Chapter 34

A soft tapping sound woke Imogen some hours later. She jolted awake, staring with wide eyes at the darkness around her, listening intently but hearing nothing further. Just as she began to relax back into sleep, thinking perhaps she had imagined the entire thing, she heard it again.

Tap, tap, tap. Something was hitting her window softly, with rhythmic regularity. Could it be the branches of the tree that loomed nearby?

But a second later she heard a soft curse. Fear coursed through her. Trees certainly did not curse.

And then someone began to push her window open…from the outside.

She bolted upright, fumbling for her spectacles, her hands shaking as she reached for the book on her bedside table, the only heavy object within reach.

She slipped from the bed, eyes wide and anchored to the dark figure slithering into the room. Keeping to the shadows, she held the book tightly to her chest. The intruder moved toward the bed on silent feet, pausing when he saw it was empty. A chill stole through her.

She watched as he began feeling about the bedside table. Moving behind him, she raised the book high above her. Her muscles tensed, ready to bring the tome down on his head. She gave a fervent thanks for the heavy volume of Shakespearian plays she had decided to bring to bed with her when a candle flared to life. The intruder turned, his face illuminated.

Imogen gasped and dropped the book. It landed on her bare toes and she winced, dropping to the floor to rub away the pain.

“Imogen,” Caleb whispered, bending down beside her. “Are you hurt?”

Foot throbbing, eyes stinging, she looked up at him incredulously. “Caleb, what are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, he gripped her hands, helping her up. As soon as she was standing, she pulled away from him. Her mind was whirling, her heart beating hard in her chest.

He stepped toward her, but she held up a shaking hand. He stopped, his face tight with frustration.

“Why are you here in London?” she repeated. “Why aren’t you back at Willowhaven with your family?”

“I had to see you.” There was something new in his voice that she was vaguely aware of, even in the midst of the turmoil she was feeling.

“You saw me just two days ago,” Imogen said harshly. “I think we said everything there was to say to each other then.”

“No, there’s more.”

He looked as if he were about to draw close to her again. Desperate to put more distance between them, she moved to the open window, looking down at the three-story drop to the ground. She imagined him scaling the spindly tree, using the narrow stone ledge of the building to access her window, and shuddered.

Her back to him, the chill night air cooling her flushed skin, she rasped, “So you raced halfway across the country? You climb in through my bedroom window in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t you wait to use the front door?”

“I knew you wouldn’t see me.”

“No. No, I wouldn’t. And you know why, Caleb.” She concentrated on slowing her agitated breathing, on steadying her heartbeat. But her voice still came out strained. “Why can’t you leave me alone? Please, respect my decision. I said I will not marry you.”

She could hear him moving closer. She tensed, but he didn’t reach out to touch her.

“How can I respect your decision when I don’t understand it?” He paused, and the air was rife with tension. “I know you love me, Imogen.”

Imogen’s knees nearly buckled. She reached out a hand to catch herself, but he was already there, his hands warm on her arms.

“What did you say?” She swung about, her eyes flying to his face.

His gaze softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me you loved me, Imogen?”

His expression nearly undid her. More than anything, she wanted to melt into his embrace. She had used too much of her strength to leave him; she felt completely vulnerable now. She wasn’t supposed to have seen him again. How was she to build her defenses up against him now, when she had been torn raw from the pain of leaving him?

“It makes no difference,” she said through stiff lips.

His arms came about her and he pulled her against his body. She was acutely aware of how thin her nightgown was, of how completely unclothed she felt.

“It makes all the difference in the world,” he said, brushing her lips with his own. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the sensations bombarding her. But somehow, when her hands made to move up and grip his shoulders, she was able to reach deep down in herself and find one small shred of strength left. She placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed herself away from him.

“No, Caleb,” she choked, stumbling free from his grasp and turning from him. “Please, I cannot bear it.”

She rushed for the door, desperate to escape him, to escape the pain that seared her very heart. She didn’t care why he had chased her back to London. She could not do this anymore. This time she was certain it would destroy her.

“But I love you,” he whispered.

She gasped and reached out for the wall to steady herself.

“What?” she breathed.

He was suddenly at her back, his arms about her waist, his breath hot in her ear. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice tender. He pulled her back against his chest, his hands strong as they splayed across her middle.

