Andrea Kane (25 page)

Kassie’s eyes widened, hurt and disbelief merging. After their closeness of the past week, how could he put her in her place so cruelly? She opened her mouth to tell him just that when a commotion from the entranceway interrupted her.

“You see, Cyril, I was right. We are dreadfully late!”

Kassie saw Braden’s eyes dart toward the sound of the voice, then darken with some undefinable emotion. She turned in time to see Lord Cyril stroll into the crowded ballroom, smiling a reply to the captivating woman on his arm.

It was Abigail Devon.

Braden murmured something indistinguishable, then headed in Abigail’s direction without a backward look at his wife. With a sinking heart Kassie watched him greet his uncle, then bring Abigail’s gloved hand to his lips. The possessive look on Abigail’s face only confirmed what Kassie had long suspected. This haughty and beautiful noblewoman dressed in yards of rich red velvet intended to stake her claim on Braden. Tonight.

Kassie’s insecurities returned in full force.

She turned away, fighting back the tears. Her youth and inexperience were no match for Abigail’s sophisticated charm and sexual allure. Ill-equipped for the oncoming battle, Kassie was armed only with her love for Braden. Would that be enough?

“Well, hello, Kassandra; we meet again.” The hated voice crooned a welcome to Kassie’s back.

Straightening her shoulders, Kassie turned. “Good evening … Abigail.” She applauded herself on the omission of “lady.” “I didn’t know you would be here this evening. Neither, for that matter, did your father.”

Abigail tossed the pale blond curls from her shoulder in a haughty gesture. “It was a last-minute decision. Cyril was so kind in asking me to attend as his guest that I couldn’t refuse.”

Cyril. Kassie wanted to strangle him.

“How lovely of him,” she replied instead. “And how fortunate for all of us.”

Abigail’s cold eyes were already moving restlessly about the room. “Ah,” she said with a brittle smile, “I do believe my presence is required. If you will excuse me …” And she dismissed Kassie with a grand sweep of her gown.

“There is no excuse for you,” Kassie muttered under her breath.

“Kassandra? Are you speaking with someone?”

Kassie glanced up at Cyril with a definite lack of enthusiasm. “Yes. Myself.”

He inclined his head to one side. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

“Why did you bring her here?” she blurted out.

He looked surprised. “Abigail? She has always attended our parties. Why? Is there a problem?”

Kassie counted slowly to ten, willing herself under control. “No, no problem,” she said at last. “At least nothing I cannot deal with, I assure you.”

Cyril nodded, studying her silently for a moment, then extended his hand. “May I have the honor?”

Kassie placed her hand in his. “Of course.”

Cyril was a pleasant and frequent partner, as were the next three men who requested Kassie’s hand for a dance. But for Kassie the magic was gone. And it seemed that every time she looked up Abigail Devon was dancing in Braden’s arms, laughing up into his face. Snatches of their conversation reached Kassie’s ears, making her blood run cold.

“You always were a superb dancer, Braden,” Abigail was telling him in a husky whisper.

“Really?” he replied in his deep baritone. “Funny, I don’t remember us spending that much time on the dance floor.”

“Well,” she teased coyly, in an intimate tone that made Kassie’s insides twist with pain, “
that
is because you are even more accomplished at other, more pleasurable pastimes.”

“Kassandra? Are you all right?” Grant’s concerned voice broke into Kassie’s turmoil. She blinked and looked up at him.

“No … actually, Grant, I do feel a bit lightheaded. Would you mind terribly if we went out for some air?”

He took in her pale face, then followed the direction of her stare. “Of course not.” He led her out the French doors onto the balcony. Kassie stood for long moments, taking deep breaths and trying to calm her careening emotions.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t we take a stroll around the grounds?”

Kassie looked dubious. “At night? Alone?”

Grant gave her a charming smile. “I’ve been coming to Sherburgh since I was a boy. I assure you that I know my way around most thoroughly. There is no chance of us becoming lost.” His eyes twinkled.

That was not precisely what Kassie had meant, but the memory of Braden’s and Abigail’s conversation burned away any doubt she might have had.

“I’d love to take a walk with you, Grant.”

His look of surprise was quickly replaced with one of total pleasure. “Wonderful!” He offered his arm, and they moved off into the night.

