morning light was something out of a nightmare! Nick had stopped the carriage completely. I stepped down, still staring in disbelief.
One portion of the magnificent mansion had been dragged down by fire. An angel with a broken wing, I thought with despair, viewing the wreckage. Broken windows from the wounded side glared at me like accusing eyes from behind two stately Doric columns that rose so proudly up from the ashes. Behind them was a tangle of twisted beams and roofing, a collapsed gallery slowly crumbling into the heap of rubble below.
I could only stand and stare in total dismay. The house was obviously beyond repair! Why had Edward not warned me in his letter? He had led me to believe that the property was so desirable that Pierre’s bastard son was willing to contest the will for it. And Edward, too, had expressed interest in the property. Why had he offered such a good price to make this pitiful heap of scrap timber his own?
Still stunned, I numbly tried to swallow the bitter gall of disappointment. Then, accusingly, I whirled upon Nick, taking out my wrath, my hurt, my anger upon him. “You knew! You knew all along this place was in ruin! Then why did you allow me to go on talking? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have listened?” he answered quietly.
Sympathetic black eyes searched mine. “Do you think it was easy for me to listen to you chattering along like a magpie when I knew this godforsaken place was your destination?”
I hung my head. In his own way, hadn’t he tried to warn me with his dark mood, his silence? But I had been too caught up in my own foolish dreams to listen. A bird flew out of the empty hull of the wreckage and disappeared into the cypress groves. I willed myself not to cry. It was too late. Already I could feel the hot, bitter tears scalding my cheek. I covered my face with my hands.
“Please don’t, little cousin.” His voice was husky with emotion. In one swift step, he was cradling me in his arms. I did not resist as he pulled me protectively against his broad chest. Instead, I burrowed my face for a moment in the folds of his rough white shirt, letting the rest of the tears flow.
I looked up into his craggy face with its strong, high cheekbones and dark, shadowed eyes. “Who—who are you?” I whispered. “Why do you call me cousin?”
“Pierre Dereuxwas the only father I’ve ever known.”
“Then you are—”
“The Dereux bastard,” he admitted with a slightly sardonic smile. “Though I never was Pierre’s flesh-and-blood son. He simply took me under his wing. I was abandoned by my own mother, and my father, a close friend of Pierre, was killed in a tragic accident. Pierre gave me his name, and, of course, there was talk. Though your grandfather and your uncle Edward found it hard to accept an orphan as part of the proud Dereux family, I was raised here, in this very house, alongside Edward’s own son, Racine Dereux.”
“Edward’s son? The young man who was killed in the war along with Pierre?”
Nicholas nodded. “But none of that matters now. It is history.” His strong arms still held my shoulders. The eyes, black and deep and probing pierced mine. “Louise, listen to me! Please leave now! There is nothing for you here. If your grandfather left you money, don’t throw it away on this old house! You can’t live out your mother’s dreams. Go back to where you came from and find a dream of your own. There’s a curse on the Dereux name as surely as there was a curse on this house!”
Stubbornly, I turned away from him. “When did the house burn?” I demanded, once more viewing the wreckage. “I heard that it was still standing after the war.”
“The fire was much more recent” he added so softly that I could barely hear him. “Last year—”
I spun around to face him again. “Only a year ago?”
An angry shadow passed over his face. “You insist on knowing the story behind this—catastrophe? Listen,
One portion of the magnificent mansion had been dragged down by fire. An angel with a broken wing, I thought with despair, viewing the wreckage. Broken windows from the wounded side glared at me like accusing eyes from behind two stately Doric columns that rose so proudly up from the ashes. Behind them was a tangle of twisted beams and roofing, a collapsed gallery slowly crumbling into the heap of rubble below.
I could only stand and stare in total dismay. The house was obviously beyond repair! Why had Edward not warned me in his letter? He had led me to believe that the property was so desirable that Pierre’s bastard son was willing to contest the will for it. And Edward, too, had expressed interest in the property. Why had he offered such a good price to make this pitiful heap of scrap timber his own?
Still stunned, I numbly tried to swallow the bitter gall of disappointment. Then, accusingly, I whirled upon Nick, taking out my wrath, my hurt, my anger upon him. “You knew! You knew all along this place was in ruin! Then why did you allow me to go on talking? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have listened?” he answered quietly.
Sympathetic black eyes searched mine. “Do you think it was easy for me to listen to you chattering along like a magpie when I knew this godforsaken place was your destination?”
I hung my head. In his own way, hadn’t he tried to warn me with his dark mood, his silence? But I had been too caught up in my own foolish dreams to listen. A bird flew out of the empty hull of the wreckage and disappeared into the cypress groves. I willed myself not to cry. It was too late. Already I could feel the hot, bitter tears scalding my cheek. I covered my face with my hands.
“Please don’t, little cousin.” His voice was husky with emotion. In one swift step, he was cradling me in his arms. I did not resist as he pulled me protectively against his broad chest. Instead, I burrowed my face for a moment in the folds of his rough white shirt, letting the rest of the tears flow.
I looked up into his craggy face with its strong, high cheekbones and dark, shadowed eyes. “Who—who are you?” I whispered. “Why do you call me cousin?”
“Pierre Dereuxwas the only father I’ve ever known.”
“Then you are—”
“The Dereux bastard,” he admitted with a slightly sardonic smile. “Though I never was Pierre’s flesh-and-blood son. He simply took me under his wing. I was abandoned by my own mother, and my father, a close friend of Pierre, was killed in a tragic accident. Pierre gave me his name, and, of course, there was talk. Though your grandfather and your uncle Edward found it hard to accept an orphan as part of the proud Dereux family, I was raised here, in this very house, alongside Edward’s own son, Racine Dereux.”
“Edward’s son? The young man who was killed in the war along with Pierre?”
Nicholas nodded. “But none of that matters now. It is history.” His strong arms still held my shoulders. The eyes, black and deep and probing pierced mine. “Louise, listen to me! Please leave now! There is nothing for you here. If your grandfather left you money, don’t throw it away on this old house! You can’t live out your mother’s dreams. Go back to where you came from and find a dream of your own. There’s a curse on the Dereux name as surely as there was a curse on this house!”
Stubbornly, I turned away from him. “When did the house burn?” I demanded, once more viewing the wreckage. “I heard that it was still standing after the war.”
“The fire was much more recent” he added so softly that I could barely hear him. “Last year—”
I spun around to face him again. “Only a year ago?”
An angry shadow passed over his face. “You insist on knowing the story behind this—catastrophe? Listen,
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