Andrea Kane (38 page)

Although he lamented the loss of Kassie’s last link to her mother, Braden himself could not feel sorrow at Robert’s death. At least now Kassie was safe from her father’s madness, no longer threatened by the existence of a possible murderer.

Unless Charles …

Braden drew himself up short, refusing to speculate further. Gently he lay Kassie, now deeply asleep, on the bed and gestured for Margaret to stay with her. Margaret nodded fiercely, her customarily jovial face twisted with worry and sorrow.

Braden went down to the library, where Constable Benton was waiting. At Braden’s entrance the constable rubbed his sweaty palms together, unnerved both by Braden’s rank and by the cryptic, perturbing message the duke had sent him. It had been the second notification Benton had received of Robert Grey’s demise. The first had been a scribbled, unsigned note left on his desk. Most unusual. And best left unmentioned until further investigation had been conducted. “Your Grace,” the constable greeted Braden, watching the duke nervously from beneath dark, bushy brows.

“Constable. Thank you for coming so promptly.” Braden crossed the room and poured two glasses of brandy, wondering where he was getting the strength to retain his calm veneer. He offered the drink to Benton, then began without further preliminaries. “Have you sent men to recover the body?”

“I have, Your Grace.” Benton downed his brandy in one gulp. Normally he didn’t drink while on duty. But dealing with violent death, especially among the ever-testy upper crust, was reason enough to indulge. “I do need you to give me any details you can.”

“Of course.” Braden heard himself relay the events leading up to his discovery of Grey’s body; the time he arrived at the cottage, the silence that prevailed from within, the exact location where he had found the body.

Benton scribbled frantically on his pad. “You say it looked like Mr. Grey struck his head on the desk?”

“Yes. The duchess’s father apparently had too much to drink, lost his balance, and fell.”

Benton nodded sagely. He, like all the residents of the town, knew of Robert Grey’s frequent bouts of drunkenness, so the constable immediately understood the meaning behind the duke’s discreet comment. “Did you see anyone else while you were there, Your Grace?” he asked instead.

Concentrating on his writing, Constable Benton never saw the tortured look that flashed across Braden’s face, then disappeared instantly. “I saw no one, Constable.” The answer was definitive, given without deliberation. “The cottage was deserted when I arrived.”

Long after Benton had hurried off to file his report on what appeared to be a tragic accident, Braden wondered about the reasons for his own deception. Why hadn’t he mentioned seeing Charles flee from the Grey cottage mere moments before he had discovered Robert’s body? Was he protecting his friend out of loyalty, or was it some absolute knowledge inside Braden that Charles was incapable of committing such a heinous act? And if it was the latter, could he still trust his instincts where Charles was concerned, even after seeing him not only at the scene of Grey’s death, but atop the cliff from which the boulder had fallen yesterday?

There was only one way to silence the warring voices inside Braden’s head, and that was to confront Charles himself. And if Charles
was
guilty of murder, then
he
was going to be the one to discover it. Braden strode out of the house, determined to find Charles.

Charles found him instead.

Braden hadn’t quite reached the stables when Charles called his name, rushing over to meet him. “The constable was here?” he blurted out. He looked totally ashen, creases of worry lining his face.

Braden’s expression was dark with disbelief. “Yes, Charles. The constable was here. He came to Sherburgh to investigate a death. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?” Braden didn’t wait for an answer but plunged on, unable to censor either his emotions or his words. They poured out at will. “Didn’t you, Charles?” he pressed, his fists clenched at his sides as if to prepare for this ultimate betrayal.

Charles just stared at him. “Knew what? That the constable was here? Yes, I knew.
I’m
the one—”

Braden interrupted with a hollow laugh. “Yes, you are, aren’t you?” He slammed his fists into the bunched muscles of his thighs, looking at Charles as if he were a stranger. “I was there, Charles. At the Grey cottage. I saw you. It was just before I found Robert Grey … dead.” He waited, tormented, for a reaction.

“I didn’t see you,” Charles replied slowly, speculatively. “But then again, I wasn’t thinking very clearly at that moment.”

“No, I can imagine you weren’t thinking at all,” Braden fired back. “Actually, it looked like you were running away.”

Now
Braden got his reaction. Charles went still as death, shock, then anger, and finally pain flashing in his eyes. “What exactly are you accusing me of?” His quiet words were as cold as an Arctic wind.

