With Love in Sight

by Christina Britton

  “If I recall from previous conversations of ours,” she ventured, “you have three siblings. Where is the third?”

  “Andrew is between Emily and Daphne in age. He has just finished at University, like your brother Nathanial, and is staying with friends.”

  His voice was casual, disinterested. She took that as a good sign and plunged on. “Daphne is lovely, very vivacious. She reminds me of Mariah in many ways. Is your brother more like her, or is he quiet like Lady Emily?”

  She held her breath to test his reaction. There was a slight pause, barely noticeable, before he answered. “He is definitely more like Daphne. I expect I’ll be getting a request for a commission soon from him. I cannot see him in the clergy, leading a flock with his upright behavior.” There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

  “Lady Emily seems very different in personality from the rest of your family.”

  She glanced up at him as she spoke. Was that pain she saw in his eyes? He turned his head to look out over the water, however, hiding the emotion from her view.

  “No,” he finally said, quietly, “she’s quite different from us all.”

  “However did she get such a scar? It must have been exceedingly painful for her.”

  His jaw worked for a moment. “You recall me telling you of my brother, Jonathan? The one who died young?” His voice was so low she had to strain to hear him.

  “Yes.”

  He took a slow, deep breath. “She got that scar in the same accident that killed him. There was an outcropping of rocks, close to the fishing pond. They were at the top when it gave way. They were twelve at the time.”

  “Oh, how horrible for her,” she exclaimed. “It must have been a violent fall indeed to have caused such an injury.” She frowned. “I had no idea Lady Emily and Jonathan were twins.”

  “Yes. They were very close, did everything together. She was forever trailing about after him…” His voice faltered.

  Imogen could think of nothing to say. She watched the play of emotions over his face. It was obvious he still felt deeply about it. And Emily too must relive it daily whenever she looked in the mirror.

  Perhaps this was the reason for the tension and estrangement between them all? Though surely not. How could the accidental death of a twelve-year-old boy cause this horrible distance between family members a decade after it happened?

  “Perhaps,” she attempted, “you would show me his portrait some time.”

  He finally looked at her, and she saw the shutters go up behind his eyes. Perhaps she had pushed too hard.

  He smiled, but it was hollow somehow.

  “Now, why would we wish to visit such memories when I have but two weeks to convince you to marry me?” He pushed away from the railing and offered his arm. Imogen took it, strangely sad that the town mask was back. What was this hidden part of him that he refused to show to the world? And why couldn’t she seem to let go of the need to find it out?

  • • •

  The following morning Imogen managed to make it down to breakfast at an even earlier hour, hoping to avoid Caleb. As she was rising to leave, however, he entered.

  He took her hand and pulled her off to the side of the room. “Come riding with me today, Imogen.”

  She tried to pull her hand from his grip, but he only tightened it. She gave a small huff of frustration. The night before she had done all in her power to engage Lady Willbridge and Daphne into conversation, all but ignoring Caleb’s attempts at drawing her focus to him. Apparently, however, her efforts had been all too obvious. And they had not deterred him at all.

  She gave up trying to free herself and glared up at him. “Let go of my hand.”

  He grinned unrepentantly. “No.” He tried tugging her closer. Her gaze shot meaningfully to the footman in the corner, who was attempting to ignore them. Caleb’s grin only widened. He leaned toward her, his face near her ear, and let his breath fan the curls on the side of her neck. “Have I told you today that your sister’s maid is a wonder with hair?” he asked in a low rumble that she felt straight to her toes. “And this pale green gown is even lovelier than the blue.” With his free hand he idly traced up her arm to the tiny cap sleeves.

  Imogen glowered at him and slapped his hand away.

  He chuckled low. “Come ride with me, Imogen.”

  “Fine,” she snapped, finally pulling herself free.

  “You know, I don’t remember you being quite so difficult to manage.”

  “Keep pushing me and you shall see just how difficult I can be,” she muttered.

  Caleb laughed, clearly not put off at all. Dare she say he even looked delighted?

  Just then Daphne entered. She caught sight of them, standing much closer than what was proper, and a grin, a mirror of Caleb’s own, spread across her face. “Brother, Imogen,” she said, fairly bouncing across the room to the sideboard. “Good morning to you both.”

  Imogen had a sudden inspiration. “Lady Daphne,” she called to the girl. “Your brother has asked me to go riding with him this morning. Would you like to join us? I would love to have the chance to get to know you better, and what more perfect way than a brisk ride through the parklands?”

  “Oh, what fun!” the girl exclaimed. “Just let me eat and I shall join you directly.”

  As Daphne went back to filling her plate, Imogen turned to Caleb with a serene smile. “Wonderful. I shall go up and change after I seek out my father.”

  She bobbed a quick curtsy to Caleb before walking off. And then it was her turn to grin, for the thunderous frustration on his face had been a sight to behold indeed.

  • • •

  Imogen easily kept her mare in pace with Daphne’s. As they crested a hill and paused to take in the view, Caleb once more tried inserting his gelding between the two girls’ mounts. With a beautiful bit of synchronization, however, Imogen and Daphne were able to put a stop to his endeavors.