Cyril watched their retreating backs thoughtfully. The evening was proceeding even better than he had originally planned.

“Cyril? Have you seen Kassie?”

Braden was deep in his cups and sinking fast. Cyril frowned.

“The last I saw your wife she was on the balcony with your friend Lord Chisdale,” he supplied helpfully, seeing his nephew’s jaw tighten with anger. “After that … I have no idea.”

Braden cursed, striding onto the balcony and staring off into the night. “Where the hell are they?” he barked loudly.

Cyril hurried to his side. “I don’t know, Braden. But keep your voice down. The entire
ton
doesn’t need to know that your new bride is alone with another man.”

Braden gave him a murderous look. “Make my excuses to our guests,” he got out between clenched teeth.

“Where the deuce are you going?” Cyril demanded.

“Out,” he shot back. “Somehow I am no longer in the mood for a party.” Without another word he left the room.

“Cyril?” Abigail Devon appeared by his side.

Cyril smiled. “You are just in time, my dear. I believe Braden is in bad need of some comfort. Comfort that only
you
can provide.”

She smiled. “Say no more. I am on my way.” She made her way gracefully through the ballroom.

Cyril rejoined the party, convinced that the proper seeds had been sown. Kassandra could never have survived this world, he concluded. She was far too innocent.

At that very moment innocent Kassandra was slapping Grant Chandling soundly across the face. “How dare you!” she gasped, totally outraged by his unwanted advances.

Grant rubbed his cheek ruefully. “It was only a kiss, Kassandra.”

“
Only
a kiss? Need I remind you that I am married to your friend?”

“I wasn’t asking you to run off with me, for God’s sake!”

“Oh, really? Then what were you asking me to do? Or need I ask at all?” She was actually trembling as she spoke. “You are all alike, every last member of your
noble
class—immoral, self-centered, and corrupt!” She lifted her skirts and moved past him, wishing she could run away from the world. “I will see myself back. Good-bye,
Lord
Chisdale. You are no longer welcome at Sherburgh.”

She went in through the rear of the house, making her way to her bedchamber without being seen by any of their guests. She would face them all tomorrow, but for tonight, she had withstood all she could. She slammed her door closed and paced the length of the room.

How dare these unprincipled people call themselves
noble
men?
Nothing
was sacred to them, not even the sanctity of marriage!

Kassie sank down on the bed, her face buried in her hands. The sanctity of marriage … it was all that Kassie knew, for she had witnessed the epitome of marital commitment firsthand. For if ever there was a man who worshiped his wife, placed her on a pedestal, it was Robert Grey.

Unbidden, distant memories from her childhood floated through Kassie’s mind. Her mother, dressed in silk, applying her sweet-scented lilac fragrance while Robert stood indulgently by, gazing down at Elena with a passion and possessiveness that even a young child could sense. In Robert’s eyes Elena had been nothing short of a saint, and for him no other woman had existed. When she was taken from him he had crumpled.

Memories. Her father, just after her mother’s death … a broken man, consumed with pain and guilt and disbelief.

Elena
…
don’t leave me
…
don’t do this to me
. …

He had gone on for hours, crying openly, begging Elena not to desert him, then cursing her for doing so. He had never forgiven her for leaving him, nor himself for being unable to save her.

Kassie shuddered, remembering the night she had run to Braden, her own final night at the cottage. Robert’s violent assault had, even then, been accompanied by unintelligible babbling about Elena’s betrayal. There was no doubt; when Elena died, everything good in Robert had died with her.

But infidelity? Robert would have considered even looking at another woman blasphemous.

Kassie lifted her tear-streaked face, forcing her way back to the present. In truth, she believed that Braden was too principled to make a mockery of their marriage vows by actually taking a mistress. He might not love Kassie as she did him, but the trust between them was simply too strong.

Still, his behavior tonight had been inexcusable. Didn’t he realize how much he had humiliated her by his actions? Flirting with that witch right in front of her?

Kassie stood, her decision made. Blatant dalliance might be acceptable by the twisted standards of the
ton,
but not by her standards. And it was time Braden knew it. She yanked open the connecting doors between their rooms, determined to wait up for him, no matter how late he returned to his bed. They had to talk—tonight.

