To Catch an Heiress

“Of course,” Penelope said. “Here, sit by me.”

Caroline shook her head. “I'd rather stand, thank you.

“As you wish.”

“Do you know where Blake is?” Caroline asked, her posture as regal as a queen's. “I wish to say this only once.”

“I'm right here.”

Caroline whipped her head around. Blake was standing in the doorway, his body somehow rigid and weary at the same time. His cheeks were touched with color, and she wondered if he'd been walking in the chill night air.

“Good. I would like to say something if I may.”

“Please do,” Blake said.

Caroline gave each of the room's three other occupants an assessing glance and then finally said, “I do not require a husband. I certainly do not require a husband who does not require a wife. All I wish is to be allowed to remain here, in hiding, until my twenty-first birthday.”

“But Caroline!” Penelope protested. “These gentlemen have compromised you. You must allow one of them to make it right.”

Caroline swallowed. She didn't have much in life, but she did have her pride, and she wasn't about to let Blake Ravenscroft humiliate her any more than he had already. She looked straight at him even as she addressed her words to his sister. “Lady Fairwich, these gentlemen have done nothing to compromise me.”

“Nothing?” Blake asked.

Caroline glared at him, wondering what devil had prompted him to speak when he was so vocal about avoiding marriage. “Nothing which meant anything,” she said in a scathing voice.

Their eyes met, and both knew she was talking about their encounter on the beach. The difference was that only Caroline knew she was lying.

Her time with Blake had meant everything to her. Every minute of every encounter was held close to her heart.

She blinked back tears. Soon she'd be gone, and all she'd have to keep her warm inside were memories. There would be no man to hold her, no friends to tease her, no seaside manor that had, in just a few short weeks, become home.

But of all the things she would miss, the absence that would hurt the most was that of Blake's smile. It was so rare, but when his lips turned up at the edges…And then when he actually laughed, the pure joy of the sound made her want to sing.

But he wasn't smiling now. His face was hard, and he was glaring at her as if she were some sort of antidote, and she knew that if she didn't get out of the room that instant she was going to make an utter fool of herself. “Excuse me,” she said quickly, rushing toward the door.

“You can't go now!” Penelope exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

Caroline didn't turn around as she said, “I've said what I came here to say.”

“But where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Caroline.”

It was Blake's voice, and just the sound of it made her eyes tear up. “What?” she managed to say. Perhaps it was a rude reply, but it was the best she could do.

“It's dark out. Or hadn't you noticed?”

“I'm going out to look at the stars.”

She heard his footsteps and then felt his hand on her shoulder, slowly drawing her away from the door.

“The night is cloudy,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You won't be able to see the stars.”

She didn't even turn around as she said, “I know they're there. And that's all that matters.”

Blake closed his eyes as she ran from the room, for some reason not wanting to see her retreating form.

“Now look what you've done,” he heard his sister say. “You've broken that poor girl's heart.”

He didn't answer, not knowing—hell, not wanting to know if his sister's words were true. If he had broken her heart, then he was a bastard of the worst sort. And if it wasn't true, it meant that Caroline didn't care about him, that their one night of passion hadn't meant anything to her.

And that was almost too painful to bear.

He didn't want to think about what he felt for her. He didn't want to analyze it, to pick it to pieces, or to try to put a label on it. Because he was terrified that if he did, the only word he'd be able to come up with was love, and that would have to be the cruelest joke of all.

Blake opened his eyes just in time to see the expression of disgust on Riverdale's face as he said, “You're an ass, Ravenscroft.”

Blake said nothing.

“Marabelle is dead,” James hissed.

Blake turned on his friend with such violence that Penelope flinched. “Don't mention her,” he said in a threatening voice. “She has no place in this conversation.”

“Exactly,” James replied. “She's dead, and you can't go on mourning her forever.”

“You don't know,” Blake said, shaking his head. “You don't know what it's like to love.”

“And you know all too well,” James murmured. “In fact, you've known twice.”

“Blake,” Penelope said softly, putting her hand on his arm. “I know you loved her. We all loved her. But Marabelle wouldn't have wanted you to go on like this. You're just a shell. You buried your soul along with hers.”

Blake swallowed convulsively, wanting more than anything to flee the room, yet somehow he remained rooted to the spot.

“Let her go,” Penelope whispered. “It's time, Blake. And Caroline loves you.”

His head whipped around. “She said that?”

Penelope wanted to lie. He could see it in her eyes. But finally she shook her head. “No, but it's easy to see.”

“I won't hurt her,” he vowed. “She deserves better.”