“The decision is not yours to make. I brought you to Greyburn for a single purpose—”
“Then I won’t stay at Greyburn.”
“If you are so certain of what you wish, Cousin, I will not stop you.”
Perhaps she expected him to admit he was wrong, order her to stay, make some absurd declaration of devotion. She didn’t move for several agonizing seconds. Then she walked out—not in a flurry of skirts and hurried footsteps, but with a remote dignity that chilled his already icy heart.
“You’re a fool, Braden,” Quentin said. “It’s time someone showed you just how much a fool you are.” He turned on his heel and followed Cassidy.
Braden listened to John Dodd’s shallow breathing as the man waited, beyond terror, for the determination of his fate.
In that moment, Braden and John Dodd were all but brothers.
Braden didn’t come after her.
Once she was beyond the carved doors, Cassidy ran. She crossed the entrance hall and took the stairs to the landing two at a time.
“I won’t stay at Greyburn.” She’d flung that threat out recklessly, scarcely aware of what she was saying.
But Braden hadn’t come after her—not even for the sake of his Cause. “I will not stop you,” he said. There’d been only blank indifference in his expression, his voice, his posture; no rejection could have been more complete.
And the way he’d treated the footman appalled her. She couldn’t get that image out other mind: Braden dangling the man from one hand, like half-dead prey in a puma’s claws. He was filled with rage, and he turned it on someone who couldn’t fight back.
He’d even exiled his own son.
Nothing could reach Braden—not anger, or kindness, or pleading—not even love. She had gambled and lost.
Her ankle twisted as she missed one of the stairs in her haste. A narrow, long-fingered hand caught her at the elbow.
“Miss Holt,” Telford said. “May I help you to your room?”
Startled, she looked into the valet’s grave brown eyes. His detached concern cut through her misery.
“I’m… all right, Telford,” she said.
“I beg leave to doubt that. Miss Holt,” he said. “May I have a word with you?”
She remembered how Telford had seemed ready to speak before she’d gone in to see Braden in his suite. He had certainly never initiated a conversation with her before.
But many things had occurred lately that hadn’t happened before. Especially not to Cassidy.
“I know you’re troubled about the earl, Miss Holt,” he said. “I know about John Dodd, and I wish to explain… if you would be so good as to hear me out.”
Something in his face urged her to listen. She sensed in him an absolute loyalty to Braden completely different from the obedience of the other Greyburn servants. He was not afraid.
“I have been with Lord Greyburn for many years. Miss Holt,” he said. “Since before his accident.”
She leaned heavily against the nearest wall. “His accident? When he became blind?”
“Yes. I assisted him with the initial adjustments to his injury. Reading, correspondence, attire. But he is a remarkable man. He has requested my services for such matters less and less, and—” He gave her a strange, penetrating look. “I believe, now that you are here, he may soon not require them at all.”
Cassidy stared at her feet. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”
“You must know, Miss Holt, that the footman John Dodd was influenced by Count Boroskov. Perhaps you are not aware that the count also attempted to suborn me, to turn me against you and the earl.”
“You, too?”
“That is why I failed to guard you, and was able to return only just in time to warn you of the challenge. In so doing, I put you in some peril, Miss Holt. For that I apologize. But I did believe that you could help the earl. I still believe so.”
She bit her lip to stop a stinging denial. “How did you escape what happened to John Dodd?”
“I am somewhat resistant to the loup-garou power,” he said softly. “Lord Greyburn learned this early in my employment, but he chose to trust me without the addition of such protective measures as he must utilize with the other servants.”