But she was shaking her head, her hair rasping against his coat. “I know you love me. As a friend.”

“No, I love you, Imogen. As the other half of my heart.” He spun her to face him. His pale gray eyes held new worlds of emotion in their depths. “Yes, we’re friends. Yes, we have passion. And you were right, for a marriage to work, we would need more. Imogen, we have more.”

It wasn’t until he reached up and wiped at her wet cheek with his thumb that she realized she was crying. “You were crying the first night we met,” he murmured. “Do you remember?”

She nodded, unable to speak, too overcome with the emotions welling up in her. For so long she had forced them down. Now, however, they were breaking free.

Her eyes searched his face frantically, looking for any doubt there. This could not possibly be real. She had to be dreaming; that was the only excuse. But no, his body was solid and warm, pressed to hers. And his eyes were open, and honest, and true.

Hope uncurled like a sleeping bird in her heart, woken after too long a slumber. And it began to sing.

“I will forever be grateful that you stumbled upon me that night,” he said. “You have brought a calm and happiness to my life that I never thought to have again—indeed, never thought I even deserved.”

“You love me?” she whispered.

He smiled and pulled her closer. “How could I not? You are beautiful and kind and generous. I’m only amazed it took me so long to realize.”

Still Imogen could find no words. She was dizzy with the whirl of emotions—first such utter despair, followed by such staggering joy she was afraid to grasp onto it. She reached up, gingerly touching his face, his lips. He clasped her hand, pulling it to his mouth, pressing a fervent kiss to her skin.

“I have been a fool,” he said, his eyes roaming greedily over her face. “I was so blind to the truth that it nearly cost me you. If I had only realized before. It came on me so gradually, I couldn’t see it for what it was. Though I think I have loved you since I saw you transformed at that masquerade ball.”

Imogen felt a sudden dimming of her joy. He had loved her since she had changed into a completely different person? She began to pull away from him, but he held tight.

“Since,” he continued, reaching a finger under her chin to tilt her face up, “I realized that I’d rather have you as you are, and not as a copy of every other debutante out for the Season. Since I realized that I could not deny the pull you had on me. You ground me, make me a better man. My life was a shell before you stumbled into it. And thank God you did.”

He pulled her flush against him and she opened her arms to him. His breath stirred the tendrils of her hair that had escaped her braid as he embraced her.

“Marry me, Imogen,” he pleaded, his lips moving at her temple, his hands cradling her like the most precious of treasures. “Marry me, and make me the happiest of men.”

She smiled into his shoulder as all the doubt and sorrow in her heart melted away. “Yes,” she whispered.

He stilled, and then pulled away just enough to look into her face. His eyes, dim in the candlelight, flared with a fierce joy. “Say it again.”

She laughed. “Yes, I will marry you, Caleb.”

Before the words had completely left her mouth, his lips covered hers. His fingers splayed over her hips, digging into their roundness, pulling her against him. Her thin nightgown was barely a barrier to the hard press of his body. Her skin felt as if it were bursting into flame. She reached up, her fingers diving through the thick softness of his hair, her heart singing as he bent over her, forming his body to hers. She felt wrapped up in him, safe and cherished.

His lips moved from her mouth, trailing over her cheek, to the sensitive skin near her ear. “I love you,” he growled against her flesh, his voice sending waves of pleasure through her body, his words sending pure joy to her heart. “I love you so very much, Imogen.”

She gasped as his lips worked a path down her neck to her collarbone. She strained against him, needing more, needing to be closer to him. “Please, Caleb,” she moaned, her fingers tugging at his clothing.

His hands released her and she nearly collapsed, her legs were so weak from wanting him. But the world suddenly tilted, and she was cradled against his chest for a short moment before being lowered gently to her bed.

“I will get a special license,” he promised, his lips trailing down to her breast. He took possession of the straining tip, and Imogen nearly choked at the feel of his hot mouth through the thin material.

“Yes, you will,” she panted, unable to bear the thought of even one night without him in her bed.

“We can marry as soon as tomorrow,” he went on, sitting up and rapidly divesting himself of his clothing, his eyes hot on her, raking her body with fierce possessiveness.

Imogen chuckled low in her throat. “You may have a battle ahead of you. Do you think my mother will allow her daughter to marry a marquess and not gloat to all of society about it?”

