Family Secrets: A Classic Romance

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  She blinked, then stared boldly into his eyes, seeing herself reflected there.

  “Do you know how much I want you? How much I’ve wanted you since I first saw you?”

  The hand at her shoulder was rough, pulling her firmly against him. His fingers caught at a tangle of hair. The kiss, when at last it came, held no tenderness. His mouth savaged hers, kissing her as she’d never before been kissed. His lips, his teeth, his tongue held her enthralled, until all she could think about was the wild, dark, mysterious taste of him.

  He smelled faintly of tobacco and Aunt Tru’s favorite aged whiskey. Not even that potent drink could have the effect on her his kiss was having. She curled her hands into the front of his sweater, drawing him even closer.

  Desire ripped through him, a raging flame, and he fought to bank the fire. He had thought of nothing but her all evening, and now that she was here in his arms, he wanted to take his time, to taste, to savor.

  The hand at her shoulder moved down her back, holding her firmly against the length of him. Her skin was soft, so soft. He wanted to feel her skin grow hot and moist under his touch. He wanted to know every line, every curve of her body.

  He’d never felt such a need for a woman. Yet all they had ever shared was a kiss. The taste of that kiss had lingered long after she had left his arms. Now he wanted more, so much more.

  His hands moved along her back, touching, kneading, thrilling to the softness of her. Her breasts were flattened against his chest. He found their peaks, already hard with desire, as he ran his hands between their bodies.

  He heard her gasp and thrilled to it. Need became raw desire, until he thought he would lose his control and slip over the edge of reason. He wanted to take her with him, until they both slid over the realm of sanity into madness.

  Her hands glided around his waist, under his sweater. His skin was hot, damp. She needed to feel him, all of him, mouth to mouth, flesh to flesh.

  When she buried her mouth against his throat, he felt her breath shudder over his skin. Everywhere she touched him he was on fire, and it was burning out of control.

  She was his now, his completely. He felt her total surrender, and his heart soared at the knowledge. This strong, beautiful woman had surrendered to him.

  His lips covered hers, nibbling, suckling, taking them higher and higher until he realized that her surrender was also his. He had lost himself in this woman, and no other woman would ever mean anything to him again.

  Effortlessly he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. With almost unbearable tenderness he settled her on the sheets, then stretched out beside her.

  Ivy heard him groan her name before his lips covered hers. “Weed. My lovely little Weed.”

  His hands began a slow, rhythmic exploration of her body. She had no will to stop him. His lips, his hands were lifting her to heights she’d never known before. He leaned over her, dropping kisses on her wrist, the inside of her elbow, her upper arm. As he brought his mouth to the hollow of her throat, she felt lightheaded, and deliciously weak. Looking up, she saw the glitter of desire making his eyes gleam silver in the lamplight.

  There would be no turning back, she knew. They had both slipped over the line of reason. Needs pulsed and throbbed, driving them deeper into passion. Their bodies had become a mass of nerve endings, responding to each touch of lips and fingertips.

  Ivy felt her body hum and soar, higher than she’d ever been before. The world dissolved. There was only this bed, and this man, the ecstasy of his touch, and the dark, mysterious taste of him.

  They were so caught up in their lovemaking, they didn’t hear the light tap on the door.

  “Ivy? Are you in there?”

  Caine’s hands stilled. Ivy paused, praying she had only imagined the voice.

  The knock sounded louder. “Ivy? I see your light. I need to talk to you.”

  It was a man’s muffled voice. Darren’s? David’s?

  She turned wide eyes to Caine. He leaned up on one elbow and traced the outline of her lips, swollen from his kisses.

  “Send him away.” His voice was a low growl against her mouth.

  She wanted to cry in frustration. From the look on Caine’s face, he shared her feelings.

  “Who is it?” Ivy called softly.

  “Darren.”

  “I’m sorry, Darren. I’m ready for bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “I’m afraid this can’t wait. I have to see you now. I’ll wait until you’re decent.”

