Chapter 32

Imogen had just packed the last of her things away for the trip back to London when a knock sounded at her door.

She hurriedly wiped at her eyes, which had been continually moist since she had left Caleb and Emily an hour or better before, and called out, “Come in.”

It did not surprise her to see Caleb stride into the room. Nor did the painful twist her heart gave. What did surprise her was the lightness in his eyes. She could not remember ever seeing such a free expression on his face.

She smiled. “You are reconciled.”

“Yes.” He looked amazed, as if he could not quite believe it was possible.

“I am glad,” she whispered. “So glad. It was my fondest hope.”

He stayed silent for a long time, gazing at her. Without warning, he strode to her, taking her face in his hands. She gasped as he bent and brushed his lips against hers.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for giving my family back to me.”

She could only stand there mutely as his lips traveled butterfly soft over her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes. She reached up, gripping his shoulders. She thought of returning to London the next day, of never seeing him again, and just barely stopped the sob that threatened to burst from her lips.

She would miss him, so much that even the thought of it nearly broke her. Just one more memory, she thought greedily. Just one more kiss, one more embrace to sustain her.

Imogen pushed herself onto her toes, her lips pressing to Caleb’s. Her hands found their way into his hair, dragging him to her, deepening the embrace. She had never been so bold, had never taken charge in such a way before. She could feel the shock of it freeze up every muscle in his body. But he didn’t remain that way for long. With a groan his arms went around her back, crushing her body to his. His mouth opened over hers and Imogen felt as if her very breath were being stolen from her lungs. She would not think of tomorrow, would not even let a whisper of the future intrude right now. She was in the arms of the man she loved—that was all that mattered.

She arched into him, pressing into the lean strength of his body. His hands splayed over her back, kneading through the layers of material and into her muscles, moving down until he cupped her bottom. Heat pooled between her legs as she felt him, hard and insistent, pressing into her belly. Desire snaked across her limbs, down her thighs, leaving her knees too weak to hold her. His arms tightened, pulling her even more completely into his body. She wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor, to pull him atop her, to feel him fill her.

But even with these thoughts, when he made to move deeper into the room toward her bed she froze. No, her mind screamed, even as her body ached, begging for him, begging for release. Her mind desperately fought for dominance. She knew once they reached the bed that there was no turning back. Finally, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she wrenched herself free.

She scrambled across the room, trying to distance herself from him, knowing if he came near her that she would fall back into his arms. He watched her intently, his face a blank mask, the only sound in the room their labored breathing, but he made no move to go after her.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “That was a mistake. That should not have happened.” With trembling fingers she straightened her spectacles.

He considered her for a long moment. Without warning he began walking toward her. She scuttled along the wall, away from him. He paused.

“It was no mistake, Imogen,” he said carefully, his voice low and measured, as if he were talking down a frightened horse. “Don’t you see what we have together?”

“Yes,” she said shakily as she rounded a chair. Her fingers dug into the cushioned back. “We have friendship, and passion. But that is not enough, Caleb.”

Her throat closed up before she declared herself. For heaven’s sake, she was practically begging him to admit to stronger feelings. But even as she knew those words would not come, she found herself holding her breath. All it would take, she knew, to keep her here, was some hope that he could love her. Just the smallest kernel.

Instead he said, with a hint of impatience, “Of course it is enough. Imogen, we have had this discussion before.”

“Yes, we have,” she agreed hollowly.

“I believed you could be made to come around.” He ran a hand through his hair, his agitation apparent. “I do not know why you have proven so stubborn in this. It is ideal on both sides. You get a husband, will get out from under your mother’s thumb. I get an ideal marchioness, one who understands me and whom I feel a great deal of passion for.”

Imogen shrugged off the mounting despair, instead drawing herself up before him. “It may be ideal for you, my lord. But it is not for me.”

Caleb threw his hands up, his voice rising. “No? And what is ideal, living the life of a spinster, falling back into a shadow under your mother’s tyranny?”

She flinched. He saw it, a look of contrition falling over his face. “Forgive me. That was not well done of me.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she managed through a throat tight with tears, “after those glowing words, but my decision stands. I will not marry you.”

With as much dignity as Imogen could muster, she went to the door, pulling it wide. It was an unmistakable dismissal.

He was silent for so long that she felt her forced calm begin to crumble. When he spoke, his voice was saturated with disbelief. “Imogen, you cannot mean that.”

She straightened her back until it ached, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “I assure you, I do,” she replied, putting as much cold certainty into her voice that she could muster. “You have known all along that I won’t marry you. It should come as no surprise.”

