Secrets (23 page)

“Who is she?” Charles asked.

“Regina
Bragg
Shelton.” Slade stressed her famous middle name. Had he said Rockefeller or Astor, he would not have surprised Charles more.

“Indeed! Slade, I am disappointed you were keeping your marriage a secret from me.”

“Xandria tell you?”

“The instant she left your office.”

He sighed. “Charles, it wasn't exactly a secret. And it wasn't a real marriage, not the way you're thinking. If it had been, I wouldn't have left her at Miramar.”

“I was finding it hard to believe that you would leave your bride there.”

Slade leaned forward as the white-jacketed Negro waiter brought their drinks. “I married her for her money, Charles, nothing more.”

Charles was unperturbed. “Really? I find that somewhat out of character. You don't give a damn about money.”

Slade explained Miramar's financial situation. He then proceeded to explain that Regina had had amnesia and everyone had assumed she was Elizabeth Sinclair, James's fiancée, himself included, and that he was to marry Elizabeth for her fortune. “It was to be a marriage of convenience only, because of James. I was giving her a home and, in her vulnerable condition, protection; she was giving Miramar the cash we so desperately need.”

“That's quite a tale.” Charles gracefully set his glass down. “Why didn't you come to me for help? I have many connections with many banks.”

“Charles, if you could have helped, I would have. Don't forget, I have connections too, working for you the way I do. We can't handle another loan. I considered taking you on as a partner, but Rick would not hear of it. And even if we brought in a stranger, the kind of investment he'd have to make would give him a controlling interest in Miramar—and that's out of the question.”

“What about a personal loan?” Charles asked. “Just between us. I would take your IOU. Slade, don't you know that?”

Slade was uncomfortable. “The thought had crossed my mind. But I don't think I could bring myself to ask.”

“I know you can't,” Charles said. “You've always given, but you never take. You've never asked me for anything, not in the ten years we've been friends. That's why I'm telling you that I would give you a loan, and you don't even have to ask.”

Slade looked at him, trying not to reveal how moved he was. Deep inside himself, he knew he had been afraid to ask, afraid of being refused—afraid of not being important enough to Charles to be worthy of such aid. “Charles, we're talking about an incredible sum of money,” he said unsteadily. “We need to make up two years of payments, and we need an influx of capital to turn the rancho into an agricultural operation, and we need enough capital to work for the next five years. At least.”

“That
is
a large amount,” Charles agreed. “I would lend it to you if you want me to.”

Slade swallowed. “Thank you.” He sighed. At least here was a way out of a crucial dilemma. Charles had come through for him. He should have had more confidence in their friendship, he should have known. “But it will be a last resort. Rick would object; in fact, he'd throw a fit. And it would be a long time before I could pay you back. Right now, I have some time. The bank will not move so soon after my marrying a Bragg. I'm going to use it for what it's worth.”

“Bragg is a powerful name,” Charles agreed. “I imagine she has the kind of inheritance you need.”

Slade looked at his untouched glass of bourbon. Anger flooded him. “I might have had hesitations about taking her money once, but not anymore. She lied. I will never forgive her, never forget. Never will I trust her. She looks like an angel, but she is the farthest thing from it.”

“What did she lie about?”

“She recovered her memory before the wedding.” His voice was strangled. “I thought she was James's fiancée, but she knew she wasn't—and she didn't tell me.”

Charles was still, then he leaned forward and gripped Slade's arm. “Let it out, son.”

Slade shook his head wordlessly. Anger rendered him incapable of speech.

“Do you love her?”

He shook his head in denial. He did not, not anymore, and he would never admit to anyone that he had been foolish enough—and irreverent enough—to fall in love with her when he had thought her to be Elizabeth. He found his voice with an effort. “But I went through hell, Charles, thinking she was James's woman. Hell.”

“So there
is
something there.”

“Not love,” Slade said harshly.

“I doubt you would be so upset if you didn't care for her.”

“I have feelings for her, all right. The kind that belong in the bedroom.”

Charles winced. “Are you trying to shock me? It won't work. I know you better than anyone.”

