Secrets (21 page)

“I'm sorry.” Regina meant it. She spotted her handsome uncle standing behind his wife, looking both grim and relieved. She recognized the expression well; it was one her own father had worn often enough, although never because of her, but always because of her hoydenish sister—who was now a duchess. Then she remembered Edward.

“Oh, dear,” she cried, pulling him forward. Brett now looked acutely suspicious. “Uncle Brett,” she said, smiling brilliantly, aware he must be thinking the worst, “you can see that I am fine!”

“Yes, I can see, and I hope you have a damn good explanation for disappearing without a single word.”

“I have a very good explanation, but first let me introduce my friend, Edward Delanza.”

“Your
friend?
” Brett asked. He eyed Edward, making no move to shake his hand.

Regina's heart tripped. “He's not exactly my friend,” she said, flushing. “He is my brother-in-law.”

 

Edward had conveniently asked to adjourn to his room, claiming that he was very tired from their journey. Regina knew he understood her dilemma. She now stood in the center of the large library, wringing her hands. Her aunt was beside her, too shocked to sit down. Brett was the only one functioning—and he was pouring himself a double Scotch whiskey.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, turning to face her. “You are married to Slade Delanza?”

She nodded.

“Let's go back. You jumped from the train during the robbery and lost your memory in the fall. And you were mistaken for this other woman, Elizabeth Sinclair, by the Delanzas this entire time.”

She nodded again.

“When did you regain your memory?” Brett asked tersely.

“Just a few days ago,” she whispered.

“I want the best damn doctor in the state, and I will have him here tomorrow.” His expression softened. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly he frowned. “Delanza?”

Regina tensed. “Do you know of him?”

“I know him. Not well. We run in the same circles, obviously, but he keeps his distance from everyone except for Charles Mann. I actually know little about him, except for the fact that he's a hard worker and dedicated to his employer.” Brett frowned again. “What in hell possessed you to marry so precipitously? It's not like you. Did you know who you were when you married him?”

Regina could not lie—there had been too many lies already. “Yes.”

“For the life of me, I can't see you and him together,”
Brett said grimly. “And I still don't understand.”

Regina did not say a word, trying to decide if this was the moment to drop the cannonball right in their laps.

“I can,” Storm put in smoothly. “I think you both complement each other nicely.” She smiled at Regina, but, being more astute than her husband, her look was also inquiring. “The ladies in this town are going to be very disappointed.”

Despite herself, Regina felt her heart drop. “They are?”

“I think it's the mystery surrounding him that has half the women in this city interested in him. Of course, he
is
a handsome gentleman, which has never hurt a bachelor's prospects.” Seeing Regina's tightly pursed mouth, she hastened to assure her niece, “He has never paid court to any lady that I know of. Indeed, I don't think he even pays the ladies any attention. Whenever I see him, he is with Mann and other gentlemen, in serious discussion. He is not a ladies' man, my dear.”

Regina murmured, “It really doesn't matter.”

“Regina,” her aunt said, coming forward, “what is wrong?”

Regina took a breath. “It doesn't matter,” she repeated firmly. “You see, I—I am divorcing him.”

There was silence in the library.

Regina added nervously, “And I do so need your help. I need you to obtain divorce papers for me, as soon as possible.”

Storm squeezed her arm. Brett said ominously, “What?”

“I am divorcing him.”

“Did I understand correctly that you were married just two days ago?”

“It was a mistake.”

“Regina, what the hell is going on here?” Brett demanded.

“It's a long story.” She swallowed. “I am going to do this, Brett. I thought I could count on you. I had hoped I could count on you. But if you will not help me, I shall obtain the papers on my own. I am sure, being
who I am, I can obtain them almost as quickly as you could.”

Brett looked thunderous. “I didn't say I wouldn't help you.”

Quickly Storm took his arm and led him toward the door. “Let us talk, darling,” she cajoled. “Woman to woman. Let me handle this.”

“You know your brother Nick is going to be livid about this marriage, much less a divorce,” he said tightly, referring to Regina's father. “Make sure you get to the bottom of this, Storm.” With a last look at Regina, he left the room.

