Andrea Kane (24 page)

Kassie broke into a dazzling smile, ashamed that she had for a moment misread his intentions. If he and Braden were boyhood friends, she had obviously mistaken sincere friendliness for blatant flirtation. “I am delighted to meet you, my lord,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. “And I apologize for not knowing you. But in truth, I do not recall Braden ever mentioning your name.”

“And with good reason.”

While Braden’s stance was relaxed as he strolled over to them, the hard set of his jaw displayed a barely controlled rage. Kassie gave him a puzzled look.

Grant released Kassie’s hand, his brows arched in surprise. “Now why would you say such a thing to this lovely lady?”

“Because,” Braden replied, placing a possessive hand on Kassie’s arm, “this lovely lady happens to be my wife.”

Grant looked startled, reading Braden’s unspoken message very clearly. “
This
is your wife?” His gaze returned to Kassie, and he shook his head. “I had no idea … but then, I should have. You always did have the most exquisite taste in women, Braden.”

Kassie felt Braden stiffen beside her as once again the viscount took her hand, this time brushing it in a brief, chaste kiss.

“Your Grace, I am enchanted,” he murmured.

Kassie had no idea why Braden was so angry at their guest. She could sense an undercurrent between them—a friendly spat, perhaps? Whatever it was, it did not concern her, nor would she let it affect her role as a proper hostess.

“Thank you, Lord Chisdale,” she returned. “And please, my given name is Kassandra, not ‘Your Grace.’ ”

Grant acknowledged this liberty with a slow nod. “Kassandra, then. And you must call me Grant.”

She smiled. “Certainly.”

“Braden, you never told me that your wife was so breathtaking … or so charming.”

Braden’s grip tightened on Kassie’s arm. “We haven’t seen each other in some time, Grant,” he returned. “Besides, I rather suspected you would notice Kassie on your own.” He didn’t wait for a reply but turned to his wife. “Come. I want you to meet the rest of our guests.”

Kassie tried unsuccessfully to read Braden’s closed expression. “Of course, Braden.”

“We’ll be in the ballroom, Grant.” Braden’s words were a dismissal.

“And so will I.” He paused. “I hope your bride will do me the honor of a dance.”

“You may hope so.” Braden strode off, taking Kassie with him. He knew his anger was irrational, but the memory of Grant’s betrayal three years past was still too vivid in his mind. Had the choice been Braden’s, Grant would not be here tonight. But Cyril had convinced him that omitting Grant from the guest list would only reawaken tongues that had long since ceased to wag. It wasn’t worth providing gossip for the scandal-hungry
ton.
He would simply have to ignore Grant’s presence. But not without the knowledge that this man he had called friend possessed no scruples whatsoever.

Braden felt Kassie hesitate when they reached the entranceway. His wife’s eyes were wide with apprehension as she surveyed the elegant ballroom, which was crammed with people, alive with activity. He followed her gaze, surprised by her reaction. To Braden it appeared to be just another house party.

Kassie, on the other hand, felt waves of insecurity sweep over her. This gathering bore no resemblance to the intimate assemblage of guests at her wedding reception. Tonight barely an inch of the plush oriental carpet was visible, so lost was it beneath countless moving feet; and the priceless paintings that lined the gilded walls were no more than blurs of color hidden behind swirling gowns and scurrying footmen. The room’s only treasure that remained unconcealed was the splendid crystal chandelier that hung proudly, casting its light about the room and making it look even more formidable. Empty, a room this size would be intimidating. Filled, it was staggering.

Kassie’s nervous gaze was drawn to a corner of the ballroom where a group of elaborately dressed, simpering noblewomen stood together, whispering and staring in Kassie’s direction with coldly appraising eyes.

A small house party was definitely a misnomer. This would more appropriately be called a massacre.

Braden saw Kassie’s stricken look and felt his heart melt. “Have I told you how dazzling you look tonight,
ma petite
?” he murmured softly.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with apprehension, and shook her head. “No, you haven’t.”

He grinned. “Then allow me to rectify that.” He drank in her flawless beauty with a hotly intimate look that made her forget everything but her husband. “You take my breath away,” he told her in a husky whisper.

