Cassie's lips tightened ever so slightly. Oh, but it was just like him to make her sound mercenary and greedy! "It's not your money I speak of, nor anything money can buy," she said sharply.

He slipped long fingers into his pockets. "I admit, Yank, I am intrigued. But I suspect that is about to be remedied, so let us not mince words. What is it you would ask of me?"

"Very well, then, I will tell you. There are times you look at your father as if you hate him." She delivered her statement not as a question, but as a challenge. "I suspect there is far more to your reasons than the little you have told me, and ... I would like to know why."

Surprise flitted across Gabriel's handsome features. Clearly this was not what he'd expected. His lips twisted in something that only remotely resembled a smile. "Believe me, Yank, the feelings between my father and myself are mutual."

"Are they? I think not."

It was his turn for his mouth to tighten. "I have known my father far longer than you, Yank. I know him far better."

"I think you know him not at all. You hold him at a distance." The way you hold me, she wanted to cry. "Oh, I know he is like you, for I have watched you both. He tries to hide his feelings from everyone around him. And when he looks at you, there is sadness and pain -"

"You are mistaken," he said flatly.

Cassie persisted. "I have watched him. Regardless of what has existed between you in the past, I could almost swear he is hurt -"

"What you see is outrage, outrage that I have replaced his precious Stuart as his heir."

"Perhaps he has changed -"

"He has not. He will not."

Cassie shook her head. "You cannot say that for certain! Oh, I know he can be hard and difficult -no one knows that more than I. But so can you --"

"He may have fooled you, Yank, but he has never fooled me. My father, you see, is a bit like Stuart. Upright and noble and very much the gentleman -- so much the gentleman that he would not dare let anyone glimpse his true feelings. He's too supremely decorous ever to admit it, but I know if I were to walk out of his life and never return, my father would sing praises to the heavens."

His tone was no less than bitter. Cassie stared at the stiff, unyielding lines of his back as he moved to the window. There he remained, staring broodingly out into the night. Quiet descended, thick and unbearable.

It was Cassie who broke it. She swallowed pain-fully. "You are trying to punish him. I know that's why you married me. But even after all this time, I've yet to understand your reasons.'

He whirled on her, his dark features so intensely fierce Cassie instinctively fell back a step. "You think I have no cause? You're wrong, Yank, and here is why -- here is what you want to know. Oh, I've no doubt you've envied me my childhood. You grew up with so little, while I grew up swaddled in luxury and riches. And indeed I wanted for nothing as a child, nor did my mother. We well fed and well clothed. But neither of us ever forgot ... Stuart was Margaret's son, the son of the woman he loved. I was merely the son of the woman he later married." His tone was bitter.

Cassie's lips parted. She remembered what Gabriel had said that horrible night he had brought her home to his father, while she stood outside the door of the drawing room..."He married her," she whispered, "because he wanted a mother for Stuart."

"Precisely. Make no mistake, I loved my brother Stuart. But I was too young to realize that Stuart alone claimed my father's affections. Never did my father have any regard for me."

Cassie's insides twisted in sick dread. Surely no man could treat his own child so abominably. Yet she had only to think what her own mother had done to her to realize that such was the nature of life ... and such was the nature of love.

She heard his harsh laugh. "Foolish child that I was, I wanted my father to notice me, to love me just a measure of the way he loved Stuart. But Stuart was ever dutiful and obedient. He could do no wrong, while I could do no right. I used to stand near Stuart, praying that my father would notice me, that just once he would smile -- and look at me the way he looked at Stuart. I remember once ... my father had been to London. He presented Stuart a pony upon his return. I remember wanting to cry, for he'd brought nothing for me, again . . ."

Again. There was a wealth of meaning in that single word. Her chest began to ache; for she suddenly began to gain a very clear picture of all that Gabriel had endured.

