Family Secrets: A Classic Romance

  Silhouette Books edition – 1986

  Copyright 1986, 2015 Ruth Ryan Langan

  Digital Publication 2015 by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Cover design by Tammy Seidick Design

  Digital formatting by A Thirsty Mind Book Design

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  To Patrick,

  with love.

  Table of Contents

  Dear Reader

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Samples: Contemporary Romance

  List of eBook Titles

  About the Author

  Titles by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Historical Romance Classics

  Now Available as EBooks:

  Heart’s Delight

  Paradise Falls

  Ashes of Dreams

  Duchess of Fifth Avenue

  Captive of Desire

  Passage West

  Nevada Nights

  September’s Dream

  The Heart’s Secrets

  Destiny’s Daughter

  Texas Heart

  Texas Hero

  Mistress of the Seas

  Deception

  Christmas Miracle

  Angel

  Exciting Highlander Series

  Now Available as EBooks:

  Highland Barbarian

  Highland Heather

  Highland Heart

  The Highlander

  Highland Heaven

  Contemporary Romance Classics

  Now Available as EBooks:

  This Time Forever

  To Love a Dreamer

  Just Like Yesterday

  No Gentle Love

  Cross His Heart

  Whims of Fate

  Mysteries of the Heart

  Star-Crossed

  Hidden Isle

  Family Secrets

  The Proper Miss Porter

  Eden of Temptation

  Beloved Gambler

  Visit Ruth’s website at RyanLangan.com

  for more information and to purchase.

  Dear Reader,

  This title is part of a thirteen book contemporary romance series. These books, originally published in the 1980s, reflect a time before the use of cell phones, when the Internet was unknown, and the term “social media” was unheard of. As you read them, I hope you’ll enjoy reflecting on a bygone era.

  Happy Reading!

  Ruth Ryan Langan

  Prologue

  There is something shocking in your past that you have never revealed. I wonder just how much you’ll be willing to pay to buy my silence?

  At the words in the letter, Gertrude St. Martin’s eyes rounded in horror. Her legs, she discovered, had turned to rubber. Clutching the arm of the chair, she staggered, then sank down heavily. Her mind reeled from the force of the blow. All her life she had carried this burden in her heart. The pain of it had diminished through the years but had never completely left her. It didn’t seem possible that anyone alive today could know of that incident in her youth. The past had been buried. Dead and buried. Or had it?

  Chapter One

  “Miss St. Martin. Your nephew, Caine.”

  Forgetting propriety, Gertrude rushed across the room.

  “I’m so glad you got here before the others, Caine. I was hoping we could spend a little time together—alone.”

  Strong arms wrapped the old woman in a bear hug. She leaned against him, absorbing his quiet strength.

  Taking his face in her hands, she hungrily studied his craggy features. Caine had always been the dark and somber one, the quiet one, the loner. Thick shaggy hair was always in need of a trim. Long sooty lashes ringed piercing gray eyes. A threadbare sweater topped narrow jeans, which rode low on his hips. His casual attire belied his success as an architect.

  A smile softened the old woman’s features. Then, seeming to catch herself, she fell into a familiar gruff pattern with which they were both more comfortable.

  “You look frazzled. Are you sure you’re taking care of yourself?”

  He frowned, and she remembered the serious, thoughtful child he had been. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

  At her look of concern he seemed to catch himself. He chuckled, a warm, vibrant sound, and gave her another hug before releasing her. “Too much fast living. I’ve been dividing my time between New York and Arizona. But the Arizona project is nearly finished now. I’ll be relieved to settle down in New York for the rest of the year. That is, unless the European project is approved. Then I’ll be commuting across continents.”

  “Oh, Caine.” She sighed heavily. “Your life is entirely too fast-paced. I’d hoped you could spend an occasional long weekend here with me. I’ve missed you. You and Darren.” She brightened. “I’d even hoped you might finally start the renovation of the cottage.”

  He nodded. “You know how much I’ve always loved it, Trudy. As long as you’re agreeable, I think it would be a challenge. I don’t see why I couldn’t fit it into my schedule this year.”

  “I’d love having you here. And the caretaker’s cottage has been vacant too long.” Some of the tension seemed to drain from her. “We must celebrate.”

  Caine watched as his aunt strode to the cabinet and poured two tumblers of her favorite aged whiskey. Turning, she handed one to him and touched his glass with hers. In two quick gulps she downed her drink.

  “Keeps the blood flowing,” she stated in that sharp, staccato voice that never wavered with age. Glancing at her watch, she said, “Darren’s plane should be in soon. Did I mention that I’d invited Ivy to my birthday celebration?”

  “Ivy Murdock?”

  She nodded. Her voice lowered a fraction. “And her mother.”

  At the sudden silence in the room, the wrinkled folds of the old woman’s face turned into a guileless smile. “Oh, dear. I see I did forget to mention that.”