“Braden? I’m glad you’re back.” The soft female voice drifted lazily from Braden’s bed.

Kassie froze. In the dim light cast by the lamp she watched numbly as the naked woman, clad only in a thin sheet, sat up and met Kassie’s stunned gaze. “Oh, Kassandra, how dreadfully embarrassing,” she purred, her mouth curving into a triumphant smile.

It was Abigail Devon.

T
HE COLOR DRAINED FROM
Kassie’s face as the full implication of the situation hit her. Her husband and Abigail Devon either had just been intimate or were about to be so. Either way, she had interrupted their little tryst.

Kassie could actually feel her entire world crumble around her. She had survived both physical and emotional abuse, but nothing compared to the devastation of this moment. She wanted to die.

She was turning to flee from the loathsome evidence of Braden’s betrayal when she saw the cruel smile on Abigail’s face, the expectant, victorious look in her eyes. Kassie’s deep-rooted internal strength rallied fiercely, refusing to let her back down and creep off in utter humiliation. If nothing else, she would salvage her pride.

Head held high, she marched over to the rumpled bed.

“Get out of my house.” Was that really her voice, so filled with authority?

Apparently it was, for Abigail’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of shock, then fury.

“How dare you?” she spat out.

“How dare
I
?” Kassie shot back, tearing the sheet from Abigail’s naked body. “How dare
you
use my home for your disgusting, immoral carryings-on!”

Abigail swung her legs over the side of the bed, searching Kassie’s expression to see how much she knew. “This is Braden’s home, Kassandra, not yours,” she taunted, gauging Kassie’s reaction. “Just as this is
his
room and
his
bed. And just as I am here by
his
invitation.”

A rage that Kassie never knew she possessed exploded inside her. She scooped up Abigail’s clothing, wildly flinging the discarded gown and underthings at her. “I am the Duchess of Sherburgh, Abigail—
and
Braden’s wife! This house is therefore mine, and I want you out—
now!
Else I will summon a servant to
throw
you out … in whatever state of undress you happen to be in!” She stood panting, her eyes blazing in challenge.

Abigail rose, shaking with anger. She made no move to dress. “Did you really believe that a mere child like you would be enough to satisfy a man like Braden in bed?” she taunted. “You’re a fool, Kassandra, an innocent, ill-bred little fool. What Braden needs is a woman. A woman who can fulfill his needs. A woman worthy of his passion and his title.” She tossed her blond hair back defiantly. “I was foolish enough to turn him away once. I won’t make that mistake again. You might have his title, you stupid chit, but I have his body.”

Without thinking Kassie drew back her hand and slapped Abigail across the face with every ounce of strength she possessed.

For an instant they both froze, each of them shocked beyond belief by Kassie’s action. Abigail’s trembling fingers hovered just above the spot where the stinging slap had been delivered, her wrath a tangible, escalating entity. Numbly Kassie stared at the white imprint her hand had made on Abigail’s cheek, one glaring flaw on the utter perfection of alabaster skin. And Kassie had put it there.

Then Abigail’s outraged scream echoed through the halls of Sherburgh.

Braden took the stairs two at a time. He had just arrived home, a trifle unsteady from the number of drinks he had consumed at a local pub, when he heard the scream. He burst into his bedchamber in time to see a totally naked Abigail lunging at a disheveled, defiant Kassie. He was instantly sober.

“What the hell is going on here?” he thundered.

Hearing Braden’s voice, Kassie turned to him, trembling with the force of her reaction.

“It seems I arrived a trifle unexpectedly, husband.” The Kassandra who addressed him with hatred glittering in her eyes was a stranger. “But I shan’t keep you from your
mistress
any longer.” She walked around him, avoiding any physical contact, as if his touch sickened her. She turned in the entranceway, and Braden had a glimpse of the pain beneath the hatred as Kassie’s control began to evaporate. Her lips trembled, and unshed tears glistened on her long, dark lashes. But her head was held high, and her gaze never faltered. “In the future you and
Lady
Abigail”—she spat out the word—“will have to find some other meeting place. If Abigail Devon ever sets foot in this house again, I shall have her bodily removed from the estate. Good night, Braden.”