  It had been like that all morning. Daphne, bright girl that she was, had quickly understood Imogen’s invitation and had gone about helping her with an impish delight. And so, despite his best efforts, Caleb had been unable to get Imogen alone.

  It was actually a bit fun, though she felt a faint qualm every time she caught sight of the frustration on Caleb’s face. But truly, did he think to get her alone and seduce her into accepting him? If the expression in his eyes whenever he looked at her was any indication, she was tempted to believe that was true. Never mind that the idea made shivers dance up her spine.

  She told herself that his passion would fade and the thrill of chasing her would disappear. And then where would she be? Worse off than before.

  “I believe it is time to return to the house,” Caleb called out as they nudged their horses off to admire the fields laid out before them, separated by low stone walls and resembling a large patchwork quilt. “Luncheon will be ready by the time we arrive.”

  Imogen glanced at him. He looked perturbed, his voice harsh. She felt a pang of guilt but quickly abolished it. It was his own fault, after all.

  They turned their horses toward Willowhaven, and a short time later cantered into the stable yard. As they handed over their horses, the head groom approached.

  “Lady Daphne,” he said, “Lady Willbridge said to tell you when you returned that she needs you to join her in her sitting room directly.”

  “Oh dear, I wonder what Mother wants,” she muttered. “Thank you, Joseph.” She turned to Imogen, giving her an apologetic smile. And then she was off.

  Imogen watched her depart in frustration. Suddenly Caleb was at her side.

  “Shall we?” he murmured, indicating the path before them that trailed toward the west side of the house. His expression, she noted in consternation, was downright cheerful.

  Without bothering to acknowledge him, she swept down the path, leaving him to trail after her. She kept her pace brisk, hoping she could reach a populated area before he had a chance to catch up to her. She was to find, however, that he was a
much more determined man than she gave him credit for.

  Chapter 21

  Imogen was proving incredibly slippery in regards to this courting business. Caleb still could not understand why she was refusing him. But he had come to the conclusion that he might never understand it. The female mind was an incomprehensible thing. But it was changeable. And that was just what he would concentrate on.

  He was not a rake for nothing. For though a woman’s reasoning was well beyond him, a woman’s body was another matter entirely. And if you played the body just right, the mind quite often followed. He saw the way her eyes softened when he touched her or whispered something inappropriate in her ear. He could see the way she shivered when his breath fanned her cheek, or the tiny flame in her eyes that she tried to douse when he came close to her. All Imogen needed was a bit of persuasion.

  Right now she was hurtling ahead of him as if the hounds of hell were at her heels. A few long strides on his part, however, and he was beside her. And as they rounded the house and were fully out of view of the stables, Caleb took his chance, the only chance he knew he was to have for some time if she continued to expertly avoid him.

  His arm stole about her waist and he pulled her past a row of tall topiaries leading into the knot garden. She didn’t have time to do more than gasp before he claimed her mouth, devouring her like a starving man at a feast, his tongue delving into her mouth. He pulled her tightly against him and felt the soft curves of her give to the hardness of his body. Moving one hand to the back of her head, he held her captive to his onslaught. His frantic fingers dislodged her small riding hat, knocking it to the ground amidst the lavender and sage and rosemary.

  She felt like heaven in his arms. Her scent enveloped him, that wonderful, clean, innocent scent of soap and citrus and her own sweet musk. There was a fullness to her that made him want to drag her to the ground and sink himself into her and never emerge. If he did not get her to marry him, and soon, he felt he would go mad with wanting her.

  Imogen trembled in his embrace, her fingers digging into his riding jacket. Her body arched into his, her mouth moving beneath his own. She did not try to break his hold on her. And yet he could sense her hesitation, as if she were waging some violent internal battle. She stilled and began to pull away. Desperate not to lose the ground he had gained, he pulled her deeper into the garden, the smell of lavender wafting to him as he trampled a small bush with his boots. One of his hands moved to her riding jacket, flicking the buttons open with practiced fingers. And then his hand was at her breast, its heaviness filling his palm. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple, felt her shudder as it puckered under his touch through the linen of her blouse.

  She groaned softly, going pliant in his arms and bowing into his touch. He felt a wild thrill at her reaction. Yet it was not enough; he desperately needed even more from her. Tearing his mouth from hers, he bent over her, his lips finding her breast. His tongue laved her through the thin linen and she cried out softly, her fingers digging into his hair and holding him to her.

  “You make me wild for you, Imogen,” he rasped.

  A moment later he knew he had erred. She turned rigid, and before he could renew his efforts, she tore from his arms. Giving a small sob, she gripped the jacket closed over her chest and raced back for the house, her hair trailing loose behind her.

  Breathing hard, his body a tightly coiled mass of desire, Caleb could only watch her go. Damn it, he had pushed her too hard. It had been such a heady thing, to have her back in his arms, that he had quite forgotten the slow seduction he had planned.

  Cursing violently, furious with himself, he stalked back to the house. Perhaps if he wanted her less it would be easier. But he desired her with an intensity that left him as eager and impatient as a boy.

