Family Secrets: A Classic Romance

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “Made any plans?”

  She nodded. “I think I’d like to visit the cottage. And later on, if the sun is shining, I’d like to take a walk and try a few sketches.”

  “I was planning to see the cottage, too. Mind if I tag along?”

  “No. As long as you don’t mind riding on the back of my bike.”

  Caine looked skeptical. “Depends. How good a driver are you?”

  “Depends.” She laughed. “How good a passenger are you?”

  “I guess I have no choice. I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

  They both looked up at the sound of Chester and Martha discussing the day’s work schedule in the other room.

  “Time to duck out. The troops are arriving.”

  Catching her hand, Caine led Ivy out the back door. Chuckling like two conspirators, they hurried to the garage.

  As he pulled open the heavy door, she gunned the engine of the motorcycle.

  “Hop on.”

  It seemed incongruous that the slender, almost fragile woman he had held in his arms last night could actually transport them both safely on that gleaming machine. He gave her a dubious look.

  “Come on. Stop being such a coward.”

  “I’m only a coward when I’m asked to put my life in the hands of a woman who looks like she wouldn’t know the difference between a piston and a spark plug.”

  She cut the engine. The silence was shocking.

  “A piston is a sliding piece moved by or moving against fluid pressure, which usually consists of a short cylinder fitting within a cylindrical vessel along which it moves back and forth. A spark plug, on the other hand, is a part that fits into the cylinder head of an internal-combustion engine and carries two electrodes separated by an air gap across which the current from the ignition system discharges to form the spark for combustion.”

  Caine’s mouth dropped open.

  With a smug look, Ivy started the engine once more. Over the din she shouted, “Care to ride with poor, dumb, little old me? Or would you rather walk?”

  Caine threw back his head and roared with laughter. Then with a shake of his head, he climbed on behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist.

  For a moment, the touch of his hands was so shocking, she felt paralyzed. Then, forcing herself into action, she gunned the engine and they sped along the driveway.

  The wind created by the motion of the vehicle was invigorating. The floral scent of her cologne enveloped them. Pressing himself firmly against her back, Caine brought his lips to her ear. She felt a delicious tingle and increased their speed.

  His hands tightened beneath her rib cage. “Umm. This is the only way to fly.”

  She laughed, and the sound was carried away on the wind. Her hair fanned out in the breeze, and he buried his face in a tangle of curls, loving the feeling of being lost in a cloud of burnished silk.

  Without slowing down, the motorcycle took the curves in the driveway and careered around a sharp bend. When Ivy moved, Caine moved with her. Their bodies were in such perfect harmony, their every move looked choreographed. They leaned and straightened like a single figure.

  When they pulled up to the deserted cottage and Ivy cut the engine, they both experienced a letdown after the exhilaration of the ride.

  “Damn.” He seemed genuinely surprised. “You’re good.”

  She warmed to his compliment.

  Caine climbed off the bike and stood back to admire the view of her sleek form as Ivy swung her long leg over the vehicle. When it was parked, he took her hand and led her to the door. He pulled a key from his pocket, then was puzzled when the door swung open before he could insert the key in the lock.

  “Aunt Trudy said she kept it locked.”

  Ivy shrugged and followed him inside. “Maybe the lock is old and rusted.”

  Caine checked the lock, then the key. Wordlessly he pocketed the key.

  Stripped of their furnishings, the rooms seemed so much larger than Ivy remembered. It was a simple, one-story floor plan. There was a combination living-dining room with a large fieldstone fireplace, a cozy kitchen, two bedrooms, each with its own bath, and a combined laundry and workroom.

  Ivy could still picture her father, his sleeves rolled above his elbows, potting a precious plant from the garden. The house always smelled of rich, dark soil and the fragrance of dozens of herbs and powers.

  Silently, almost reverently, Ivy moved from room to room, allowing happy memories to wash over her. In the kitchen, the rays of the rising sun streamed through the dirty windows and reflected little rainbow prisms on the white stucco walls.