“Is this your final answer? Because I promise you, I will not repeat my offer again.”

His voice was so filled with confusion and hurt that she nearly relented. Instead she gripped the doorknob tighter and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yes,” she whispered, “it is.” She took a deep breath. “My father and I will be leaving at first light tomorrow morning. Please don’t see us off. And please don’t seek me out in London.”

There was a heavy silence. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his head swivel to her trunks, packed and stacked against one wall, and then return to her.

“As you wish.”

He brushed past her, his steps faltering for only a second. Then he was out the door and down the hallway. She closed the door before, with a violent sob, she sank to the floor and let loose her tears.

• • •

Caleb stood at one of the tall windows in the Long Gallery the following morning, his hands clasped behind his back. Below him, in the front courtyard, the carriages waited in the early morning sunlight, the first rays of dawn having just broken through the tree line. Footmen were putting the last of the trunks into place, Imogen’s maid and Lord Tarryton’s valet disappearing into the smaller carriage.

A minute later Lord Tarryton himself appeared. He looked briefly back at the house, shaking his head mournfully before climbing into the larger carriage.

Caleb’s eyes eagled in on the space directly beneath him. Suddenly she was there, Emily’s arm tight about her shoulders. Imogen’s back was straight, her hair back in that infernal bun. She received Emily’s hug stiffly before climbing into the carriage. He could just make out her dim profile through the window, could see her pale cheek and the tight line of her mouth.

His eyes locked onto her, devouring her, taking in what he could. He willed her to look up, to acknowledge him, to show even a small bit of the loss he felt at their parting. But she did not, and with a jolt, the carriages lurched forward, and he could see her no more. Within moments they were rounding the circular drive, slipping through the tall stone columns and down the long avenue.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. He only knew the carriages had disappeared from view long ago and the sun was climbing to its zenith when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He pulled his tired eyes away from the horizon reluctantly to look down into Emily’s upturned face.

“Caleb,” she said softly. Her own eyes were red-rimmed as she looked at him, but she gave him a small smile.

“Do you know what I could use right now?” she asked him. “A good pounding ride. What do you say to joining me?”

He wanted to return her smile, but his mouth would not respond. He was about to tell her he wanted to be alone right now, but he looked at her and saw a near reflection of his own grief mirrored. Emily had come to care for Imogen as well and had to realize what this sudden leave-taking meant.

He felt humbled. That she was opening herself to trust him, to need him, after what had occurred between them, was brave indeed. And if she could be brave enough to show her need for him, then he could as well. He held out his arm to her, his heart lightening a bit when he saw relief pass over her face.

They made their way to the stables, and before long they were mounted up and galloping over the vast back lawn. Caleb let his gelding have his head, concentrating on the feel of the horse beneath him, the rhythmic sound of the hooves pounding into the ground, the way the wind whipped past him and burned into his eyes. Emily kept pace beside him, leaning low over her mare’s neck. He had not known she could ride so well, and found himself wondering what else she could do, what else she liked and disliked. He truly didn’t know a thing about his sister. He felt a biting regret of the years lost, but pushed it away as he thought of the time they had ahead of them to know each other again. He had his sister back, his entire family back.

And it was all due to Imogen.

He frowned and pulled his mind back from where it had wandered. He could not think about her. It would drive him mad.

They stopped for a short time to rest their horses before heading back to the stables. As one they turned their mounts over to the grooms and began the short walk back to the house, but as they approached it he remembered that she was no longer there, with her calming presence and quiet smile. He thought of the long night ahead of him and clenched his jaw painfully, walking on.

Back in the house he turned to Emily. She had been a silent support throughout the day. Now she reached out with only the smallest hesitation and took his hand, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you for today,” he said to her, returning the pressure of her hand, hoping she could see the deep gratitude that his paltry words could not convey.

She smiled and nodded before turning away, heading for the music room. He watched her go, and after a short while he could hear the delicate strains of the pianoforte through the closed door. He started for his study, not wanting to remember how Imogen had played for him that one night, her voice sweet and swelling with emotion, as if she were trying to convey something important to him.

He suddenly stopped, his hand on the study door. She had been trying to tell him something that night. He thought of the expression in her turquoise eyes as she had sung, the same emotion he had glimpsed more than once when she believed he wasn’t looking.

In an instant he knew, deep in his heart, just what she had been so desperately trying to say.

“She loves me?” he murmured in disbelief. His voice echoed about the hall, as if mocking him for his stupidity.

