“They expected me to become a cartographer for them.” A harsh laugh burst from him. “As if I ever could.”
“And the British would never have simply taken that,” she said, her voice strained.
“Made me a prisoner.” He paused, lost in his mind’s eye, transported back to the hell of those years of suffering. “If I wanted something—food, water, sleep. Peace,” he managed, mangling that last word. “All those”—his lip peeled in an involuntary sneer—“comforts were contingent upon what I gave.”
The past plucked at the corners of his memories, and he fought their pull, resisted the way in which they wanted to drag him under, back to his days upon that ship…
Everything comes with a price, and this is but a small one to pay, and the comforts you’ll know will be great, and the discomforts you’ll also discover will be greater if you prove noncompliant, Mr. Gray.
He flinched, his body recoiling.
I won’t do it. I wo—noooooo…
The hiss of a lash cutting across the air and slicing his flesh plunged him into the everlasting hell of torture. The past melded with the future as he was transported to those darkest days, until his mind couldn’t sort out the past from the present, and where he was left wanting only to find himself in the future so he could be away from either those moments he’d endured, or the memories that lingered.
A hand came to cover his own, bringing eyes he’d not even realized he’d shut flying open.
Sweat wound a path down his cheek, and Claire lifted her spare hand.
He flinched, his mind playing the tricks it liked to sometimes play where he saw another or a different action than what was truly happening.
She hesitated, but then completed that movement, lightly stroking her knuckles up his cheek and wiping away the moisture.
And this time, Claire, always ready with a question or a retort, offered him… silence. There was a peace in it, born of her patience, and that, coupled with the soothing tenderness of her touch, chased away those demons.
“I was eventually freed. A French ship took command of the one I was on, and I found my way back home. When I got there, I found my fiancée had married my brother.”
Claire gasped, her touch falling away from his cheek.
Odd that the memory, and the telling, didn’t this time usher in the crushing weight of betrayal and hurt that had gripped him for so long. Now, it was more of a distant tale that might as well have belonged to some other man. The sudden absence of her touch felt like the greater void in this moment.
“Oh, Caleb,” she said, her voice catching.
“It’s fine.” Strangely, as he gave that assurance, for the first time ever, it felt like it was.
“It’s not. It’s the greatest of betrayals and…” Her words trailed off. “And that is why you are so revolted by the prospect of us…” Claire raised her palms to her mouth, but not before he caught the trembling of her mouth. That hint of weakness lasted a moment. “The audacity of them.” She seethed. “To betray a sibling so?”
Claire’s eyes burned with a ferocity and fury… on his behalf. All sentiments he didn’t deserve because of how he’d treated her in the past.
“I found solace in my work.” The last good art he’d been able to create.
Everything he’d done after that had been empty shells of vapid color and emotion that the world had been even more vapid not to see for what it was—glittering garbage.
“And I found solace in mine after I learned of… what my father and mother had done. But I also know”—her hand found his again, curling so very naturally, her fingers locked with his—“nothing makes the darkest sadness we carry go away. Not really. It’s always there, with us. But y-yours?” Her voice again broke.
“Heyyy.” He murmured soothing, nonsensical assurances and cupped her cheek.
Claire leaned into his palm, her long dark lashes drifting down, and then as soon as they formed an inky dark blanket, they came flying open.
She gasped, jerking away from him, her cheeks going pale once more.
“And then,” she whispered furiously, “I made you do those things with me.”
Made him?
Caleb tossed his head back and barked with his hilarity.
Bristling, Claire presented him her shoulder and angled away.
“Here, sweetheart,” he said, reining in his amusement. Leaning down, Caleb touched his brow to hers. “Claire, none of what happened here was your fault. You didn’t make me do any of what we did. It’s precisely what I wanted.” And what he wanted more of…
She edged out of his arms. “No! No, it’s not. I mean…” A fiery blush lit her cheeks red. “You clearly did want to… to do… those things,” she stammered, endearingly sweet in her innocence. “But only after I pressed you to.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she lifted both her palms, urging him to silence.
“However, given everything we’ve shared, I need also share details about my… fiancé and engagement.”
He’d been so very certain nothing could steal the magic and joy that had existed these past moments in this carriage.
Only to be proven so very wrong as she resurrected talk about her fancy English gent.
Magic?
What a farcical thought. It wasn’t magical. He didn’t believe in magic, not where two people were concerned, anyway. Where Claire was a romantic, who spoke of giving her heart and earning someone’s heart in return, Caleb didn’t have time for such sentiments, because he didn’t believe in them.
He grunted. “No need to talk about the fellow.” The one whom he was escorting her to, and soon, at that. A man who’d have the opportunity to make love to her in all the ways Caleb already had and in all the ways Caleb desperately wanted to. Whomever the bastard was, there was one surety—the man wasn’t good enough for Claire Poplar.
He knew it.
When her family learned about her flight, they’d know it.
And they’d come for her, and he could be free of this unexpected responsibility he’d taken on.
“But I want to speak about him,” she said softly.
Of course, she did.
