Andrea Kane (33 page)

“That remains to be seen.” Alfred shook Braden’s hand warmly and stood. “Now I’d like to return to Kassandra’s bedchamber so that we might talk.”

Kassie sat by the window, gazing out at nothing in particular. She felt frightened, confused, out of control. She knew that her reaction to Braden’s innocent questions had been extreme, and yet even the memory of the conversation left her feeling cold and desperately afraid.

Sighing, she lowered her face into her hands, wondering for the hundredth time if she really was going mad. What other explanation could there be for her inexplicable panic?

The soft knock broke into her thoughts, and she looked up in time to see Braden walk into the room. He came to her side, then squatted down beside her, taking her small, cold hand in his strong, large one.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m sure Dr. Howell told you that I am fine.” She had trouble keeping the tremor out of her voice.

“Dr. Howell said that he’d like the chance to talk with you again. He is prepared to stay on and help us, Kassie,” Braden told her gently. “But only if it is what you want.”

Kassie searched his face, a myriad of emotions flashing across her own. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“I know you are, sweetheart.” He brought her fingers to his warm mouth. “But we have to find out what is tormenting you like this. And then, no matter what it is, we’ll face it … together.”

Kassie drank in his strength, then nodded, white-faced. “All right,” she said in a determined voice. “I’ll speak to him.”

Braden had never been as proud of her as he was at that moment. He cupped her face and looked deeply into her eyes. “You’re not alone, love. I’m here for you. And I will be for the rest of your life.” He kissed her gently and stood, crossing the room and opening the door. “Come in, Alfred. Kassie is ready to speak with you now.”

Kassie watched, trancelike, as Braden admitted the stout, white-haired doctor and quietly left the room.

“I’m glad you agreed to see me again, Kassandra,” Alfred began, lowering himself into the chair that was closest to where Kassie sat. “I think it’s important for us to talk.”

Kassie regarded him bleakly. “I’ll ask you the same question I asked Braden, doctor. Do you think that I am insane?”

Alfred met her gaze directly. “What I think is that it is a crime for such a beautiful and sensitive woman, who is obviously very much in love with her new husband, to suffer from the sort of pain that you are obviously suffering from, Kassandra,” he replied. “But insane? No, my dear, quite the contrary. I think you are brave, unspoiled, and utterly charming. And I knew from the first that you were the best thing ever to happen to Braden. Now, have I answered your question satisfactorily?”

Kassie blinked in surprise. “But we hardly know each other!”

“Ah, but I
do
know Braden. And he believes in you. So the decision is yours. Do we accept defeat, give in to whatever it is that ails your soul, or do we fight it and prove ourselves worthy of Braden’s faith? The choice, my dear, belongs to you and you alone.”

A small smile tugged at Kassie’s lips. “You would make a superb politician, doctor.” She raised her chin and gave him a definitive nod. “Very well. I place myself in your capable hands in the hope that together we can unlock the past and nurse my soul back to good health.”

C
YRIL SWALLOWED THE LAST
bite of his omelet and turned his attention to today’s
Times,
lying unopened beside the empty place setting at the head of the table. He had just settled back in his chair to read when the dining room door swung open and Braden entered. Head bent, brow furrowed, Braden approached the table, totally oblivious to Cyril’s presence, thinking only of Kassie.

At this very moment she was speaking with Alfred in the drawing room, where they had been closeted since dawn. Braden knew precisely when they had begun, for he had forfeited his morning ride, opting instead to pace the floor outside the firmly closed doors, waiting anxiously for the outcome of the talk. He would be there still but for Perkins’s pointed suggestion that some breakfast would be in order, for without food His Grace could not live, much less continue his vigil. Braden had taken the less-than-subtle hint and had reluctantly come to the dining room for a minimal amount of sustenance, intending to bolt his breakfast and return to his post.

“Good morning, Braden.” Cyril refolded the newspaper and greeted his nephew cautiously. After their verbal encounter of two nights past he was unsure of the status of their relationship. When Braden did not respond, Cyril cleared his throat roughly, trying again. “I presume you did not go for your usual ride?”

