Andrea Kane (8 page)

Braden was beside her in an instant. “What you just said is almost as ridiculous as your attempt to get up. Damn it, Kassie, you’re hurt. No doubt your ribs are badly bruised, if not broken.” He bent over her, his voice tender. “Let yourself lean on me just this once.”

She gave him a weak smile. “I recall your saying those same words to me at my cottage. Leaning on you seems to be becoming a habit.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” he questioned softly.

“I don’t like being dependent upon anyone.”

Braden nodded his understanding. She was a strong, self-reliant young woman. A rarity indeed. And still she had chosen to come to him when she was alone, to turn to him when she was frightened. A surge of pleasure coursed through him, making his heart feel lighter than it had in weeks. He stared down into her beautiful, bruised face, her determined little chin lifted proudly. Kassie was a survivor. But Braden knew that she could not survive this alone. He would take care of her somehow.
After
he took care of her father.

“Braden? What in the name of heaven is going on here before the sun has even risen?”

Cyril Sheffield stood in the open doorway looking bleary-eyed and bewildered. He glanced into the drawing room, having been told by a flustered Perkins that an unknown woman was being tended to by His Grace. Stunned, he waited for an explanation from his nephew.

Braden turned, his broad shoulders blocking Kassie’s prone figure from Cyril’s view.

“We have a guest, Cyril,” he replied, giving his uncle a warning look. “Unfortunately, she has been injured. Dr. Howell is on his way to see to her wounds.”

Thoroughly at sea, Cyril sputtered, “Are you telling me that a perfect stranger is being tended to at Sherburgh?”

Kassie pushed herself onto her elbows, ignoring the stab of pain that accompanied the movement. “Forgive me, sir, but I am at fault.” Fighting a wave of dizziness, she swung her legs over the side of the settee and attempted to stand. “I have disrupted your home, and I apologize. I will go—”

The rapid draining of color from her face was Braden’s only sign. He lunged forward and caught her just before she collapsed at his feet.

“Nowhere,” he finished for her, easing her back onto the sofa. “You will go nowhere, you stubborn chit.” He shook his head in frustration. “This is not a stranger, Cyril,” he clarified to his uncle, “but a friend.” He smiled. “Kassie, may I present my uncle, Lord Cyril Sheffield. Cyril, this is Miss Kassandra Grey.”

Cyril walked over, his dark eyes steadily fixed on the exquisite young woman before him. Even battered and dirty, she was breathtaking. For a long moment he was silent.

“Miss Grey,” he said at last, bowing slightly. “I am charmed. Please forgive me. I did, indeed, misunderstand the situation.”

Kassie smiled. “You are very kind, my lord,” she replied. “And I am very sorry to have barged into your home unannounced at the crack of dawn.” She hesitated, knowing that some explanation was in order, reluctant to provide one. She had already humiliated herself before Braden, before Mr. Graves. She did not want to demean herself further in front of Braden’s uncle.

Sensing her discomfort, Braden interjected, “I have ordered a bath and some clean clothes for Kassie. Once the doctor has seen to her wounds, I have a small errand to run that will take me from Sherburgh for several hours. I wonder if I could rely upon you to see to our guest’s comfort during my absence, Cyril?”

“Excuse me?” Cyril looked dazed as he tore his eyes from Kassie’s face. “Oh … of course, Braden; certainly. I would be delighted to provide company for Miss Grey until you return.”

Braden nodded, then turned back to Kassie. “Unless you’d rather sleep?”

Kassie shook her head vehemently. “I don’t think I could … not just yet.”

“Fine. Then it is settled. However”—his glance flickered to Cyril—“I want Kassie to rest until the doctor arrives. Don’t you agree?”

Cyril pressed his lips together, understanding Braden’s implicit meaning quite clearly. Whatever questions Cyril had about Miss Grey’s shocking appearance would have to remain unanswered. “Yes, Braden. I understand.”

“Good. Then we will wait. After which”—Braden’s jaw tightened—“I will see to my errand. Immediately.”

