Family Secrets

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  * * *

  As he walked beneath the covered portico and paused at the front door, Caine was surprised to find Ivy still there, frantically searching her pockets.

  He let out a low groan. “Oh no. Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You forgot the house key.”

  “It was hanging just inside the door. I hope you brought it.”

  He frowned, and rummaged through his pockets. Coming up empty, he stood with his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe you went out without a key.”

  “I just didn’t think. Besides, stop trying to pass the blame. You did the same thing.”

  “I had more important things on my mind. Remember?”

  “Well,” she said with a shrug. “We’re locked out. What do we do now—ring the door chimes until someone hears us?”

  “We’ll have the entire household swarming down here.” He paused. “There has to be a way.” He thought for a moment, then brightened. “Come on.”

  Ivy followed him around to the side of the house. Staring up, he said softly, “I’ve climbed this old trellis dozens of times when I got home later than Aunt Trudy commanded.”

  “And I thought you were the epitome of honor. Always so noble. The very idea. Sneaking in behind your old aunt’s back.”

  She heard the suppressed anger beneath the sarcastic tone. “I can see that I’m not going to let you in on too many of my past secrets.” He tugged on the wooden trellis. “If it hasn’t rotted with age, I should be able to get to the balcony.”

  “And what if the balcony door of your room is locked?”

  “I’ll force it.” He frowned. “It won’t be the first time. If you see me disappear inside, walk to the front door. I’ll come downstairs and let you in shortly. Unless,” he teased, pulling on a strand of her hair, “the climb is too tiring and I decide to go to bed instead of coming to your rescue.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. If you leave me out here, I’ll wake the entire state of New York.”

  Caine didn’t doubt it. As he tested the trellis, she called, “And you worried about a thief on the property. Are you sure you aren’t a cat burglar in your spare time?”

  He placed his foot carefully in a curve of the trellis before beginning the treacherous climb.

  Holding her breath, Ivy stared at the darkened outline of Caine’s figure as he slowly made his way to the second-story balcony.

  Something, some movement above him, caught her eye. Someone was standing on the balcony, watching him. She shifted, straining to make out the figure. It was too dark. Was that an arm raised? Did someone intend to strike Caine before he reached safety?

  “Caine. Above you.”

  He paused in his climb, then lifted his head. The figure darted out of sight.

  “Keep your voice down. Do you want to wake the entire household?”

  She pressed her lips together. Idiot. He didn’t even realize his life might have been in danger.

  As Caine disappeared over the railing, she tucked her hair up under her hat and set her foot in the trellis. Feeling around in the darkness above her head for something to hold on to, she began to climb.

  Caine had just managed to force open the heavy glass door to his room when Ivy pulled herself over the railing.

  “What in the hell...?”

  “I needed the exercise,” she said, catching her breath from the exertion.

  “You know something? You’re crazy.” He held the door. As she passed in front of him, he inhaled the intoxicating scent of her perfume and felt a familiar tightness deep inside.

  “Caine, when I yelled, someone was hovering on the balcony. From where I was standing, it looked like they were going to strike you.”

  He turned his head to study the darkness. “When I was a boy, I used to see the branches of that old oak outside my window and swear it was someone on the balcony. Are you sure it wasn’t just a shadow?”

  She bit her lip. At this point, she wasn’t sure of anything.

  “Come on in, worrywart. And stop trying to make a big mystery out of everything.”

  She bit back a retort. After all, she’d always had a wild imagination.

  Glancing around the luxurious room she whispered, “So this is how the other half lives.”

  He grinned. “It’s humble, but it’s home to me.”

  The king-size bed, which dominated the room, was a brass four-poster, with a headboard reaching nearly to the ceiling. The quilt and pillow covers were of natural hemp and burlap. A sleek contemporary sofa and a pair of art deco chairs surrounded a low brass table. The walk-in closet was bigger than the bedroom of Ivy’s New York apartment.

  “Umm. Very humble.” She walked to a desktop covered with framed photos. There were pictures of a very young Caine in the arms of his mother.

  “When did she die?” Ivy asked.

  He glanced over her shoulder. “When I was seven. Darren was three weeks old. Three years later, our father married Jenny, Aunt Trudy’s younger sister.” He pointed to another photo. “That was their wedding picture.”

  Ivy stared at the young bride and her handsome husband, nearly an exact double for Caine. “Did you like your new stepmother?”

  He nodded. “For the short time she was with us. Two years later they were dead in a plane crash. I was twelve, Darren only five. It would have all come crashing down around us if it hadn’t been for Aunt Trudy’s generosity.”

  “What do you mean?” She picked up a picture of a solemn little Caine holding a laughing Darren on his lap.

  “We had no living relatives so she adopted us. If she hadn’t we would have been sent to a state institution. Darren and I probably would have been split up, to be adopted separately.”

  “How terrible.” Ivy set the picture down and studied the photos, almost all of which showed a serious, almost dour little Caine and a laughing, carefree Darren.

  Ivy felt a twinge of guilt. She’d always assumed that the St. Martin money made everything easy.

