Andrea Kane (39 page)

Where had the letter come from? When had Vanessa written it?

The one night he’d tried to sleep, he’d been awakened by
her
voice. Staggering to the window, he’d been confronted with the heinous nightmare that plagued him relentlessly, refused to be extinguished: Vanessa, calling to him, begging him to come to her, pleading with him not to hurt her.

Maybe he
had
hurt her … even killed her.

Perhaps the vision before him was no impostor, but Vanessa herself, returned from the grave to torment him for murdering her.

Reality ceased to exist, melding with conjecture into a dim, muted memory, dulled further by the effects of his brandy. Vanessa was dead … Vanessa was back … he must have killed her… why else would her ghost be haunting him?

Obviously, he was utterly, entirely insane. And madmen were capable of anything, even murder.

He’d come close to brutalizing his own wife.

Ariana. The only beautiful, precious sanity left in his frenzied world. She loved him, believed in him, trusted him. And what had he done? He’d hurt her, nearly choked her … actually confused her with a dead woman.

Dear Lord, he’d lost his mind.

He was sprawled on the sofa, one arm flung over his face to shield him from the offensive sunlight, when he heard the hammering noise.

Groaning, he turned his head away. No. Not again.

The pounding continued, louder this time. “Trent!” A voice accompanied the clamor.

Trenton squeezed his eyes shut, determined to block out the sound.

“Dammit, Trenton, let me in!”

Dustin.

The reality penetrated at last, and Trenton raised his head, opening his eyes a crack. What was his brother doing at Spraystone?

“Trent, I’m not going away. So I suggest you unlock this door.”

Staggering to his feet, Trenton steadied himself, then weaved his way down the hallway. After three attempts, he jerked open the door. “Dustin?” He leaned against the wall for support, focusing, with great difficulty, on his brother’s anxious face.

It took Dustin a full minute to size up the extent of Trenton’s deterioration, and ten seconds to plan his own strategy. Then he acted, cursing under his breath and stomping into the house. “You’re a stupid, bloody fool, do you know that?” he demanded. Without waiting for an answer, he seized Trenton’s arm, propelling him down the hall and into the sitting room. “Wait here.” He maneuvered his swaying brother into an armchair, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Trenton wasn’t certain how much time passed before Dustin returned, shoving a steaming cup of coffee into his hands. “Drink this,” he ordered.

Blindly, Trenton took a swallow, then began to cough violently. “What the hell is this?”

“Strong
black coffee. Just the right medicine for a reckless idiot who’s drunk himself into oblivion.”

“I have reason to.”

“You have better reason
not
to. And that reason is waiting for you at Broddington, worried sick over your state of mind.”

Trenton stared bitterly into the dark brew. “Ariana deserves better. And I
have
no mind. I lost it years ago … if I ever had it at all.”

“Your mind is intact. It’s your judgment that’s lacking.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking—”

“I know precisely what I’m talking about. And I have every intention of discussing it with you …
when
you’re sober. So hurry up and down that coffee. There’s a whole potful in the kitchen. And you’re going to consume every last drop.”

Trenton narrowed bloodshot eyes on his brother. “Dustin …”

“Drink. Before I pour it down your throat.”

In no condition for an argument, Trenton complied, gulping down the intolerably strong coffee until his stomach lurched, his eyes watered—and his head cleared.

“Good. Now we can talk.” Satisfied with the results of his labor, Dustin stretched his arms across the back of the sofa. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because I’m crazy. But if you’ve seen Ariana, I presume you already know that.”

“You’re no more crazy than I. And yes, I’ve seen Ariana. I don’t know what you’ve ever done to deserve that exceptional young woman’s love. But you have it. So why are you hurting her like this?”

Trenton rubbed the back of his neck. “Did Ariana tell you everything?”

“Yes. We’ve done nothing but wrack our brains trying to figure out who’s behind this monstrous plan.”

“Perhaps no one is behind it… no one, but Vanessa.”

“Vanessa’s dead, Trent.”

“True. But she haunts me nonetheless.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts. Neither do you.”

“You haven’t seen one.”

“Nor have you.”