“I don’t give a damn about your mother, or for society either.”

She smiled, getting up on her knees, the better to watch as he stripped off his clothing. “We can give her two weeks,” she suggested. The heat between her legs only grew hotter as his muscled chest was revealed. She cleared her throat and adjusted her spectacles.

“One week,” he growled, looking at her, devouring her. His face was pure need. Need for her.

Imogen felt a power she never had before shoot through her at the realization that this incredible man hungered for her. And not just her body. He hungered for her love as well, so much so that he had raced across counties to get to her, had scaled a three-story building to proclaim his love for her.

She smiled and placed her spectacles on the bedside table before, reaching down, she located the hem of her nightgown and pulled it slowly over her head, letting it fall from her fingers to the carpet. Caleb watched her with an intent, raw yearning. She reached for her braid and brought it over her shoulder, working the plait apart. His eyes fastened on the movement, on how the strands came free and curled over her breast. Her nipples hardened under his stare.

“Sweet heaven, Imogen,” he rasped, shoving his breeches and drawers over his lean hips, discarding them on the floor. And then he kneeled on the bed before her, pulling her into his arms, his body pressed tight to hers.

Imogen gave a long sigh of pleasure at the sensation of his naked flesh against her own, at his arousal pressing into her stomach. She was overcome by the undeniable urge to touch him. Her lips pressed into the strained cords in his neck, lathing him with her tongue, pulling at his skin with her mouth. A ragged breath escaped him. He fell back into the softness of the bed, bringing her with him, pulling her over him.

Imogen gave a small squeak of surprise at the change in position. But then she smiled into his skin, reveling in the sense of control it gave her. She continued her attentions, pressing her lips to his chest, taking one of his small, flat nipples in her mouth. He groaned, straining against her.

Suddenly his hands were at her thighs. He gripped them tight, pulled them wide until she was straddling his stomach. Her mouth opened in surprise.

“Can it be done this way as well, then?” she whispered.

A wicked smile spread over his face. “This and so many more, love. And we have the whole of our lives to try them out.”

Imogen’s heart nearly burst from her chest, it felt so full. Blinking back tears, she sat up and, taking hold of his hands, guided them to her hips. “Show me how.”

His lids grew heavy as he regarded her above him. His eyes traveled leisurely over her breasts, her gently rounded stomach, the soft thatch of curls between her legs. Finally, when Imogen thought she could bear it no longer, he lifted her and brought her down on himself.

Imogen gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head at the sensation. He filled her so completely she felt there was no room for anything else but him inside of her.

“Like this,” he said, his voice strained as he gripped her hips tight and moved her rhythmically, first up and nearly off of him, then back down the hard length of him. And then he removed his hands.

Imogen began with small gyrations, testing the position, trying to get a sense of motion. Pure fire shot through her as she rubbed against him. Her eyes focused on Caleb’s face, watched as he threw back his head and the strong cords of his neck stood out in harsh relief. She tried another small circle with her hips, saw him gasp. At the sight of his pleasure, her uncertainty melted away.

She quickly found her rhythm, riding him, the pressure building in her own body to a dizzying height. His fingers dug into her thighs, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. Faster and faster she rode until, in a blinding burst of light, her body exploded around him, throbbing with its release. As she collapsed atop his sweat-slicked chest, she heard his own muffled shout of completion. Smiling, she slowly drifted off with his arms tight about her.

• • •

The room was just beginning to lighten with the faintest hint of dawn when Imogen was woken by a soft kiss. She opened her eyes, a smile of pure contentment spreading across her face at the sight of Caleb, adorably tousled, leaning over her. So it had not been a dream after all, she thought happily as he captured her lips once again. Imogen felt an immediate response in her body. She reached for him, deepening the kiss. He groaned softly, his naked body hard against hers under the covers, his arousal immediate. But a moment later he pulled back.

“I have to go,” he said, regret thickening his voice.

“I know,” she whispered, but then smiled. “You have an archbishop to see, after all.”

His eyes softened as he gazed down at her. “I do.”

Imogen gazed up at Caleb, happiness coursing through her. And for once she didn’t care that her heart was in her eyes. For his heart shone through now as well. She certainly didn’t need her spectacles to see that, she thought with a smile as he lowered his head to hers.