  Caine swore. His finger traced her eyebrow and he bent to place his lips to the spot. Her lids were heavy. Her eyes glowed, wide and luminous and softened with love.

  “I’m not getting up, Darren. You’ll have to see me in the morning.”

  The voice grew louder. “I’m not leaving until we talk. I’ll wait right here until you open the door.”

  With a sigh of frustration, Caine sat up and caught Ivy’s hand, helping her to a sitting position beside him.

  He sucked in a long, ragged breath. “It seems the best laid plans...”

  She nodded, feeling empty and desolate.

  He stood and pulled her to her feet. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her, then turned toward the balcony.

  “I’ll leave the way I came in. And if any more men knock on your door tonight, you can have a steady stream of them going over the side of the house.”

  She chuckled, then blew him a kiss.

  He strode across the room and pulled her roughly into his arms. “One last kiss to warm me through the night.”

  A flame, hot, and searing, leaped between them. Without a backward glance, he stepped through the open balcony door and was gone.

  Ivy rummaged through the closet and pulled on a modest robe before facing Caine’s brother.

  Chapter Eight

  Ivy straightened the covers of her bed, smoothing the quilt and fluffing the pillow. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, then waited until her breathing was calm and steady. With a forced smile, she opened the door to admit Darren to her room.

  He had removed his jacket but was still wearing the pleated tuxedo shirt and black pants with the narrow cummerbund. His tie was missing, and the shirtfront and cuffs were gaping open. His hair, always so perfect, was mussed, spilling over a forehead marred by a frown. Gone was the smug facade, the boyish charm. He was the picture of despair.

  “I needed to talk to you without anyone knowing about it,” he began, slumping into a chair.

  “What’s wrong, Darren?”

  He clasped his hands between his knees. “I need to borrow some money, Ivy.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a message in my room. Melanie is in Reno. She’s filed for divorce. I need money.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Fifty—” She swallowed convulsively. “That’s impossible. How could I come up with that kind of money?”

  He hedged. “Emery Norton said you were a successful artist.”

  “But you don’t understand what he meant. I equate success with feeling good about my work. The public, the art critics, are beginning to like what I do. I’m growing in my craft. Each year I feel stronger, more sure of what I’m doing. That’s success, Darren. Not the amount of money I can command for a painting.

  “Are you saying you can’t come up with a few thousand dollars for a friend?”

  “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “But you could. You could go to Aunt Gertrude.”

  “Why should I? Why don’t you go to your aunt or Caine?”

  “I’ve borrowed my limit from both of them.”

  “And never paid them back?”

  He nodded. “I’ve tried. But every time I get some money saved, something comes up.” He shrugged. “Melanie says spending money is twice the fun of saving it.”

  “And of course you always do everything Melanie says.”

  He glanced up at her. “It’s easy for you to fl
aunt your independence, Ivy. You don’t know what it’s like to want someone so badly you ache.”

  He missed the look of pain that crossed her face. “I miss her so much. I don’t want to go on without her.”

  “It doesn’t sound as if you can go on with her either, Darren. If you keep on this way, she’ll turn you into a beggar, or worse.” Oh, Darren. What have you become? Ivy thought. A thief? A blackmailer?

  “I’d beg, to keep Melanie’s love.”

  “Would you steal for her? Threaten people you love?”

  At Ivy’s sharp tone, Darren looked up. “What’s wrong, Ivy? Why are you so angry?”

  “I feel ashamed for you. And you should feel ashamed of yourself. Do you really believe Melanie left you because of money?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you’re better off without her. Love, real love, would never have a price tag. If she really loved you, she’d want to be with you, have to be with you, no matter what. When two people love each other, it doesn’t matter what their careers are, or how very different they may be in temperament.” Her voice trailed off for a moment, as Ivy realized she wasn’t lecturing Darren any longer. She was speaking to her own heart as well.

