Chapter 5

  Marah tightened her wrap around herself as she moved through the cold halls toward the library. In the three hours since she retired to her chamber, sleep had not come to her, no matter how many old tricks she employed to invite it. Counting sheep, drinking warm milk, drinking brandy . . . none of it had done any good. She had still lain in her bed, staring at the filmy canopy above, her jumbled thoughts swirling in her head.

  The topic of her thoughts was the most troubling part of her sleeplessness. She wasn’t worrying for Victoria, who had been ill that morning, though she seemed recovered enough by the afternoon. She wasn’t thinking about Emerson and the fact that he had sent word he would soon call on her. She wasn’t even thinking of London or planning all the activities she would do and people she would see while here.

  No, the thoughts clouding her mind were all about one person and one person only. Caleb.

  He and Justin had returned home from their family’s estate in London around supper time. Marah knew that because she had been sitting in a front parlor pretending to sew, when in reality she had been staring out the window waiting for them.

  She’d had no time to talk to Caleb, though, for he had gone directly to his chamber and hadn’t come back down, even for food. She had no gauge of how he was doing or feeling about seeing the man he had called father up until two years ago.

  But if Justin’s behavior was any indication, the visit had been a painful one. The earl only picked at his meal, lost in an uncharacteristic melancholy that made Marah even more fearful about what had occurred that day. But she was too afraid to ask Justin about his brother’s well-being. It was as if stating her concerns out loud would make her unwanted feelings toward Caleb all the stronger.

  And she did still feel those old unwanted feelings. There was empathy in her heart for him and sorrow for the pain she knew he suffered. And then there were other emotions that she violently shoved aside as she pushed the door to the library open and came into the dark, cold room.

  In the grate, a low fire had burned away almost to nothing, but it still gave Marah enough light to see some of the shelves as she crossed to them. She needed the most dry, boring tome she could find. Certainly that would put her to sleep and banish thoughts of Caleb at last.

  She squinted through the darkness as she scanned the titles. This one was too interesting, that one too exciting. Goodness, this one was definitely too naughty!

  She turned to face another high shelf and continue her quest when a slight movement from the chair beside the fire caught her eye. She wrinkled her brow and moved closer to inspect what she had seen. Was that a cat? The movement repeated and she jumped in surprise as her eyes adjusted further and she realized it wasn’t a pet, but a person who shifted in the darkness. The very person whose unwanted image had kept her up half the night.

  Caleb sat beside the fire, slouched down low in the chair so that he almost faded entirely into the darkness.

  She lifted a hand to her chest as if the touch could soothe her suddenly pounding heart.

  “I didn’t see you there,” she said when the glittering flash of his bright stare made her realize he was fully aware of her presence. “You frightened me.”

  He said nothing in return but inclined his head slightly as if acknowledging her statement. Marah pursed her lips in frustration at his lack of reaction. She didn’t like that he was in the darkness, his expression hidden by shadow.

  “Let me give you more light,” she said with false sweetness as she turned toward the hearth.

  She grabbed a small log from the bin and tossed it onto the grate. Immediately the smoldering coals caught the dry wood and a flash of light filled the room. She turned toward Caleb, who was squinting at the renewed brightness, but the instant she did, her irritation toward him faded.

  His expression spoke volumes about his heart, probably more than he wished to share, especially with her. But there it was, all over his handsome face whether he intended to reveal so much or not.

  Marah’s grandmother had been a healer in their village, a midwife, and at her side Marah had seen heartbreak before. But this emotion in Caleb’s eyes went beyond that, deeper into something with far more despair. There was no hope on his face, only pain and utter surrender to the idea that nothing would . . . or perhaps could ever get better.

  “What do you want?” he slurred as he lifted his eyes to her.

  Marah pursed her lips. Even if she hadn’t noticed the empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside his chair, his surly tone made it clear that Caleb had been drinking. And his glassy eyes ended any doubt she might have had about his inebriated state. The rational part of her reminded her that a drunken man was a dangerous man, especially in his highly emotional state. She should leave him in peace and forget what she saw.

  But she couldn’t do that. She didn’t want it to, but his quiet sorrow touched her and she couldn’t help but edge closer to him.

  “M-may I sit with you?” she whispered.

  He arched a brow, but then jerked his head toward the chair opposite his. She took her place quietly and tilted her chin to look at him more closely.

  “I thought you wouldn’t want to sit with me, Miss Marah Farnsworth,” he said with a shrug. “We are but mere acquaintances, are we not?”

  Marah drew back. So her words the previous night had somehow struck home with him, though she didn’t know why. He hadn’t wanted her before, she had no idea why he would suddenly decide he wanted her now. Pride was the only thing she could think of. Somehow her rejection the day before had stung his pride.

  “I wouldn’t be able to abandon an acquaintance who was in the state you are in.” She looked at him. “Even if it was only for one night, I would offer to be a friend. I think you need one.”

  “A friend,” he mused as he slid his chair just a little closer to hers. It was a slight movement, one that might even be explained away, but Marah still stiffened at it. And stiffened further when he added, “I have pictured you in every way imaginable over the years, but the last way I would ever see you was as my friend, sweet.”