“Sorry. I'm torn up. She wants a divorce. She
demanded
a divorce. We hate each other, but I don't particularly feel like giving her one.” He didn't add that it didn't have very much to do with her money, either.

Charles patted his arm. “Why not let nature take its course? After all, she married you knowing who she was, and that certainly tells me something even if it doesn't speak to you. And you certainly could not have picked a better choice for a bride. Xandria told me she's not just lovely, but very genteel. Xandria has good instincts, as we both know, and she thinks Regina Bragg Shelton is perfect for you. I think a wife is something that has been long overdue, Slade. A wife and a family.”

Slade was incredulous. “Dammit, Charles, she's not a gentlewoman. Xandria's wrong. Didn't you hear what I said? She's not a lady, she's a liar.”

Charles smiled gently. “Son, if I were you, I would ask myself why she married you. Better yet, I'd ask
her
.”

C
harles was right. Slade
had
been asking himself why, his earlier attempts at explaining her behavior quickly becoming insufficient, and now he was going to ask her directly.

Determined, he rang the bell at the D'Archands' impressive home. It was late, past the supper hour, but this could not wait. He could not wait. The door was opened by a servant, one rightfully suspicious of him, for no one called at this hour uninvited. Slade announced himself. “And please inform Mrs. Delanza that her husband is here.”

The butler's eyes flickered with surprise. “There is no one in residence by that name, sir.”

Slade felt his temper ignite. She wasn't even using his name. He should have guessed. Obviously her intention was to gain this divorce secretly, so no one would even know she had ever been married to him. Not waiting for an invitation which would not be forthcoming, he strode past the butler and into the foyer. “Then tell Miss Shelton that her husband is here.”

The butler was taken aback.

Before he could respond, however, Brett D'Archand strolled into the foyer. Slade knew the man. He was a smart businessman, yet an honest one. He was highly
respected by everyone who knew him, Slade included. And generally, he was amiable enough. But not tonight. Slade braced himself for an unpleasant encounter.

“Looking for someone?” D'Archand asked wryly.

“I'm here to see my wife.”

“Had you signed the papers today, you would not have to be here at all.”

“But I didn't sign, now did I?”

D'Archand went to the point. “Why not?”

“I don't owe you an explanation. Where is she?”

“Let me confess something to you, Delanza. I am at a loss. It seems to me that you could be a very wealthy man if you were not working for Charles, if you were working for yourself. Yet that has apparently never interested you. But now you have married my niece for her inheritance. You never struck me as a fortune-hunter. Why?”

“As I said, I'm not going to explain myself to you. I have every right not just to speak with Regina, but to remove her from these premises. I suggest you get her down here immediately, before I decide to exercise all of my rights.”

“You threaten me in my own home?” Brett was incredulous—and furious.

“Only because you give me no choice.”

“Get out. Before I throw you out.”

“I see I have no choice—unfortunately.” Slade took a step forward. He would search the entire house if he had to, but he would speak with her this night.

Brett moved to intercept him.

“Stop it!” Regina cried, poised on the stairs.

Both men froze.

Regina swallowed, swiftly descending. “Brett, it's all right. If Slade wishes to speak with me, I will see him.” Her gaze locked with Slade's. She was pale. “We never finished our conversation from earlier today.”

Brett released Slade's arm. “You are not removing her from my home,” he warned.

“That isn't—and wasn't—my intention,” Slade retorted. But his regard was on Regina.

Brett relaxed slightly, looking from one to the other. “Fine,” he said shortly. “Then I'll leave the two of you.” But neither Regina nor Slade was listening to him. He suspected that they had not even heard him, and frowning, he turned and walked away.

Regina wet her lips.

Grimly, Slade stared at her.

“Why don't we sit in there?” She gestured at the open doors of a small, cozy salon just off the foyer.

Slade nodded, following her in. It was very hard to believe that this woman was not as she appeared. It was almost impossible to believe that she was not a proper lady—the very ideal of womanhood. It was not just her beauty, or her elegant and modest attire. It was everything. Her direct gaze, her demure airs, her gentle manners, her poise and grace, her femininity. Slade almost wondered if he had dreamed up her betrayal.

But of course, he had not.

And there was still the question he had come to ask.

