Part 21 (2/2)
He felt strong enough that for the first time, he dared wonder if there was any chance of persuading Ca.s.sie to stay. He'd wait a few days until she'd had time to experience the beauty and peace of Summerhill.
And then, they'd talk. He was no longer willing to let her go without at least trying to change her mind.
Chapter 35.
Grey's rooms were at the opposite end of the sprawling house, but he was able to reach them unseen. Feeling happy over his decision about Ca.s.sie, he opened his door, then halted at the sight of his brother sitting in front of the fire.
Fully dressed except for his coat, which he'd replaced with a casual banyan, Peter was sprawled in a wing chair and holding a drink as he stared into the flames. He looked like the careless, drunken Grey of a dozen years before.
”Peter?” Grey asked, surprised. As he glanced about, he saw that some of the furnis.h.i.+ngs and decorations had been changed.
”Ah, the young lord and master has arrived to claim his property!” Peter rose and made an exaggerated bow, slos.h.i.+ng his drink and almost falling over. ”I'm surprised you didn't throw me out of here earlier, but I suppose you were too busy rogering your doxy.”
Fury blazed through Grey. ”Don't you dare talk about Ca.s.sie that way!”
”Why not?” Peter opened a cabinet that contained gla.s.ses and bottles. ”d.a.m.ned bad form to bring your mistress to your family home, but you never did care for anyone but yourself.” He pulled out a brandy bottle and tilted it back to drink directly. ”How much does she charge? She looks expensive, but during my years as heir apparent, my allowance was substantial. I should be able to afford a night or two.”
Grey launched himself at Peter, so enraged he was barely aware of how he punched and threw his brother, then pinned him to the ground. Nothing mattered but destroying the man who'd said such vile words.
He was dragged back to awareness by a hoa.r.s.e whisper, ”Grey! Grey, in the name of G.o.d, stop!”
Yanked from his killing rage, Grey realized that he had pinned Peter to the floor and was choking him. His brother's face was darkening and he could barely gasp out his plea.
Grey wrenched himself away and buried his face in his hands as he gulped for breath. He thought he'd mastered his furies. Instead he'd almost murdered his brother. An unspeakable crime that he'd rather die himself than commit.
A few feet away, Peter lay on the floor retching out his guts on the priceless Chinese carpet. The effects of too much brandy and being strangled, no doubt.
As Peter pulled himself to a sitting position and leaned against a wing chair, Grey rose and dipped a towel in the water pitcher, then handed it to his brother. Wordlessly Peter wiped his mouth and face, then drank the gla.s.s of water Grey had poured.
”Dear G.o.d, Peter, I'm so sorry,” Grey said, sickened by himself. ”You shouldn't have spoken so about Ca.s.sie, but nothing can justify almost killing you.”
”I shouldn't have said such vile things about your guest,” Peter replied, sounding more sober. He folded the wet towel and pressed it against a rapidly developing black eye. ”Where the devil did you learn to fight like that?”
”The Westerfield Academy.” Still shaken, Grey poured himself two fingers of brandy, then sank down on the carpet a yard from his brother and leaned back against the sofa. ”Ashton is half Hindu, and he taught his cla.s.smates a fighting technique he'd learned in India. It's become a school tradition.”
”I should have gone there instead of b.l.o.o.d.y Eton,” Peter muttered.
”You were less worrisome so it wasn't considered necessary.” Grey exhaled roughly. ”Say anything you like about me, but I won't hear a word against Ca.s.sie. She's the finest woman I've ever met.”
”Then it's a pity she looks like the very best grade of Bond Street ware.” Seeing Grey's thunderous expression, Peter said hastily, ”I believe you that she's no wh.o.r.e, but she is ... not what one would expect of your bride. Why did you bring her to Summerhill when Father is dying and you're returning from the dead? Not exactly ideal circ.u.mstances for introducing a new member of the family.”
Grey said, ”The good news is that Father isn't dying. He woke up and spoke to me. Mother is with him now.”
Peter's face brightened. ”Wonderful!”