  She had gone from a mildly pretty friend to quite the most desirable woman he had ever encountered in the space of weeks. How had it come to pass that he could not get her from his mind, that he thought of her day and night, that his body turned hard just remembering the feel of her soft skin?

  He had been with scores of women, all of them seductive and stunning, knowledgeable in giving pleasure as well as receiving it. Each of those affairs had been a partnership in sensuality, gone into for the physicality and never with any intention of emotional entanglement. He had never made any promises and had wanted none in return. They were usually over with quickly, it being understood that a swift exit from the affair was essential for it to begin in the first place.

  But with Imogen he had not wanted that kind of cold arrangement. Her innocence made him desire her all the more. He wanted her as he had wanted no other. Was this desperate burning because he was her first and only lover? Or was it simply because she was the first woman he had desired who had refused him?

  Whatever it was about her that had him so enthralled, however, he knew well that passions faded eventually. Caleb had been witness to that more times than he cared to count, as wild lust for past lovers simmered down to nothing. This thing with Imogen was bound to abate eventually, as strong as it was now. He wondered for a moment why he was so determined to change her mind on marriage, knowing that harsh fact.

  Yes, he had ruined her, and no gentleman took a woman’s innocence and didn’t offer marriage, but it was more than that. The truth was, he cared for her. Never had he thought he would marry a woman he respected and liked. Romantic love, of course, was completely out. All that nonsense that turned men and women into emotional idiots. But to have a wife he wouldn’t mind seeing over the newspaper in the morning, a wife who made him laugh and smile—not to mention one who made his body burn, for however short a time he was blessed with that passion—was a boon indeed. He had believed his future marriage was to be one of polite disinterest at best. Now that he had caught a glimpse of the happiness life with Imogen would bring, however, he would not settle for less.

  But if her reaction to him, that mad flight back to the house, was any indication, he had not set out on an easy task. He shook his head, frustrated, his body still taut with need. It seemed he was in for a long wait for her to come around. But he would need to learn patience if he was to make her his.

  • • •

  “Imogen, here is your cup, dear.”

  Imogen accepted the tea. “Thank you, Lady Willbridge.” She sipped her beverage, trying to concentrate on the women before her and not on the brooding sentinel across the room. Caleb watched her with a silent intensity at all times now, though he never did more than offer her his arm to go into meals and such. She was grateful for the respite from his advances, but she found she also felt a certain loss as well.

  It had been three days since Caleb had kissed her in the knot garden. No acknowledgement of the scene, or her subsequent escape from it, had been made by him, save for several sprigs of lavender tied with a pale green satin ribbon that had been left on her pillow later that night. At the scent she had been vividly reminded of their kiss, when his hands had roved her body and his lips had plundered her own. It made a longing for a renewal of the scene curl in her belly. She had wanted to toss the small bundle straight out the window. But at the last moment she had gripped it tight, instead hiding it away in the depths of her trunk.

  No more was he attempting to get her alone. The invitations to go riding or walking were always accompanied with a twin invitation to another member of the household. Daphne, who was only too eager to be included, went along on most excursions, providing a vivacious centerpiece to each event. Imogen found more and more to like about the girl every day. She wished Mariah were here, for she was certain she and Daphne would become fast friends.

  She had also come to respect and admire the marchioness in those three days. She was all that was gracious and kind and seemed so happy to have her son in the room with her, even if it was only due to Imogen’s presence.

  Lady Emily was still distant, often hiding off in a corner to embroider or locking herself in the music room for hours at a time, from which the most lovel
y, if mournful, songs issued. Imogen would have been happy to let her go her own way, unpleasant as she was. But the sight of the girl’s face that first morning, white and tense, her eyes puffy from tears, would not erase itself from Imogen’s mind. She wished there was some way to get through to her. But, alas, it seemed the girl was determined to stay as far from Imogen as possible.

  The idea that Jonathan’s death had been the cause for the strain in this family had whispered to her again and again in the past days. The more she watched the tense manner in which Caleb dealt with his family—and most especially the mutual avoidance between Caleb and Lady Emily—she couldn’t help the encroaching thought that her conclusion was correct.

  Just then Lady Willbridge spoke, pulling Imogen from her maudlin thoughts. “And how did you enjoy your time boating this afternoon, Imogen?”

  Imogen flushed and adjusted her spectacles. She had a fair idea from Daphne’s amused glance that the marchioness was repeating herself. Lady Willbridge, however, showed no signs of exasperation. A small, kind smile curved her lips.

  “I enjoyed it very well, my lady,” Imogen said, her embarrassment easing under the woman’s mild gaze. “Your son is a fine rower. We did not tip over even once.”

  “It was not from lack of trying, I assure you,” Daphne said, laughing.

  “Oh, I can well imagine the mischief you brought about,” her mother admonished with fondness. She turned to Imogen, her eyes fairly dancing with humor. “My younger son Andrew is indulgent with Daphne and often brings her out on the river. There have been several occasions when they have come back to the house dripping wet, due to my daughter’s propensity for not sitting still in a boat.”