Chapter 5

Caleb entered Lord Avery’s musicale the next evening, scanning the crowd for a particular, unlikely face. It no longer had the power to surprise him, this desire to see Imogen. She was such a refreshing change from the dissolute crowd he typically hung around. There was an artlessness to her he was drawn to. And her quick wit, along with the unexpected joy she had displayed when he had danced with her, had been charming and completely without artifice.

His chest felt lighter than it had in longer than he cared to remember. He desired her companionship, looked forward to being not the consummate rake but a gentleman who could take pleasure in a woman’s company simply for the sake of being with her.

As he moved through the brightly lit house, he still found no hint of her or her family. He fought down a wave of disappointment, pasting a smile on his face as he joined several of his friends in a light discussion, headed off the advances of a certain married woman, and worked his way toward the music room. Eventually he passed the threshold, taking in the quiet cream and sage opulence, the doors into the adjoining drawing room thrown wide to enlarge the space. Seats had been placed in rows down the length, and there she sat toward the front, two seats in from the aisle, quite alone and scanning her program. There was no sign of her mother or sister, though he had no doubt they were about somewhere and that Imogen was meant to hold their seats. He moved toward her.

When he was still a distance from her, she suddenly looked his way, her eyes tightening at the corners as she squinted. A peculiar kind of joy filled him, a feeling he had come to associate with her presence. He smiled. As he came closer to her, she returned it, but only just.

“Miss Duncan, you are looking well this evening.” He motioned to the chair next to her. “May I?”

She nodded quickly and he sat, taking the aisle seat. Her hands clenched on the program, and he could easily imagine her knuckles turning white under the material of her gloves.

“I was hoping you would be here tonight,” he said.

Her eyes flew to his. “You have been looking for me?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

The question took him aback. “Why?” he repeated.

“Yes. Why were you looking for me? I know I’m not the normal type of company you keep.” She stuck her chin out. “Do you care for my sister, my lord?”

It had taken every bit of strength she possessed to force the words past her unwilling lips. Once they were out, she wanted to recall them. She lifted her chin a fraction more and waited, ignoring the faint trembling in her hands and the even more furious trembling in her stomach.

He sat back, the breath leaving him in a disbelieving huff. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Did she truly have to repeat herself? “Do you care for my sister?”

His mouth hung open for a moment before he shut it with an audible snap. “What does your sister have to do with anything?”

She looked down at her lap. “Many men have pursued my sister. And yet she has shown none of them favoritism.”

There was a charged pause before he blurted, “And? What has this to do with me?”

Was that annoyance in his voice? She swung her gaze up to his incredulous one. “It has everything to do with you.”

“Explain,” he demanded.

She began to feel incensed at his attitude. “It is no secret my sister and I are exceedingly close. It really was only a matter of time, I suppose, before someone realized her affection for me and decided to use it to gain access to her.”

His face fell slack. “Is that what you think of me?” Disbelief and hurt colored his voice. “Do you actually believe me such a cad?”

Uncertainty snaked under her skin. “I don’t know you well enough to disbelieve it.”

He studied her a long moment. “You are right, of course,” he finally said.

Imogen’s stomach dropped. “I am?”

“Yes. You have no reason to believe my seeking you out is honest. We have known each other but a matter of days and have not had more than the slightest of conversations.” His voice dropped then to a whisper, pain coating his words. “And if you knew the half of what I have done, you would run screaming from me this instant.”

Imogen was shocked speechless. Before she had time to recover he continued in a firmer tone, “But know this: I am not after your sister for a relationship, be it honorable or not. I do not wish to disparage her, Miss Duncan,” he said slowly, carefully, “but she is not at all my type.”

Instantly her ire returned. “Not your type?” she asked in disbelief. “How can she not be? She is wonderfully sweet, and beautiful, and graceful. She would make you a fine marchioness if you had a mind to make her your wife.”

He sputtered out a laugh. “You are her greatest champion, I see.”

The ridiculousness of the situation hit her. Here she had been accusing him of using her to get to Mariah, and in the next breath she was berating him for not wanting her. But she could not back down now. She squared her shoulders. “I am.”

“Well, you may champion her all you like, but it will not change my mind. I have no intention, nor have I ever had any intention, of making Miss Mariah my bride, as lovely a person as she may be. And,” he added, enunciating each word with sharp precision, “I seek you out because I happen to like you.”

Imogen slumped back into her seat, her teeth biting into her lower lip. “Oh,” she breathed.

“Is it so very hard to believe that someone would wish to be your friend?”

“Well, it has not happened before now, so I am sure you can understand my surprise.”

“More fools they, then.” He grinned. “And all to my benefit, as I shall not have to share you.” The smile fell from his face and he looked at her oddly for a moment. “Your sister is very lucky, you know, to have you as a champion. Not all siblings are so close.”

She tilted her head and regarded him. “That comment seems to have a wealth of meaning behind it, my lord. Do you have siblings?”

He looked away, but not before she saw the flash of pain in his eyes. “Yes, there are four of us now. Though we are not close. Not any longer.”

His wording jarred her. “Four of you now? Have you lost a sibling?”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “A brother. But it was long ago.”