Morning sunlight danced along the rutted road that led to the Grey cottage. During the solitary carriage ride Braden’s anger had built and intensified until it was now a bright blaze of fevered fury. With the slightest bit of provocation he would be capable of splitting Robert Grey’s head in two.

Thank God Kassie’s injuries had not been severe. Alfred Howell had declared several of her ribs to be badly bruised, but not broken. She was suffering from exhaustion and shock, and he had prescribed warm food, bed rest, and small doses of laudanum for the pain. In a few days, he had predicted, she would be as good as new.

But Braden knew better. No medicinal remedy could so quickly and completely restore Kassie’s battered being. Her worst injuries, her deepest scars, were emotional, not physical, born from years of blatant neglect. Thus far her unfailing spirit and internal strength had kept her afloat. But even they could only last so long unassisted and unnourished.

The carriage came to a stop. Braden flung open the door, nearly knocking over the stunned footman. Braden never noticed. He strode up to the front door and pounded, the sound echoing in the silence of the morning.

After what seemed an eternity the servant Braden remembered as James opened the door, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Yes, m’lord … Yer Grace … what can I do for ye?”

“I want to see Robert Grey … now.”

The butler shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Uh … I’m not certain if ’e’s awake yet, Yer Grace.”

“Then wake him. Or else I will.” Braden walked right by the stammering servant and headed toward the stairs.

“Wait!” James called, and Braden stopped in his tracks.

“Yes?” He paused, one foot on the stairway.

Nervous eyes studied Braden’s granite-set expression, then James said, “ ’e’s not in ’is room.”

Braden walked menacingly toward the butler. “Then where is he?” he demanded.

With a quick inclination of his head the frightened butler gestured toward the library. “Try in there, Yer Grace. ’e might be …”

But Braden was already on his way down the hall. With one violent motion he flung open the closed library door, slamming it behind him.

Robert Grey lifted his head from the littered desk, squinting as he attempted to focus on Braden.

“Who is it?”

Braden felt his rage further escalate as he surveyed the empty bottles of liquor strewn about the room. He swallowed deeply, knowing that if he allowed himself, he would lose all control and beat Kassie’s father to death.

“It’s Braden Sheffield, Grey. Now get up.”

Robert blinked in surprise, both at Braden’s unexpected arrival and at his icy tone.

“Kassandra is not here, Your Grace. She is … out.”

Braden kicked a chair out of his way and leaned over the desk, lifting Robert up by his collar and dragging him forward until they were eye to eye. “She is alive and well, no thanks to you,” Braden growled, nearly gagging at the stench of liquor that emanated from Robert.

Robert turned white. “I don’t know what you mean … that is …”

“You know exactly what I mean, you filthy bastard.” Braden flung Robert back into the chair as if his very existence was the worst of obscenities. “And I am here to tell you that you will never touch her again.”

Robert licked his lips. “Now see here, Sheffield. I don’t care who you are. I am Kassandra’s father, and you have no right—”

“As of today I have every right, and you have none.”

Robert stared. “And just what gives you that right?”

“This does.” Braden reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper, flinging it carelessly toward the desk. It fluttered slowly down in front of Robert.

“What …?” Robert picked up the paper and gasped.

“It’s a draft in the sum of one hundred thousand pounds,” Braden told him. “As I recall, that is thirty thousand pounds
more
than you were going to receive from the gentleman who was to purchase Kassie. Correct?” He didn’t wait for an answer but continued. “You can buy a great deal of pleasure with that amount of money, Grey. A great deal.”

Robert’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to speak. “Are you saying that
you
wish to buy my daughter?” he said in disbelief.

“I’m saying that there is only one condition attached to that money. And that is that you sever any and all ties with Kassie. From this moment on your daughter will cease to be your responsibility.”

“Will she become your mistress?”

“Do you care?” Braden shot back. At Grey’s silence Braden gave a hollow laugh. “I thought not. You really don’t care what happens to her, do you?”

“It’s not that,” Robert denied, still staring at the enormous sum of money. “But you can give Kassandra so many things that I cannot.”

“We agree on that point, Grey,” Braden replied. “Things such as safety, security, and tenderness. Things that she has done without all of her life, thanks to you.”

