Andrea Kane (26 page)

The door slammed behind her.

Braden stared at the closed door, disbelief mixing with pride and admiration. His innocent little wife was a breathtaking, magnificent woman. A woman who was jealous as hell.

“Braden?” Abigail’s husky voice broke through Braden’s dazed state. His head snapped around in her direction, and he watched her walk toward him, making no move to conceal her nakedness. She paused, looking up at him with coaxing eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

“Have you?” His tone was dispassionate.

Encouraged, she continued, sliding her hands possessively up his shirtfront. “Cyril said you might need me. And I can see now that he was right.”

He didn’t move a muscle.

She stroked the nape of his neck. “You and I both know how good we were together, Braden. None of that has to change. Anything you want of me”—she looked down at herself suggestively—“is yours.”

Braden’s gaze flicked impassively over her body. “Get dressed, Abigail.” He walked away.

“What?” She was stunned.

“I’m telling you what I want of you. I want you to get dressed and get out.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “But Cyril said—”

“I don’t give a damn what Cyril said,” he interrupted. “You heard what
I
said.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Or, more importantly, you heard what my wife said. And I would suggest you take Kassie’s warning to heart and not return to Sherburgh. My wife does not make idle threats.” He slammed out of the room.

Cyril stood concealed by darkness as Kassandra tore through the empty hallway and out the front door. He winced as the door reverberated behind her, thinking how fortunate it was that the guest wing was far removed from the remainder of the house. It would never do for such a violent commotion to be overheard—first Abigail’s scream, and now Kassandra’s noisy departure. The gossips would be in their glory; their tongues wagging as they relayed the juicy scandal to one another.

Cyril waited until he was certain that silence prevailed. Then he turned and went back to the solitude of the library, a satisfied smile upon his face. It appeared that his plan had worked splendidly. Kassandra had found Abigail in the arranged compromising position, and as Cyril had suspected, Kassie’s strict moral code prevented her from accepting Braden’s infidelity, despite the fact that she and Braden were husband and wife in name alone.

Lowering himself to the settee, Cyril leaned his head back against the cushions. With a small amount of luck, Abigail was now sealing their fate. Between her blatant gift at seduction and Braden’s starved body, things should reach their natural culmination quite nicely and quite soon. He glanced at his timepiece. At this very moment, as a matter of fact. Abigail might be a practiced little piece, but she was better suited for the life of a duchess than Kassandra was. As far as Kassandra …

The door exploded open, fairly flying off its hinges. Cyril barely had time to come to his feet before Braden stormed into the room, his eyes ablaze with anger.

“What the hell were you thinking of?” he demanded.

Cyril blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Braden kicked the door closed behind him, his fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t even pretend not to know what I mean, Cyril. I’m warning you, my patience is at its limit.”

“I presume you are referring to Abigail’s late appearance at the party?”

“I am referring to Abigail’s naked appearance in my bed.” He waved away Cyril’s denial. “She told me you sent her to my chamber. Now I want to know why.”

Cyril sighed, bracing himself for the unavoidable confrontation. “I did it with your best interests at heart, Braden.”

Braden shot him an incredulous look. “My best interests? You know I loathe the woman and have no interest in renewing our relationship—in bed or out. You must also recall that I am married … or did that minor detail escape your memory?”

“I am well aware of your marital status. Possibly more aware than you think I am.” Cyril fixed Braden with a steely stare, his tone equally hard. “Have the marriage annulled, Braden. Now. Before it is too late.”

“Annulled? Why?” Braden shot back, his control fragmenting into shards of rage. “Because Kassie is not highly bred, like the genteel crowd that now fills our guest rooms? Those principled,
noble
people that change bed partners as frequently as they change their breeches?”

“And are you so certain Kassandra is different?” Cyril tried. “As I recall, your innocent little wife spent an inordinate amount of time alone with your friend Lord Chisdale.”

Braden’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “I am more than certain. Grant might be an unscrupulous blackguard, but Kassie is nothing like any member of the
ton.
She is incapable of their falseness and deceit. You know it as well as I do.”