  With Caine, she could be herself. He listened to her and understood what she was saying. He made her laugh, something she needed in her life. And in his arms, she felt a fulfillment she’d never known before. Despite the fact that they were very different personalities, she sensed that they would be good for each other. Only with Caine was she truly vital, vibrantly alive.

  “Maybe she left you because you weren’t man enough to stand up for what you believed to be right.”

  Darren stood and walked to the door. “This is exactly what I needed. Another lecture. All I’m asking is that you go to Aunt Gertrude and borrow some money for me.”

  “Why would she be willing to loan me money?”

  “Just take my word for it, Ivy. She will.”

  She shot him a puzzled, angry look. “You’re not making much sense tonight, Darren. Now let me get some sleep.”

  “You won’t go to my aunt?”

  “Certainly not. I have no intention of borrowing money for you. It’s time you faced some responsibility.”

  “What happened to the sweet little Ivy I used to know? Years ago I used to be able to con you into doing my homework while I played football. I even managed to beat you at hockey sometimes.”

  Despite her dismay at his display of weakness, she walked up and put her arms around his neck. “I’d forgotten that. You really were a pro at getting other people to help you out. That little girl you knew grew up. I think you should do the same.”

  Standing on tiptoe she kissed him lightly. “I know that underneath it all you’re a good man, Darren. I suggest you pull yourself together and learn to stand alone. Then, and only then, look for a good woman to share your life.”

  He seemed genuinely frightened by her words. “I’ve never been alone, Ivy. There was always Caine, or Aunt Gertrude, or Melanie. I’m not sure I can stand to be alone, even for a little while.”

  She opened the door. “You’ll survive, Darren. And you’ll get to know yourself. And with some patience, you might even discover strengths you never knew you had. I’m willing to bet if you give it a chance, you’ll like the person you become.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I guess I have no choice. I’m going to be alone whether I like it or not.” Some of the old charm crept into his smile. “Do you think you could at least loan me a couple of hundred?”

  “Oh.” She gave him an exasperated shove into the hallway and firmly closed the door.

  As he walked away she could hear him chuckle.

  She was glad she had made him smile for a few minutes. But the truth was, she would have to tell Aunt Tru what she suspected. Darren had seemed desperate enough to resort to blackmail.

  Peeling off her robe, Ivy snapped off the light and crawled into bed. The bedside clock read four o’clock. Practically dawn. With so many thoughts crowding her mind, she wondered if she would be able to sleep for even an hour.

  * * *

  The sun was high in the sky before the figure in the bed stirred. Ivy squinted at the clock, then scrunched her eyes tightly shut. The bright light hurt. She hadn’t believed it possible. She’d slept for six hours.

  She showered and dressed quickly, then headed for the dining room. Spotting a maid carrying a tray to Aunt Tru’s room, Ivy turned and followed.

  The old woman looked up at the tap on her door. “Good morning, Martha. Just set it there, please,” she said, indicating a round table by the window. “Oh, Ivy. Why don’t you join me? I’m having a light breakfast here in my room.”

  “Thank you. I’d love to.”

  “Bring another juice, Martha, and some muffins.”

  “And a pot of coffee, please.” Ivy’s nerves were crying out for caffeine.

  “How did you sleep?”

  Ivy held the older woman’s chair, then seated herself across the table. “Fine. Much better than I’d expected. How about you?”

  Gertrude shook her head. “Badly, I’m afraid. The mind can be a terrible place to dwell, especially in the dark of the night.”

  Ivy poured coffee and noticed that Gertrude’s hand shook slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips.

  “My poor father,” the old woman mused, as if he had been on her mind for quite a while. “I must have been a terrible burden on him,” she muttered.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I was only seven when my mother died,” Gertrude explained. “He never seemed to know quite what to do with me after that. Here on the estate I grew to be a very undisciplined little girl. So he sent me off to a succession of boarding schools, guaranteed to turn little monsters into the very models of society. Each one admitted failure with me.”