  Marah’s breath caught in her throat at the openly flirtatious tone of Caleb’s voice and the forward words he had chosen when addressing her. It was entirely inappropriate, especially given that she had specifically said she didn’t want him so close. But it still thrilled her.

  Immediately she hated herself for being moved by such a simple, silly charm that Caleb Talbot had been turning on women since he was out of short pants. His words were meaningless and she knew it. She didn’t want to be one of those foolish girls who threw propriety and good sense to the wind at the empty compliment of a handsome gentleman. Over the years she had come to know that she required more stability than that.

  She cleared her throat and decided to ignore his statement. “You and Justin were out for a long time today. I assume that means you finally saw your father.”

  The dark flirtatiousness to Caleb’s expression faded away instantly and the sorrow she had been so drawn to at first returned.

  “I saw the marquis, yes,” he said with a slow nod.

  Marah shut her eyes briefly. Her own father had walked away from her the moment her birth caused the death of his wife. His only contact with her after that was a large sum of money deposited in an account to maintain her comfort and provide for her future.

  After his death, his family had continued that tradition of basic monetary support, but a lack of love or attention. She had longed to know more about them, to ask why they couldn’t love her, even a tiny bit. Even now, she wondered about the other family she didn’t know. If they knew she was in London. If they gave a damn.

  Yes, she knew a great deal about loss and regret. But that wasn’t something she’d ever shared with anyone else, even Caleb in those open, heated moments of two years before. Perhaps especially Caleb.

  There were some pains she kept private.

  She leaned forward slowly, draping her elbows over her knees. Now their heads were less than half a foot apart and she could smell the warm, clean fragrance of his skin. She shivered and refocused on her attempt to help him, rather than the unwanted and surprising desire to do far more wicked things.

  “The marquis is your father, Caleb,” she whispered.

  His gaze snapped to her face and anger briefly flashed there. “You know damned well he isn’t. We both may wish to forget what happened between us that afternoon, but you can’t deny what I confessed to you.”

  Marah nodded, recalling how pained Caleb had looked when he told her he had discovered the marquis wasn’t really his father. She had thought she would never again see him so broken.

  She was wrong.

  “Of course I remember,” she whispered. Her hand stirred but she forced herself to keep it in place rather than touch his fingers or his cheek in comfort. That was too familiar. Too dangerous. “What I meant is that a father is the man who raised you and loved you. The blood you share or don’t share is often an entirely separate issue.”

  Certainly it had been in her own case.

  “Perhaps,” Caleb said softly, but his expression softened somewhat. The edge of his pain was muted by her words, but it was only brief, not a lasting ease.

  They sat quietly for a few moments, the only sound in the room the crackling of the wood as it burned down lower in the coals. Marah was surprised that the silence between them was not uncomfortable or uneasy. In fact, that realization put her on edge. She shouldn’t feel comfort of any kind with this man. He was not one to be trusted with such things.

  She pulled back a little. “I realize this is difficult,” she began, ready to offer some platitude and then depart.

  “It is,” Caleb said before he covered his face with his hands. His head dipped down, his shoulders slumping in such defeat that Marah felt the effect of it. “Marah, he is dying. He is dying and the past hangs between us. No matter how much I want to forget, seeing him today made that so terribly, painfully clear.”

  She was no longer able to keep herself from reaching for him. When she took his hand, his fingers closed around hers, clinging to her like she was a lifeline that had been tossed to him on a stormy sea. He looked at her, but his eyes were wild and she strove to find some words that would soothe him.

  “But Caleb, you are here now. You still have time with him and that is a gift. Take comfort in the fact that you didn’t come home too late.”

  “Sometimes I fear I am too late, though,” he whispered. His voice cracked in the dim quiet. “We’ve been distant a long time. Even before I knew the truth and ran from it, our interactions were strained and forced. What if I can’t recapture a relationship with him before he is gone?”

  Marah stared at him. She had never expected Caleb to expose so much of his soul to her. The one and only time he had done so before was an anomaly. Or so she had thought. But here he was, spilling his heart, if only because the bottle had loosened his tongue.

  “All you can do is try,” she finally said as she cupped his face gently.

  He didn’t answer. Instead his fingers came up and he touched her hair. At first the touch was questing, almost questioning, but when Marah couldn’t find her voice to resist, his fingers moved into the locks and tugged, moving her toward him.

  She could hardly breathe as his mouth moved closer and closer. He was going to kiss her and she wanted him to. She wanted him to do that and so much more. She blinked as the full ramifications of that desire hit her.

  With difficulty, she turned her face and his lips brushed over her cheek instead of her mouth. She shuddered even at that touch and got to her feet.

  “W-we agreed to forget the past,” she whispered, staying back from him as she adjusted her shawl so that he wouldn’t see her body’s traitorous response to him. Her nipples were hard against her nightshift; she was sure they would be outlined clearly if she dropped the protection of the heavier wrap.

  His gaze came up to her, dark and angry, as well as needy and filled with want. “Yes, we did.”

  “Acquaintances don’t kiss,” she said, lifting her hand to her cheek where his lips had touched her. Could someone be branded by a kiss? She feared she might be.

