Chapter 27

“I cannot believe you’ll be gone in a matter of days. We have had so little time to become acquainted,” Emily said.

Imogen smiled at her friend and gave her arm a squeeze as they continued on their slow promenade of the perimeter of the drawing room. From across the way, where he was playing a quiet card game with the other members of the household, she could feel Caleb’s eyes on her. He had been watching her strangely all night, with a sad, almost fatalistic despair. She had been unable to interpret it.

“The time has passed so much more quickly than I expected it to,” she responded. “I hope that, whatever we may be doing tomorrow, you will deign to join us. I hate the thought of missing even a moment to cultivate our friendship.”

Emily paled and stopped, glancing around before leaning in close. “I’m sure you have seen, my brother and I do not exactly get on well.”

“Perhaps spending some time together will do the two of you good,” Imogen attempted.

But the other girl shook her head. “No. But it is kind of you to offer.”

“Do you want to talk about what has come between you? I am a fine listener, I assure you.”

Emily attempted a smile, but it did not reach her eyes. “It is good of you, Imogen. But truly, it is so long ago that I cannot recall what even started it.” Her hand, however, reached up seemingly of its own volition to touch her scarred cheek. She quickly tried to hide the tell by moving her fingers to her hair, as if to pat a stray tendril in place.

“Very well. But should you ever need to bend an ear, I do hope you will take me up on my offer. And you must promise to write once I leave, and often.”

“Of course.” Emily looked at her oddly then. “But won’t you be back?”

Imogen’s lips trembled under the effort of keeping her smile in place. “No, I don’t believe so.”

Emily frowned and looked about to question her, but a noise across the room distracted her. Breathing a sigh of relief, Imogen followed Emily’s gaze to the group that had a moment ago been playing cards. Lord Tarryton was packing the deck away and Lady Willbridge and Daphne were conversing quietly. Caleb had risen from his seat and was striding their way.

“Excuse me,” Emily said, and before Imogen could react she was scurrying to join the rest of her family.

Caleb was at Imogen’s elbow in seconds. “My mother was talking about having some music. I suggested you sing for us.”

She glanced up sharply into his pale eyes. The sadness that had been present since before dinner was still there. She longed to reach up, to smooth the small line that had appeared between his brows. Instead she clenched her hands before her tightly.

“You know I cannot,” she said. “I’ve told you that before. I hate to sing in front of others.”

“And yet you sing with my sister.”

Was that a hint of hurt she detected in his tone? But his features were calm, impassive.

“I have only ever sung for my family.”

“Please, sing for me,” he murmured. “I feel if I do not hear you now, I may never get the chance.”

His words startled her. It was almost as if he were aware of something about to occur, something life-changing. Was he finally going to accept her refusal of him and let her move on? And why did that thought bring her not one bit of relief?

She laid her hand on his arm. “Caleb, is something wrong?”

He looked at her oddly for a moment but only shook his head.

She took a step closer, heedless of the eyes that must be watching them with curiosity. “Please, perhaps I can be of help.”

For a moment she thought he would confide in her. But then he took up her hand, placing a delicate kiss on her knuckles. “Tomorrow,” he decreed. “Tomorrow I shall tell you everything. For now let us enjoy the night. I have waited an age to hear your voice. Please sing for me.”

If the words had not been enough to do her in, the vulnerable look in his eyes would have. He appeared fragile, as if he were about to shatter. She had never seen him thus. He had always appeared so strong, so capable. She never dreamed his naturally high spirits could be brought so low as they had been the last few days.

But the proof was before her. He was hurting, dreadfully. And if she could help alleviate that pain for even a small while, then she would do it. No matter how her stomach roiled at the thought of singing for him.

“Very well,” she replied.

Relief seemed to explode from him in a sigh, and his lips turned up in a very real smile. He led her over to the pianoforte. Imogen sat at the bench and began to rifle through the music sheets laying there. Her hands trembled, the papers shaking in her grip. She forced her trepidation down as brutally as she could. This could be another gift she could give to Caleb, she decided. And perhaps, even more than that, it could be a gift to herself. She could not verbalize her feelings for him, or even allow him to guess at them. But she could put her very heart into this performance, to let him know in her own secret, private way just how deeply she felt for him.

She decided on “Sweeter Than Roses,” a seventeenth-century aria. She spread the music before her and then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she positioned her fingers over the keys.

She started the song off low and languid, letting her voice dip into the notes, rising and falling with graceful melody. It was not an easy piece by far. But she put all herself into the song of passion. Every bit of love, every bit of desire, was poured into the words.

“‘Sweeter than roses, or cool evening breeze,

On a warm flowery shore, was the dear kiss,

First trembling made me freeze,

Then shot like fire all o’er.

What magic has victorious love!

For all I touch or see since that dear kiss,

I hourly prove, all is love to me.’”

She was achingly aware of Caleb at her elbow, his gaze hot on her face, his body but a short distance from her own. Her chest swelled with emotion, tears burning behind her eyes, and still she kept on, letting the words pour from her.