He turned and swiftly closed the salon doors.

“What are you doing?” Regina cried nervously.

He faced her, his expression intense. “I want to talk to you in private.”

As pale as before, she nodded, trembling. She sat on the ice-blue sofa, clasping her hands in her lap, her knees pressed together. Slade realized she was more than nervous, she was wary, and perhaps afraid of him. She was so distraught that she had not even offered him a seat or refreshments. Not that the lapse mattered. He regretted throwing over his desk in his office as he had, knowing she had heard the noise and had undoubtedly guessed what he had done. He was angry—but he did not like her being afraid of him.

“Why did you lie to me?”

She gasped at the direct question.

“Regina—” He grimaced. “I still have trouble calling you by your name. Why?”

She shook her head.

Her knuckles, he saw, were white. He approached and sat beside her. She shrank away from him. Her
eyes were wide, luminous. “Tell me,” he demanded. “You must.”

She lowered her gaze. “You rescued me, remember? I was g-grateful.”

“So you lied to me in gratitude.”

She pursed her mouth and shook her head again. “When I had amnesia, I grew fond of you. Or I th-thought so.”

He was still. Except for his heart, which was pumping in mighty and painful bursts. “But it was an illusion.”

She swallowed.

“Was it an illusion?”

“Y-yes. N-no. I mean, yes!”

“Make up your mind.”

“All right, blast you!” she cried, greatly agitated. “It was a bit of everything! Does that s-satisfy you?”

“You were grateful. You were fond of me.” There was no pain now. His words were a whisper.

Tears glistened. “I
was
grateful! I
was
fond of you!”

“And after you remembered that you were not Elizabeth Sinclair?”

“What does it matter?”

“You were still fond of me.”

She stood and turned away, pacing. She had no intention of answering him.

“Admit it,” Slade demanded.
She had been fond of him
. In full possession of her memory, she had still been fond of him—fond enough to marry him. Before, when overwhelmed with anger, he would have found any explanation irrelevant. No more. He was overwhelmed.

“No! It was a mistake,” she cried, facing him.

He also stood, staring at her, in turmoil. “In other words,” he said unsteadily, “you knew who you were, and still you wanted to be my wife.”

Her shoulders shook. “It was only gratitude. And for a while, affection. Gratitude is not love. Affection is not love.”

“No,” he said, “gratitude is not love.” He refrained from adding that affection was not far from the mark.

She turned away again, fighting tears. “What does it matter anyway? I do not wish to discuss my naiveté. I wish only to discuss our divorce.”

The song in his heart was instantly silenced. She might have married him eagerly, but she did not want to be his wife now. She had come to her senses. “And I
don't
want to discuss divorce. Why didn't you just tell me the truth? We had already agreed to marry.”

“I expected everyone to bring forth the real Elizabeth Sinclair once I made myself known. After all, Rick wanted the alliance with her, not with me.”

Slade snorted. “Rick couldn't have been fooled, Regina. I'm certain he knew you were a Bragg heiress and has been counting your money for weeks.”

She stiffened. “I have been wondering about that myself. It's horrible. But he must have known, Victoria undoubtedly told him.”

“Victoria?”

“She knew. I'm not sure how. Someone went through my things and found my locket with my mother's—Jane Shelton's—picture in it, and my initials upon it. I am sure it was her. The locket was stolen the night you announced our engagement and she stormed away before supper. In any case, it could not have been too hard finding out the truth. Just the day after you brought me to Miramar, my uncle was in Templeton searching for me and posting a reward. Discovery was inevitable.”

Slade was certain now that Rick had known, for if Victoria hadn't told him he could have gathered a few clues himself. “Damn him,” he gritted. “Damn him.” His father had also been responsible for the hell he had gone through in thinking he was marrying Elizabeth.

“I do not want to be another issue between you and your father,” Regina said firmly, surprising him.

“You still care.” The words were out before he could stop them.

“No. No, you are wrong, very wrong.” Her furious gaze checked Slade's cascade of emotion, bringing doubt. “I only care about d-divorcing y-you.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I am—am n-not crying.”