Braden glanced up at Cyril blankly. “Pardon me?” He signaled for his coffee, and three footmen sprang to life, filling his cup and simultaneously arriving with steaming plates of eggs, bacon, and toast with raspberry jelly. “Just toast,” Braden instructed, glancing at his timepiece as he sat. “What was it you were saying, Cyril?”

“You apparently didn’t ride Star before breakfast,” Cyril repeated, gesturing toward Braden’s morning coat, indicating the lack of his customary riding attire.

“No, I didn’t.”

Cyril frowned, trying to decipher his nephew’s odd behavior. He seemed not chilly and aloof, as Cyril would have expected, but preoccupied. “Our guests departed over an hour ago,” he commented, a pointed reminder of the house party that Braden had conspicuously abandoned. Despite the conciliatory expression on Cyril’s face, there was more than a touch of exasperation in his tone.

Braden ignored the censure and nodded, taking a deep swallow of coffee. “Fine. It’s just as well that they have taken their leave. Truthfully, I’d forgotten their presence entirely.”

“So they noticed” was the dry retort.

Braden concentrated on finishing his piece of toast. Even his outrage and resentment toward Cyril was secondary at the moment. “I wouldn’t worry, Cyril,” he countered smoothly. “I’m certain our guests had a splendid time without Kassie’s or my presence. And just think—now they have something to gossip about until the next gathering.”

“You really don’t give a damn, do you?” Cyril demanded incredulously, all attempts at placating Braden forgotten.

“Honestly? No.” Recalling the unpleasant details of the ill-fated house party, Braden shot his uncle a dark look. “Did Abigail leave?”

“Less than five minutes after you threw her out, yes. And I don’t expect that she or William will be back.”

Braden gulped down the remainder of his coffee and shoved away his plate. “For her sake, I hope not. As for William, fear not, Uncle. The moment he remembers that his wealth takes precedence over his pride, he’ll be back. Our investments have made him a great deal of money. He won’t be eager to sever our business ties.” Braden pushed back his chair and rose. “Oh, and since we are discussing our amended list of those still welcome at Sherburgh, you can strike Grant Chandling as well. My duchess ordered him away the night before last immediately following his despicable advances. So please refrain from including the viscount in any future social events. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

Cyril stood also, tossing down his napkin. “
Now
where the deuce are you going?” he demanded.

Braden hesitated. “To my wife,” he said at last.

Cyril’s lips thinned. To his wife? It was broad daylight. “Why? Is she ill?”

Braden weighed his answer, then decided that it would not remain a secret for long—not with Alfred living at Sherburgh.

“She is in the drawing room with Alfred.”

Cyril looked startled, then concerned. “With Alfred? Then she is ill!”

Braden shook his head, completely baffled. One moment Cyril wanted to banish Kassie from Sherburgh, the next moment he was worried over the state of her health. Perhaps he really believed she would be better off freed from this marriage. “No,” Braden replied, denying both his uncle’s statement and his own thoughts. “She is not ill … not really.”

“What does that mean?”

Braden inhaled deeply, then released the breath. “It means that Kassie is still not sleeping well, continues to lose weight, and just yesterday fainted at the table.” At Cyril’s look of surprise and alarm Braden continued, “I believe that all three are due to the recurring nightmares she suffers.”

Cyril looked as if he had been struck. “Nightmares? What nightmares?”

Braden glanced restlessly at the door. “It’s a long story, Cyril, and I want to get back to Kassie.”

“Then shorten it.”

Braden met his uncle’s ashen look. “All right. Ever since Kassie came to live at Sherburgh she has been suffering from some horrible dream that tortures her night after night. It is taking its toll on her health.”

“You say these dreams started just after she came to Sherburgh?” Cyril asked.

Braden wasn’t sure why, but he felt the sudden need to protect as much of Kassie’s privacy as he could. He would reveal only what was necessary. “No, they started before that, but I’m not certain when,” he hedged.

“And what exactly can Alfred do about these dreams?”

“I hope he can help Kassie to talk about them, to understand them, and eventually to eliminate them.”

“Eventually?” Cyril broke off, raking his fingers through his hair, a muscle working in his jaw. “Are you trying to tell me that Alfred is going to be staying on at Sherburgh indefinitely for this nonsense?”

Braden started at the cold fury in Cyril’s tone, the anger that raged on his face. “Yes, that’s precisely what he will be doing.”

