“I know. Braden wants Rowena to marry a man she’s never even met. It isn’t right—”
“No, it is not. Lord Greyburn intends that you should be simply another pawn in his strategy. His plans for you, Cassidy—” She lowered her gaze.
Cassidy closed her eyes and held her breath.
“He has decided that you are to marry his brother, Quentin.”
“Marry… Quentin?”
“I believe the earl intended this all along,” Isabelle said quietly. “He determined that his breeding program will best be served when you and Quentin produce children. You will remain safely within the family, but are not too nearly related to the Forsters to create… difficulties.” She shuddered. “Oh, Cassidy, would that I could have spared you this.”
Cassidy sat down on the edge of the bed, numbly coiling the rope between her fingers. She’d been worried that Braden didn’t consider her truly a werewolf or part of his Cause—and now Isabelle said that he expected her to… wanted her for… Quentin. A man Cassidy liked. A brother. Not someone whose kiss could make music in her blood and send lightning shooting from her head to her toes.
“Why Quentin?” she demanded. “Why not…”
Isabelle’s eyes were filled with pity. “I don’t know. The earl did not choose to share his reasons with me.”
Nor had he shared them with Cassidy. He could have explained countless times, and had chosen not to. Instead, he’d begun to make her imagine, hope, believe in things she hadn’t known were possible until he came into her life.
But Braden didn’t want her.
Pain shot up Cassidy’s arm, and she realized she had wrapped the rope so tightly around it that she’d nearly cut off the flow of blood. Her teeth were clenched, and her heart pounded. Of all the new feelings Braden inspired, this was the one that scared her most.
Anger. She tasted the emotion cautiously, like an unfamiliar seasoning. She was angry at Braden, in a way she’d never been before.
In New Mexico, she had become used to her place as an unwanted orphan. Her aunt and uncle, in spite of their indifference and Aunt Harriets small cruelties, could never upset her for long. She could lose herself in work or in her books. And there’d always been the knowledge that her life would be so much better someday, if she could only be patient.
At Greyburn it was different. Little by little, like a rattlesnake waking up to the sun, unfamiliar anger uncoiled from some hidden place inside. She hadn’t recognized it at first, but now she knew. She’d been angry with the rules that made Isabelle suffer, angry with Lord Leebrook, angry with Rowena. In the library, she had even dared to challenge Braden’s decision about Isabelle.
This anger was strongest of all. Personal. Scorching as the desert on a summer afternoon. The more she tried to wish it away, the stronger it became. It was a wild animal trapped behind her ribs, frantic and formidable, trying to claw its way out.
“Cassidy.” Someone touched her arm. She sprang up from the bed, and Isabelle recoiled.
“I’m sorry,” Isabelle said, hugging herself. “If only I’d known—”
“I am a foolish child,” Cassidy said. The words came out clipped and short and hard, like Braden’s so often were. Now she knew why they sounded that way. “You and Rowena tried to warn me, but I didn’t understand.”
“How could you?” Isabelle said. “Men were born to deceive women, and use them. It’s in their blood, human or otherwise.”
A fresh burst of music came up from the drawing room. Cassidy marched to the door and put her ear to the wood, then opened it a crack. Telford was gone.
Milena’s perfect features filled her mind. What would she have done now? Rowena said she was obedient and good. Maybe that was why Braden loved her. But being good hadn’t helped Cassidy.
Her mouth formed a crooked smile that felt strange on her face.
“I’m not waiting in this room for other people to decide my future,” she said. “If I am part of Braden’s Cause, I should be with the others. I’m going to go down, Isabelle.”