“It.” Claire’s lips scrunched up in a way that would have been endearing if she weren’t insistent on speaking about some fancy English fellow she intended to marry. And it was only Caleb’s loathing of British men that accounted for that vitriolic response. “My betrothal, that is. Us.”
Us. Not Caleb and Claire, but Claire and another. There was such an intimacy to that lone syllable, one he’d wanted absolutely no part of. And still didn’t.
“I get it,” he snapped, more sharply than he intended.
Claire frowned. “You don’t want to hear this,” she said and presented him her shoulder.
Actually… he didn’t. Not, however, for the reasons she thought. Oh, hell. So maybe his reluctance wasn’t solely about his dislike of Englishmen. Selfishly, he hated thinking it applied to Claire and her still-nameless-to-Caleb bridegroom. “No.”
Claire straightened in her seat, but still didn’t look his way.
He tried again. “That’s not it.” He made himself take a breath and spoke as gently as he could. “You were saying.”
She hesitated and then faced forward once more. “I always imagined marrying, because, well, that is what every young girl is taught to expect and raised to believe. But I? I always wanted a love match.”
Oh, God, this was hellishly worse than he’d even anticipated.
“It is not something common here in England. Daughters are used to strengthen wealth or cement connections to other noble families.”
“Sounds sweet,” he drawled, infusing a droll amusement he didn’t feel.
Claire’s mouth quirked in an equally acerbic tilt. “My sentiments exactly.” Her smile withered, ushering in a darkness. “But then, after my family’s involvement in the disappearance of the Earl of Maxwell came to light, I found… any marriage was no longer an option.”
“Because Englishmen are cowardly, pathetic bastards,” he couldn’t keep from adding.
Her smile returned, the lone dimple in her right cheek appearing. “La, tell me how you really feel about the British, Mr. Gray.”
He grunted. “I said Englishmen. I’m coming to find there’s not a thing wrong with the ladies.”
“I’ll take that as a considerable concession from you, Mr. Gray.” She patted his knee. “But you aren’t wrong. Oh, my brother is honorable.” Her expression grew sad. “And my sister’s husband is, as well, but for the most part, finding a man of honor who can love freely and deeply without a care for scandals or a lack of wealth? That’s as elusive as a pot of gold at the end of some rainbow.”
“But you found one,” he said, and she deserved that. He knew that now. She might have used her influence to try to force his hand into instructing her. But he’d come to separate that one incident from who she really was. “You found that fellow able to love you and give you all that.” As she deserved.
“Oh, no. Just the opposite.”
The carriage hit a jarring bump, knocking them both up into the air, and as they each steadied themselves, his thoughts flew right out of his head, too.
“Whaaat?”
“Do you know what I have? I have a deal. An arrangement.”
Not entirely different from him. And as she’d pointed out, not at all different from what everyone else entered into.
She angled her head the tiniest bit, but not before he caught the lone tear she brushed back. “I have what every other Englishwoman has. A business partnering. He needs a wife.” And no doubt a dowry.
“What do you need, though, Claire?” he shot back. “Seems to me that’s more important here.”
Her gaze grew contemplative. “Independence. An ability to control my life as much as I’m able. A need to not be reliant upon my family.”
“You think they see you as a burden?” His was a rhetorical question. Caleb knew her family enough to say they’d never see her as such.
“I think I would see me as a burden, the poor, unwed, spinster aunt.” She shook her head hard, a light blazing to life in her eyes. “And I don’t want that, Caleb.”
“So you’d rather be unhappy in a different setting?” he asked gently.
Claire scowled. “You’re assuming I’ll be unhappy. I might not be.”
“You telling me that, sweetheart? Or yourself?”
“Me.” Her brow dipped. “No. No. I mean, you.”
“Sure.” There wasn’t a man on this cold, miserable island to match her passion, and as such, her light would eventually go out. And he was glad he’d not be here to see it.
“Furthermore, do you even believe in love anymore, Caleb?” She turned on him, almost tentative in that ask.
“No,” he said flatly, with an automaticity that came from life’s lessons and past betrayals. The depth of feeling that melded two souls and hearts was reserved for the pages of books and plays and captured on canvas. “Love ain’t real.”
Claire gave a nod. “Precisely, and as such, I might as well have”—she swept her arms wide—“the next best thing.”
“I said I don’t believe in love, sweetheart.” He leaned across the carriage and tweaked her nose. “You, however, have admitted to wanting romance.”
She swatted at his fingers. “Wanting romance and accepting one’s circumstances are altogether different things, Caleb. I have come to peace with not having the first and have openly embraced the latter.”
By the blunt, matter-of-fact way in which she spoke about her circumstances, the lady likely believed that, too. And yet, had she come to peace with the future she’d opted for? Had she embraced the latter, as she claimed? The lone tear he’d spied and her very words of what she’d wished for in a marriage spoke to the contrary.