  “We always had the morning sun in here.” She spoke softly, as if afraid to speak aloud. “It was a wonderful way to start the day.”

  To Caine’s experienced eye, the sturdy beams, the wonderful antique leaded windows, the excellent craftsmanship were all good reasons for renovating the old place.

  “It’s a shame to see it lying vacant,” Ivy muttered.

  “Would you like to see it lived in again?”

  She looked up. “Of course.”

  “I’ve been thinking about remodeling it for a weekend retreat.”

  A smile lit her eyes before she spoke. “It would be a wonderful place to come to. The kitchen would need to be modernized. But the plumbing is in good shape.” She shrugged. “I’m not so sure about the old furnace. But the fireplace throws enough heat to warm all the rooms.” She wistfully continued, “I used to love to snuggle up by the fire and read on long winter nights.”

  With Caine following her, she hurried to the living room. “Dad said these stones all came from St. Martin property. They were hauled here and fitted, stone by stone, into this fireplace.”

  As she spoke, she bent to pick up a chunk of stone that lay on the hearth. “That’s odd. One side of this looks like it’s been cut out.”

  Caine took it from her and examined it. Studying the stones along the fireplace, he held it up to a gaping hole between two other stones. It fit perfectly.

  “It has been cut.” As Caine lifted the stone to set it into the opening, he noticed the dull gleam of metal deeply recessed in the fireplace. “There’s something back here.” He stood on the hearth and peered into the opening. “This stone hid a small metal safe.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you know that it was there?”

  Ivy shook her head and climbed up beside him. Standing on tiptoe, she stared at the spot he indicated. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  Caine forced himself to ignore the delicate scent of her perfume. Fighting the hypnotic spell, he studied her eyes. His heart contracted. Like him, she had risen early. Had she been aware of a hidden safe in the cottage? Did it contain something she didn’t want anyone else to know about? Had she intended to get to the cottage before anyone else? Just how good an actress was she? Was he really in the company of an innocent, or did she know more than she was willing to admit?

  “Want me to open it?”

  Her eyes widened. She swallowed, then nodded her head. He pulled the small metal door open. The safe was empty.

  “Someone knew about it.”

  “How could they? This was my home for ten years, and I never knew about the safe.”

  “This cottage was built at the same time as all the other buildings on the St. Martin estate. The safe could have been included in the original construction plans. That means that plenty of other people could have known about this safe.”

  “Has anyone lived here since I moved out?”

  “No. Aunt Trudy said the cottage has been vacant.”

  He glanced around. Until now, he hadn’t bothered to notice the footprints at the entranceway, or the muddied imprint of a flat shoe—a man’s shoe—or a woman’s boot. From the looks of it, there had been a steady stream of visitors to this little cottage.

  He shrugged. “The cottage has been vacant a long time. Anyone could take as much time as they wanted to search the place.”

  “But what do you think my father kept in tha
t safe?”

  Caine frowned. “I wish I knew.”

  Ivy shivered. Caine drew her close and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, wondering if he was a fool to try to convince himself of her innocence.

  “I don’t want to stay here, Caine.”

  He read the fear in her eyes. “Relax. This could have been done a year ago or more.”

  “Or yesterday. That cut on the stone looks fresh.”

  He had thought the same thing. She was suddenly displaying more sense than he would have credited her with yesterday. He couldn’t figure her out. Was she a scatterbrain or was that just a clever cover?

  “I want to leave, Caine.” He felt the tremor that ran through her as his hand caressed her shoulder.

  “I just want to look a little longer.”

  “Fine. I’ll wait for you outside.”

  The thought of strangers going through her home, desecrating her memories, disturbed her more than she cared to admit. Why had her father never told her about the safe? And what had he kept there? Did her mother know? Ivy’s hands clenched at her sides. Even if Diana knew, she wouldn’t have shared that knowledge with Ivy. Mother and daughter had shared so little. Ivy felt the sudden, unexpected sting of tears. She had been such a disappointment to her mother.