Robert scowled. “The previous … er, party was offering marriage.”

“The previous party was offering only seventy thousand pounds. Is your daughter’s respectability worth thirty thousand pounds to you?”

Silence filled the room.

“I believe we have an agreement, then,” Braden said at last, his tone deadly quiet. “Personally, I would prefer to kill you, but that would mean I would go to prison and Kassie would once again be without a protector. So, unfortunately, you must live.” He stormed to the door, then turned. “Remember: As of this moment, you have no daughter. If you ever so much as look at Kassie again, I will show you what true violence is.”

I
T WAS DONE.

Braden had confronted Robert Grey and threatened his very life if he ever approached Kassie again. Now Kassie would be safe, for Grey was far too much of a coward to risk his neck for anyone. Besides, Braden thought in disgust, there was the added incentive of £100,000. That in itself would keep the bastard away.

Braden stretched his long legs in front of him and stared moodily out the carriage window. Something was still nagging at his mind. He pressed his fingers to his throbbing temples, closing his eyes to further analyze the plaguing feeling.

A picture of Kassie appeared before him; not the bright and beautiful girl who had danced through his dreams all these years, but the frightened, broken young woman who had clung to him for safety and comfort. All the joy, the spirit, the very light that sparkled from within her had been extinguished. And removing her from her father’s destructive influence was only the beginning of restoring her rare and precious self. Now she needed time to heal, time to rebuild her shattered life, to recover from her humiliation, and to regain her pride and her self-worth.

Will she become your mistress?
Robert Grey’s question echoed in Braden’s head.

With a start Braden sat up, the reality of the situation crashing down upon him. Grey was abusive, vile, despicable … and in this case, correct. What would become of Kassie now? Where would she go, and with whom would she stay? Braden frowned. As far as he knew, Kassie had no other living relatives. She had no money or worldly possessions. And she had but one friend. Him.

Braden’s frown deepened. Kassie could not possibly live at Sherburgh unchaperoned, with only himself and Cyril. It didn’t matter that there was a houseful of servants dwelling at Sherburgh as well. Within days of the new living arrangement the tongues of the
ton
would be wagging, and within weeks Kassie would be known as a fallen woman. Braden didn’t give a damn what people said about him, but what they said about Kassie was something entirely different.

Pensively Braden contemplated his alternatives. He could impose upon any number of acquaintances, arrange to have Kassie live with a fine family and receive every conceivable benefit a young woman could desire.

He dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. He could never desert Kassie like that, never send her away. No one else understood the hell she had been through, and Braden knew that her pride would not permit her to share it with strangers. No. She belonged with him. And there was only one acceptable way to keep her there, one respectable alternative to the dilemma.

Marriage.

The taut lines of Braden’s mouth slowly began to relax as he contemplated the major step he was considering. For one and thirty years he had successfully avoided tying himself to one woman. The disaster with Abigail had freed him from his mockery of a betrothal, and he had given no further thought to matrimony. Until now.

For Kassie it would be the ideal solution. She would have the protection of his name, his title, his wealth, and all the luxuries she had been so unfairly denied in the past. As the Duchess of Sherburgh Kassie would receive instant acceptance by the most influential members of the
ton,
a wealth of invitations from all the right people, and more balls, dinners, and breakfasts than the days of the week could hold. Braden smiled. It would give him pleasure to cover Kassie in silks and satins, to shower her with jewels and other expensive gifts, to offer her a life that, prior to this, she would not have believed possible.

Without surprise or false pretense Braden recognized that the idea of marriage to Kassie was far from repugnant to him. She was intelligent, beautiful, honest, and caring, with an inner strength of character that Braden both admired and respected. And above all, she was, like him, a fighter, possessing a strong, indestructible spirit and fiery independence that would see her through any crisis and help her to survive.

That thought brought another to mind. The possibility existed that Kassie would refuse his offer. Braden understood Kassie well enough to know that she would turn him down flat if she suspected the offer was being made out of guilt or pity. The truth was, it was not. What Braden felt for Kassie was intense and complex … and had nothing whatever to do with either guilt or pity.