“Then what the hell have I seen?” Trenton rose, clasping his head in his hands. “She’s appeared to me again and again … I’ve lost count of how many times. She begs me not to hurt her, her journal entries do the same. And I
did
hurt her that last night … I
wanted to
hurt her. I shook her and flung her to the sand, not once, but twice. The second time she fell into the water. … I remember the river dousing the hem of her gown. I was blinded by rage and hatred. She shouted my name … again and again … but at some point I recall only silence. I walked away and never looked back. Maybe I
did
kill her! Has
that
possibility ever occurred to you?”

“No … it hasn’t.” Dustin rose and went to his brother. “She was alive when you left her, Trent. You told me so yourself. The only reason you’re feeling these doubts is because someone is compelling you to feel them. Don’t let that bastard win. Fight back, Trent. You of all people know how. You also have someone to fight for.”

Trenton met his brother’s gaze. “How is she?” he asked hoarsely.

“Ariana, like you, is a fighter. She’s determined to find a way to uncover the truth … for your sake.”

“Did she ask you to come to Spraystone?”

“No. She has no idea that I’m here, nor does she intend to beg or demand that you return to Broddington. What she wants is to eliminate the cause of your suffering so you’ll come back on your own. She’s an incredibly loyal, selfless young woman.” Dustin’s voice grew soft. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t in her thoughts. You are. Every minute.”

“I never stop thinking of her,” Trenton returned in a strangled tone. “Every bloody bird, every flower reminds me of her. I hear her laughter in every corner of Spraystone, feel her softness in my arms at night. Dammit, Dustin, I need her so badly.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I’d finally stopped fighting the inevitable, steeled myself to relinquish the cursed autonomy I’d held on to all these years. But now everything’s changed, my world is in chaos … and I won’t destroy Ariana’s life along with my own.”

“You’re destroying both your lives by staying away.”

“What can I offer her? My torment? My insanity?”

“Your love.” Dustin clamped his hands firmly on Trenton’s shoulders. “Let’s stop speaking in euphemisms, Trent. You’re in love with your wife. You know it. I know it. Isn’t it about time Ariana knew it too?”

“What good would it do to tell her?”

“None, unless you intend to behave like a real husband. Go home. Be strong for your wife; the way she’s strong for you.”

“To what end?” Trenton’s eyes were dulled more with pain than with the effects of alcohol. “Answer me that, Dustin. If I go to Ariana, tell her of my love, accept hers in return, what can that do but hurt her? I can’t change the events of the past, nor can I promise her a future. Not if I’m a madman, a murderer … or both. So what could be gained from speaking my heart?”

“It would give you the strength you need to get through this nightmare. It would give Ariana the joy she deserves to awaken to each new day. That in itself is reason enough, despite what the future may hold.”

“She deserves more.”

“She loves
you.”

“I love her too.” Trenton spoke the words aloud for the first time, stunned at how easily they emerged. “I want to give her everything … all the lost years of childhood she never had, all the luxuries her scoundrel brother robbed her of, all the indulgences she was never permitted.” Trenton shook his head in disbelief. “Do you know she actually feels inferior to Vanessa? That she’s convinced that her beauty, her vibrancy, all that she is, are secondary to the attributes of her despicable sister? And what’s worse, my tenderhearted wife merely accepts all this as given, harboring no resentment, no jealousy, only kindness and compassion for that slut of a sister and parasite of a brother.”

“Not any more,” Dustin interjected.

Trenton swung around, a questioning look on his face.

“You haven’t spent the past few days with Ariana, Trent. I have. Whatever pieces were still missing I filled in for her. And while I don’t disagree that she is grossly unaware of her own radiance and self-worth, I can vouch for the fact that she no longer views her family through subjective eyes. Not Baxter, and not Vanessa.”

A muscle worked in Trenton’s jaw. “That shouldn’t surprise me. When I recounted the past to Ariana, she listened to every detail … and believed me. She took my word … that of the unknown blackguard who forced her to the altar … over her family’s, and never doubted me. Not once. Faith such as that is humbling.”

“I agree. It comes along once in a lifetime—if you’re lucky. You happen to be lucky. So don’t be a stubborn fool and let it get away.” Dustin gripped Trenton’s shoulders. “You can give her all those things you described. But all she really wants is you.”

