Secrets (25 page)

Charles reached into his breast pocket and withdrew an envelope. “First I would like to toast the newlyweds.”

Regina tensed. Her suspicions had been correct. She dared to look at Slade from the corner of her eye. His glance slid over her features one by one. She had actually expected some protest or anger, but his interest appeared to be focused solely on her, not on Charles. Then, startled, she felt his fingers glide over her bare shoulder, just once.

“Here, here,” Edward said, standing. Xandria rose, too.

Charles said, “To peace and happiness, and, I hope, to love.” He tipped his glass.

Edward and Xandria cheered and drank.

Regina blushed, not daring even to peek at her husband this time. He had not removed his hand from her shoulder.

Charles picked up the envelope. “This is one of the most pleasurable moments in my life,” he said, suddenly gruff. “Slade, no real son could be dearer. Regina, you are a fitting bride for Slade, more fitting than you can know. This—” He waved the envelope. “—is a wedding present from both me and my daughter.” He handed it to Slade.

Slade took the envelope, smiling slightly and apparently bemused. “Charles, you shouldn't have.” He shook the envelope. “There's something heavy in here.” He was wry. “A silver dollar?”

Charles laughed. “Go on, open it.”

Slade turned to look at Regina, who was very still, her eyes fixed on his happy face. “There's something heavy in here,” he told her. “Heavy and metallic.”

She could not speak. But it was at that moment that she knew she wasn't going to divorce him. If he could be like this, then they had a chance. Then their marriage had a chance. And she was going to do her best to see that he stayed like this—a happy, contented man.

Slade opened the envelope and took out a key. His expression immediately sobered. He looked up. Very quietly, he said, “What is this?”

“Pack up your bags,” Charles said, grinning. “Because that is the key to 1700 Franklin Street.”

Slade looked stunned.

Regina gripped his hand. “What is it?”

But Slade did not look at her. He stared at the key. “That's the Henessy place,” he said, so hoarsely his words were barely audible.

“You deserve it,” Charles said softly. “A fitting home for such a groom and such a bride.”

His hand, the key in it, trembled. “I can't possibly accept this.” He still could not look up, not at Charles, not at anyone.

“The deed is already in your name. It is my pleasure, son.”

Regina stared at Slade's profile. She thought that he was moved almost to tears. Gently, she touched his hand.

He blinked quickly and glanced at her, forcing a smile. His words were still low and rough; Regina had to strain to hear them. “It's a small mansion.”

Regina nodded, hot tears spoiling her vision.

Slade finally raised his gaze to look directly at Charles. “I—I'm in shock. I didn't expect this. I don't know what to say.”

“Slade, I am so very happy for you. Even though I suspect your destiny lies at Miramar, you will always have a home here, too. Close by, I might add.” Charles smiled. His own eyes were moist. “But son, if you wish to sell it, I will understand. You know, too, that there is always a place for you here under my own roof.”

Slade shook his head, at a loss for words. Regina dabbed unsuccessfully at her eyes. She didn't think she would ever be able to forget that moment. No wonder, she thought, Slade preferred San Francisco to Miramar. No bloody wonder.

Suddenly she realized that Slade had his arm around her shoulders and was pressing her to his side. “Thank you, Charles. I thank you, we thank you,” he said hoarsely. And then he laughed, the sound rough but joyous music to her ears.

R
egina did not sleep. The evening spent at Charles Mann's played again and again in her mind. Slade had been relaxed as she had never before seen him. His easy smiles, his dry humor, his warm, intent regard were fast becoming cherished keepsakes. His slight, oh-so-possessive touch. And finally, the coup de grace, that unbearably heartwarming moment when he had realized the extent of Charles Mann's love.

Regina had been unable to restrain her own tears, tears she had shed for Slade, moved both for him and with him and relieved beyond belief that here, at least, was a father figure who loved him unconditionally.

Time after time, as sleep eluded her, she helplessly compared the evening to the several dinners they had had at Miramar. Time after time she compared Charles Mann, as unfair as it was, to Rick. The differences were heartrending. The warmth and caring that had flowed in abundance at the Mann household was the kind of ambience she expected among a family. She found herself regretful, she found herself angry. There was little warmth in Rick's home, at least as far as appearances went. Yet she knew Rick loved Slade as much as Charles Mann did—and more. She would gamble her entire inheritance upon it. Why in blazes couldn't Rick
show it? Why did he have to taunt Slade, insult him?

Yet the Slade who prowled Miramar's confines was not abundantly likable. Why couldn't he relax and show Rick this side of himself? She was beginning to suspect that he deliberately pushed his father, that he sought to elicit Rick's insults. But why? And how had such a relationship come to pass in the first place? She was fiercely glad that Slade had a second family like the Manns.

Regina was determined to get to the bottom of the morass; she wanted answers. She wanted to see Slade and Rick in a relationship that, at the very least, did not resemble two fighting dogs being thrown into the ring eager to draw each other's blood. If there ever had been a reason for their animosity, there was no longer; it was time for both men to bury the hatchet.