Regina had heard his every word. She had no intention of revealing everything, and she did not want to think about her father. He would be very angry that she had married without his approval. How he might react to a divorce was almost beyond contemplation. She loved her father, but right now he was the last person she looked forward to facing.

Briefly she closed her eyes as her aunt took her hand. It was unbelievable that her life had come to such a pass. After a divorce she would never be able to recoup her reputation. Most women would never be able to marry again, or at least not respectably, but of course the Earl of Dragmore would see to it that she was remarried, and well, immediately. Regina plunked herself down on a long red sofa, very close to crying. If she thought about that she would lose the last shred of her control. “You have to get him to help me. Either that or I shall run all over the city to find myself a lawyer who undoubtedly will take great advantage of my naiveté in matters like this but will gladly draw up papers despite the fact that I am momentarily penniless.”

“You are not penniless, dear.” Storm sat beside her. “You know you need only ask for funds. Is this a lovers' quarrel?”

“No.”

“Did the two of you consummate the marriage?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Did he seduce you, Regina? Is that why you married him in such haste?”

“No.”

Storm regarded her, perplexed. “I have known you all your life, dear. This is something I could see your sister, Nicole, doing, but not you. You knew who you were when you married him, Regina. I can only think that you must have fallen in love with him,” Storm said gently.

“No!” Regina shook her head wildly, tears spilling. “He is very handsome, he did turn my head.” She looked up from her hands, her eyes overly bright. Having decided not to tell any more lies made an explanation difficult, for she could not blame the amnesia for her marriage. Perhaps the truth, in halves, would save her after all. “I believed he cared for me. But he did not. He married me in order to save his precious home. He married me for my money, not out of love. And now he has deserted me, Aunt Storm!”

And Storm became as grim as her husband.

 

At two o'clock the following afternoon Regina had her papers.

Brett and Storm had decided to help her. That Slade had married her for her money in order to save Miramar angered them as much as it now angered Regina. She had carefully omitted the fact that she had, at the time, been fully cognizant of his intentions. She had carefully skipped over the extent of her infatuation for Slade, which was how she now chose to label what she had once felt for him. Still, there was some skepticism on the part of her relatives. They were as aware as she was that such a spontaneous marriage, without her father's approval, was entirely out of character for her.

Her relatives also did not want her soliciting lawyers on her own, knowing full well that she would be an easy prey for blackmail. If a divorce was on the agenda, Brett intended for it to be kept hushed up. There would be no scandal for his niece. He was not, however, thrilled with her divorcing Slade as precipitously as she had
married him. He had tried to persuade her to wait for her father's arrival in the city before engaging in such a monumental, life-altering action. But that would not be for another ten days or two weeks. Regina would not even hear of it.

Regina had also begged her uncle not to intervene. She knew both men too well. Brett had a temper and he was angry; she could imagine him getting heavy-handed around Slade. In such an event, Slade would not budge. He would become obstinate if pushed to the wall. She was even afraid he and Brett might come to blows, for Slade's temper was even hotter than her uncle's.

Regina could not relax. As he had promised, Edward was at her side in the carriage they had taken from her uncle's stable. The Feldcrest Building was new, Edward had said, ten stories of granite and limestone on the corner of Van Ness Avenue and Eddy Street. They had long since turned onto Van Ness, a major thoroughfare, traveling south. A cable car was ahead of them, slowing them down. A horse-drawn trolley passed them, then a beer wagon and a milkman's wagon. They managed to cut through the heavy traffic and pass the electric car. Regina saw an automobile filled with a quartet of grinning young gentlemen, but she did not smile. Automobiles were becoming increasingly popular, although they were outrageously expensive. This one looked very much like the one her cousin Lucy owned, the Duryea.

Most of the buildings on this street were commercial on the street level and residential above-stairs, and did not top three floors. But up ahead on the left she could see a tall office building. She was certain that that was their destination, and was proved right when the driver turned their carriage left at the next intersection.

Her pulse was pounding. Even though it was a pleasantly mild day, she was perspiring. She kept seeing Slade's dark face in her mind, his expression characteristically inscrutable or characteristically angry. She clutched her reticule and a large brown envelope very
tightly in her gloved hands. In the envelope were the divorce papers he must sign.

