Secrets

by Brenda Joyce

  Nic­ho­las was stun­ned. "You are def­ying me? You are def­ying me and or­de­ring me to le­ave yo­ur ho­me?"

  Te­ars crept in­to her eyes. She co­uld not re­call a sin in­s­tan­ce in her li­fe when she had ever di­so­be­yed fat­her. "Yes, Fat­her, I am af­ra­id so."

  Sla­de did not lift his he­ad. "Enter." He flip­ped thro­ugh the pa­ges of the fi­le he was re­ading. When he had fi­nis­hed, he han­ded them to his as­sis­tant. "Run the­se over to Rob Le­vi­ne im­me­di­ately, Ha­rold."

  "Yes, sir," the yo­ung man sa­id. He hur­ri­ed past the new­co­mer and out the do­or.

  Sla­de lo­oked up. The in­s­tant he saw the man he knew, wit­ho­ut ha­ving to be told, that he was Re­gi­na's fat­her. It had not­hing to do with the slight re­sem­b­lan­ce he saw in his fe­atu­res, but it had ever­y­t­hing to do with in­s­tinct. And the man had an un­mis­ta­kab­le aura of po­wer and aut­ho­rity, well-su­ited to an earl. Sla­de stra­ig­h­te­ned and ca­uti­o­usly sto­od. "Mr. Shel­ton?"

  Nic­ho­las's ex­p­res­si­on was dark. "You are cle­ver, De­lan­za," he sa­id bluntly. "But then I ex­pec­ted you to be cle­ver. Any man who co­uld talk my pro­per, in­tel­li­gent da­ug­h­ter in­to mar­ri­age in the spa­ce of a few short days wo­uld ha­ve to be very cle­ver in­de­ed." Sla­de pre­pa­red to do bat­tle.

  "Or did you se­du­ce her?" Nic­ho­las de­man­ded. "She says that you did not, but I ha­ve do­ubts."

  "I did not to­uch her be­fo­re the wed­ding," Sla­de sa­id tightly. "How nob­le of you."

  "When is the han­ging?" Sla­de as­ked.

  "Now," Nic­ho­las shot back. "Ma­ke no mis­ta­ke abo­ut that. My sis­ter and brot­her-in-law told me that you mar­ri­ed her for her mo­ney. Re­gi­na ad­mit­ted it. Thank God she is not ca­pab­le of lying to me. I ha­ve an aver­si­on to for­tu­ne-hun­ters, De­lan­za."

  Sla­de grip­ped his desk un­til his knuc­k­les we­re whi­te. If at­tac­ked, he was used to fig­h­ting back. Yet he did not want to fight with his wi­fe's fat­her. "You're ma­king this very dif­fi­cult."

  "Am I? I sho­uld ho­pe so. I want to see you squ­irm."

  "No," Sla­de grit­ted. "You do not un­der­s­tand. You're ma­king it damn dif­fi­cult to be po­li­te, you're ma­king it damn dif­fi­cult not to get down in the mud with you, dam­mit."

  "Fe­el free," Nic­ho­las sa­id coldly. "I wo­uld re­lish the op­por­tu­nity of smas­hing in yo­ur no­se."

  "But I don't want to smash yo­urs."

  "Why not?"

  "Be­ca­use you're Re­gi­na's fat­her."

  Nic­ho­las stu­di­ed him. "Even if you do not fight with me, it won't chan­ge a thing. I in­tend to see my da­ug­h­ter di­vor­ced from you and mar­ri­ed to a man who su­its her. If she re­ma­ins yo­ur wi­fe-and you can be su­re that I con­t­rol her in­he­ri­tan­ce-you won't get a cent. So fe­el free to try and smash my no­se." Nic­ho­las ten­sed, eyes bla­zing.

  Sla­de sho­ok his he­ad. "I ne­ed mo­ney to sa­ve my ho­me and it's no sec­ret. And in ca­se she didn't tell you, I was ho­nest with her from the start. Re­gi­na knew why I wan­ted to marry her and she ac­cep­ted me an­y­way."

  "I find that to be pro­of of yo­ur po­wers of se­duc­ti­on."

  Sla­de grit­ted his te­eth. "I'm ti­red of yo­ur slan­der. Chew on this, Shel­ton: I don't want her in­he­ri­tan­ce. I've ma­de ot­her ar­ran­ge­ments. So fe­el free to cut her off."

  "I don't be­li­eve you."

  "Fi­ve mi­nu­tes ago I wo­uld ha­ve ca­red what you be­li­eved, but not now."