"Condemn me if you will, but I was jealous -- and so very angry with both of them. If I could not have a pony, then neither should Stuart. That night I snuck into the stables and led Stuart's pony from his stall, and released him into the night. I wanted the pony to run away -- and he did. One of the grooms found him the next day. He'd stumbled and broke his foreleg. He had to be killed. I'd never seen my father so furious. I remember him shouting how cruel I was to ruin things for Stuart, how greedy and selfish."

Cassie's hand unknowingly rested just above her heart. She did not condemn Gabriel. Dear Lord, how could she? She had no trouble envisioning him as a young boy, clamoring to be heard, to be seen . . . to be loved. Oh, what he must have suffered, being forever overlooked in favor of his brother.

Cassie's chest was aching. "You did not mean to be cruel," she cried. "You were just a child! He was the one who was cruel, to so favor Stuart over you!"

"My father would not agree, Yank. Yet despite everything, I still longed for nothing more than his approval. But there was never a kind word for me. I was naught but a troublesome nuisance. My mother tried to hide it from me, but I was not fooled. He did not love me. He did not love her. We were both just an encumbrance."

An encumbrance. Cassie cringed inside. Lord, but she was coming to hate that word!

Gabriel's mouth twisted. "She married him thinking he would come to love her, you know. But it was as if he were blind. He could not see her for his memories of his beloved Margaret."

He said it as if it were a curse. Cassie was half-afraid to speak. "Your mother loved him then?"

His voice grew ever more brittle. "Yes. But she loved him from a distance, for he did not want her love. She thought I did not know, but I saw the yearning in her eyes that spoke of all she felt -- all she could not withhold. But there was never a tender word for her from my father, never a tender touch. He tolerated her presence in his life as a necessity, no more. He cared nothing for her. Nothing!"

Cassie's heart began to bleed, for all he had lost, for all he had witnessed, watching his mother in torment all those years. She thought of the portrait that hung in the gallery; now she understood the air of sadness that dwelled in the eyes of Caroline Sinclair.

"But she would not allow a single word to be said against him. She was sweet and kind and good. She would have done anything for him. I used to hear her weeping at night, but in the morning she greeted me as if naught were amiss. Day after day, year after year she went on loving him." His mouth thinned. "And in the end, it was that very love which killed her."

Cassie frowned. There was something rather vague about his statement, but before she could question him further, she heard his voice again.

"My father broke her heart," he said harshly, moving toward her dresser. "He broke her spirit. For myself, I could have forgiven him the wrongs done me as a boy, but never will I forgive what he did to my mother. I am no longer the naive, adoring young boy I once was, so do not ask me to be merciful or lenient. He spared none for my mother, and I will spare none for him. I have learned to live with his indifference -- we do well to endure each other's presence, but there can never be more. He cannot forget ... nor can I."

With that he left her, the lines of his back rigid and proud as he strode through the connecting door that led to his bedchamber.

Cassie's eyes remained fixed on the door long after he had passed through it. Her heart ached for the lonely little boy he had once been. It ached just as much for the bitter man he had become. Though she no longer wondered what demons drove him, it saddened her to think that Gabriel and his father might remain forever distant and alienated -- that there could never be a true measure of peace and forgiveness between them. She prayed that he was wrong -- that it was not so. For if it was, then all was lost.

Perhaps it was already.

There was no sleep to be found that night. Though her body was weary, Cassie's mind refused the balm of rest. She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. But all at once a splintering sound rent the night. Her eyes flew wide. She bolted upright.

The sound had come from Gabriel's room.

Slipping from her bed, she snatched up her dressing gown and pulled it on, already half-way across the floor. With no hesitation, she flung open the connecting door and rushed into his suite.

The room was lit by the yellow glow of a lamp in the corner. The full-length mirror mounted on the wall next to the tallboy had been shattered. Shards of shiny glass lay scattered on the thick Aubusson carpet. Cassie instinctively started toward the mess.

"What do you want, Yank?" His voice sliced the air as sharply as a knife blade.

Cassie froze. From the corner of her eye she saw Gabriel prop himself up on an elbow from where he'd been reclining on his bed. There was a glass in one hand.