They alighted and quickly entered the building, crossing the spacious marble-floored lobby and pausing at the elevator. Regina realized that she was out of breath. And it had nothing to do with the short walk across the lobby.

“Half of the tenth floor is given over to Mann's staff,” Edward said as they rode up in the elevator.

Regina could not respond. Her throat was too tight.

Edward took her arm when the elevator doors opened. He led her up the hall, perhaps sensing that she needed his support now more than ever, which she did. The prospect of seeing her errant husband again was making her nervous. Edward walked past several doors, all with opaque glass windows, and paused at the last one on the left side of the corridor. He knocked.

Slade's voice answered. “Enter.”

Edward swung open the door and stepped aside to allow Regina to precede him. Trembling, Regina paused briefly to collect herself. It was too late to back out now. For Slade had already seen her.

H
e was sitting at a large desk with his back to a window overlooking the busy commercial traffic of Eddy Street. He was in his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows, and buried in paperwork. Regina could see at a glance, however, that it was a fine white broadcloth shirt he wore, so different from those he chose at home, and that his dark tie was of equal quality, although it was carelessly loosened. Behind him a black wool suit jacket hung on a peg. He was staring at her.

She stared back, aware of the thundering of her heart.

In the next instant she saw that he wasn't alone. If she had been expecting him to be with anyone, she had been expecting to see him with Charles Mann. But he wasn't with another man. Standing behind him, her back to the window, was a tall, statuesque woman who would be considered beautiful by any standard in the world.

“
Hermano mio
,” Edward said, grinning. “How convenient to find you here!” But his glance was sliding past Slade, and it settled abruptly on the brunette.

The woman regarded Edward, and then she turned to look at Regina.

Regina stood rigidly in the doorway, unmoving. The other woman was older than she, even older than Slade, but she was at that age when a woman is at her best—
in her early thirties. The very artfully applied rouge and powder enhanced her striking looks. Fresh hurt swept through Regina. Hard anger swept through her. Now she knew why he had been so eager to come to San Francisco.

Slade didn't get to his feet. Instead, a tight expression crossing his face, he leaned forward in his chair. “What are you doing here?”

Regina reminded herself that she was a lady. Ladies did not have tempers. The woman in the dark-red ensemble was definitely not a lady, otherwise she would not be carrying on with Slade outside of marriage, and that fact spurred Regina even more toward self-control. She would not stoop to either of their levels. Her voice was calm. She might have been addressing a stranger. “Forgive me if I'm disturbing you.”

“Hello, Xandria,” Edward said softly, as if he and Xandria were alone in the room.

Xandria was regarding Regina and Slade with wide, alert eyes. She met Edward's gaze only briefly before returning her interested attention to Regina. She had big blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Slade demanded again. He looked as if he might explode from his chair in an instant. He looked as if he wanted to throttle her.

“I have come on business,” Regina said.

“What business?”

“Personal business. If you have the time.”

He stared at her. Silence followed her words.

The woman, Xandria, broke it, moving briskly forward from behind his desk. “I see I had better leave.”

Regina wanted nothing more than for her to leave. Her presence was threatening her control. She was trying very hard not to tremble, to hold onto her icy veneer. “Excuse me, but I do not believe we have met.”

Xandria paused, then looked quickly at Slade as if for approval. Slade was standing. He said darkly, “Xandria, this is my wife. Elizabeth, this is Xandria Kingsly.”

Xandria was obviously stunned.

Regina could almost feel sorry for her. Slade's mis
tress obviously had no idea that he had gotten himself married. What a bastard he was.

Xandria suddenly smiled. “How pleased I am to meet you.”

Regina was taken aback. She did not move. Perhaps Xandria thought her naive enough to believe such theatrics, to think her relationship with Slade platonic. Regina extended her hand. “Likewise,” she said stiffly. Inside she burned with the desire to scratch the other woman's eyes out. And to scratch her husband's eyes out.

Xandria looked from Regina to Slade. Her full mouth tightened. “I have an appointment,” she murmured. Her voice was naturally low and husky. “Excuse me.”