  Caine swallowed back the remark that sprang to his lips. Even at eighty, Gertrude St. Martin rarely forgot anything. “You conniving old matchmaker,” he said with a grin.

  Gertrude walked to the fireplace and held her hands toward the blaze. She was tall, nearly as tall as Caine’s six feet, and her carriage was still erect. Her hair was steel gray, which accentuated sparkling blue eyes.

  “I know Ivy seems a bit scattered, but she’s a dear. I want to see her again. I’ve missed her. Even though we’re not blood-related, the three of you grew up here.”

  “You don’t need to explain.” Caine drank, feeling the warmth snake through his veins. He finished his drink and set down the crystal tumbler before meeting her look. “I was only thinking of Darren. He might find Ivy’s presence awkward, with his separation from his wife so fresh. But you’re right, of course. Ivy is as much family as the rest of us. And it’s your birthday, Trudy. I think you should surround yourself with people you enjoy.”

  “Well said. Besides—” her eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief “—who said anything about Darren? Maybe it’s you I’m planning as Ivy’s escort for the weekend.
”

  Caine winced. “When are you going to accept the fact that I’m a confirmed bachelor? I like the single life.”

  “That’s only because you haven’t tried marriage.” She sniffed.

  “Is the pot calling the kettle black? The last I heard, you were still Miss St. Martin.”

  “That’s different. I’m too old to change.”

  “We’re two of a kind, Trudy. That’s why we get along so well.”

  Those words were so typical of Caine, the old woman thought as she looked at him. There was a bond of deep affection between them. He would have given her the moon if he could, but all she’d ever wanted from either of her nephews was their love.

  “Well, I’m not trying to marry you off. But there’s nothing wrong with a little feminine companionship when you’re not working.”

  Caine watched as the old woman lifted the bottle, considered for a long moment, then replaced the stopper and returned it to its place on the shelf. With the exaggerated sigh of a martyr she turned away, mumbling, “Fool doctors. Don’t know what’s good for a healthy body.”

  Caine smiled. “That never stopped you before.” To change the subject, he said, “I can’t recall that you ever celebrated a birthday before. In fact, you used to say you hated birthdays. They were a reminder that you were growing older. Why this sudden desire for a big party? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  He noticed a slight trembling of her hand. She was definitely agitated, but he couldn’t figure out why. At her silence, he muttered, “Okay. What are you up to, Trudy?”

  She gave him what she hoped was a pained expression. “Me? Up to? Now that’s a fine thing.”

  “Out with it.” He caught her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. “Something’s bothering you. Now tell me.”

  She bit her lip, then looked up into his dark eyes. “I think it’s just the isolation here. I didn’t get into the city at all this winter. I get a little jumpy.”

  “With Chester and all the servants?” His look hardened. “What are you keeping from me?”

  She glanced down. “I’m just edgy, Caine. Strangers sometimes wander onto the grounds. With all the talk of crime and criminals, there’s no telling who’s lurking about these days.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Have any of the buildings been broken into? Have you been robbed?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” She turned from his probing look. “I’m just glad you’re here, Caine. That’s all.”

  Caine watched her for long silent moments. It wasn’t like his aunt to be so uneasy. He intended to make it a point to speak to Chester and the servants. And to make some security arrangements before he went back to the city.

  * * *

  The motorcycle skimmed across the ruts in the road and veered sharply at the opening in the gate. Here the pavement of the long winding driveway was freshly resurfaced, as smooth as the water on the duck pond that was visible from the entrance to the wooded estate.

  Ivy Murdock smiled at the sight of a pair of ducks making lazy circles in the glassy surface of the water. Their annual return was a ritual that signaled the arrival of springtime. Once again, they had made it home.

  Home. Was it possible for her to return, too? Even though this fabulous estate of Gertrude St. Martin had never really belonged to Ivy, it was the only place that had ever felt like home. She glanced at the magnificent house on the hill.

  Thoughts and images tumbled over one another in her mind. The first time Ivy had seen this beautiful setting, she’d felt as if she had found heaven. Despite her mother’s resentment at what she considered a menial position, Ivy and her father were happier here than they’d ever been. She’d missed this place, these people, with an ache that was almost physical. Those first years away at college had been the hardest of her life. But the pain had been softened by frequent visits home. After her father was gone and her mother took a small apartment in the city, there had no longer been a home. Alone, drifting, her art became her anchor. She’d painted constantly, day and night, to ease the loneliness, until finally she’d made a niche for herself in the impersonal city.

  Her heart fluttered as she drove nearer. Her hands inside the leather gloves grew moist. Why had she accepted this invitation? She nearly laughed at the word. An invitation from Gertrude St. Martin was really a royal command. And she’d accepted for a very simple reason. She wanted to see Aunt Tru again. She wanted to be surrounded, if only for a few days, by the family and the life of luxury that had always eluded her.