Claire sucked in a shaky breath. “This is for the best. My sister Christina’s husband is dying,” she stammered, her words all rolling together. “Poppy and Tristan have accompanied Mother to Christina’s because they know what is coming.” Gavin’s death was inevitable. “and when her husband does pass, my brother and his wife will have not only their babe and whatever children they have in the future, to care for but Christina’s family, too. And there’s Faye.” She abruptly stopped herself. “And this man, he’ll leave me to my own devices, Caleb. I won’t have to answer to him.”
He roved his eyes over her strained features. She wanted more than that. “Claire,” he said roughly.
She waved a hand, dismissing him. “But perhaps there can also be more. It doesn’t mean I won’t necessarily find love with him.” Claire raised eyes brimming with hope and pain to his. “Right?”
The carriage stopped.
What the hell?
He and Claire stared at each other, her eyes stricken. Was it their parting or the uncertainty of what she was about to do? And why did he want it to be a mix of the two?
“We’ve arrived,” she said softly.
“Yeah.” Caleb glanced out the window, to the fountain ahead and the white stucco establishment. “It looks that way.” At some point, the trip he’d expected to be interminable had come to a quick and sudden end. Unlike the small, family-run establishment he and Claire had collided at, the King’s Crown was a larger coaching inn, a bustling one built around a central courtyard.
Caleb’s driver brought the team back into movement, guiding them at a slower pace through the archway leading to the yard within.
This time, however, when they rocked to another stop, it proved a final one.
Neither of them moved, but then Claire did. “I cannot thank you enough,” she said, gathering up her valise. Popping the embroidered article open, she fished out a small sheet of paper.
That was it? Just some thanks, and she’d be on her way? She thought he’d let her just be on her way?
Poppy. He had an obligation to Poppy. And because of that, he couldn’t leave Claire alone here. He’d not gotten word out quick enough, and—
And she is determined to control her own fate. And you have no right to control her.
“What now?”
“My…future husband’s man of affairs is to be waiting, and he will take me—”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Claire. Is this what you want? For me to leave you here? Let me escort you the rest of the way.”
She hesitated, and he thought for a minute she might reject that offer and that this would really be the end. “Thank you, Caleb,” she said quietly and then handed over the folded sheet of velum.
Caleb accepted the page, unfolded it… and just stared at the note.
Written in a very familiar hand.
He quickly skimmed his gaze over the words. Over and over. Several times. But nothing changed. He snapped the sheet closed.
“What is this?” he demanded.
“That is my… bridegroom’s residence,” she explained, tripping over that description of the gentleman.
Caleb’s mind hastily assembled all the details she’d shared:
A business arrangement.
He needed a partner, and it seemed like a good idea.
Then he went absolutely motionless as the truth slammed into him with the same force of the explosion his British prison ship had taken when a cannon had hit it.
Why, Claire Poplar’s husband was…
The man Claire was headed to marry was… him.
Me. It is me.
Fucking hell.
His mind balked. He couldn’t marry Poppy’s sister-in-law. Her romantic sister-in-law.
How the hell was he going to handle this?
Chapter 16
Given everything she was about to face, a new life and a soon-to-be husband, there should surely be some trepidation on Claire’s part about this final, short leg of her travels.
Mayhap some excitement… This was the next stage of her life, a new journey on which she’d embark as a woman on her own, free of her mother’s constraints, society’s cruelty,
and the constant reminders of everything the Poplars had done wrong.
And yet, the last leg of her journey brought a crushing weight of sadness.
At saying goodbye to Caleb Gray?
Why, it was preposterous.
It was laughable.
Inconceivable.
And yet, there it was.
She was going to miss him.
Because the person she’d spent these past days in such close quarters with hadn’t been the surly man she’d come to know in Caleb Gray.
Oh, he’d always be gruff and blunt, but he wasn’t the mean monster she’d taken him for. From this day forward, to Claire, Caleb would forever be the man who’d shared his rooms with her and not seen her family’s sins as belonging to her. And he’d be the one who’d given her Gordale Scar.
These last moments with him, however, proved all too short as they arrived just a few short minutes later.
And for the first time, it hit her: She would be here alone. Without her sisters. Without Tristan. Without her mother.
There’d be no noisy household of siblings. Or barking from Poppy and Tristan’s pups.
Tears pricked her lashes. Who could have imagined that in this moment she would find herself missing even her overbearing, judgmental, opinionated mother?
With trembling hands, Claire shoved the curtains back and looked down the length of the overgrown, graveled drive at her almost-husband’s household, this place where she would live.
As imposing as she had imagined it, it was the very image of a dark, dangerous wild that Faye would have relished for the dark histories that no doubt dwelled in every corner of this keep. While their other sister, Christina, who’d once dreamed of being the first female architect, would have thrilled at all the ways in which she could improve these properties.
All Claire was capable of seeing, however, was this place that she’d now call home.
More castle than manor, it was a medieval fortress perched high on a hill. Ivy climbed the dilapidated parapets. Parts of the walls of the outer unit had crumbled, leaving stone scattered about. The gates at the end of the drive hung forlornly, as broken as the structure they had once protected.
A Groom of Her Own (Scandalous Affairs Book 1) Page 16