Regina barely nodded. Her face was as impassive as possible, but she could not stop herself from glaring at Slade. He matched her stare in intensity, in anger.

Edward jumped forward. “I'll see you out,” he told Xandria. Regina stole a glimpse at him and saw the way he was looking at the Amazon. All men, she guessed, would buzz about this voluptuous woman like bees after honey.

Xandria gave him a long, assessing look. “Thank you.”

She lifted a hand at Slade, then glided out. Edward, looking pleased, followed.

They were alone.

Suddenly all the sounds from the street outside drifted through the open windows. Bells and horns, the rumble of wheels on cobblestones, the clip-clopping of horses' hooves, a policeman's whistle, shouts. Pigeons cooed on the ledge through it all.

Abruptly Slade stood and came around his desk. “What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I should ask
you
that,” Regina said very politely. At the moment she was referring to his tryst, not to his desertion.

“Obviously I am busy at work.”

“Obviously.”

His jaw clenched. “
What are you doing here?
”

“Perhaps you've forgotten,” she said, the words com
ing quite unbidden, “but a wife's place is by her husband's side.”

“Not in this case.”

The hurt crashed over her like a tidal wave. “No. Not in this case. You have made yourself very clear.”

“I never said I was planning on staying,” he said, but there was a catch in his voice and his eyes never left hers.

She trembled. He had seen her anguish, but it was too late. “You never said anything!”

“You never asked.”

They stared at each other again. Regina was shaking, feeling very near collapse. She wanted to vent her rage and her hurt. She wanted to break things. She wanted to have a tantrum. She wanted to hit her husband and hurt him back. Most of all, she wanted to scream at him wildly, scream the question she wanted answered the most. How could he have left her after such a night? How could he have abandoned her, deserted her?

But she did not give in to such self-indulgence. She stood still, only the rise and fall of her bosom hinting at the turmoil within.

Slade was somber. “I'm sorry.”

She was going to cry. “I d-do not accept your apology.”

He hesitated, then reached out to touch her. “That night—it should have never happened.”

She batted his hand away, fury apparent in her one short movement. “Don't touch me.”

He dropped his hands, clenching his fists at his sides. “You have every right to be upset.”

She did not bother to respond. “Upset” in no way could even begin to describe her feelings. And she did not want him to even guess at how distraught she was.

“You shouldn't have come here, Elizabeth,” Slade said unevenly. “Why in hell did you come? I want you at Miramar.”

She gritted her teeth. “While you are here.” With that woman, in his other life. “You are a fraud.”

Her accusation strained his expression. “I know. I know better than anyone.”

She blinked. That was one response she had not expected. Yet she knew he had a deflated view of himself. Once, she had championed him; once, she had believed the best of him. Once upon a time she would have protested his statement. No more. Even if the insane urge to give in to old habits still dared steal into her heart.

Slade shoved his hands in his pockets, as if affected by her blurred stare. “I've hurt you. I didn't mean to.”

She almost laughed. The sound came out choked, like a sob. “How thoughtful you are.”

“All right!” he shouted. “But let me remind you that I did not come to your bed that night. You came to mine. I never had any intention of consummating our marriage. I wanted to be noble. But you threw yourself at me, dammit!”

She cried out. His brutally honest words were like a slap in the face. But so much worse was his statement that he had never intended to consummate the marriage. She reeled from his onslaught.

He paced away from her, to stare out of the window.

She was wide-eyed, still stunned. She fought to recover her wits. “You never intended a real marriage?”

He didn't turn to face her. “No.”

She fought for breath.

He turned. “I guess I should have made myself clear. I assumed that you would be pleased about getting married, and that having a home and my name would be enough.”

“Your assumption was wrong.”

Slade grimaced. “Dammit, I'm sorry. More sorry than you'll ever know.”

She didn't speak because she couldn't.

“I'll put you up in the hotel tonight. You can take the train back to Templeton tomorrow. Edward brought you here—he can take you home.”

She had thought she understood this man a little. She did not understand him at all. “No.”

He flinched. “You can't stay.”

“That's right.” Briskly she opened the envelope, hoping he would not see that she was batting back hot, stinging tears. She withdrew the papers. “I want a divorce, Slade, and I want it immediately.”