As the song picked up momentum she recalled the way he had loved her, how his body had fused with and moved within her own. She allowed the joy of that magical moment to enter her heart, to come through in her voice.

The song swept her along, until, finally, it came to a finish. Imogen closed her eyes as the last of the notes on the pianoforte faded, unable to bear being back here in the drawing room with their families. She positively ached for him. How would she live through this?

There was a long moment of silence. Suddenly the room broke out in applause. She hastily wiped at her damp eyes before facing her audience.

Her father, beaming, came to her and took up her hands. “My dear, never have you sounded better. What a waste that you hide that voice away from all of us.”

She rose and allowed him to lead her to Lady Willbridge and her daughters. As she accepted their praise with silent smiles, she glanced at Caleb.

He was still standing by the pianoforte, watching her. His face was impassive as stone, but his eyes burned.

If only he loved her, she thought, turning back to the others, she would never have to leave him.

• • •

The night dragged on. There was a peculiar tension in the air like there had been the night of the thunderstorm, an electricity of anticipation. Strangely enough, it only touched Caleb and herself. Everyone else seemed blithely unaware.

When it was time to retire, Imogen was surprised to find Caleb at her side.

He held out his arm to her. “Will you allow me to escort you upstairs?”

She looked at him a long moment and then directed her gaze to the others. They were chatting amiably and already heading out the door.

Gingerly she placed her fingers on his arm. “Of course.”

As he led her from the room, his steps slowed. She could feel an unexplained strain rolling off him in waves. More than once she thought he was about to say something as he tilted his head in her direction, but to her frustration he remained steadfastly silent.

By the time they reached her room, the hallway was quiet. The wall sconces glowed golden at intervals, not emitting enough light for her to see his expression clearly. His eyes in particular were deep in shadow.

“Caleb, what is it?” she whispered.

He shook his head with quick, jerky movements. “Nothing. It can wait.”

But lines of tension bracketed his mouth and radiated from his eyes. She reached up and laid her palm on his cheek, unable to keep from touching him.

“Please tell me,” she said. “Maybe it can help to talk about it.”

He gave a tortured shudder and reached up, gripping her wrist and imprisoning her hand against his face. Turning his head, he pressed his lips hotly into her palm. Her breath felt trapped in her chest, and every nerve ending in her body seemed to have settled on that sensitive flesh.

“Imogen,” he whispered against her skin. “Please let me kiss you.” When she made no answer, he raised his head. His eyes glittered in the faint light, his breath coming in short spurts. “I swear, that’s all I want, just a kiss. I won’t ask you for more. Just let me hold you, feel you.”

Her mind screamed that she should send him away and retreat to her room. But her body, her heart, cried out for his embrace. She gazed into his shadowed face, knowing what she should say. And yet the words would not form on her tongue. He held himself still, waiting for her answer.

Suddenly she caught the slight movement at his jaw. He was grinding his teeth together, forcing himself to be patient.

Her heart twisted. She knew the pain he felt was merely superficial, that he did not love her, only desired her. But even so she could no more deny him than turn back time.

Wordlessly she reached out for him. His eyes widened a moment before he grabbed her and hauled her against him. His mouth found hers, and she gripped his shoulders to keep her knees from buckling.

How badly she had wanted this. When last they had kissed, the night before their trip into Ketterby, Caleb had been infinitely tender with her, the kiss fleeting and yet heart-wrenching. Before that, in the knot garden, he had been wild, pulling a response from her that she had not wanted to give. Now he seemed to consume her with a focused intensity. His hands roamed over her back and hips, his movements slow, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of her. His lips devoured her own, eliciting a responding moan from her. One hand fumbled for the doorknob behind her, the other pressing her flush against him as he opened her bedroom door and pulled her through.

Once inside he closed the door and pushed her against the wall. Her body yielded to his, and she whimpered as she felt his arousal press into her belly. Heat and moisture flared in the center of her, and she writhed against him, desperately trying to get closer. His mouth moved to her throat, sucking at the tender flesh where it met her shoulder. Imogen gasped and arched her head to the side, silently pleading for more.

In reply he growled low, the vibrations on her skin leaving her shivering with need. One of his hands hiked up her skirts. He found the sensitive skin behind her knee, gripped it tight, hauled her leg up. And then he was between her legs, his hardness pressing through the barriers of their clothing.

“Caleb,” she moaned. Her hands were in his thick, silky hair, pulling his mouth back to hers. She felt him shudder in response, was dimly aware as his hands reached between their bodies and fumbled for the fastening at his breeches.

But he stilled. His chest heaving, he gave her one final, achingly sweet kiss before he lowered her feet back to the ground, disentangling her arms from him and righting her clothing.

She stared up at him blankly, wanting to cry from the need that still filled her. “Caleb?”

“I will not break my promises to you, Imogen,” he replied quietly. “You are far too important.”

He released her. Before she had time to react he was through the door, closing it quietly behind him, leaving Imogen to stare mutely at the space he had been.