Echoes in the Mist Read online

  "Where are your father's things?" Ariana asked, her eyes damp. "Trenton didn’t... They weren't destroyed, were they?"

  Dustin shook his head. "No. I stored them at Tyreham. All but the paintings of Mother, which are hanging in Broddington's gallery."

  "May I see them?"

  He smiled gently. "Of course. We'll stop there on our way to the chapel."

  "When did she die?"

  "When Trent and I were boys. Mother was very beautiful, but very delicate. During most of my childhood, she was confined to bed. She died of scarlet fever when I was ten."

  "Your father obviously loved her a great deal."

  Again, Dustin smiled. "Unfashionably so. He missed her dreadfully; that I do recall. His work, remaining productive, meant more to him than ever after her death."

  Ariana inched forward and touched Dustin's arm. "I've done it again, haven't I? Upset you with my questions?"

  "No, of course not," he returned warmly. "All this happened a long time ago. I’m quite recovered, honestly." With a reassuring look, Dustin led her into the hall. "Let's visit the gallery and the chapel, then move on to what will doubtlessly be your favorite spots." Seeing Ariana's perplexed expression, he supplied: "The stables and the gardens."

  Ariana's eyes lit up. "And can we go to the conservatory again? I saw it briefly yesterday, but it was so breathtaking... Do you mind if we stop there for a moment?"

  Dustin chuckled. "How can I resist so lovely a plea? Very well, we shall stop at the conservatory on our way to the gardens. And then"-his eyes twinkled-"you shall learn the proper handling of a croquet mallet."

  "I can hardly wait!"

  *****

  "Those wickets have no openings. It is all an illusion," Ariana complained two hours later. Sprawled on a lawn chair, sipping her tea, she had all but given up ever learning the proper way to strike the ball so that it went through the wicket rather than crashing into it.

  Dustin threw back his head and laughed. "Trust me, sweetheart, the wickets do indeed have openings. You just have to learn how to find them."

  Ariana made a face and brushed a loose strand of hair from her damp forehead. "I don't hold out much hope," she muttered. "I don't know why I ever wanted to learn that silly game anyway."

  "It was only your first lesson," Dustin pointed out, finishing his third scone and settling comfortably back in his chair. "You'll improve."

  She laughed in spite of herself. "I suppose my pride is wounded. I'd assumed I would master the sport on my first attempt and hear nothing but praise from you."

  "I had no idea praise was required."

  Trenton's deep baritone startled them both, and, simultaneously, they jumped in their seats, watching as he strode toward them.

  "Trent, I didn't know you'd returned..." Dustin began, shading his eyes, praying that his brother's early appearance meant his anger had dissipated, that he was ready to spend time with his bride.

  Dustin's hopes were instantly dashed.

  "Obviously you weren't expecting me." Trenton's tone was frigid, his jaw rigidly clenched. "But I'm pleased to know my bride has been properly entertained during my absence. As far as her mastering a sport on the first attempt..." He turned to Ariana, ruthlessly scrutinizing her relaxed, tousled appearance. "Let me be the first to offer you the praise you so fervently requested." He gave her a mock bow. "I commend you highly. If you take to all amusements as quickly and proficiently as you did to the one you learned last night, you will garner nothing but compliments and pleas for more."

  Dustin was on his feet even before Ariana's shocked gasp reached his ears. "For God's sake, Trent, are you insane?" he demanded.

  Trenton tore his gaze from Ariana's white face. Swerving to meet his brother’s fierce stare, he gave a harsh laugh. "Indeed I am! But I thought that was established years ago... By the Caldwells."

  "Don't, Trent," Dustin warned, his tone tight, controlled. "You're obviously drunk. And you don't know what you're saying."

  "I'm as sober as you are," Trenton contradicted icily. "And I know precisely what I am saying."

  Shakily, Ariana rose, her lips quivering with embarrassment and hurt. "You’re not insane," she whispered. "Nor are you drunk. But you are terribly cruel. I don't know why you feel such anger toward me, but I do know it is directly linked with Vanessa."