The hold of his gaze was utterly commanding -- and utterly relentless. Cassie was almost tempted to flee beneath the fierceness of his glare -- almost, but not quite.

She moistened her lips. Her pose reflected her uncertainty, one small hand at the neck of her dressing gown. "I heard something ... I thought perhaps you were hurt."

"As you can see I am fine. I suggest you go back to bed." He swung his legs to the floor. His shirt was unbuttoned and gaped wide, revealing the hair-matted roughness of his chest. Cassie's mouth went dry, but she did not look away.

He paid her no heed, but strode toward the dresser -- and a half-empty decanter of brandy.

Cassie had no recollection of moving until she found herself at his side. Gabriel continued to ignore her, but when he would have tipped the neck of the decanter into the glass, she thrust her palm over the rim. "Gabriel, please." Her tone was breathless. "Don't you think you've had enough?"

He whirled on her, eyes afire with temper. "Have I, Yank? But you are right, there are other ways for a man to seek ease from his troubles. So tell me, would you offer more comfort?"

His gaze seared hotly into hers. Deliberately, boldly, he laid his hand on the upward thrust of her breast. Cassie could not still her instinctive leap of fear.

His lip curled. "You see? I thought not." He removed his hand and turned back to the decanter.

Cassie was quaking inside but determined not to show it. She laid beseeching fingers on his arm.

"Gabriel, please. You accomplish nothing by drinking yourself into oblivion."

"Why, Yank, I do believe you have no idea of the surcease to be found in a bottle of fine brandy. Amazing, to be sure, particularly for a former barmaid."

Cassie had to stop herself from flinching. His mockery cut deep and she suspected he knew it.

"Since you will not join me in my bed, then perhaps you wish to join me in a drink?"

"No!"

His eyes narrowed. His features grew blacker by the heartbeat.

"Then I recommend, once more, that you return b your own bed."

She shook her head. Cursing beneath his breath, Gabriel reached out to forcibly displace her touch. But Cassie's other hand joined the first. She clung to his forearm; the muscles beneath her fingertips grew rock-hard and tense.

His jaw clenched. "Why are you here? Do you enjoy seeing me like this?"

"Of course not!" The words were a fervent denial.

He stared at her as if to lay bare all that she was. A part of her longed to flee as he demanded, for a heated blaze had begun to glow deep in the pure silver of his eyes --anger, frustration, and something else --something that frightened her. But she knew, in some strange, unfathomable way she could not explain, that Gabriel was only a heartbeat away from losing control. And yet she felt compelled beyond reason to remain where she was, for she could not banish the strangest sense that if she turned from him now, he would remain beyond her reach forever.

"I was glad we left London," he said suddenly. "I hated all those young bucks watching you, wondering if your lips are as soft and sweet as they look."

Her lips formed a wordless sound of surprise.

"Oh, come now, Yank." His laugh was harsh. "Surely you knew. Surely you are not so green as all that. All the while they pretended to be gay and merry, ever the gentlemen, they were dying for a taste of you, stripping away your clothing with their eyes and imagining what lay beneath ... Viscount Rayburn-he was the worst."

Surprise widened her eyes. "But ... I am a married woman -"

"That matters little to men like Rayburn. Surely you saw enough of London to know that gambling and lustful pursuits are the order of the day. Believe me, had you given him any sign you were willing, he would have been under your skirts in a thrice." Gabriel's eyes were hard and glittering.

Without warning he caught her against him, the movement so sudden she nearly cried out.

"Be glad that he did not, Yank, for I do not think your tender heart could withstand his death on your conscience."

His possessiveness thrilled her, yet there was an aura of danger about him that sent a prickle of unease through her limbs. "Gabriel," she said shakily. "You should not say such things --"

A mask of icy coldness descended over his features. "Why not? It's true. So make no mistake. I'l kill any man who dares to claim what is mine."