Cyril slammed his fist upon the table, making the remaining dishes rattle. “And if word of this gets out, do you know how the
ton
will interpret it?” he roared. Red-faced, he didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll tell you how they will interpret it! They will whisper to one another that your wife is mad. That besides being unsuitable in countless other ways, she is also unstable and daft. Has
that
ever occurred to you?”

Braden stared at Cyril, too shocked at first to absorb the meaning of his words. At last he shook his head, amazement and distaste registering in his eyes. “I will not dignify that with an answer, Cyril,” he returned with deceptive calm. “Now if you will excuse me, I am going to see my wife.”

Cyril watched Braden go, beyond words himself. Nightmares? How could he have lived in the same house with Braden and Kassandra all these months and have been unaware, first of their intimacy, and now of this? Nightmares. He shook his head, dazed. What were they about? What dark secrets did they contain? And what on earth was the doctor supposed to do about them? All he could do was probe and pry and hurt the family more than it had already been hurt. Cyril looked down at his shaking hands. Everything was coming apart; all his efforts were being thwarted. There had to be a way to stop this insanity. There simply had to be.

“You’ve told me all the details that you can recall of your nightmare,” Dr. Howell said, leaning back in the carved mahogany wing chair and studying Kassie thoughtfully. “You’ve also said that the dream has been with you for years. Do you recall precisely how many years, Kassandra?”

Kassie twisted her hands in her lap, feeling the familiar chill set into her heart. How she hated—dreaded—talking about these dreams. And yet that was all she had spoken of for the past two hours. She was trembling, her head was throbbing, and she had the desperate urge to run from the room, to run from everything. But to do that would be to run from Braden as well. She closed her eyes, laying her head against the elaborate tapestry of the plush settee.

“Kassandra,” Alfred said gently, placing a soothing hand upon her arm. “Please remember that I am here to help you. I understand this is difficult for you, but in order to
solve
the problem we must first
discuss
the problem.”

Kassie opened her eyes and called upon an inner reserve that was fast deteriorating. “All right, doctor.” She forced her mind back to the dreams, trying to remember a time when she
hadn’t
suffered from them. She failed. “I’m sorry, doctor,” she whispered, “but I just cannot answer your question. I’ve had the nightmare since I was a child.”

He nodded. “We’ve accomplished a great deal this morning, my dear.” At her bewildered look he smiled. “Any medical process takes time. We are beginning to isolate the illness. Once we have firmly located its source we can extract it, and then you can start to heal.” He stood. “You are exhausted. And rightfully so. Let us go and partake of something more substantial than the scones and tea that your staff has kindly provided for us.”

Kassie rose slowly, feeling utterly spent. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, half to herself.

“You can do it, Kassandra,” Dr. Howell’s voice replied. “Of that I have no doubt.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “If not for yourself, then for Braden. He loves you very much.”

Kassie’s startled eyes flew to his.
He loves you very much.
How many times had she prayed for that to be true? And yet hearing the words spoken aloud by someone who knew Braden well made the possibility that much more real, made Kassie’s core of determination return in full measure. She
would
get well; she
must.
She
had
to be whole, not only for herself, but for Braden.

“Thank you, Dr. Howell.” Her beautiful smile was filled with gratitude. “Thank you for reminding me of what is important.”

“Are we referring to Braden or to breakfast?” he asked, his kindly eyes twinkling.

Kassie gifted him with her musical laugh. “Both, sir. Both.”

Braden was pacing the hallway when Kassie and Alfred emerged moments later. “Is everything all right?” His question was to Alfred, but his gaze was fixed on Kassie’s face, searching for any signs of duress.

“Fine, Braden,” the doctor assured him, “other than the fact that our stomachs are most displeased with our negligence.”

Kassie disregarded her lingering mental exhaustion and gave Braden a radiant smile. “I’m fine,” she answered softly, seeing his concern. “Really.”

Braden saw past the smile to the strain and the pallor beneath, and he felt his gut twist with remorse. He had known this would be difficult for Kassie. What he hadn’t known was how deeply her pain would affect him; how badly he wanted to take the burden from her narrow shoulders. Tenderly he rubbed his knuckles across her cheek. “I want you to eat something.”