  He arched a brow. “Don’t they? I have several lady acquaintances I once kissed regularly.”

  She winced at his cold statement. But she was glad for it, too. It reminded her that to him, she was really no different than any other woman whom he might drown his sorrow in. The fact that he had tried to kiss her tonight hadn’t been about love or tenderness.

  Caleb had always been about need, especially when it came to her. He saw her as a way to fill a void, to forget a pain, but when the need passed, he was far too willing to let her go.

  “Then perhaps you should find one of those women to help you,” she murmured, her tone lacking any heat of anger. She surprisingly felt none, though the idea of Caleb making love to someone else turned her stomach.

  “Is that what you want?” he asked as he pushed to his feet, though he didn’t advance on her. He simply stood, staring at her, his bright blue eyes holding her hostage.

  She shrugged. “It would be wrong of me to confuse matters between us. I can’t be your comfort, Caleb. Not like this, not again. Now if you will excuse me, I shall return to my chamber where I belong. Good night.”

  She didn’t wait for his response. All she could do was hurry from the room. It was only when she was halfway up the stairs that she realized she had never found a book to bore her into slumber. But it didn’t matter. She had a feeling that even the most tedious tome couldn’t help her now. And if she by some miracle found the rest she desired, her dreams would be of one thing and one thing only:

  Caleb’s touch and all the pleasure he would have given her if she hadn’t pulled away from him.

  Chapter 6

  Caleb groaned as he entered the breakfast room. Late morning sunshine poured through the windows and he squinted his bloodshot eyes to block the light, even as his head pounded and his stomach churned. As he staggered toward the side bar, he searched for a pot of tea or, God willing, coffee, but found the area to be empty.

  A door opened behind him and Justin’s butler, Crenshaw, stepped into the room on nearly silent feet. “I apologize, sir, the breakfast dishes were cleared away an hour ago, but the kitchen would be happy to prepare you some eggs or anything else you desire.”

  Caleb sucked in a breath as nausea overwhelmed him. “God, no eggs,” he moaned as he took a seat at the table and rubbed his temples in an unsuccessful attempt to quell their throbbing. “And please do stop shouting, Crenshaw.”

  The butler’s eyebrow slowly arched, but he gave no other outward reaction to Caleb’s demand. Instead he lowered his tone and said, “Of course, sir. Then what could I fetch for you, sir?”

  Caleb covered his eyes. “Coffee.”

  “A slice of toasted bread might also help to calm your stomach, Mr. Talbot,” the butler suggested.

  Caleb nodded without looking at the other man. “Bread. Good. Thank you.”

  As the servant stepped away, Caleb let his head drop onto his arms on the tabletop. It had been a long time since he’d had a drunk powerful enough to bring on such queasiness. He’d almost forgotten how awful the feeling was.

  He could scarce remember the previous night, except for one awful part: Marah coming to him. He had almost kissed her, that he recalled with perfect clarity. He’d been close enough to feel her breath on his cheek and see her eyes dilate with a desire as powerful as his own. But that desire hadn’t been fulfilled because Marah had rejected him.

  The thought of her made his head pound harder and the room spin even faster. With a moan, Caleb burrowed his head further into his arms. Another drink was probably the only thing that would cure this feeling, but the idea turned his stomach even more.

  “There you are,” a voice said from behind him. It was female and it sounded like the screech of a bird of prey to his sensitive ears.

  Lifting his head, Caleb turned to find Victoria leaning in the doorway. Her arms were folded and she looked him up and down with a delicate sniff that spoke volumes of what she thought of his current state.

  “And don’t you look a sight,” she continued as she stepped into the room. “I hope whatever you did last night was worth the pain you must be experiencing now.”

  Caleb rubbed his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

  “That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” his sister-in-law asked softly. “Burying yourself in spirits means you don’t remember, but you never fully forget, either.”

  He nodded. “So true, my lady.”

  She folded her arms. “But now that you are finally awake, I think it would do you some good to join us for luncheon.”

  “Luncheon?” Caleb repeated. “Is it that late?”

  “Just past noon,” Victoria said with a nod.

  He glanced toward the servant entrance to the room. “Er, Crenshaw arranged for me to have some coffee and some toasted bread.”

  “Good, perhaps once you have had that, you’ll be ready for hardier fare.” Victoria smiled. “I’ll be certain whatever you have asked for can be brought to you in the Lilac Room, where we are having luncheon.”

  Caleb shrugged. “I’m sorry, Victoria, but I’m not really in the mood—”

  “We have a guest, Caleb,” she interrupted, her raised voice raking across Caleb’s nerves. When he rubbed his throbbing eyes, she smiled slightly, which made him believe she might have done that on purpose. “That is why I am so persistent.”

  “A guest?” Caleb stifled a groan at the idea of having to face anyone in his current state. He could hardly remain upright. “Then I’m certainly in no condition to join you. Look at me, Victoria.”

  She arched a brow as she did so. “You are a wreck. Didn’t Justin’s valet help you?”

  “It has been so long since I had a valet, I fear I appall him beyond measure.” He sighed. “And I may be beyond even his talents this morning.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24