  Trenton's inadvertent flinch at the mention of Vanessa's name confirmed Ariana's suspicions. With as much dignity as she could muster, she gathered up her skirts and smoothed her hair back into place. "When you're ready to treat me civilly, I shall manage to do the same. Not because I'm afraid of you," she added candidly, raising her chin a notch, "but because, despite your abominable behavior, I know there is goodness inside you." Tears glistened on her lashes, but she blinked them away, holding her head high. "However, I won't be the recipient of your hatred any longer. Remember that... or don’t address me again."

  With a regal turn, Ariana marched off toward the house.

  Astonishment and respect welled up inside Dustin, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from going after her.

  "I see you've taught my bride to forgo reticence in favor of an acidic tongue... And that, in the process, you've become her guardian."

  Trenton's caustic comment made Dustin seethe. "Someone has to protect Ariana."

  "From whom? Me?"

  "Yes, you bloody lunatic. From you." Dustin faced his brother squarely, fury racing through his veins. "She's not Vanessa, you damned, stupid fool," he stated flatly. "When are you going to see that?"

  Trenton's fists clenched. "Leave it alone, Dustin."

  "Then leave Ariana alone," Dustin shot back. "She deserves better than your brutal treatment." He shook his head, longing to shake some sense into his brother, to make him see the obvious.

  Ariana was not Trenton's enemy but his salvation.

  Half tempted to blurt out that Trenton needed Ariana to make him whole again, that Ariana was already half in love with her unworthy husband, Dustin fought the urge, painfully aware that it was a realization they would have to arrive at themselves. Frustrated and livid, he threw up his hands. "Open your eyes, you bloody blind man," he bit out. "Before it's too late."

  He turned on his heel and stalked off.

  Dustin's uncharacteristic assault triggered the familiar battle that raged inside Trenton, and his features contorted with the strain of internal conflict. He could deal with it. He knew he could. He could deal with all of it: the vengeance that ate at his soul, the painful falling out with Dustin, the scars that time refused to heal.

  All but the pain he'd seen on Ariana's face when she'd walked away from him.

  And the knowledge that he was its cause.

  Chapter Nine

  Trenton was caught in a tangled web of his own creation.

  Shifting his weight in the chair, he stared moodily through the shadowed room to the bed where Ariana slept peacefully, unaware of his scrutiny... and of the fact that he'd been watching her for hours.

  Rolling the brandy glass between his palms, Trenton idly studied the swirling amber liquid as he reflected upon the complications the past few days had wrought. His decision to marry Ariana Caldwell had been spontaneous, yet purposeful: a brilliant solution to the vengeance that swelled inside him, a remedy for his unremitting torment.

  Revenge was close at hand; he had only to be patient to achieve it.

  After all, it had been just over a day since the wedding, giving Baxter a scant thirty hours to agonize over his sister's fate, and only one sleepless night to ponder the best way to acquire the Kingsley fortune.

  With a sardonic smile, Trenton took a deep swallow of his brandy. Evidently, Caldwell took him for a fool. Did the bastard honestly believe Trenton wasn’t aware why he had so easily relinquished his precious little sister into the Duke of Broddington's murderous hands? That Trenton didn't know that what the viscount hoped to gain from his sister's advantageous union was a sizable portion of the Kingsley fortune?

  Tren
ton drained his glass. He'd always recognized Caldwell's intentions. So when Baxter summoned Ariana to Winsham to devise the best plan by which to avail himself of the Kingsley funds, Trenton would be ready. Baxter would never see a bloody penny.

  Briefly, Trenton wondered how Ariana would react to whatever conniving plan Baxter had conjured up, and if she would agree to help him. True, she was a Caldwell, but she was the only Caldwell who seemed to possess some sense of honor. Would she stoop to theft and deceit, even for her brother? And, if she refused, would she be strong enough to resist the pressure Baxter would doubtlessly exert? She was far too innocent to suspect what her brother was capable of... or to what extremes Trenton would go to ensure that Baxter failed.

  Inevitably, Ariana would be caught in the crossfire. Which brought Trenton back to his unanticipated quandary.