Her breath caught halfway up her throat. "Gabriel, please, you --you don't know what you're saying. You've had too much brandy --"

"And what if I have?" His tone was fierce. "You drive me to drink, Yank. You drive me to madness. You drive me to this."

Chapter 16.

His mouth crushed hers, a searing brand. There was no tenderness in his shackling embrace. There was nothing but sheer, male mastery as with his tongue he ruthlessly plundered the honeyed interior of her mouth, stick and warm. She twisted beneath his hands but his grip was relentless, his kiss rampant with the thunder of emotions gone wild and unchecked and wholly out of control. Whether he was goaded by drink or desire, she did not know. She knew only that there was no escaping him.

To Cassie it was just like before. She sensed no mercy in him, no softness. She did not know he was blind and deaf to her struggles, to alt but the driving pulse beat of desire pounding through his veins. Only when a love whimper broke from her throat did the punishing ferocity of his kiss lessen. The crimson haze of lusty passion which surrounded him began to subside. Gradually he became aware of the fragile span of her shoulders beneath his hands.

He broke away from her mouth and stared down at her. Her lashes were dark and damp, spiked with tears. She appeared dazed, her lips red and damp and swollen. The faintest glimmer of wounded vulnerability shone in her beautiful golden eyes.

Gabriel stepped back, his breathing ragged and scraping. "Go," he said roughly. "Just go." He retreated to stand at the window, his back to her as he stared out at the moon-drenched sky.

Cassie remained where she was. Something painful caught at her heart. She could not identify the force which kept her there. It was as frail and fragile as a gossamer thread of hope ... as powerful and potent as a blazing noonday sun.

Time stretched, dark and endless. Hearing no rustle of movement behind him, he turned. His mouth grew ominously thin as he beheld her standing there.

The set of his shoulders was rigid. "You need not look at me like that, Yank. My father taught me well, you see -- I am undeserving of your compassion. And I most certainly do not need your pity."

There was a stark, wrenching pair in the region of her heart. Oh, yes, she thought. He was too proud to accept pity. Too bitter to accept compassion. But like her, he knew what it was to feel truly alone ... truly unworthy. A shattering realization washed over her then.

She could love him ... if only he would let her.

"Dammit," he growled, "didn't you hear? Leave me alone!"

Slowly she raised her head. His regard was so blistering she was half-afraid to speck. "Is that what you want?" she asked faintly. "For me to leave?"

His eyes glittered. "You know what I want, Yank."

Still she stood there, marveling that she had not the good sense to do as he commanded. Fear dragged at her insides, a fear that surpassed all other. If he rejected her now, her humiliation would be complete.

She shook her head, the muscles in her throat aching so that it hurt to speak. "No," she whispered. "I am not certain that I do." Something blazed across his features, something swiftly suppressed.

Deliberately he said, "I want you in my bed, Yank. Beneath me. Your legs wrapped tight around mine as I lay buried deep and hard inside you." He watched as her face flamed crimson. He did not mean to be crude, just brutally frank, for he would have no misunderstandings between them this time.

Still she did not move. She stood before him, her gaze shying away, her hands clasped in a white-knuckled grip before her. Both betrayed her. Doubt? he wondered. Or fear?

With his eyes he pinioned her. His scouring gaze swept her from head to foot, lingering on the gentle up thrust of her breasts beneath her dressing gown. By the time his gaze returned to hers, Cassie was stunned to find his expression raw with undisguised passion. Her pulse was suddenly throbbing.

"Come here, Yank."

She went, on legs that weren't entirely steady. Only when she stood before him, so near he could feel the flutter of her breath, did she falter. Her lashes fanned dark and thick upon her cheeks; her gaze climbed no higher than the hollow of his throat.

Warm hands descended to her shoulders. He pushed aside her dressing gown, leaving her clad only in a nightgown that revealed far more than it concealed. Her nipples thrust pink and round against sheer white lawn. Further down the triangle of her womanhood shown dark and dusky.

He stroked her body with naught but the touch of his eyes.

"You're beautiful, Yank."