  "She is go­ing to di­vor­ce you, De­lan­za. I in­tend to see to it."

  Sla­de he­si­ta­ted. "If Re­gi­na cho­oses to le­ave me, I wo­uld not stop her."

  Nic­ho­las sta­red. "Why?"

  Aga­in Sla­de pa­used.

  Nic­ho­las was rut­h­less. "Why? Be­ca­use wit­ho­ut her mo­ney she is wor­t­h­less to you, right?"

  "Wrong! I do not want her mo­ney! I've told her that! The truth is, Mi­ra­mar is no fancy En­g­lish cas­t­le. It's a wor­king ran­c­ho. The­re will be no ga­las and balls, no ne­ed for fancy gowns and glit­te­ring jewels. It's sim­p­le li­fe."

  "J­esus!" Nic­ho­las ex­c­la­imed. "My da­ug­h­ter will be mi­se­rab­le if she stays with you!"

  Altho­ugh Sla­de had sec­retly wor­ri­ed that might be sol he fo­und him­self de­fen­ding the­ir mar­ri­age. "She knows what's ahe­ad. I've be­en ho­nest. She knows the next few ye­ars will be tight."

  "This is all the mo­re re­ason for you to al­low her a di­vor­ce," Nic­ho­las sa­id, qu­i­etly now.

  Sla­de just lo­oked at him.

  "I will not gi­ve you her mo­ney to help you out. She will be un­hap­py. I know my da­ug­h­ter, De­lan­za. Ever sin­ce she was a lit­tle girl she's dis­li­ked co­untry li­ving and che­ris­hed city li­fe. As a wo­man she lo­ves fi­ne thin­gs-co­utu­re gowns, jewelry, works of art, French wi­nes, I co­uld go on and on. She is not a wo­man who wo­uld be happy or ful­fil­led li­ving on an iso­la­ted ran­c­ho."

  Sla­de fo­und it hard to res­pond. "I ma­ke her happy.” The words we­re al­most a whis­per.

  "Per­haps you do." Nic­ho­las re­gar­ded him se­ri­o­usly. "But for how long?"

  Re­gi­na's fat­her was ver­ba­li­zing Sla­de's own dar­kest I fe­ars, fe­ars that had be­en gro­wing un­con­t­rol­lably ever sin­ce his wi­fe had re­tur­ned to him. "Get out," Sla­de sa­id.

  "If you re­al­ly ca­re abo­ut my da­ug­h­ter, you will let her go. I ha­ve al­re­ady ar­ran­ged a mar­ri­age for her at ho­me to a man who will one day be a du­ke. Re­gi­na might think she is happy now, but she de­ser­ves mo­re than you can gi­ve her."

  "Get out," Sla­de sa­id aga­in, fu­ri­o­us. "Get out!" Nic­ho­las's eyes gle­amed with tri­umph as he strol­led to the do­or, whe­re he tur­ned and pa­used. "I think you do ca­re for her af­ter all. Then you will ha­ve to do what is best for her, won't you?"

  Chapter 25

  “Ma­dam, Mr. De­lan­za is he­re."

  Re­gi­na had be­en clo­se­ted in the par­lor for the past ho­ur, ever sin­ce the ter­rib­le con­f­ron­ta­ti­on with her fat­her. She had not mo­ved from the so­fa whe­re she had all but col­lap­sed. She co­uldn't be­li­eve what she had do­ne. She had not just de­fi­ed her fat­her, but or­de­red him to le­ave her ho­me.

  Upon he­aring Brinks's words, Re­gi­na shot to her fe­et. It was mid-af­ter­no­on and she tho­ught that Sla­de had de­ci­ded to co­me ho­me early to be with her. How she ne­eded him now!

  But it was Rick De­lan­za who wal­ked past Brinks and in­to the sa­lon, fol­lo­wed by Vic­to­ria.

  Re­gi­na's fa­ce fell. Qu­ickly she com­po­sed her­self. "Rick, Vic­to­ria, how ni­ce to see you."

  Vic­to­ria ga­ve her a skep­ti­cal lo­ok, then glan­ced dis­da­in­ful­ly aro­und the small sa­lon. Rick en­fol­ded her in a be­ar hug. "I'm su­re glad to see you he­re, gal."

  Re­gi­na re­cal­led the last ti­me she had se­en Rick, when she had be­en fu­ri­o­us and in­tent on di­vor­cing his son. In the next bre­ath it oc­cur­red to her that the last ti­me she had se­en Vic­to­ria she had be­en mas­qu­era­ding as Eli­za­beth Sin­c­la­ir, and that the ot­her wo­man had be­en well awa­re of it. Her eyes tur­ned to Vic­to­ria.