  Unwillingly, his gaze slid to the slumbering angel lying before him. Caldwell or not, she was breathtaking when she slept, more so when she was awake.

  And so incredibly passionate.

  His body still burned with the memories of last night, memories he'd been unable to squelch all day, memories that had driven him from her bed at dawn... and brought him back hours earlier than he'd intended. For despite his vehement struggles to the contrary, Ariana unfurled something raw and warm inside him, tested his control in ways he'd never guessed, bared emotions he’d long since forsaken.

  He remembered the way her eyes had blazed sparks of outrage when she'd stood up to him today, the tears she'd refused to shed. She was a brave little thing, his bride, brave and innocent and principled.

  So unlike Vanessa.

  Bringing his glass to the nightstand with a thud, Trenton forced himself to face the truth. He could no longer use the Caldwell name to justify his irrational behavior toward Ariana, no longer punish her by pretending she was an exact replica of her despicable older sister.

  In truth, Ariana was the antithesis of Vanessa. And, having already taken away his untainted wife's childhood, stripped her of her former life and home, why did he still want to strike out at her, to hurt her as he had that afternoon?

  With mounting ambivalence, Trenton contemplated the humiliating cruelty of his verbal assault. What the hell had possessed him to say such a degrading thing? He gritted his teeth. Just because he'd returned to find his bride rumpled and laughing on the front lawn with his brother, chatting as if they were old friends, looking so incredibly happy...

  Unconsciously, Trenton slammed his fist to his knee. He'd never been a jealous man before. Certainly not of Dustin, the one person he knew would never betray him. Yet that's exactly what he was: jealous, vulnerable... and livid about both.

  The cold truth was, Trenton hated the pull that drew him back to Broddington and his bride, detested the fact that she had barely noticed his absence and gotten along fine without him, loathed the idea that Dustin could make her smile in a way he knew he couldn't. Damn it to hell! Why did this one woman inspire such emotional upheaval inside him?

  Savagely, Trenton gripped his thighs. He wanted to hate her incessantly.

  He hated to want her incessantly.

  And he couldn't muster the former, nor master the latter.

  So marriage to Ariana would reap him his vengeance, but it would do nothing to appease his relentless anguish. In fact, it would worsen it, for he'd be trading one type of agony for another.

  "Trenton?"

  Trenton started, blinking dazedly at the bed. Ariana was sitting up, waves of coppery hair tumbling about her slender shoulders. She reached for her robe and slipped it on, climbing from beneath the bedcovers. "Why are you here?"

  He didn't answer at first, watching her walk toward him, the soft folds of her nightgown outlining every luscious curve of her body. How could someone so exquisitely beautiful represent everything in his life that was so very ugly?

  "Why are you in my bedroom?" Ariana repeated, stopping in front of him. She glanced at the glass on the nightstand. "Drinking?" she added.

  "I've had only one drink," Trenton replied. "And I was watching you. And thinking."

  She drew a shaky breath and purposefully straightened her shoulders. "About the apology you were going to extend to me?"

  Despite his black humor, Trenton's lips twitched at her dignity and courage. "In part."

  Her expression shifted from startled to relieved to curious. "I see."

  "Wouldn't you like to hear what else I was thinking?" he inquired.

  Her small jaw set. "First I'd like the apology."

  Trenton drank her in, head to toe. "I was reflecting on how intoxicatingly lovely you are." He leaned his head back, his voice deep and rich, his gaze seductive, as hot and explicit as an intimate caress.

  For a moment, Ariana's face registered indecision. Then she shook her head adamantly. "No!" she burst out, refusing him... and herself. "You treated me inexcusably! You humiliated me in front of your brother and made me feel like a harlot!" She turned her back, unable to bear seeing the derisive censure in his eyes. "Last night... well, you led me to believe my responses were acceptable, even enjoyable." Her voice grew small. "Why didn't you tell me that my wanton behavior angered you?"

  Trenton's jaw dropped. "You thought I was angry because-"

  "Let's not play games, Trenton," she returned, whirling about to face him, twin spots of red staining her cheeks. "I cannot be like Vanessa. It just isn’t possible. But I did try to please you. So if I was too bold... too vocal... why didn't you tell me? Not in public, but when we were alone?" Despite her shame, she pushed on, candid and direct. "After all, I don't know how a wife should behave. I have no means of comparison. The only way I-"

  "Come here."