Imogen wanted to reach out, to lay a comforting hand on his arm. But he seemed to shake off the sudden pall that surrounded him and turned to her with a smile. “Now then, what does Lord Avery have for us this evening, hmm?”

The abrupt change of subject left her reeling. He held out his hand. She looked at it blankly for a moment before she placed her program into it.

But if he could let the charged moment pass so easily, then she could as well. It was obvious he did not want to continue with it. She straightened and directed her gaze to the heavy vellum in his hand. “He is to have a soprano from Italy,” she remarked as he glanced over the paper.

“Is he now?” Lord Willbridge murmured. “I wonder if this one is truly from Italy, or if she is from Italy by way of Gloucestershire like the last one.” He leered sideways at her, and she smothered a surprised giggle.

“Surely not.”

“Surely yes.” He nodded knowingly. “Though don’t let on. Lord Avery, I’m sure, had no knowledge of the deception, though how anyone could have been fooled by her atrocious accent I’ll never know.”

She laughed. “Well, to tell the truth, I could care less if she were from Italy or India or the East End. If she has a beautiful voice I will listen to it, and gladly.”

“Do you sing?” he asked.

“Very rarely, and only when forced.”

He grinned. “Then I shall have to force you.”

Alarm filled her. “No, you would not dare.” His answer was merely a lift of an eyebrow. She groaned. “No, promise me you will not. I would faint dead away were anyone to make me sing in public.”

“Faint dead away? Come now. You are made of sterner stuff than that, Miss Duncan.”

Just then the crowd began to pour into the room and take their seats. Imogen’s mother and sister were on them in a moment.

“Lord Willbridge,” Lady Tarryton gushed, simpering as she approached. “What a pleasure to see you, sir. We were so honored to have you in our drawing room the day before last. You remember my daughter, Miss Mariah Duncan, of course.”

Lord Willbridge rose and bowed. “My lady, Miss Mariah. Forgive me; I seem to have taken your seat.”

“Nonsense.” She seated herself beside Imogen. “You are more than welcome to join us. Though perhaps you will see better over here, by my youngest. The view is quite unparalleled.”

Imogen felt her face burn. Her mother could not be more obvious if she tried. She expected Lord Willbridge to follow the barely concealed command. Not many dared oppose her mother, and if they did, it was done once and never again.

But to her surprise he sat down firmly next to her once more. “If the seat is so fine, then please take it for yourself. I would not have you give up such a prime spot for me.”

Imogen’s gaze flew to her mother. She had a macabre desire to see how the marquess’s refusal would affect her.

Lady Tarryton’s syrupy smile lost some of its sweetness. “Ah yes, thank you my lord. Most kind of you.” She fell into a tense silence, and Imogen could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. As she expected, it wasn’t long before her mother recovered.

“Imogen,” she said, a sudden gleam lighting her eyes, “why don’t you come sit over here and give Mariah your seat, dear?”

As Imogen gave a small sigh and went to rise, Lord Willbridge reached out and laid his hand on her arm, forcing her back down. She landed in her seat with a grunt. Lady Tarryton gasped.

“Miss Duncan has offered to share her program with me, and I would be most obliged. I’m a complete dunce when it comes to music, you see, and she has promised to explain it to me as the night progresses,” Lord Willbridge said.

Imogen’s mother blinked owlishly at him.

“Ah, certainly. How…noble of my daughter.” She gave him a perplexed smile before turning her attention to the front of the room. Mariah, on her mother’s far side, smiled slyly at Imogen before turning forward as well.

Imogen was silent as the soprano took her place and began. And then, under cover of the singing, she leaned ever so slightly in Lord Willbridge’s direction, bending her head toward the program to give the appearance of explaining the song. He took the hint, smart man, following suit.

“How in the world did you do that?” she whispered.

His eyes were wide with feigned innocence. “Do what?” he whispered back, before ruining the effect and grinning.

“Oh, you are good,” she mumbled. “I wish I could manage her half as well as you.”

“It is a simple matter of surprise,” he replied. How he managed to insert such a scholarly tone into his whisper she would never know. “Keep her on her toes. And deflect, deflect, deflect.”

She raised one eyebrow at him. “Is that your secret? I thought it was an excess of charm.”

He winked, returning his attention to the performance. “Well, there is that.”

Imogen simply shook her head in awe.

Suddenly sharp fingers gripped her right arm. Imogen just barely kept from gasping aloud. She turned quickly to face the furious countenance of her mother.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lady Tarryton demanded in a harsh whisper.

Imogen schooled her features back to her usual calm lack of emotion. “Nothing, Mama.”

“You’ve been making a positive cake of yourself with Lord Willbridge. I don’t know what you think you are doing, monopolizing his time like that. But I mean for him to marry Mariah.”

As if that wasn’t painfully obvious, Imogen thought, fighting to keep her visage serene. She stared at a spot just over her mother’s shoulder, an ache starting up behind her eyes that had nothing to do with the dim light and her lack of spectacles.

“He is not interested in you in that way, you know,” her mother added, seeming to become only more furious in the face of her daughter’s calm silence. “You may as well get it through your head now, and save yourself heartache later.”

As Lady Tarryton turned away from her, finally ending her tirade, Imogen slowly returned her gaze to the front of the room.

No, she thought, surprised at the painful throb her heart gave, he certainly was not. And never would be.