House of Dreams Read Free

ceaseless speculation—was it even true? Had she run away? Or had some unspeakable horror befallen her? Of course, no one had had any answers. But it had certainly made him even more of a romantic figure in the eyes of the women attending the lecture series. Just about every woman there had been madly in love with him.
    Cass included.
    â€œI’m being a terrible hostess,” Cass finally said, finding her tongue. “You must be here for the evening’s dinner party. My aunt is Catherine Belford. I’m Cassandra de Warenne.”
    For one moment he studied her, not accepting her hand. Cass wondered if she had said something wrong, and then the moment passed—her hand was in his grip, which was firm and cool, and he bowed ever so slightly. “You’re American?” he asked with some surprise.
    Her accent was a giveaway. “My mother was American, and actually I was born in the States, but when she died, my aunt took us in. I was eleven at the time. I’ve spent so much time here, I consider myself at least half British.” Cass knew she was speaking in a nervous rush.
    He removed his eyeglasses, tucking them into the interior breast pocket of his impeccably tailored navy blue sport jacket. “You went to Barnard?”
    Cass suddenly realized, with no small amount of horror, how she was dressed. Unfortunately, she could feel her color increase. “Yes. I
graduated ten years ago,” she said. “I took a year off, then went back for my master’s.”
    â€œI’ve lectured several times at Columbia,” he said with a smile. “I know both colleges well. They are fine schools.”
    Cass shoved her hands, which were damp, into the pockets of her jeans. Did she sound like an idiot? Or a blushing schoolgirl? “Actually, I attended your lecture series at the Met a few years ago.”
    He just looked at her, his expression difficult to read.
    Cass felt like taking back her words. Should she have admitted that she remembered him? “You are Antonio de la Barca?”
    â€œForgive me again.” He raked a hand through his jet black hair, hair that was even darker than Alyssa’s. “I do not know what is wrong with me today.” He shook his head, as if to clear it. Then he stared. “Yes, I did give that lecture, seven years ago.” Something crossed his face, an expression Cass found difficult to read. “A great institution,” he murmured, and he turned slightly, staring toward the rolling hills and Romney Castle. Cass realized it was drizzling.
    She ignored it. She also ignored the slight twinge she felt because he didn’t remember her at all. “It was a wonderful lecture, Senor de la Barca. I enjoyed it immensely.”
    He faced her, their eyes meeting. “Are you a historian?”
    She hesitated, debating telling him the truth. “I majored in European history at college,” she said. “My master’s is in British history. And now I write historical novels.” She kept her hand in her pockets.
    His eyes flickered. “How interesting,” he said, and there was nothing patronizing in his tone. “I would love a list of the titles you have published.”
    â€œI’d be happy to give one to you before you leave,” Cass said, wondering if he would really read one of her books, then worrying about any inaccuracies he might find. “Are you here to see the necklace?”
    He nodded, eyes brightening. “A sixteenth-century piece? The way it has been described, it would be worth a king’s ransom—and would have belonged to someone exemplary. If the piece is authentic, which clearly it must be, as Sotheby’s does not make such grievous errors, then I am more interested in discovering who might have originally owned it than anything else.” He smiled at her.
    â€œIt’s stunning,” Cass said eagerly. “Of course, I’ve only seen the photos. Those rubies