  Though her father had only been an employee, she’d felt drawn to the St. Martin past as if it were her own. The lives of the St. Martins had been interwoven into the fabric of hers.

  Her throat felt dry. Revving the engine, Ivy took the last curve of the driveway at breakneck speed.

  She strode beneath a covered portico and glanced around the long-remembered estate. She felt a sense of joy at the sheer beauty of it. The house, of weathered brick and stone, rose to three stories amid five hundred prime acres of wooded rolling hills in upstate New York. The building didn’t intrude on the beautiful setting, it enhanced it. The house blended into the rolling landscape as naturally as the sunset. The mile-long driveway offered a view of carefully cultivated lawns and gardens. The caretaker’s cottage, just beyond the gate house, appeared vacant now. A lump formed in her throat; the estate had been her home for eight years.

  The drive from New York City had been made in just over three hours. She shivered as the sun passed beneath the clouds. Although the spring air still held the chill of winter, the bright sunshine had made the ride tolerable.

  Caine hurriedly rounded the corner of the house and stood watching as the helmeted figure walked briskly toward the door. The driver was tall and slender and wore a gray leather jacket. Faded jeans were stuffed into tall gray leather boots. The stride was purposeful, as if the stranger knew exactly where to go. Was this the sort of intruder who had been frightening his aunt?

  Without warning, a rough hand caught at Ivy’s shoulder, spinning her around. She was hauled against a solid wall of chest and nearly lifted off her feet. Looking up, she found herself staring into dark, stormy eyes beneath slanted black brows. The scowling face masked a carefully contained fury.

  “I hope you’re here by accident. The county road is a mile back that way.” He nodded toward the road. “You’re on private property.”

  “Take your hands off me.” The voice, muffled behind the helmet, was deep, sultry.

  His eyes widened in surprise and his grip tightened. The flesh beneath the leather was surprisingly soft. The figure struggled, twisting against his broad chest.

  One hand broke free and raised to the helmet, ripping it off. A mass of dark hair, the color of the night sky, tumbled over her shoulders and down her back in a riot of waves. Caine was thunderstruck at the sight of her.

  She was stunning. In her anger, green eyes flashed. The lashes were thick and dark, casting little shadows on high cheekbones. The face was oval, delicate, with flawless skin, and lips pursed in a little pout. He tried to ignore the hypnotic floral scent of her perfume which mingled with the spring breeze. Staring down into her face, he felt a strong, instantaneous attraction that startled him with its intensity.

  “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?”

  She glowered at him. “I’m not answering any of your questions until you take your hands off me.” He continued to hold her.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  He withdrew the offending hand.

  She stepped back a pace. Her voice had a breathless quality. “My name is Ivy Murdock. And I was invited here for the weekend.”

  “Ivy? My God!” Caine studied the slender figure before allowing a small smile to cross his lips.

  Though he’d been away at college when her family had moved to the estate, he had seen her a few times during her childhood. She’d always reminded him of a frisky colt, running wild and free, climbing trees or dashing across the
hills. Yes, he thought, his eyes narrowing. Although the braces were gone, and the hair was longer and darker now, she was still the free spirit he had glimpsed in years past.

  “Hello, Weed. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. I’m Caine St. Martin. I see you’ve finally quit growing.”

  Now it was her turn to be caught off guard. In her surprise and anger, she hadn’t recognized the man in the careless attire as the college student she had studiously avoided in her youth. Thick dark hair spilled over a wide forehead. The face was older now, and if possible, even more handsome, in a rugged, craggy way. His shoulders were wide, the muscles of his forearms bulging beneath the sweater. The hands that had pinned her were strong, work-worn. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her skin.

  She flushed at the hateful nickname he’d tagged on her years ago, when she had grown taller and faster than any of her classmates. Weed. Even then he’d towered over her. And, she remembered, she’d vowed that one day she would cut him down to size. “So have you.”

  His gaze roamed over her slender figure.

  She gave him a quick, contemptuous glare, then punched the doorbell. “Thanks for the warm reception. Do you intend to greet all your aunt’s guests like this, or was I the only lucky one?”

  A hint of a smile touched Caine’s lips. It was a good thing he’d let go of her. He hadn’t known he was holding a tiger.

  The door opened. A ruddy-faced man with a thatch of rusty hair liberally sprinkled with silver stood at attention.

  “Chester. Oh, I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Oh, my. Our little Miss Ivy.” His smile grew.

  Little? She nearly laughed at his words. At five feet eight inches, she was at least four inches taller than this dear sweet man.

  His cherubic face was wreathed in smiles. “Come in, lass. Come in.”

  Ignoring the scowling man behind her, she gave Chester an impulsive hug, which he accepted awkwardly before glancing at Caine and stepping back a pace.

  Chester straightened his jacket and brushed invisible lint from his lapel while his cheeks turned crimson. “Miss St. Martin is upstairs in the sitting room.”