House of Dreams by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online Page B

she whispered almost inaudibly. “For a while.”
    More alarmed than ever, wondering if her aunt would make herself ill, Cass tried to change the subject. “Have you had a chance to see that stunning necklace yet?” she tried lightly, hoping to distract her.
    But Catherine seemed riveted by Antonio. “Every time I look at you, I see him. I am so sorry …” Her voice broke. She cleared it. “He was
researching your family’s history,” she said. “Here at the British Library. I am so sorry.”
    And Cass, looking at her, hearing her, had to close her eyes. The plea for forgiveness was all too apparent. A terrible sadness began to weigh Cass down. Could this really be happening? Had her aunt killed Antonio’s father, or had it been an accident? And surely her aunt didn’t intend to confess to something that had happened thirty years ago? “We had better get back to our guests, Aunt Catherine.” She managed a small smile at Antonio while tugging on her aunt.
    â€œI was only four years old when he died,” Antonio said suddenly, causing both Cass and her aunt to turn. His gaze was unwavering. “I have so few memories. My mother remarried two years after his death—and never speaks of him. I was hoping, maybe, when you have the time, that you might share your memories with me.” His eyes were brilliant, demanding, intense.
    Cass grew more alarmed. That would be a terrible idea! “I’m sure my aunt would love to sit down with you and reminisce when she’s feeling better. She’s fought a flu all week,” she added as an afterthought. And she flushed, hating the white lie.
    Suddenly Catherine spoke. “We met here in London. I was on the board of the British Museum, where he was also doing research.” She smiled. “We met at a function for the museum. And quickly discovered the two ancestors which we had in common.” But Catherine was crying now. Tears had slipped from her eyes.
    Cass gave Antonio a warning look. “Aunt Catherine, you are not well,” she said firmly—she would brook no protest. “Maybe you should lie down for a few minutes before returning to the party.”
    Catherine finally tore her gaze from Antonio. “I am sorry,” she whispered, sagging against Cass. “I am not well. I know we have guests, but I must go upstairs. Cassandra, I am exhausted.”
    â€œI’ll take you right up,” Cass said quickly. And she was relieved, because she did not want her aunt conversing with de la Barca. “Will you excuse us?”
    â€œOf course,” he said. “I only hope that you will feel better tomorrow, Lady Belford.”
    â€œCassandra? I am having difficulty breathing. It is too stuffy and warm in here,” Catherine said.
    Alarmed, Cass realized how much paler her aunt was becoming. But her aunt’s statement was odd, because the dining room remained oddly chilled. And Cass became even more alarmed, because Catherine kept
touching her throat, and she was taking deep heavy breaths through her mouth. “To bed,” Cass said quickly. “And I will bring you some chamomile tea.”
    â€œCassandra.” His accented voice halted her in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder at Antonio. “I’d love to continue this conversation about our families,” he said.
    She hesitated, and her passion for the past won out over her better judgment and her fear. She had to smile. “So would I.”
    They walked across the room. “No, Cassandra,” Catherine said, low and husky, so Antonio would not hear. “His father was obsessed with the past. Clearly he is, too. Why else would he be here? I have asked so very little of you.” Her gaze was wide, even wild. “Leave this subject entirely alone, stay away from Señor de la Barca, and please, try to get him out of our home. And then, just forget about this entire