Cassidy remembered being overwhelmed by that perfume when Rowena had led her into the shop. It was scarcely noticeable now, but Greyburn smelled it. He hadn’t touched her dress, but he knew what it was made of. He had heard the sound the fabric made when she moved.
“A human without sight would be helpless,” he said. “We loups-garous have senses far greater than theirs. I require no man’s pity.”
Least of all hers, even if she’d dared. And yet… She closed her eyes, plunging herself into the darkness he must live with every day. Never to see the blue sky, or the way the morning light painted the mountains, or the bright blossoms of the prickly pear, or the stars at night. Never to be able to pick up a book and read words that could carry you away when even the world’s beauty wasn’t enough.
How many people outside of the family knew of his blindness? Surely not the fine folk at the party, who had dodged out of his path and whispered as he passed. In their own way, they, too, were blind.
But Rowena hadn’t let on, nor any of the servants. Did they all believe, like Greyburn, that it didn’t matter? Or were they simply afraid?
“You’ve just met Quentin,” Greyburn said, not waiting for her to speak. “He has a peculiar sense of humor, but there’s no real harm in him. You will come to… appreciate him, Cassidy.”
She wanted to believe that, with all her heart. But Quentin had deliberately tricked Greyburn. Rowena was cold and rude every time she spoke to him. It was almost as if they wanted to punish him.
Punish him… for what?
“Why?” she said. “Why did you hide it from me? Did you think I would care?”
Only a slight jerk of his chin betrayed a reaction before he looked at her with that implacable calm. “I lead this family,” he said, “as I rule the Convocation. All else is irrelevant.”
But it wasn’t, not if it hurt people—the people she wanted so badly to love. Braden looked unapproachable, . proud, untouched by emotion, especially fear or sorrow. He refused to let his blindness cripple him.
He was her Tyger still, but he was so alone.
“I have some very nice books of poetry,” she offered, watching his face for the slightest softening. “I can read to you. I’d like to—”
“Telford provides that service.”
She rose from the chair to face him. “Isn’t there anything I can—”
“I have managed to survive thus far without your personal intervention. Cousin. I believe I shall continue to do so.”
It was a dismissal, but she wasn’t quite ready to leave. “Cassidy,” she said. “My name is Cassidy. Are you afraid to tell me your real name?”
He paused in the act of pulling shut the drapes, turning back to her with a rare half smile that all too quickly vanished. “You’re a stubborn child, Cassidy Holt. My name is Braden.”
Braden. It was strong, like him, but gentle—a reluctant gift, but a gift just the same.
“Braden,” she repeated softly. “Thank you.”
With a noiseless, unhesitant stride he crossed the room. His hand lifted, paused, brushed her cheek like a moth’s wing.
Then he tilted his head in an attitude of sudden vigilance and reached past her to open the door. “Mrs. Smith,” he said, “would you care to come in?”
Isabelle stood just beyond the doorway, her hands clasped at her waist and her eyes very wide. “I was just coming to see—” She stopped, her usual poise failing her. “If I might—”
“I wish to speak to you in any case, Mrs. Smith,” he said, “regarding the trip to Northumberland. Quentin will be happy to entertain Cassidy in the drawing room.”
Isabelle shot Cassidy a quick look and obediently followed Braden back into the library. He didn’t speak to Cassidy again before he closed the door behind them.
She was tempted to linger by the door and listen, as Isabelle had obviously been doing, but she knew she wouldn’t get any more answers that way.
And there was still Quentin Forster.
The drawing room was just down the hallway from the library on the same floor. Like all the other chambers in the Greyburn household, the drawing room was sparsely furnished in a way very different from the stifling, overcrowded rooms of the hotel. It was very clean and formal, and just yesterday Cassidy had been half-afraid to walk on the spotless carpet or sit on the grand furniture.