  Vic­to­ria's smi­le was cold. "Hel­lo, Re­gi­na. What a ple­asant lit­tle ho­me."

  Re­gi­na stif­fe­ned. Rick shot his wi­fe a war­ning glan­ce. "I ca­me up he­re to vi­sit you and Vic­to­ria in­sis­ted on co­ming. We both are happy to see that you and Sla­de ha­ve wor­ked things out. Aren't we, ho­ney?"

  Vic­to­ria's eyes dar­ke­ned but she nod­ded.

  Re­gi­na al­most la­ug­hed. They had ba­rely be­gun to for­ge a so­lid re­la­ti­on­s­hip, much less work thi
ngs out. The nu­me­ro­us pit­fal­ls be­set­ting them did not ge­ne­ra­te op­ti­mism. In fact, she felt pe­ri­lo­usly clo­se to te­ars.

  Rick stu­di­ed her. "We're fa­mily now, re­mem­ber?" He threw his arm aro­und her. "You can tell me what’s bot­he­ring you. So­me­one die?"

  His kin­d­ness and lo­yalty we­re so unex­pec­ted that Re­gi­na was over­w­hel­med. And in her dis­t­ress, his strength was so wel­co­me. "No. No one di­ed."

  "Can't be that bad then." He ga­ve her an en­co­ura­ging smi­le.

  Vic­to­ria sa­id, "I think the ho­ney­mo­on is over. If it ever be­gan."

  Re­gi­na was fu­ri­o­us. But she re­ma­ined calm, tam­ping down her tem­per with gre­at will. '’Vic­to­ria, do sit down. It is so ni­ce of you to pay a ple­asant so­ci­al call. Wo­uld you li­ke so­me tea?"

  Vic­to­ria sat, shrug­ging.

  "What ti­me do­es Sla­de get ho­me?" Rick as­ked.

  "He'll be la­te to­night. But you can find him at the of­fi­ce."

  "Ac­tu­al­ly, I didn't co­me he­re to see him. I saw him last we­ek. I ca­me to see you." Rick smi­led. "We both did. We want to know when the two of you are co­ming ho­me."

  "I don't know. We ha­ven't re­al­ly dis­cus­sed it."

  "Per­haps they'll stay he­re in the city," Vic­to­ria in­te­rj­ec­ted. "The­re's a ru­mor go­ing aro­und that Char­les Mann ga­ve the two of you an in­c­re­dib­le man­si­on for a wed­ding pre­sent. Is it true?"

  "It's true." Re­gi­na saw Rick flinch. "But we won't be sta­ying the­re, we won't even be ope­ning up the ho­use.

  Sla­de in­tends to re­turn to Mi­ra­mar, I just do not know when."

  Vic­to­ria sto­od. "I can­not be­li­eve you-a Bragg prin­cess-wo­uld be happy li­ving as a ran­c­he­ro's wi­fe."

  "Cut it out, Vic­to­ria," Rick war­ned.

  Re­gi­na al­so sto­od. "I am happy with Sla­de, whe­re­ver he is, wha­te­ver he do­es."

  "You do not se­em happy to me."

  Rick whir­led. "I tho­ught you sa­id you wo­uldn't start."

  Vic­to­ria ig­no­red him. So did Re­gi­na. "Did you know who I was be­fo­re the wed­ding, Vic­to­ria?"

  She smi­led. "You may ha­ve fo­oled ever­y­body el­se, but you didn't fo­ol me."

  Re­gi­na glan­ced at Rick bri­efly be­fo­re res­pon­ding. "Was it you who went thro­ugh my things?"

  "Yes, it was. Yo­ur loc­ket ul­ti­ma­tely ga­ve you away." The­re was no mis­ta­king the co­ol tri­umph in her eyes.

  "If you ever in­va­de my pri­vacy aga­in, you will be sorry."

  Vic­to­ria la­ug­hed. "You ac­cu­se me of wron­g­do­ing? You we­re the one pla­ying a cha­ra­de, my de­ar. And it wasn't very nob­le of you, eit­her."

  "Why didn't you say so­met­hing?" Re­gi­na as­ked.

  "Be­ca­use al­t­ho­ugh I knew you we­ren't Eli­za­beth Sin­c­la­ir, I did not know you we­re a Bragg he­iress. I tho­ught you to be not­hing mo­re than a for­tu­ne-hun­ting im­pos­tor! Un­for­tu­na­tely, I was wrong."