  “But I’ve seen the pictures of you, Aunt Tru. You were a beautiful young woman, elegantly dressed, perfectly poised.”

  “Ah, yes. I always managed to look the part. But the truth was, there was a wild streak in me that my father refused to accept. He felt that the perfect daughter should be docile.”

  Ivy smiled. That was one word that would never describe Gertrude St. Martin.

  “My father demanded that I live by not only the laws of society, but his even stricter rules as well. He would tolerate no disobedience. As you can imagine, I thought my father was perfect.” Her voice lowered slightly. “When I returned from my schooling in Europe, my father introduced me to my new stepmother. She was one of the teachers from my high school. A young woman, barely older than I.”

  Gertrude set down the cup with a clatter. Her voice was strained. “Can you imagine my shock that they had kept this attraction a secret from me? My puritanical father, so perfect, so unapproachable, and a teacher from my former school? Was this the man who had demanded perfection and blind submission from his daughter?” She touched a napkin to her lips. “I’m afraid I behaved rather badly. I had imagined that I would return from Europe to be the mistress of the house. Instead, I had to take a back seat to a young woman, barely out of her teens. And then they had a child.”

  Ivy met her look. “Your sister, Jenny.”

  “Half sister. Yes. My stepmother died in childbirth. And I found myself in the strange position of having everything I’d ever wanted. I was now mistress of this fine house, and free to raise the baby as I pleased. My father tried, in his own strange way, to be a father to Jenny. But he was too tired, too defeated. I was actually both mother and father to her.”

  “It must give you great satisfaction to know that you could give your father the help he needed.”

  The old woman stared out the window, lost in thought. “Jenny was delightful, though my father never really noticed. He died an embittered old man, angry at being robbed of his second chance for happiness. I’m afraid there had been too much anger between us to ever leave room for such things as love and forgiveness.”

  “
At least you haven’t been childless after all.” Gertrude met her look. Ivy was shocked at the pain she could read in those depths.

  “No. I wasn’t childless. There was Jenny. And when she announced, at eighteen, that she was going to marry a widower with two sons, I gave her my blessing, even though I thought she was very young to take on such responsibilities.” The old woman’s voice trembled. “It seems to be a St. Martin curse. She had only two years of happiness.”

  “And you found yourself with two more children to raise.”

  Gertrude’s eyes softened. “Caine and Darren. My sister’s stepchildren.”

  Both women looked up at the knock on the door. The maid entered with another tray.

  “Thank You, Martha.”

  “Will there be anything else, Miss St. Martin?”

  “No. Thank you, Is my nephew Caine up yet?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He left an hour ago.”

  “Left? Where did he go?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “When he returns, tell him I’d like to see him.”

  “Yes, Miss St. Martin.”

  When the door closed, Ivy poured fresh coffee. “What would have happened to Caine and Darren if you hadn’t adopted them?”

  “I checked. There was no other family.” The old woman shrugged. “An adoption agency, I suppose. But there was never any question of whether or not I wanted them.” She folded veined hands in her lap. “Right from the start, they were so different. One so careless, so sure everything would always be taken care of; the other so precise, so careful of every little detail. Darren reminded me of myself as a child. Caine was more like the person I’d had to become in order to survive. The weak and the strong. There seems to be a little of both in all of us.”

  Now was the time, Ivy thought, to tell Aunt Tru what she suspected about Darren. If she was wrong, though, she would feel terrible about destroying his aunt’s faith in him. But if what she suspected was true, his aunt had a right to know in order to defend herself against his threats. While she debated with herself, the moment passed.

  “Caine was the most fiercely independent child I’d ever known,” Gertrude said. “He always insisted on doing everything for himself. The first summer he was in high school, he came home to announce he had a job working for a building contractor. Every summer of high school and college, he hauled bricks and blocks, roofing supplies, anything his employer wanted. He would come in on hot summer nights and collapse into bed, too tired to even eat. I watched him rub oil into hands all rough and callused, and my heart went out to him.”