“Yes, I
do
know it,” Cyril said in bitter exasperation. “And that is my point. The fact is, the
ton
is our world, Braden. And Kassandra will
never
fit in. Never. She is just not the right woman for you.”

“That is
my
decision to make, not yours!”

“Except that you are blind when it comes to Kassandra!” Cyril’s control was fast deteriorating. “I know you feel compassion for the girl, and God knows I can understand it, but pity is no basis for a marriage!”

“And what is a basis for a marriage, Cyril? Distrust and dislike?”

“Common backgrounds. Producing a suitable heir for Sherburgh.”

“Is that what is worrying you, Cyril? That I provide an heir for my estate?” Braden’s eyes blazed. “Well, rest easy, uncle. I assure you that I will fulfill that obligation …
and
be certain of the child’s paternity.”

“And just how do you plan to produce a child when you and your wife have not even shared a bed?”

The words echoed through the room as Braden regarded his uncle with stunned fury. But Cyril plunged on, past the point of discretion.

“Do you think I don’t know that Kassandra is as untouched as the day she came to Sherburgh? Do you think I am blind? How can a child be conceived by a woman who is a wife in name alone?”

Braden’s expression turned murderous, his tone ominously quiet. “Kassandra is my wife in every way.”

He saw his uncle’s horrified reaction and continued, violent currents underlying his every word. “Obviously, Cyril, you are under a gross misconception. The truth is, Kassandra is my duchess
and
my wife. She shares not only my name, but also my bed. She will bear my children, the future heirs to Sherburgh. Those are the
unalterable
facts, Cyril, and I suggest you accept them.” He strode off, gripping the door handle so hard his knuckles turned white. “Further, if you continue to interfere with my life, I will be forced to retaliate. We would both regret the consequences.” He threw open the door. “I am going to consider this subject closed. I shan’t upset my wife further by telling her of your involvement in tonight’s disaster. But Cyril”—he turned—“I never want to see Abigail Devon in my house again. Never.”

Cyril watched him go, a curious sense of unreality permeating his mind.
Kassandra is my wife in every way.
Braden’s adamant statement replayed itself in Cyril’s shocked mind.
In every way
…
in every way
…

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the finality of the words. When had it happened? How could he not have known?

But it had happened. He had seen the truth on Braden’s face. And now all his plans for the future were altered forever. It was too late … too late …

Rage exploded inside him, transforming Cyril’s handsome features into twisted fury. His eyes glinted with emotion, defeat tasting bitter on his tongue. His hand brushed against the walnut end table; his dazed eyes followed the action. And then, slowly and deliberately, he lifted the table and heaved it against the wall, watching it splinter into a hundred pieces.

“
No!
” The primal roar resounded throughout the room on the heels of the shattering crash.

The guests slept on. No one but Cyril was aware of the irrevocable damage that had been done.

B
REATHLESS AND CHILLED, KASSIE
paused, resting her throbbing head against the closest oak tree within reach. Percy limped to a stop beside her, panting and hopeful that his mistress had at long last reached her destination. Even
he
was physically depleted.

The stables were just ahead … Kassie’s sanctuary. She had already walked the grounds of Sherburgh for hours, blindly trying to escape her anguish. She was bodily spent and emotionally numb. She had to regain her strength. Then she would decide what to do. On quivering legs she hobbled the rest of the distance to the stable doors. Quietly she slipped past a sleeping Dobson and made her way into Star’s stall, the most spacious in the stable. Murmuring softly to the surprised but accommodating stallion, she dropped wearily to the ground and curled up, Percy in her arms.

Despite Kassie’s exhaustion, sleep did not come at once.

The painful events of the night replayed themselves again and again in her mind, ending with the gruesome realization that tonight, for the first time in her life, anger had driven her to
want
to hurt another person. In all of her eighteen years she had never raised a hand to anyone nor contemplated doing so. Not even her father’s cruelty had been enough to evoke her retaliation, except to save herself that last night. Yet five minutes alone with Abigail Devon had enraged Kassie to the point of violent aggression. And what was worse, she could not bring herself to feel remorse for what she had done. Given the circumstances, she would do it again.