  Re­gi­na se­et­hed. But Vic­to­ria was Rick's wi­fe, and the two of them we­re go­ing to ha­ve to get along if they we­re to li­ve to­get­her in the fu­tu­re. "Vic­to­ria, you can­not chan­ge who I am, no mat­ter how you might wish you co­uld. We are go­ing to ha­ve to put our dif­fe­ren­ces be­hind us. Can you not ag­ree to that?"

  "No, I can't," Vic­to­ria snap­ped. "And may­be I can't chan­ge you, but I pro­bably don't ha­ve to. On­ce you get smart you'll re­ali­ze that you be­long he­re in the city, not on the ran­c­ho. Why don't you and Sla­de just mo­ve in­to yo­ur fancy man­si­on and li­ve it up on yo­ur mo­ney?"

  '’That is not pos­sib­le, Vic­to­ria," Re­gi­na sa­id. "You see, I know that Mi­ra­mar is Sla­de's pas­si­on. And I lo­ve Sla­de so much that I am de­ter­mi­ned that we li­ve the­re for the rest of our li­ves. It can­not be any ot­her way."

  Openly angry, Vic­to­ria stor­med from the ro­om. Re­gi­na sta­red af­ter her. She had for­got­ten Rick was pre­sent un­til fee spo­ke up.

  "She'll co­me aro­und. You okay?"

  "I'm fi­ne."

  Rick smi­led. "You ha­ve mo­re spunk than a body'd ever know. Don't you go wor­rying abo­ut her. She's mostly bark and lit­tle bi­te."

  "I'm not," Re­gi­na sa­id trut­h­ful­ly. She had too much on her mind to dwell on Vic­to­ria's ani­mo­sity, ho­we­ver mis­gu­ided it might be.

  "Ho­ney," Rick sa­id, gri­ma­cing, "let's sit down." Cu­ri­o­us, Re­gi­na set­tled down on the so­fa, won­de­ring what Rick was abo­ut to re­ve­al. He co­ug­hed. "I got a con­fes­si­on to ma­ke." She did not mo­ve.

  "You know, I li­ke you, I li­ke you a lot, and I ha­ve from the mo­ment I la­id eyes on you. I don't ha­ve to go an' tell you this." He shif­ted. I sort of knew the truth too, right from the start."

  "Sort of?"

  "Okay, I knew who you we­re, yo­ur cha­pe­ro­ne told me be­fo­re she di­ed."

  "Oh, Rick."

  "Ho­ney, it’s not as bad as it so­unds!" He held up his hands. "I me­an, I was mo­ti­va­ted at first by the tho­ught of how an he­iress li­ke you co­uld sa­ve the ran­c­ho. But then I saw how you lo­oked at Sla­de-and how he lo­oked at you. I me­an, if ever two pe­op­le we­re me­ant for each ot­her, it was the two of you."

  Re­gi­na bo­wed her he­ad, mo­ved.

  "What's wrong? Are you angry with me?"

  She sho­ok her he­ad. "I can­not be angry with you, Rick. I li­ke you, too, I al­ways ha­ve." She ma­na­ged a smi­le. "And I be­li­eve you, be­ca­use I know how much you lo­ve Sla­de."

  He red­de­ned. "Ye­ah, well… now that Vic­to­ria's go­ne, why don't you tell me what's re­al­ly go­ing on?"

  Re­gi­na was al­most re­ady to con­fi­de ever­y­t­hing in her fat­her-in-law. He co­uld be a dif­fi­cult man, but she was se­e­ing anot­her si­de of him, one that was ge­nu­inely com­pas­si­ona­te. Ho­we­ver, Sla­de wo­uld not be ple­ased if she sha­red the­ir prob­lems with his fat­her, and she owed him her lo­yalty, so she sho­ok her he­ad. "It's not­hing, re­al­ly."

  Rick ap­pe­ared di­sap­po­in­ted, per­haps in her lack of trust.

  Re­gi­na chan­ged the su­bj­ect. "Xan­d­ria Kingsly and Char­les Mann are ha­ving a ga­la in ho­nor of my and Sla­de's mar­ri­age this Fri­day. Will you be co­ming, Rick?"

  Rick scow­led. "Is that an in­vi­ta­ti­on?"

  "It most cer­ta­inly is."

  "Ye­ah, well, I'm not go­ing to any ga­la."