Unconsciously Braden gripped Charles’s shoulders. “Did you kill Robert Grey?”

Charles didn’t flinch. “No.”

“Then what were you doing at the cottage?” Braden demanded.

For a moment Charles hesitated. Finally he said, “I was doing an errand for your wife.”

Braden gave a hollow, disbelieving laugh. “For Kassie? She wants nothing to do with her father.” Even as the words left his mouth Braden knew they were inaccurate. After yesterday’s revelations Kassie would indeed want to speak with Robert. “She would have asked me to contact him,” he reasoned aloud.

“Would she?” Charles shot back. “Apparently you are wrong, Braden, because she asked me to deliver a message to Grey. And because she had nowhere else to turn, I agreed to help her. When I got to the cottage he was already dead.”

“Then why were you fleeing the house?” Braden dug his fingers into the thick wool of Charles’s jacket.

Charles’s mouth dropped. “Good Lord, Braden, I had just found a dead body! What did you expect me to do? I rode into town to alert the authorities!”

At Charles’s words a trace of uncertainty crossed Braden’s granite features. “
You
notified the authorities?”

“How else would the constable have known to come to Sherburgh?”

“I sent a message to him after I returned home.” Braden studied his friend closely, still tightly gripping his coat.

“I detested Robert Grey,” Charles said, solemnly meeting Braden’s scrutiny, “but I did not kill him.”

Memory washed over Braden in a rush. “What about me, Charles? Did you try to kill me?”

All the color drained from Charles’s face. “What?” he whispered.

Braden swallowed, unable to retreat. “Yesterday. When Kassie and I were on the beach. I was almost killed by a boulder, remember?”

“Yes, I know,” Charles agreed, so quietly that Braden could barely hear him. “And you believe that I pushed that boulder?”

Braden shook Charles hard. “I saw you standing there, dammit! Just after the boulder fell!”

Charles threw off Braden’s arms, stepping back with an anguished sound. “You saw me standing there,” he repeated evenly. “So you concluded that it was I who tried to kill you.” He continued to back away, his eyes suspiciously bright. “I raised you, Braden, since you were a boy. I know how deep your scars are, how impossible it is for you to trust. But I’ve always thought that I was the exception, the one person you could believe in.” He shook his head, looking at Braden as if he were seeing him for the first time. “I know now that I was mistaken. So be it. If you choose to believe that I would—
could
—hurt you, then we have nothing more to say to each other.” He stopped in his tracks. “I am going back to the house; I want to look in on Kassandra and assure myself that she is well. After that I will pack. I’ll be gone from Sherburgh by daybreak.”

Without another word he walked past Braden and toward the manor. He never looked back.

Slowly Kassie came awake feeling groggy, disoriented, and vaguely aware that something was amiss. She blinked, staring at the canopy above her bed, wondering why she was napping in the middle of the day.

Memory returned abruptly, causing her chest to constrict. Her father was dead. Gone was the man who had terrorized her, hated her, beaten her. But also gone was her last hope of discovering the identity of her mother’s lover.

With a soft, anguished sound Kassie rolled onto her side and met the concerned gaze of the man who sat rigidly beside her bed.

“Charles?”

He came to his feet, still gripping the arms of the chair. “Yes, Kassandra.” His eyes searched her anxiously. “Are you all right?”

She nodded slowly, a look of puzzlement settling over her face. “Why are you in my bedchamber?”

He frowned. “I apologize for intruding. I just needed to assure myself of your well-being.” He turned toward the door.

Kassie pushed herself to a sitting position, brushing the rumpled dark curls off her cheeks. “Please don’t go,” she called softly. He stopped. “There is no need to apologize,” she continued, giving him a tentative smile. “I’m grateful for your concern.” She took a deep breath. “And I shall be fine. Truly. Thanks to friends such as you.”

Rather than looking pleased, Charles looked bleak. He lowered himself back into the chair. “Kassandra,” he began, staring at the carpet, “there are a few things you should know.” He lifted his chin, met her gaze. “I am the one who discovered your father’s body first. When I got to the cottage with your message he was … already gone.”

To his amazement, Kassie leaned over and placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “Oh, Charles, I’m so sorry.” Her beautiful features were soft with compassion. “How horrible that must have been for you.”