“And Christmas,” Trenton added in a voice thick with emotion. “I promised her Christmas.”

“What?”

“Ariana hasn’t had a real Christmas since her parents died. She misses it terribly. A holiday celebration with all the elaborate trimmings is her greatest wish. It’s all she’s ever asked of me.”

Dustin nodded his understanding. “I remember she mentioned something about her long-ago Christmases when I showed her around Broddington. She spoke of Winsham’s Christmas trees, the drawing room’s transformation to a winter garden.”

“I’m determined to give that to her. All she should have had but didn’t.”

“She wants to give you the same: happiness, peace of mind, love.” A pause. “Children.”

Trenton’s features went taut, and he was suddenly completely sober. “Are you saying …”

“No. Or rather, I have no way of knowing. If Ariana were expecting your child, I’m hardly the one she’d be confiding in.” A corner of Dustin’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “But surely you recall how babies are created, Trent. And even I can attest to the fact that you’ve done your damnedest to increase the probability of your becoming a father.”

Unsmiling, Trenton stared at his brother. “I’ve been so steeped in memories … I never even considered … Lord, Dustin, what if Ariana really is pregnant? How will the events of my past… and present… affect my child?”

“A better question is, how will your desertion affect him? You just cited all the deprivations Ariana endured growing up alone, without her parents’ nurturing. Is that what you want for your child? To come into this world without the foundation of his father’s love? Is it?”

Trenton’s jaw set. “You’ve become bloody unconscionable, you know that?”

A grin. “I learned from the best: my older brother.” Dustin released Trenton’s arms, heading for the stairs. “I’ll help you pack. We can catch the next ferry back to Sussex and be at Broddington in time for lunch.”

Broddington—in time for lunch. The words sank in, bringing with them an inordinate sense of relief and the first pleasure Trenton had known in days. God help him if he was being unfair, but he could no longer squelch the need that gnawed at his gut—a need only Ariana’s love could fill.

The possibility that his child was growing inside her made Trenton’s soul swell with pride, and an emotion so vast it hurt. But the truth was, whether there was a child or not, whether he was totally mad or entirely sane, he had to be with his wife.

“All right, Dustin,” Trenton agreed, his voice choked. “Let’s go home.”

The brothers’ gazes met, both men simultaneously struck by the enormity of Trenton’s transformation. Not only had he fallen totally in love with his wife, but something equally profound had occurred, something Trenton’s own pronouncement had just revealed.

Over the past month Ariana’s love had changed not only her husband’s life, but his home as well. Broddington, Richard Kingsley’s great architectural achievement, was no longer a magnificent mausoleum.

Ariana was there.

And now it was home.

E
VEN THERESA WAS STILL
asleep when Ariana left Broddington that morning.

It was rare for Ariana to arise before her lady’s maid, but today it was remarkably easy, considering the fact that she’d never been to bed. Instead, she’d spent the long hours of night assimilating all the information she had acquired. By dawn’s first light, she was more convinced than ever that the only solution was for her to go to Winsham. Immediately. If Baxter were guilty, she would discover it herself—today. If not, she would eliminate that possibility once and for all and proceed with her investigation.

Scribbling a quick note for Dustin, Ariana left the manor. There was no point in awakening him; for, as she had told Theresa yesterday, this was something she had to take care of herself.

During the carriage ride, Ariana thought about Trenton, praying that he was coming to grips with his pain. She wondered how a man who was capable of being so very gentle and caring could condemn himself as a coldblooded murderer. As to the rest of the world’s denunciation, surely someone besides her could see the real Trenton; the compassionate man he kept buried beneath layers of self-protection and bitterness.

Soberly, she reflected back over their tumultuous marriage and its hurtling emotions: tenderness to passion, passion to anger, and yes, sometimes to fear. But through it all, some innate sense of trust had always reassured Ariana that her husband would never hurt her.

How could a man who initiated his bride so gently, with such worry and candor about causing her pain, be violent or devious? How could a man who nursed a sick owl back to health be cruel? How could a man who gave freely to the poor, helping them with no expected compensation, be brutal?