  Caine spent another half hour going through the cottage. While one part of his mind searched for some meaning to this additional piece of the mystery, the other part of his mind automatically began designing the changes he would make in these rooms.

  Caine’s taste ran to sleek, contemporary lines, both in architecture and furnishings. He’d always been attracted to clean, sophisticated beauty. But something about the cottage prompted him to alter his thinking. As he walked through the cozy rooms, pausing to study the small, leaded windows, and standing back to admire the wood beams and paneled walls, he began to visualize plump, upholstered sofas, an antique writing desk, a cluster of potted plants.

  This cottage wasn’t a typical bachelor’s refuge. It was a lovers’ retreat. It almost begged for two people to share its warmth and intimacy.

  Caine’s thoughts turned to the mysterious woman who waited for him outside. Ivy was an enigma. A contemporary woman, she was living on her own in New York, making a name for herself in the art world. Her odd taste in fashion, and the fact that she insisted on driving that ridiculous motorcycle, proved that she was strong enough to defy convention. Yet there was something so old-fashioned about her. Maybe it was her quirky sense of humor, or her fierce loyalty to an old woman three times her age. Whatever it was, Ivy Murdock was a puzzle. And he was spending entirely too much time thinking about her.

  When he emerged, Ivy was standing with her back to him, her arms hugged tightly to herself, her face turned up to the sun. He paused to enjoy the way the sunlight turned the ends of her hair blue-black. As he studied her slim figure he felt the familiar tightening deep inside him.

  Walking up behind her, he murmured her name.

  She turned. Her features relaxed into a smile and his gaze fastened on her mouth. What happened next stunned them both.

  He held out a hand. Before she could take it, he reached out and caught a strand of hair and wound it around his finger, drawing her head up.

  Puzzled by the look on his face, she arched an eyebrow. He touched a finger to her cheek, and reveled in the softness of her skin. Following the curve of her cheek, he traced the fullness of her lips, feeling their velvet wetness. Impulsively, he dipped his finger inside her lower lip. At the pleasant sensations, her mouth opened. She gasped. He could read the surprise in her eyes.

  He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers. He hadn’t intended for this to happen. But he had to kiss her again, to see if what had passed between them last night was real, or only a fantasy brought on by the moonlight.

  “No, Caine.”

  His gray eyes seemed opaque in the sunlight. “Why don’t you stop me?”

  His lips covered hers.

  He had expected warmth, tenderness, some pleasant sensations. He’d even hoped to revive the simmering passion he had felt in her. What he hadn’t anticipated was the hard, driving need that rocketed through him the moment he took her lips. His hands thrust deeply into her hair, holding her head when she would have pulled away. A white hot light seemed to sear his brain, blinding him to everything except his need for her.

  Frantically her hands pushed against his chest. As he took the kiss deeper, he felt her hands relax, then curl into his shirt, pulling him closer.

  She smelled of soap and spring flowers: Clean. Fresh. Her breath was sweet, mingling with his. For a moment the kiss softened, as he pulled her into the circle of his arms. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  She could feel his thighs pressing against hers. Her breasts were crushed to his chest. A heartbeat hammered. Hers or his. Or both. As he drew her even closer, she could feel his hard body imprinting itself on her softness.

  She’d never known a surge of passion like this. The heat of his body, his caressing fingertips, his seductive mouth, were taking her higher than she’d ever been.

  With a little sob, she called his name. Or thought she did.

  He lifted his head. Through narrowed eyes he studied her. Her eyes were so wide, they looked too big for her face. Her lips were moist and parted, swollen from his kisses. Her hair, tangled by his rough hands, drifted about her face.

  He knew he should pull away now. But the need for her was too great. With a sigh of resignation he drew her once more into his arms. He kissed the corners of her eyes, her cheeks, her earlobes, then brought his mouth to her throat.

  “Ivy. Little weed.” He murmured her name against her skin as his mouth explored her throat, the hollow of her shoulder, her collarbone.