  Re­gi­na's smi­le di­ed. "Why not? Can't you stay in town for a few mo­re days?"

  "I co­uld but I won't. I didn't co­me he­re to ar­gue abo­ut so­me damn ga­la."

  "Why did you co­me, Rick?"

  He to­ok a bre­ath. "Re­gi­na, I'll be blunt. I want you and Sla­de to co­me ho­me. I'm as­king you to co­me ho­me."

  Re­gi­na was mo­ti­on­less. Her he­art sped. No mat­ter how wor­ri­ed she might be abo­ut the un­re­sol­ved is­su­es bet­we­en her and Sla­de and her and her fat­her, she was thril­led with what Rick was sa­ying. He wan­ted his son to co­me ho­me. "You must ask him," she sa­id firmly.

  "Hell, you're his wi­fe. Tell him it's ti­me for him to re­turn ho­me, whe­re he be­longs."

  Re­gi­na sat very still. Gently she sa­id, "You must tell him that you want him to co­me ho­me, Rick."

  Rick lo­oked un­com­for­tab­le. "I didn't ask him to le­ave in the first pla­ce. I su­re as hell can't ask him to co­me ho­me. But you can."

  Re­gi­na sho­ok her he­ad. "I will not ask him for you."

  Rick was on his fe­et. "Are you a stub­born lit­tle thing, too?"

  "I can be. I sin­ce­rely ho­pe that pri­de is not what is stan­ding in the way of yo­ur ha­ving a de­cent re­la­ti­on­s­hip with yo­ur son."


  Rick gas­ped. "Missy, you are out of bo­unds!"

  "Per­haps I am."

  Rick was in­c­re­du­lo­us. "I am not abo­ut to beg him to re­turn! He left of his own free will. Not just on­ce, mind you. So­me­ti­mes I think he ha­tes my guts! Even if I did miss him-and I'm not sa­yin' that-I wo­uld ne­ver tell him!"

  Re­gi­na sto­od, gre­atly per­tur­bed. "I think you had bet­ter start be­ing ho­nest, Rick. First with yo­ur­self, then with yo­ur son."

  "You're a med­dler, you know that?" Rick's eyes flas­hed an­g­rily.

  "So­me­one ob­vi­o­usly has to med­dle he­re. Why won't you co­me to the party Fri­day? Yo­ur son is the gu­est of ho­nor. I am su­re he wo­uld be ple­ased that you ca­me. He might pre­tend ot­her­wi­se, but de­ep in­si­de, I am su­re he wo­uld be thril­led."

  "I wo­uldn't set fo­ot in Char­lie Mann's pla­ce for a mil­li­on dol­lars!"

  Re­gi­na re­ali­zed then how thre­ate­ned Rick was by Sla­de's re­la­ti­on­s­hip with Char­les Mann. He was hurt and he was angry. She won­de­red how long he had kept his fe­elings hid­den. Sla­de had left ho­me ten ye­ars ago. She ho­ped that Rick had not al­lo­wed his emo­ti­ons to sim­mer for that length of ti­me.

  "Rick." She to­ok his hand. "Char­les Mann is not Sla­de's fat­her. He is only a go­od fri­end. You are his fat­her and that is not ever go­ing to chan­ge. Sla­de ca­res abo­ut Char­les, but that do­esn't me­an he do­esn't ne­ed you and yo­ur lo­ve."

  Rick was li­vid. "That boy do­esn't know the me­aning of fa­mily or lo­ve! Just li­ke his damn mot­her ne­ver knew it eit­her! You know his mot­her was a who­re? She was so be­a­uti­ful I tho­ught if I mar­ri­ed her and to­ok her ho­me I co­uld turn her in­to so­me kind of lady. Hah! She didn't ha­ve one lad­y­li­ke bo­ne in her body. When she to­ok off, I didn't beg her to co­me ho­me, and I'm not beg­ging him. He is just li­ke his dam­ned mot­her!"

  Re­gi­na was pa­le with shock. Yet she knew that Rick's words we­re not true. Sla­de was a mo­ral man, un­li­ke his mot­her. She sho­ok her he­ad, unab­le to spe­ak, thin­king too vi­vidly of how Sla­de se­emed de­ter­mi­ned not to let her in­to his he­art. Per­haps his de­ter­mi­na­ti­on had so­met­hing to do with his be­ing aban­do­ned as a baby by such a wo­man. The re­ali­za­ti­on over­w­hel­med her with pur­po­se-pur­po­se to stick by her hus­band no mat­ter what.