Which Slade was the real Slade? She guessed that both sides were real, yet she did not think it was a matter of two different personalities. With a rush of heart-wrenching insight, Regina understood. She was reminded of a desert and a hothouse. In the desert only the hardiest, toughest species could survive; in the fertile garden of a conservatory the most fragile species could be coaxed into full bloom. Miramar was no desert, except emotionally. Slade had to be emotionally tough if he were to survive there. After all, he had been abandoned by his mother as an infant, left to a father who had favored his older brother and who seemed incapable of showing affection toward him. Yet with the Manns there was no need to be tough. His fragile feelings, his vulnerable side, carefully tended with love and compassion, could blossom, and they had.

Last night Regina had fallen in love with her husband again.

She heard the doorbell ring, echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer outside the salon. Breathless anticipation filled her. It seemed as if she had been waiting for Slade to come for her forever; actually, she had been waiting for this moment since the night before. How would they
actually proceed from this new point in their relationship? For her it was a new beginning, and it seemed as if Slade felt the same way.

She was not sure what to expect. She was his wife, yet she was living apart from him, and she had asked for a divorce. He was calling upon her as if in courtship, yet only a few days ago he had abandoned her. So where did that leave them? If he brought up the subject of a divorce again, she would tell him that she had carefully thought it out and changed her mind. Yet she did not think she was ready to take on the full role of being his wife. She had been so badly hurt that she was still wary. He would have to earn back her complete trust.

Slade was shown into the salon. Regina ceased her anxious pacing before he came to the open doorway. Their glances locked instantly. Her eyes widened and her heart rate doubled.

She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it surely wasn't the highly fashionable statement he made. His white, double-breasted sack jacket was the latest trend, and coupled with pale off-white trousers, it was the epitome of classic, casual elegance. He even wore soft white sport shoes. His hair had been meticulously combed into place and was parted neatly on the side. He even carried a straw boater, although she could not picture him in it.

Regina realized that she was openly admiring him. Then she saw that he was too involved in gazing at her to have noticed, and she flushed with pleasure. For she had dressed with great care, too, hoping to please him. She knew the bronze-and-cream-striped suit she wore was flattering both to her figure and her complexion. And Slade was most definitely pleased; his gaze was bright and appreciative. Regina felt herself blushing, as if they had not shared every intimacy possible between a man and a woman. Yet when she smiled, she suddenly felt as shy as a debutante.

His smile was not the least bit shy. And his tone was equally suggestive. “Hello.”

“Good morning…Slade.”

He moved forward and took her arm. “It's cool outside. You need a wrap.”

His concern, simple as it was, pleased her immensely, as did his possessive gesture. She was intensely aware of him as they left the house after retrieving a cape for her. He guided her down the wide, white stone staircase and past the carefully cropped green lawns that swept up to the city sidewalk. A small curricle awaited them with a dainty chestnut in its traces.

“I like to drive,” he said, handing her up and then jumping in beside her. “Do you mind?”

She shook her head no. She was too aware of his body beside her, with only a few inches separating them. She gripped her hands in her lap. She had not forgotten their wedding night for one instant, although she had tried to ignore those particular memories whenever they intruded too far into her thoughts. Now she remembered just what it was like to be in his arms, naked, while he plundered her body. She shivered, trying to control her mind. He slapped the reins and the pretty chestnut mare trotted forward eagerly.

“I thought we'd drive through Golden Gate Park first, being as it's early.” He glanced at her. His eyes moved over her face, lingering on her mouth.

“That's fine.” She wanted to see the house on Franklin Street, their wedding present from Charles. She was afraid to ask, afraid it was too bold and sudden a declaration of her new intentions to remain his wife. She bit her lip. “What Charles did last night—it was simply stunning.”

“Yes, it was.”

Regina looked at Slade. “He loves you dearly.”

“I'm very lucky,” Slade said quietly. “He means a great deal to me, too.”

She wondered if he were thinking of Rick, as she was. The two men were so different. She was saddened whenever she thought of the two lives Slade led. She shifted, unable to restrain herself. “Slade? Rick loves you too.”

Slade tensed. His face darkened. When he looked at her his eyes were flashing with anger; the old Slade was back. “Don't ruin things.”

Regina swallowed any further comments she might have made. She had not realized how easily she could chase away the happy man and bring forth the angry one. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, meaning it.

“Don't be,” he said roughly. “It's not your fault.” Then he added casually, not looking at her, “I went there last night.”

She did not understand. “Went where?”

He glanced at her, his gaze intense enough to rob her of her breath. “The Henessy place.”

She was still. “I see.”

He turned his head, staring out past the chestnut's ears.

“I would like to see it, too.”

He jerked toward her. “You would?”

“Yes,” she breathed, caught up in his gaze. “Very much.”

Slade suddenly smiled, abruptly turning the mare in a tight about-face. There was something recklessly triumphant in his expression. “Good,” he said. “Because I want to show it to you, Regina.”