Grey took a sip of his brandy. It was tempting to get drunk, but he and Peter wouldn't have fought if his brother hadn't been drunk enough to ruin his judgment. Or perhaps his temper. Peter was obviously not happy about losing his expectations.
”Ca.s.sie is here to keep me sane.” Grey's laughter was bitter. ”I thought I was making progress on that front, but apparently not. If she'd been here, I wouldn't have come so close to fratricide.”
”She can stop you when you run mad like that?” Peter asked skeptically.
Grey smiled fondly. ”She certainly can.”
”You seem sane enough now,” Peter said hesitantly.
Grey realized he needed to explain more. ”Ca.s.sie went alone into the castle where I was imprisoned and freed me and the priest in the next cell, who had become my only tie to reality. She got us to sanctuary and guided me out of the country, lending me her strength and sanity when I had none. Believe me, I am much improved. I owe her more than I can ever possibly repay.”
Peter frowned. ”She sounds admirable, but is it reason enough to marry her?”
Choosing his words carefully, Grey said, ”I want to marry Ca.s.sie, but she hasn't said yes yet. She wants to wait and see how things develop.” He drew an uneven breath. ”She'll leave soon. I may never see her again.” Saying that aloud was agonizing.
Hearing the pain in his brother's voice, Peter said awkwardly, ”I'm sorry. Can you ... manage without her?”
”I'll have to, won't I?” Grey said brusquely. ”What about you, Peter? I thought you were happy I'm alive, but when I came in, you acted as if I was your worst enemy.”
”I am happy you're back. Truly. And I rather like Ca.s.sie, from what I've seen of her. But”-his brother ran stiff fingers through his tangled blond hair-”I looked up to you so much. When you disappeared, it was ... it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I spent years waiting and hoping. We all did.”
Grey winced. ”If only I'd had the sense to return to England when I was warned to do so!”
”That would have made all our lives easier, but you couldn't know the consequences. If you'd been interned, we'd have learned of it and could have settled down and waited for you to come home. As it was ...” Peter shrugged. ”Of course we a.s.sumed the worst.”
”From what Ca.s.sie tells me, being interned isn't bad. Boring, but living a fairly normal life.” And not being driven mad by isolation. ”Of course, if I'd been interned, I'd still be in France, waiting and wondering if this b.l.o.o.d.y war would ever end.”
”But we would have known you were alive.” Peter sighed roughly. ”Instead, without anyone quite admitting you must be dead, people started treating me as the heir. Seven years after your presumed death, the earl said it was time I styled myself as Lord Wyndham. Mother moved my things in here when I was at university. I began to think of myself as the next Earl of Costain. I learned how to run the estate, started paying attention to Parliament. And now”-he spread his hand in a hopeless gesture-”you come back and it's all s.n.a.t.c.hed away. All that effort and planning for nothing.”
Grey glanced around the sitting room, which was easily ten times the size of his cell in France. And the suite had a bedroom and dressing area as well. ”You can have these rooms. I don't need them and it hardly seems fair to drive you out. But I can't let you have the t.i.tle and the entailed property. The law doesn't work that way. As long as I'm alive, I'm the heir.”
”I know.” Peter struggled to his feet and poured more water before sinking wearily back onto the carpet. ”I've spent the night drinking and wondering what to do with my life. I've no taste for becoming an idle wastrel.”
”The traditional occupations for a younger son are the church, politics, or the military. None of them interest you?” When Peter made a face, Grey asked, ”Is there something less traditional you'd really like to do?”
Peter hesitated, his expression torn. ”The theater. I want to be an actor.”
”An actor?” Grey asked incredulously.
His brother's expression closed. ”You see why I don't talk about it. Not that I ever thought the theater was possible. Until you returned, Summerhill was my fate.”
Grey studied Peter's handsome, youthful face. His first reaction on meeting his grown brother the day before had been how much they resembled each other. It was true that they had similar height, build, and coloring, and anyone seeing them together would immediately know they were related.
<script>