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“I can’t. I love you.”
“Bloody hell.” He snatched up a rock and flung it into the water with all his might.
“Tell me.”
“Fine.” Trenton spun about, his eyes ablaze. “You want to know how my father died? I’ll tell you. He was tortured … slowly, cruelly; not physically, but emotionally; using that which he cherished most … his family.”
Baffled, Ariana struggled to understand the blinding rage emanating from Trenton. “But how—”
“Not how, Ariana. Who. That’s the operative word here. Who. I’ll tell you who: your brilliant, altruistic, contemptible bastard of a brother, that’s who!”
“Baxter?” Ariana recoiled sharply, having expected anything but this. She had been certain Vanessa’s suicide was somehow linked to the late duke’s demise—but Baxter? What did he have to do with Richard Kingsley’s death?
“Yes … Baxter, that vile blackguard who raised you!”
“Why? What did he do?”
“Odd, I thought Caldwell filled you in on our history when you visited Winsham the other day.” Enmity underscored Trenton’s every word. “Or did he selectively forget to mention one or two realities? Like the fact that it was he who brandished your sister’s heartbreaking suicide note to the world … painted me as a seducer of innocents, a sinister madman … or worse. Did he tell you that I came to him, begged him to stop, not for my sake or even for Dustin’s—Lord knows, neither of us gave a damn what lies Caldwell spread—but for my father? Can you possibly imagine what it did to me to have to crawl to your despicable brother on my knees? To plead with him that my father had nothing left but his legacy: the Kingsley name and his sons? And that he was too old and weak to withstand such vicious slander? That the more people who doubted my innocence, the more deteriorated his condition became?”
Trenton faltered, swallowing convulsively. “But beg
I did. I begged with the hope that Caldwell would summon up one shred of compassion—not for me, but for an old man who had done nothing to hurt anyone. I should have known I was wasting my breath. Caldwell just laughed in my face and threw me out, continuing to impugn me and my family, until the whole world ostracized us. My father was too frail … his heart just couldn’t take it. He died within weeks. And all because of your detestable brother.”
Breaking off, Trenton drew in harsh breaths, striving to bring himself under control. He stared down at his hands, realized they were shaking, and raised his head to meet Ariana’s horrified gaze. “Still glad you asked, misty angel?”
An eerie chill crept inside Ariana’s heart. “I can’t believe Baxter would intentionally—”
“Of course he wouldn’t! I must be lying.” Trenton’s biting sarcasm cut through her like a knife.
“I didn’t mean you were lying. Only that you might have misunderstood …”Her voice trailed off, for even she was unconvinced by her words.
“Misunderstood? Hardly. Actually, I’ve only just scratched the surface of your brother’s brutality.” Brusquely, Trenton turned on his heel. “Your reaction was predictable. Now I know why I didn’t want to tell you any of this.” Rigidly, he walked away. “I’m going back to Spraystone.”
“I believe you.”
Her declaration was barely audible, a whisper of sound in the afternoon sky. But Trenton heard it.
Abruptly, he halted.
Ariana didn’t pause but walked up behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist, pressing her cheek against his taut back. “I’m so sorry for your pain. I wish I’d been old enough to comprehend it, and mature enough to ease it.”
At first Trenton did nothing; he merely stood, unmoving, in his wife’s consoling embrace. Then he placed his hand over hers, enfolding her fingers, placing their joined hands over his heart.
The gesture conveyed more than any words he could utter.
The Isle had surrendered to twilight, its beaches bathed in the moon’s silver luminescence, by the time Trenton and Ariana headed back to Spraystone. Neither of them spoke, for the feeling hovering between them was too new, too precious to give voice to.
The manor was practically upon them when a flash of white caught Ariana’s eye, taking her by surprise. “Trenton?” She seized his arm.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” She peered through the semidarkness, toward the tall grasses surrounding the barn. Intuition impelled her forward.
“Where are you going?” Trenton followed quickly, frowning at the concerned knit of Ariana’s brows.
“Oh … Trenton.” She rushed forward, dropping to her knees in the grass, bending over a huddled white form.
Trenton peered over her shoulder. “It’s an owl.”