  Caine watched her. She was the most beguiling woman he’d ever met, even dressed in that silly cap and leather jacket. He could still recall the softness of her body, the warmth, the fire that blazed at his touch.

  Pointing to a picture of the boys in baseball uniforms, she said, “Did you always take everything so seriously?”

  He smiled. “I’m afraid so. Darren was one of life’s blithe spirits. He was the type who would wander off and get lost the minute my back was turned. He would just touch something and it would break, or end up in his pocket when no one was looking. He loved ‘collecting’ nice things. I always felt I had to save him from himself.”

  “Even after you were adopted?” She was unaware of Caine’s hand lifting the cap from her head.

  His gaze riveted on the mass of dark hair that spilled softly about her face.

  “Then I felt even more responsible for him. I realized how much Aunt Trudy was sacrificing to take us in, so I was determined to make it as easy as possible for her.” He shook his head, remembering. “With Darren, that was no small task.”

  Odd, she thought, her first impressions of Caine hadn’t been like this at all. She had found him tough, surly, rigid. Now she was seeing another aspect of his personality that she hadn’t known existed. The gentle, loving side of a man who cared, really cared about people.

  Ivy found herself wondering if Caine’s self-imposed task had ever ended, even now. She thought of Darren’s carefree life-style, and Caine’s dogged determination to succeed.

  “How could Aunt Tru adopt you when she wasn’t married?”

  His hand moved to the collar of her jacket. As he began unbuttoning it, his eyes never left hers. “I’m sure she had to pull a lot of strings. Old Judge Tisdale arranged the adoption when he was still a lawyer.”

  “With no children of her own, I’m sure Aunt Tru was thrilled to have two boys liven up her house.”

  He laughed. “That’s a nice way of putting it. I think we managed to drive most of the help crazy. Those who didn’t quit
demanded raises. And got them.”

  His mouth was just inches from hers. With her jacket open, his hands encircled her waist, measuring her slenderness.

  He felt her stiffen as she realized what he had done. She swallowed. His hands slid beneath the sweater to feel her warm flesh.

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t, Caine.” She pressed her hands to his shoulders.

  She felt his warm breath feather across her cheek. “Why not? You’re here in my room, sharing intimate pictures and memories of my life.”

  Ivy suddenly felt like an intruder in Caine’s life. “I’d better get to bed.”

  “Not yet.” His lips hovered a fraction from hers. She didn’t breathe. She kept her eyes open as he touched his mouth to hers.

  He felt the stab of desire, quick, urgent. Lifting his head, he stared down into her eyes. Then slowly, deliberately, his mouth crushed hers. All thought fled. Ivy’s hands clutched at his shoulders, drawing him even closer. She felt herself plummeting, dropping from a great height, falling through endless space, locked in those strong arms.

  His hands slid along her back, burning a trail of fire along her naked skin.

  Dazed, he lifted his head. “You’re not wearing anything under this sweater,” he muttered against her temple.

  “You’re very astute, Mr. St. Martin.” She tossed her head, trying to think. “I’m leaving. Now.”

  As she pulled open the door, a figure dashed along the dim hallway, then stopped and turned toward them.

  Caine stepped past her. “David. What are you doing?”

  The young lawyer hesitated, blinked at the sudden light, then walked toward them. “I heard something, so I got up to investigate.” His gaze slid from Caine to Ivy, noting her disheveled appearance. He seemed embarrassed to have caught them together in Caine’s room.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize what I was interrupting.” Before either of them could respond, he hurried away.

  With narrowed eyes Caine murmured, “Now I’m responsible for tarnishing your sterling reputation.” He touched her cheek, then dropped his hand quickly. “I wish we’d been doing what David assumes. It would have been a lot more fun than climbing walls.”

  He caught a strand of her hair. At his simple touch, something stirred deep inside her.

  His husky voice scraped on her ragged nerves. “In fact, I’ll probably be climbing walls all night just thinking about what I’ve missed.”

  “Now I know I’m leaving.” With a toss of her head, Ivy fled from his touch and began to walk down the hall, then paused and turned. Caine was still standing in the doorway of his room, his dark gaze fastened on her.

  “Thanks for an interesting evening. This sure beats the muggers in Central Park.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “Next time, I’ll go to your room, to see your—etchings.”

  “Funny, Caine. Very funny.”

  His gray gaze remained on her until she closed her door.

  Pulling off his jacket and shirt, Caine opened the balcony door. He held a lighter to a cigarette, then snapped it shut and inhaled deeply. What was happening to him? He was adult, successful, reasonably intelligent. He thought of himself as mildly sophisticated, and there’d been a fair number of women in his life. But this zany, scatterbrained artist, who acted as if she didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain, was getting to him as no one else ever had. He loved that husky voice of hers, and her joyful laughter. He loved the way her eyes looked, all big and innocent. And a man could get lost in her rich cloud of hair.

  He stepped out onto the balcony and watched the clouds scudding across the moon. She was involved in something mysterious. And she had enlisted Chester’s aid. That made her the number-one suspect. He intended to watch her closely this weekend.