Kassie recalled Abigail’s gloating expression, the triumph in her ice-blue eyes. She had implied not only that she and Braden were currently lovers, but that they had been deeply involved in the past—an involvement that Abigail, and not Braden, had ended. Could that be true? Could Braden have been in love with that cold-blooded witch? Did he still have feelings for her? As far as sexual intimacy, Kassie had no doubt that her husband and Abigail Devon had slept together many times. And why not? Abigail was lovely, both dressed and undressed, Kassie recalled dryly. And she obviously knew how to please a man in bed. Her vast experience was evident, blatant sexuality oozing from every traitorous pore of her body.

Kassie’s insides knotted in doubt. Was she really as naïve as Abigail had said? Was the bond between herself and Braden not the deep and lasting commitment that she prayed for, but merely dutiful affection and no more?

Afraid to contemplate the answers, Kassie was certain of one thing. She could not sleep at Sherburgh after the scene with Abigail … after seeing her in Braden’s bed. Cowardly as it was, Kassie needed to hold tonight’s qualms and revelations at bay. Tomorrow. She would deal with it all tomorrow.

Unable to stay awake any longer, Kassie tucked her gown around her and buried her face in Percy’s fur. Her last thought before falling into a deep, troubled sleep was that Braden probably hadn’t even noticed her absence.

He had to find Kassie.

Braden paused, his back against the closed library door, and took several calming breaths. Cyril was lucky he hadn’t struck him for the damage that had been done. Kassie had been hurt … and all in the name of some hypocritical class distinction.

Braden headed for the second floor and Kassie’s room, intent on nipping her erroneous thoughts in the bud. He took the steps two at a time, praying he would find her there. But even if he didn’t, he would speak to Margaret. If anyone knew Kassie’s true state of mind, it would be her loyal and trusted lady’s maid.

As he had feared, Kassie was not in her bedchamber. But sure enough, Margaret was there, pacing the floor and wringing her hands with worry.

“Margaret,” Braden began.

She whirled around, surprised at his appearance.

“Have you seen Kassie?” he demanded. “There was … a misunderstanding, and I’ve looked everywhere, but there is no sign of her. I was hoping that you could help me.”

Margaret gave him an incredulous look. “Help you?”

Braden might just as well have asked her to commit murder, from the tone of her voice. “Yes, Margaret, help me. You saw Kassie tonight. Did she seem herself to you?”

She frowned. “
Earlier,
she was excited about the ball and determined to please you, Your Grace.” The accusation in her tone made Braden wince.

“What about
after
the ball?” he pressed.

Margaret raised her chin, making it quite clear that the only reason she was answering his questions was that she was required to. “She was very distraught and wanted to be alone, Your Grace. But I could hear her crying … crying as if her heart would break. She looked as if her whole world had fallen apart.”

Braden felt his stomach muscles clench. “Did she say why, Margaret?”

She shook her head. “No, Your Grace. As I said, the duchess wanted to be alone, so I had no choice but to leave her. When I came in to check on her moments later, she was gone. I haven’t seen her since.” Her lips trembled. “She was so happy these past weeks … I don’t know what happened to hurt her so deeply.”

Braden felt Margaret’s censure and met her gaze. “I’ll find her, Margaret,” he vowed in an anguished voice. “You have my word; I
will
find her and make things right.” He turned and left the room.

He searched the entire second level, then the first, his worry increasing by the minute. It was approaching two o’clock in the morning. From far off Braden heard the muffled laughter that signified a few final guests retiring for the night. Whoever they were, they were probably too deep in their cups to have overheard any of tonight’s mayhem, Braden thought in disgust. He didn’t pause to find out, striding down the main hallway.

Where could Kassie be? he asked himself frantically, pausing inside the green salon. And what must she be thinking?

He could recall with perfect clarity the expression on his wife’s face when he had burst into the room to find her arguing with Abigail—a look of betrayal, withdrawal, agony. Plainly, she thought he was sleeping with his ex-mistress. Which was absurd.