  The need grew, catching them by surprise, until it became pain.

  He caught at her lower lip with his teeth, then covered her mouth with his. His hands at her hips drew her firmly to him, tormenting both of them. Her hands sought his skin, and she felt his sudden intake of breath as she slipped her hands beneath his shirt. Passion became a kind of madness, taking over their control. Between their tightly pressed bodies, his hands sought her breasts. His thumbs stroked. She drew him closer.

  The spring sunshine bathed them in its golden rays. The air was sweet with new flowers, but it was Ivy’s scent that filled Caine’s mind. The softness of her body, the taste of her skin, the texture of her hair. There was nothing but this woman, and the need, the raw, driving need.

  Caine knew he had to stop this torment. For one last minute, he savored the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin. Then he forced himself to step away.

  They were both too shaken to speak. Dragging in deep breaths of air, Ivy willed herself to stand very still. She was afraid that at any moment her legs would refuse to hold her.

  “You shouldn’t have done that.’’

  He clutched his hands at his side, forcing himself not to touch a finger to her swollen lips. “I had to. And I’ll probably have to again.”

  They heard the footsteps a moment before the voice.

  “Well, I thought I was the only one out exploring this early in the morning.” David Tisdale’s words were a dash of ice water.

  Two heads snapped to one side. Ivy and Caine started guiltily, then blinked at the figure of the young lawyer. How long had he been there? How much had he seen?

  “What are you doing here?” Caine’s voice was hard.

  “Just out walking. I asked Darren to meet me here at the cottage.” David’s neck bore the flush of recognition. He studiously avoided their eyes. Glancing at his watch, he said, “He should be here anytime now. And you?”

  Caine waited, fighting for composure. “Just looking around.”

  Caine watched the way Ivy’s hair lifted on the breeze. He tried to keep his voice casual as he said to her, “Why don’t you go back to the house? I think I’ll stay here awhile and walk around the property. It’ll give me a better pe
rspective for the remodeling job.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her legs were wooden as she walked to the bike. As she climbed on the motorcycle, she prayed it would start on the first attempt. She needed to get away from probing eyes. The ride would clear her head.

  As she started the engine, Caine shook a cigarette from the pack and held it between his lips. He didn’t bother lighting it in front of David. The wind was too strong to allow the match to burn. Besides, he was afraid his hand was none too steady.

  Chapter Five

  Small clouds dotted a blue sky. Warm spring sunshine spread liquid gold over fields washed clean of winter’s grime. The view was a pastoral scene of rolling hills and thick wooded forests. Though pockets of snow still clung stubbornly in shadowed areas and at the base of trees, a fine lacy veil of pale green buds adorned the trees, proclaiming the advent of spring.

  Ivy sat in a clump of new grass. Clad in the ever-present jeans and a shirt tied at her midriff, she studied the landscape, then bent over the tablet, sketching.

  The sun was warm on her back. As she worked, her hair fell across one shoulder and spilled over her breast. Lifting her head, she studied the scene, then traced quick patterns on the paper.

  How could she have imagined someone on the balcony last night? Why had she allowed her imagination to run wild? Threatening letters. Blackmail. Here? She allowed her gaze to travel over the gently rolling landscape. This was hardly a setting that spoke of dark, mysterious deeds.

  It was that childhood curse. Clouds became castles. Molehills became mountains. Shadows became enemies.

  Flipping the page, Ivy immersed herself in her work. That was the only cure for it. Once she lost herself in her art, she could blot out all thought.

  Caine stood in the shadow of a gnarled oak and watched the slender figure below him. Sitting cross-legged on the side of the hill, she looked like a child with a coloring book. The breeze caught little wisps of hair, lifting them from her neck. The sun sought out all the colors of her hair, from lush ermine to rich inky black.

  Shaking a cigarette from the pack, he held a lighter to the tip, then inhaled deeply. Through narrowed eyes he blew out a stream of smoke and leaned a hip against the trunk of the tree.