He could dispute her. Her eyes were tearing. He regretted leaving her now with every aching breath he drew. Hurting her had never been his intention. “Would it help if I repeated to you how sorry I am for hurting you?”

Vehemently she shook her head no. Tears streaked her radiant skin. She seemed even more furious at his words.

He hesitated. “If I'd known, I wouldn't have left you.”

She laughed hysterically. “Words are free. Actions are costly. Your actions speak louder, and cost more, than any words could.
All
of your actions.”

He did not comprehend her meaning entirely; indeed, he was afraid to. What was clear was that she now despised him enough to adamantly seek a divorce, and that she was judging him and finding him lacking on all counts. It hurt. It seemed he could not be immune to her condemnation, although he'd had so many years of practice at the hands of others he should be an expert at it.

It also seemed that her feelings for him had been tenuous to begin with. That would be perfectly logical. It would explain her about-face. But there was a possibility, a fragile one, one he should not broach, one he could not ignore. “Regina. You cared for me once. You could care for me again.”

“No! I was sorely deluded!”

He stiffened. He slipped on an impenetrable mask. That she had once thought him to be some sort of hero had been a delusion and he was well aware of it. He was equally aware that there was a world of difference between them and that with her hating him now, he should do as she asked and give her a divorce and just walk away from her. Instead, he said, “We'll finish this another time.”

“No!” she cried. “I want to finish this discussion now! Brett has a copy of those papers. Please sign them!”

He squared his shoulders. “No, Regina.”

“No?”

He made his decision, an irrational and foolish one that was hopelessly against the odds. “I'm not going to divorce you.”

“No? You have made up your mind?”

He walked to the door, where he paused. “I have made up my mind.”

“Dear Lord, why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because James is no longer between us.” With that, he let himself out.

 

Regina slowly descended the wide, graceful marble staircase, her hand on the wrought-iron banister. She gripped the smooth metal much too tightly. Why had Xandria Kingsly come calling on her? She anticipated what could only be a very ugly scene. She should have refused to see her, but for some reason, she could not.

She had not slept a wink the night before. Slade's visit had haunted her, appalling her, infuriating her. He had the utter gall to suggest she could come to care for him again—when he had deserted her, when he had this other woman in his life. It was a new day, but Regina could not stop dwelling on their confrontation of the night before. And now another confrontation loomed before her, one destined to be equally as distressing.

The majordomo, a short, impassive Japanese man, showed Regina to the morning salon, for it was just noon. The room was large and bright. Although the floor was the same tawny marble as the entire ground floor and the stairs, it was covered with a huge, custom-made Chinese rug that was vividly and predominantly gold. The entire room was done in many shades of yellow, so that despite the morning fog, the effect was inordinately cheerful.

Xandria was sitting on a floral-patterned chintz sofa. She wore a beautifully cut rose-red ensemble, the jacket fitted and designed to show off her small waist and full bosom, the skirts flaring just slightly after hinting at her full hips. Even her gloves, which she had removed, were a shade of rose. She smiled and stood up when she saw Regina.

Regina greeted her as politely as possible, given her stiff expression. Careless of whether they had refreshments, she sat on the other end of the sofa, facing her unwanted guest. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “This is a surprise, Mrs. Kingsly.”

“I do not mean to intrude, Mrs. Delanza,” Xandria said earnestly. “But I want so much to make your acquaintance.”

Regina could not even begin to guess the other woman's motivation. And she'd had enough of this charade. “Let me be blunt, Mrs. Kingsly,” Regina said coldly. “I have no idea why you would call on me. I can only guess you think me an utter fool. I assure you, I am not.”

Xandria gaped at her.

Very angry and finally letting it show, Regina said, “I do not care one whit about your relationship with my husband. If Slade has not told you all, then I am happy to do so. I am divorcing him. As soon as that is accomplished, I shall be out of his life forever. And he shall be yours.”

“Oh, dear,” Xandria said.

Regina stood. It should not matter to her, but she hated the other woman. Jealousy taunted her. She should also be beyond crude speculation, but she wondered helplessly if Slade dared use his mistress as he had used her. The other woman had a certain look about her, a certain walk, a certain style, all timelessly seductive, and Regina did not doubt it.