He sagged against the door. But no, how could that possibly be? She had refused him. Why would she do so if she loved him? Now that the thought had been brought into being, however, he could not let it go. He shook his head, unable to wrap his mind about this new information. With that disbelief came an energy that filled his tired body and had his feet taking him unseeing through the house. When he stopped and looked up, only to find himself outside Imogen’s bedroom door, it did not surprise him one bit.

He opened the door, letting it swing wide before he stepped over the threshold. As it felt with the rest of the house, the space was cold and empty without her in it. He let his eyes take in the room, looking on the dressing table she had used, the mirror she had gazed into. The bed she had slept in.

It was there he went, letting his fingers trail over the neat coverlet. Everything was in its place, the maids having erased all sign of her. Tension worked into his shoulders, making his body stiffen and his fingers curl in on themselves. It was several seconds before he realized what it was that was saturating his body with such fearsome force. Panic.

She was gone. Truly gone. She had loved him, and yet had left him. Why? He leaned over and pressed his fisted hands into the bed. His panic ripened, turning to anger. Why had she left him? They loved each other. Wasn’t that the very best reason for two people to marry?

In the next second he realized just what he had admitted to himself.

That could not possibly mean what he thought it did. Surely he loved her just as a friend. Not in the romantic sense. Not in that ridiculous way that sent young girls’ hearts fluttering and turned men into imbeciles. In that moment, however, he felt it, the realigning of the pieces of himself, and the pattern was suddenly clear. He did love her.

Dear God in heaven, he loved Imogen.

How had he not seen it? How had he been so blind to something so very important? But before the questions had even formed in his mind, he knew the answer. She had so quickly become a dear friend to him, though he didn’t deserve it. Over the last weeks he had been so afraid of losing that friendship that he had been oblivious to the true nature of his deepening feelings for her.

Would he have ever seen it if Imogen had not healed his family, if she had not released him from his guilt? If he had not felt worthy of having her for a friend, there was no way he would have ever accepted that what he felt for her was love. But he could see it now, in all its beauty and brilliance.

“I love Imogen,” he murmured in wonder.

But in the next moment he realized the futility of the realization. She had left him. She was gone and never wanted to see him again.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him. With a great sigh he turned about and sat on the bed. He’d had his chance at happiness and had lost it. He propped his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands. But no matter how he squeezed his eyes shut, no matter how he pressed his fingers into his scalp, he could not erase her from his mind. The recollections came and he gave in to them, like a floodgate collapsing under raging waters.

It was random at first, a jumble of memories, her sweet face at the center of them all. Soon, however, they began to rearrange themselves. Imogen the evening before, telling him that she needed more in marriage, the look of pleading in her eyes, his callous words that their union of friendship and passion was so ideal. The achingly sad look she had given him after her love song to him three nights ago. And then a flash of her first night at Willowhaven, when they had met in the library and he had told her he wasn’t the type to fall in love.

All that time, had she been begging him for even the possibility that he could love her? Had she been telling him in her own way that she felt more, and needed more from him? Caleb felt his agitation grow. He had been such a dunce. And now he had lost her forever.

He straightened, frowning. No, he could not believe that. There had to be a chance for them still. He would go to London, would make her see that he loved her, that they could make a go of it. A tentative hope bloomed in his chest. Yes, he would make her see, they belonged together.

In the next moment he was up and bounding from the room. “Billsby!” he called as he sprinted down the hall and through the Long Gallery. “Damn it man, where are you when I need you? I need to leave for London at once.”

He had just reached the main staircase when his mother emerged from the room adjacent. “And so you are finally leaving, my darling boy,” she said. “Granted, I do wish I had you to myself for a small while longer now that I have you back. But I can only be glad it is Imogen who captured your heart.”

Caleb stopped and stared at her. She was smiling broadly, none of the strain of the past years evident on her still lovely face. Their reconciliation had been quiet, natural, as if no time at all had passed, no heartache had come between them. As he stood there looking at her, he could not now imagine what could have made him think that she could ever lose her love for him.

His throat tightened with emotion. “How long have you known?”

She came closer, taking up his hand. “That you are in love with Imogen? From the first moment she set foot in that drawing room.”

He looked at her in bewilderment. “But even I didn’t know.”

“Some things are obvious to a parent.” His mother gave him a satisfied smile and squeezed his hand before releasing it. “Now, as much as I’d love for you to stay, I think you’d better leave with all due haste. And when you finally secure that wonderful girl, you come straight back here. I’ve a mind to know both my son and new daughter better.”

The hope that had begun to bloom in him blossomed then to vibrant life. Grinning, he took his mother in his arms and planted a kiss on her cheek. Spinning about, he sped down the stairs, leaving the marchioness smiling after him.