And she did. What he saw filled him with a combination of pride, desire, and possessiveness. She was utter perfection, far superior to any other woman in the room. And she was his.

Kassie gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Keep in mind your very low opinion of the ladies of my acquaintance,” he teased gently, drawing her into the room. From the corner of his eye Braden could see the men looking their way, practically salivating at their first glimpse of Kassie. Scowling, he hoped that his wife’s opinion of noblemen would be as low as her opinion of their female equivalents. But somehow he doubted it.

Kassie tried to keep her head up and her gaze from faltering. But everywhere she stepped a new pair of curious eyes was studying her, evaluating her suitability or lack thereof. Quietly, with his deep, commanding voice, Braden made the introductions until Kassie was dizzy from trying to remember all the names. From midroom old Lord Lockersham watched her hungrily, but he did not return her warm smile. It took Kassie mere moments to figure out why. Beside the earl stood a statuesque woman with gray hair and a huge bosom that threatened to erupt from the confines of her gown. From her proprietary stance Kassie deduced that she was none other than Lady Lockersham, the countess who had been “ailing” on Kassie’s wedding day. Kassie shot Lord Lockersham an understanding look, her heart sinking. The fact that she had actually been regarding the old lecher as an ally was an obvious indication of her frenzied state of mind.

Silently Kassie counted the hours until bedtime.

“May I persuade your lovely bride to share a dance with me?”

The voice was familiar.

“That is up to Kassie, William,” Braden responded. He looked from William Devon’s cordial expression to Kassie’s anxious one. “Kassie?”

It was time to jump in with both feet.

“I would be delighted, Your Grace,” she said, smiling. Leaving the security of Braden’s side, she moved onto the dance floor with the duke.

“You look enchanting, my dear,” he praised, a smile fixed on his face.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I hope it is an improvement over the state of my attire when last we met.”

A flicker of humor danced in his eyes. “Do not underestimate the power of your beauty. It was apparent despite your rather rumpled condition. After all, Braden did marry you.”

Kassie bristled. “I assure you, Your Grace,” she heard herself say, “that my beauty is but a small part of why Braden and I are wed.”

William started but recovered himself quickly. “Apparently you have other redeeming qualities as well.”

Realizing how her remark had been interpreted, Kassie felt her face redden. She was about to make a sharp retort when it suddenly occurred to her that if William Devon was present, it was highly likely that Abigail would be, too. Quickly she scanned the room, trying to see past the swarms of guests.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular, my dear?”

Kassie’s eyes flew back to William’s face, but his expression was merely curious.

“I was wondering if your family had come to Sherburgh with you.” Oh, why was she always so damned honest?

He cleared his throat. “If you mean Abigail, no. She is … not here this evening.” He sounded as if he had wished to say more but thought better of it.

“Oh. I see.” Kassie wondered if Braden had anything to do with Abigail’s absence. After all, Kassie had made her dislike of the other woman no secret; perhaps it was out of consideration for these feelings that Braden had omitted Abigail from the guest list. The possibility made Kassie giddy with pleasure.

“May I borrow my wife back, William?” The very object of Kassie’s thoughts appeared at her side, dark and devastatingly handsome. His request was a mere formality, for he was already pulling Kassie into his arms and moving to the soft strains of a waltz.

“I didn’t want to leave you for too long,” Braden murmured, stroking the palm of her hand with his thumb.

Kassie felt waves of heat radiate through her body. She loved the way he was holding her … just a tad too close … and the possessive gleam in his eye as he looked down at her. She loved his strength, his overwhelming masculinity … she loved him.

“Later,” he said in a husky whisper.

Kassie started. “Later … what?”

He caressed her with his eyes. “Later … what you’re asking me.”

“I haven’t said a word.”

“You don’t have to. Your eyes talk to me in a language all their own. They always have.”

Kassie could feel herself blush. “I’ll have to make sure that my eyes are far less outspoken, then.”

Braden chuckled. “That is something you have no control over, my lovely wife. Your feelings, your thoughts, your entire soul is reflected in those beautiful aqua depths. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Kassie’s heart began to pound. “Braden …”

“Come now, Braden, don’t be so stingy. It is time to share your bride with the rest of us!” Winston Black, the Marquis of Somerset, tapped Braden on the shoulder. “I believe this dance was promised to me!”