 

“That's it,” Slade said quietly, making no move to leave the carriage.

Regina looked at the three-story house in front of them. The fog had evaporated and the day was brilliantly sunny. It was indeed a small mansion. The house was built of reddish stone and trimmed with white plaster. The front door was a temple front. The pediment above was detailed with a large round window and a curling leaf-like design, supported by two white columns. A tower stood behind it. The center of the house, which was asymmetric in layout, crescendoed to the roof which rose steeply above the front tower and above a second tower on the house's other side. Three stained-glass arched windows were set in pillars and plaster on the top floor. The roof was mansard.
Cornices, scrollwork, and rosettes divided each floor. The details would have been overdone except for the fact that the house was so grand. It was so very typical of the latest wave of architecture to hit the city, and Regina loved it instantly.

“Well?” Slade asked, tossing his jacket onto the seat between them.

“It's beautiful.”

“I've always admired this place. It's grand but not ostentatious, detailed but not silly. You want to go in?”

Her gaze leaped to his. “Of course.”

Slade helped her down. Regina thought his hands remained on her waist a touch longer than necessary, but said nothing, because his touch was no more unnerving than the complete set of circumstances they were in. He was her husband, but she felt inexplicably nervous around him; they were estranged, but she could only think of this house as their house. Still, he acted like a husband, taking her wrap from her shoulders while saying, “You don't need this.” The sun had chased away the morning fog and he left his jacket behind as well.

They walked up the front steps. Regina was overwhelmingly aware of the man she was with. She fidgeted as Slade fitted the key into the lock. He glanced at her and threw open the door.

She wondered just what was on his mind.

“Oh,” she said, glancing around the large foyer. The ceiling was three stories above them, making the entrance inside more impressive than it had seemed from the outside. The foyer was vast, appearing more so because it was unfurnished and the pink-and-white-checked marble floors carried one's eye relentlessly down the hall. The walls were painted salmon-pink.

There was a skylight above them, one that could not be seen from the street, and sunlight drenched them. Regina turned to Slade, realizing he was watching her very intently, his eyes gleaming. His look caused a prickle of foreboding. “This is beautiful.”

He cocked his head and Regina stepped past him, accepting his silent invitation. She was growing more and more aware of the fact that they were alone in this huge empty house. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floors, as had her voice when she spoke. She paused on the threshold of a ballroom with vaulted ceilings. A pair of heavy gilded chairs, terribly ugly, had been left behind, set against one wall. The other wall was mirrored; Regina thought that the effect was interesting. Tall French double doors faced them and looked out onto the house's gardens, which were terraced and abundantly in bloom.

Slade stood behind her, saying nothing.

Regina's nervousness increased. Swallowing, she walked across the room, leaving Slade standing in the doorway, and gazed out on the lawns. She could feel his eyes upon her back.

She turned slightly, and glimpsed him in the mirror. His expression was unguarded and fierce; hungry. The fine hairs raised on the nape of her neck. But she did not move.

In the mirror, she watched him slowly cross the room and walk up behind her. His footsteps resounded hollowly. Her skin felt tight. Her breasts seemed to tingle against the delicate lace of her underclothes. It was occurring to her that his intentions in showing her the house were not legitimate, or, if they had been legitimate, they were no longer. But she did not move. It had only been a few days since their wedding, but the interim felt more like long, agonizing years. She hugged herself, but did not face him. She didn't have to, for she had one eye on the mirror.

He stopped behind her. “Well?”

“I like it.” Her words sounded choked. They echoed. Every nuance in her voice was magnified a hundredfold.

“So do I.” His words echoed also. Then his hands touched her shoulders.

“Slade…” His touch was light, yet her body was quivering uncontrollably. His mouth touched the side of her neck.
Slade
. For an instant as she stood there while
he nuzzled her, she thought she had spoken his name again. But she hadn't. It was the room, not only echoing her but mocking her, for her tone sounded like that of a seductress, husky and desperate.

“I like this,” he whispered, his arms sliding around her.
I like this…I like this
, the room chanted back.

Regina stood stock-still, swept up by both the room's reverberations and the feel of his hard, aroused body pressing very firmly against hers. He continued to nuzzle her neck. Even had she the willpower to walk away, she would not have been able to, for he held her tightly, determinedly. She gulped air, gasping. The strangled sound chorused. His hands slid down her belly, splayed out. They paused above the juncture of her thighs.

“Slade,” she protested very weakly. “Someone might walk in.”
Slade…someone might walk in
.

His hand slid lower, cupping her intimately through the folds of her thin summer-weight skirt and petticoat. “I locked the door.” The room chanted its refrain.

She shut her eyes, trembling. He had planned this, but the rocking motion of his large palm was making it hard to care. He extended his fingers and rubbed harder and lower. All of her clothing was silk, even her drawers, and the sensation was almost unbearable. Regina cried out. The room cried out.

Through the layers of fabric he delved between her legs, expert and relentless. She began to shake. And then she began to sob with pleasure.