“What?”

“I want a divorce.”

He did not move, he did not respond.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Very slowly, lifting his gaze to her, he said, “Maybe I'm not surprised at all.”

She did not like the dark, hurt look in his eyes. She was the one suffering. She did not care if he suffered too, he
should
suffer—she did not owe him one single drop of sympathy.

“I thought you wanted to be the mistress of Miramar.”

“No.” She felt like screaming at him that it had been a sham, that what she had wanted was to be his wife—to be not the mistress of Miramar, but the mistress of his heart. But that was an impossible dream. “I want nothing to do with you or Miramar.”

He stared at his cluttered desk.

“I think you should know, I am not going to allow you to have a single penny of my inheritance.”

“Is that vengeance?”

“Label it what you will.” Her chin rose slightly. “Perhaps it is. Surely you can see that there's no point in continuing this marriage in name only.”

“You no longer control your funds. A wife's possessions belong to her husband. Surely you can see that.”

Perhaps in the case of Elizabeth Sinclair. In her case it was not so. Her father was giving her the inheritance upon her marriage. He had yet to do so. But she could not point that out to him. Not without revealing her true identity, which she preferred to avoid. Obviously he was intent on her money. If he knew she was a Bragg, he would never let her go.

Her hand trembled, holding the divorce papers. “Just
let me go, Slade. Perhaps we can arrive at a monetary settlement.” Her lawyer had suggested that course as a last resort. Yet he had advised her not to even mention it. Sensing Slade's obstinance, she chose to ignore her lawyer's advice.

His expression hardened. “How much is a divorce worth to you?”

For some reason, she felt sicker inside than before. “I—I don't know.”

His smile was unpleasant. “Why not?” He stepped toward her.

Regina took a step backward, not liking the look in his eyes or the expression on his face.

He crowded her, backing her up against the wall. “Why don't you know? I mean, if you're going to pay me off, you should have a price in mind.”

Her heart was pounding. She did not want him this close to her. His proximity distressed her. So did his ill-concealed anger. “You make it sound so…sordid.”

“Isn't it sordid?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes.” Divorce was the most sordid event she could think of.

“How much?” he gritted. “How goddamn much?”

She was frightened. But her back was against the wall, so she could not move away from him. “Our lawyers—”

“No lawyers,” he shouted, ripping the papers from her hand. “No lawyers, no payoff, no nothing!”

“What are you saying?” she cried.

He shoved his face close to hers. “I'm saying no. N-O. No.”

She froze.

He bared his teeth. “This is what I think of your demand, Elizabeth.” He held up the papers in both hands. Understanding his intentions, she cried out. Savagely, he tore them in two. And he smiled at her.

Hysteria won. “You are going to regret this! You are! When my father finds out, you are going to be dearly sorry! He shall see to it—”

“
Your father?
”

Too late, Regina realized her awful slip of the tongue. She blanched.

“
George Sinclair is dead
.”

Regina pressed her spine into the wall. Her heart thudded. How could she have made such a mistake?

Slade gripped her shoulders, dragging her forward, up against him, thigh to thigh and chest to chest. “Who is your father? Who are you? Damn you!”

“Let me go! Let me go! I can explain!”

His hands found her face. For an instant she was afraid for her life. “
Who are you?
”

She wet her lips. She was impossibly dry, cotton-mouthed. If he wanted to, he could crush her skull. If he lost rationality, he would. “My name is Regina Bragg Shelton,” she whispered. “I have remembered.”

He stared, disbelieving.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I…I was going to tell you.”

He was clearly in shock. Then he tightened his grip on her face. “When? And how long—how long, goddamn you, have you known?”

She knew she was in jeopardy. A lie might save her, but only temporarily, for Edward knew the truth, meaning Slade would, too. She shook. “J-just be-before the wedding.”

He stared into her eyes, furious but unmoving. “
Goddamn you!
”

Regina shook visibly. “P-please release me.” She would flee, come back another time. She was afraid of him.

He did not release her. Time stood still. Rage coursed through his body, lit his eyes. His gaze was murderous. He was unrecognizable.

“I'll come b-back a-another time.”