None too graciously Braden released Kassie and allowed his friend to lead her into a frolicking reel. Kassie looked as reluctant as her husband for the waltz to end. But the whole purpose of this party, Braden reminded himself, was for Kassie to meet people and thus to become more comfortable in her new world. Everything was going as planned. Nevertheless, the sight of her in another man’s arms bothered him … a lot.

Rather than dancing with a nauseatingly simpering substitute, Braden helped himself to another drink. He was just finishing it when Grant strolled over.

“Hasn’t it been long enough, Braden?” he asked quietly.

Braden regarded him impassively and shrugged. “This is one of those things that time cannot heal, Grant.”

Grant shook his head, perplexed. “Abigail Devon was hardly worth our friendship. She’s an insatiable little slut, and we both know it. You never even gave a damn for her! In a way I did you a service by saving you from an unwanted marriage.”

Braden put his empty glass down. “You still don’t understand, do you? Anger had nothing to do with this; Abigail had nothing to do with this. This was, and still is, about our trust and our friendship, both of which you betrayed.”

“She’s just a woman, for heaven’s sake!” Grant looked positively bewildered.

Braden sighed at the hopelessness of the situation. “If it makes any difference to you, my feelings about your actions have changed since then. Three years ago I felt nothing but rage. Now I feel only pity. I’m very sorry for you, Grant.” He gazed around the room. “In fact, I’m sorry for the whole blasted lot of you.” He walked off, suddenly needing only his wife’s presence.

Needing. The depth of his own emotional involvement slapped Braden in the face like a cold dousing of water. When had that happened? When had tender caring and intense physical need become more? When had he become so damned vulnerable to his own wife?

Shaken, he bypassed the bowls of Regent’s punch and helped himself to a glass of straight brandy, feeling it burn its way to his stomach. He poured another, then scanned the room for Kassandra.

She was dancing a quadrille with Horace Blackbery, the Earl of Welbourne, both of them laughing and having a wonderful time. Kassie had the most amazing effect on everyone. She was like a breath of spring, infusing the world with her sunshine.

Noting the besotted look on Welbourne’s face, Braden was assailed by an unexpected surge of jealousy. The fact was, it galled him to see the men flocking around his wife. He knew he was being totally illogical, that his jealousy was unjustified, but it rankled him nonetheless. Until now she had belonged exclusively to him; had done so since she was fifteen. There had been no suitors, no contenders for her hand. She had come to Braden not only a virgin, but a complete and total innocent. The virginity she had given to him, but the innocence was a fundamental part of her. Braden willed it to stay that way. He didn’t want Kassie amid his ugly world of shallow relationships and casual liaisons. He wanted to protect her from it, to keep her as untouched as she was. For her own sake.

Who was he kidding? Magnanimity had nothing to do with this. The truth was, he wanted to keep her his. Period.

Braden went to get another brandy.

“Braden?” Kassie touched his arm gently.

He looked down at her with glazed eyes. “Oh, hello, wife.” He raised his glass in salute.

Kassie flinched. She, better than anyone, recognized the signs of drunkenness, and they made her sick and afraid. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink, don’t you?”

Had he been sober, Braden would have read the unease in Kassie’s voice and understood it. But being utterly foxed, he knew only that the object of his raw and conflicting emotions was adding fuel to his ever-growing fire. “Enough to drink? To the contrary, my lovely wife, I have but begun my evening’s pleasure.” He gave her a measured look. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He was half hoping her answer would be no.

Kassie did not understand Braden’s odd, brooding behavior. But whatever its cause, there was no excuse for his inebriated state. Anger overcame concern.

“How can I enjoy myself when my husband is so deep in his cups that he is barely coherent?” she demanded.

He heard only the anger and none of the pain, and it was like pouring salt on the open wound of his newly discovered vulnerability. He narrowed his eyes, his internal walls instantly re-erected. “You’re overstepping your bounds, Kassandra. What I do is none of your concern.”