Charles blinked. Was there no limit to this woman’s precious gift of selflessness? His chest swelled with pride. Pride and love.

Without conscious thought Charles took Kassie’s hand. “Now that I see that you are fine, I’ll be fine as well.” He forced a smile, then continued. “There is one more reason I came to see you, Kassandra. I wanted to say good-bye.”

Kassie gave him a quizzical look. “Good-bye? Are you going on a trip?”

There was no point in putting off the inevitable. “No. I am leaving Sherburgh.”

“Leaving Sherburgh?” Kassie gasped. “For good?” At his nod she asked, “Why?”

This was the part Charles had dreaded. Yet he knew it had to be said. Steeling himself, he replied, “Braden believes I killed your father.”

“What?” Kassie shouted the word, nearly toppling off the bed.

“He saw me running from the cottage,” Charles told her quietly. “It is only natural for him to assume—”

Kassie leapt off the bed, yanking her hand from Charles’s grasp. “It is natural for him to assume nothing!” she shot back. “I will go to him at once, tell him about the message I gave you for my father. Then he will know—” She broke off at Charles’s definitive shake of the head. “Why not?”

“I’ve already told him the truth. He doesn’t believe me.” He gave a sad sigh, standing up and keeping his back turned toward her. “Unfortunately, he is also convinced that I was responsible for pushing the boulder that nearly killed him yesterday.”

“Dear God.” Kassie felt the room spin, and she leaned against her bedpost for support. “How on earth could he believe that you of all people, who has loved him his whole life, would do such a thing?”

“I was there, Kassandra,” he answered flatly. “I was walking on the cliffs, alone with my thoughts. I heard the rumble of the rocks, then your scream. I was frantic to make certain that you were unharmed—”

“You do not have to explain anything to me, Charles,” Kassie interrupted firmly.

But he continued anyway. “When I saw you were safe I did not want to intrude upon your moment with your husband, so I took my leave. I suppose Braden looked up and saw me atop the cliffs and thought …” He broke off.

Kassie was silent as all the pieces began to fall into place. Braden’s strange mood since yesterday, the way he had rejected her last night, the emotional withdrawal she could feel. If Braden saw reason to doubt Charles, it would cause him to doubt her as well, for it would fragment the tenuous fibers that formed the very foundation of his trust. She wanted to weep for her husband’s bewilderment … and his agony. At the same time she wanted to throttle him for allowing his damned cynicism and misgivings to cloud his mind to the truth—and, in the process, to cause his oldest and dearest friend to endure unnecessary and undeserved pain.

At Kassie’s prolonged silence Charles turned around to face her, his jaw taut. “Do you, too, believe that I am guilty?”

Kassie went to him without hesitation and gave him a warm hug. “I believe you are one of the finest men in the world. You would never hurt
anybody,
least of all Braden.” She stepped back, her gaze tender. “And what’s more, Braden knows it, too. I don’t care what he told you. He loves you, Charles. And in his heart he knows you are innocent.” She laced her fingers together, wringing her hands in frustration. “Please don’t leave Sherburgh,” she implored Charles. “Give me a chance—give Braden a chance—to make things right. Please, Charles. Is your pride really worth more than Braden’s love?”

For a moment Charles did not answer. He merely stared at the lovely young woman who embodied everything of value that remained in his life. She and Braden meant the world to him.

And she was his only link with the past.

“All right, Kassandra,” he heard himself say. “I will stay on, but only if Braden agrees to it. If he should ask me to leave, I shall.”

“He will not ask you to leave.” Kassie’s statement was positive. She looked relieved and determined all at once, her mind already racing ahead to the conversation she would soon be having with her foolish, misguided husband.

Braden ignored the knock on his door.

In truth, he barely heard it. Staring bleakly out the window, he was lost amid the turmoil of doubts and the wrenching twists of guilt.

The door banged open, and Kassie burst in.

“I need to see you, Braden.”

He turned, startled. She was still wearing the gown she had donned this morning, only now it was somewhat disheveled from her nap. Her face was drawn, and he went to her at once, concerned over her state of mind. “I didn’t know you were awake,” he said, brushing her cheek gently with the back of his hand. “Are you all right?” He lifted her chin with his forefinger, searching her face for signs of bereavement.