wondered if she might faint, her every nerve tingling to life. She felt afraid, though not of the physical awakening that consumed her.
That
she welcomed. But the urgent need to depend upon Braden, to be enfolded in his arms, to give in to his strength, to open up that part of her soul that she shared with no one—
that
terrified her. She had been alone for so long, had shouldered overwhelming burdens with no help from anyone, had built a wall around her fear and her loneliness. Why now did she suddenly want to weaken, to break down, to let go? She gritted her teeth and fought the impulse, attempting to move from Braden’s gentle hold.

Braden felt the motion and stayed it by tightening his arms around her. “It’s all right, Kassie,” he murmured into her hair. “It takes courage and strength to lean on someone … even for a little while. Lean on me.”

She sagged against him, unable to fight her inner yearning any longer. She buried her face in his crisp white shirt, digging her fingers into the edges of his wool riding coat. She didn’t cry but just gave in to the need to be held and cared for, if only for a few moments.

Braden gathered her against him, stroking her back with slow, soothing caresses. They were both profoundly aware of the sensual contact. Neither of them moved, either to separate or to deepen the embrace. They just remained as they were, bodies touching, time indefinitely suspended.

Braden closed his eyes, rested his chin atop her head. Raw feeling surged through him. Never had there been anything more natural than holding this woman in his arms. He couldn’t explain it; she just belonged there. It was the most damned unnerving sensation he’d ever experienced.

Kassie took a deep, shaky breath, exhaling it against Braden’s solid warmth. “Thank you … again,” she whispered. “It seems that you have become my hero on more than one occasion.”

Slowly he eased her away so he could look into her beautiful, flushed face, giving her a devastating smile. “I don’t believe I have ever been anyone’s hero before.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “It would be my honor to be yours.”

There was a light rap at the open library door.

“Pardon me, Braden.” Charles Graves stood in the doorway. He was speaking to Braden, but his eyes were on Kassie.

“Yes, Charles?” Braden dropped Kassie’s hand and turned to his friend. “Is Mr. Grey … resting?”

Charles nodded. “Yes. He is abed.”

Kassie rose, striving to control the revealing blush she knew stained her cheeks and failing. She approached Charles. “We haven’t been introduced, sir. I am Kassandra Grey, and I am very grateful for your assistance with my father.”

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression that was gone as quickly as it had come.

“It was my pleasure, Miss Grey. My name is Charles Graves, and I work for His Grace.”

At Kassie’s surprised look Braden came to his feet and interjected, “As usual, Charles is being overly modest. He is one of the finest Thoroughbred trainers in England, sought after by owners of the most splendid horseflesh imaginable. Fortunately, he is also my friend; hence he remains at Sherburgh.”

Kassie gave Charles a brilliant smile. “I have always wanted to ride, but my father always felt …” Her voice trailed off.

“Come to Sherburgh and you can ride as often as you like,” Braden invited at once.

The look of joy on Kassie’s face was instantly replaced by one of horror. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I mean … Father would never allow me … it isn’t proper, you see, and I—”

“I would provide you with a chaperon,” Braden interrupted her. “And I could send my carriage over to get you any day your father prefers—” He broke off at her frightened look and the wild shaking of her head. “Is there some other problem?” He was confused and bothered by her refusal, but more important, he was downright alarmed at the terror he saw in her eyes.

“You don’t understand,” she was saying, picturing her father’s wrath if she even broached the subject of visiting with a gentleman, let alone traveling to his home. Robert’s rage would be beyond her endurance. “It would be impossible … I just could not.” She walked rapidly to the door before Braden could pursue the subject. “I don’t want to detain either of you any longer. I thank you again for all your trouble. I will show you out.”

Seconds later Braden and Charles stood at the open entranceway door, where Kassie politely waited for them to take their leave. Her face was carefully devoid of emotion, her exquisite eyes veiled.

Braden stared down at her. “Charles, please wait for me in the carriage,” he instructed.

Charles paused, frowning as he gazed at Kassie. He looked as if he were going to say something, then abruptly changed his mind and, with a polite nod, went out to the waiting carriage.

Braden turned to Kassie. The first rays of moonlight caressed her delicate features, and again Braden was struck by her newly born beauty, a rare blend of innocence and wisdom. He would do anything to ensure that she retained that special, unspoiled quality that was Kassie.

She looked up at him, thinking that he was every bit as magnificent a hero as any woman could imagine. For one insane moment she contemplated flinging herself back into his arms, begging him to take her away with him, away from this hell. But she, better than anyone, knew that she could never escape. For the real hell came not from her father alone, but from the demons that raged somewhere inside her. Somewhere that even she could not reach.

“Good-bye, Braden,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “No, Kassie, we both know that this is not good-bye.” He brushed his thumb across her lips and felt the small shiver that went through her body at his touch. “I want to see you again … soon.”

“No,” she said at once. “I can’t.”

“But you want to.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Braden. I learned long ago that we often do not get what we want.”

“I do.” He lifted her chin with his forefinger and lowered his head, lightly brushing her lips with his. The poignant caress, though intentionally brief, sent wild tremors of sensation through them both. Braden looked down into her wide, startled eyes. “If you need me—ever, at any time—I will be here for you. Don’t forget that.”

She nodded, dazed, as he turned to go.

“And Kassie?” He paused. “I will be back. You can count on it.”

And she knew he would be. Just as her soul had known it all these years. Only this time she was afraid.

Kassie turned and walked slowly back into the dismal house.
This
was her reality; there could be no other.

She closed her eyes. When her fantasies of Braden had been no more than an innocent dream, a young girl’s infatuation, anything had been possible. But she was no longer a young girl, and what she was feeling now was hopelessly impossible … and
not
infatuation.

She was in love with Braden Sheffield.

R
OBERT GREY WAS RESPONSIBLE
… of that Braden was certain. But how much damage had been done, and could it be undone?

There was something sinister about the man, a desperate sort of violence lurking beneath the surface. Grey was beaten, deep in his losses, deeper still in his cups. He had reached that lowest of points at which a man was capable of doing anything. And Kassie, alone and defenseless, was victim to his hostility. From a bright and spirited girl she had become a resigned and overburdened young woman, stripped of the inner light of joy and hope that had filled Braden’s eyes and bathed his senses with pleasure.

What did he do to her?
The heinous possibilities were unbidden … unendurable. Any one of the answers to that question made Braden feel ill. Kassie was alone, defenseless against any torment her father chose to inflict. Braden clenched his fists in his lap. He prayed that he was wrong, that his imagination was playing cruel tricks on him. Regardless of Robert’s own personal failures, surely he wouldn’t abuse the only gift life had bestowed upon him?

Braden had all but convinced himself, when he recalled Kassie’s alarmed reaction at his suggestion that she go riding at Sherburgh. A moment earlier she had been warm and open in his arms, giving him her pain, taking his strength. But the mere thought of incurring her father’s wrath had placed a dark veil of fear between the two of them. A muscle worked in Braden’s jaw. No, something was definitely amiss, he thought; something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

But he intended to convince Kassie to confide in him. And then, if his suspicions proved true, he was going to find a way to get her out of that house.

“She is very beautiful.”

Charles’s words brought Braden back to the present. He blinked, surprised that the carriage had already passed through the formidable iron gates of Sherburgh and was now slowing down as it neared the front entranceway.

“Yes. She is.” He turned to find Charles watching him intently. “And her father is beneath contempt.”