  Trenton's husky command cut into her tirade.

  "What?'

  "I said, come here." He extended his hand, caught her fingers in his and drew her closer until the fabric of her nightgown brushed his knees. Releasing her fingers, he cupped her hips and, in one gesture, tugged her down until she was straddling his lap.

  "Trenton..." She sounded more puzzled and breathless than angry, and Trenton smiled.

  "What?" He glided his fingers up the contours of her torso, then framed her face with his hands. "I'm driven by demons, misty angel," he murmured, caressing her cheek with his thumb, giving her the repentance she deserved. "Demons I cannot control. I allowed them to strike out at you, and for that I profoundly apologize." He brought her mouth down to his. "Do you forgive me?"

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  "As for last night," he muttered thickly, molding her lips to his and tangling his hands in her hair to keep her from pulling away, "you didn't just please me. You set me on fire, burned me to ashes, re-ignited the embers." He kissed her deeply, thoroughly. "You aroused me in a way I thought was impossible, seduced me with every innocent touch of your hands, your breath, your mouth."

  Catching her tiny whimper, he pulled her closer still. "Do you have any idea how exciting I found your responses? What your soft moans, your breathless pleas for more did to my control?" He rotated his hips slowly, letting her feel the full force of his arousal. "Can you possibly imagine how much I want to be inside you?" he rasped, pressing insistently into the cradle of her thighs, the heat of his body burning through her. "Can you, misty angel?" He didn’t wait for an answer but slid his hands beneath the pristine cotton of her nightgown, up along the silky softness of her legs.

  "Oh... Trenton..." She sagged against him, shivering uncontrollably at his words, his touch.

  "You make me tremble too," he whispered against her parted lips, gliding his shaking hands higher along her inner thighs, dragging the flimsy gown up with them.

  With graceful abandon, Ariana arched her back, instinctively inviting him to take more of her.

  Trenton's expert fingers found the warm haven they sought, delving hungrily into the glorious wetness that told him of her avid response.

  And suddenly, everything converged inside him at once, splintering his control into fra
gments of nothingness.

  "Ariana..." he choked out frantically, urgent in a way he could explain no more than he could understand. "I've got to have you... now." He raised her up, simultaneously reaching for the buttons of his trousers.

  Ariana clutched at Trenton's arms, trembling violently. Confused and overwhelmed, she stared down at him, shocked by his frenzy... and her own. Immobilized, she watched her husband work desperately to free himself so they could be one.

  "I have to fill you," he panted, pausing only to ease a finger inside her, gently testing her readiness. "I have to."

  With a whimper of longing, Ariana tugged free, ready to bolt the short distance to the bed.

  "No." Trenton's hands closed on her hips in a vicelike grip, and he shook his head wildly.

  "But I want to-"

  "So do I."

  "But the bed-"

  "I can't wait that long. Here. Now."

  Before Ariana could reply, he'd freed his rigid erection and, in one deliberate motion, lowered Ariana onto his full length. "Take me, misty angel," he breathed into her hair. "Let me lose myself inside your softness." He heard her gasp, then eased her away so he could see her face. "Am I too deep?"

  Wordlessly, she shook her head, reaching for him even as he dragged her back, impaling her with his turgid flesh.

  "Don't stop," she whispered, pressing her flanks tightly to his. When he didn’t reply, she raised up to see his face. "Trenton?" she managed.

  "What?" His teeth were tightly gritted against the rapture that was escalating too hard, too soon.

  "Please..." she repeated, looking lost and bewildered and so damned beautiful that he longed to merge their very souls into one.

  "Move," he told her instead. "Like this." He seized her hips, raising and lowering her, teaching her the rhythm... and driving himself insane in the process.

  He felt it the moment she took over. Her small hands gripped his shoulders, her slender legs hugged his thighs. And her tight, velvety wet passage absorbed him, enveloped him, stroked him with fingers of fire.