by Cheryl Holt
“I’ve been betrothed since I was seventeen, so I was never destined to be a spinster, and you haven’t answered me. Why did you leave the navy?”
“I was kicked out.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? No! That’s not true. You have to be joking.”
“I’m not joking, although it’s more accurate to say that I was asked to quit, and I received a very firm shove as I was marching out the door.”
“Are you pulling my leg? Why would you be kicked out? To me, you’re precisely the type of person that I, as a British citizen, would want serving our country.”
“Thank you.”
“Tell me a credible story about your departure—if you can. Don’t lie and don’t invent one merely to placate me.”
“My brother, Blake, landed himself in some trouble, and I took the blame.”
“Was he worth the sacrifice?”
“I’m quite sure not.”
She chuckled at that. “I forgot you have a brother. It means you must not have been raised by wolves in the forest.”
“I definitely had two parents.”
He prayed she wouldn’t inquire about them, for he never mentioned imperious, depraved, Captain Miles Ralston, who’d been his father. The man was a classic example of how foolish and complex a human could be.
Luckily, she moved on to a new topic. “How do you keep busy now that you’re not a sailor anymore? Are you a rich, indolent dandy, living off your fortune?”
“Gad, no. There are no fortunes in my family. I’m a gambler.”
“You are not.” She scrutinized him, then added, “Are you?”
“Yes, I own a notorious club in London.”
“Gambling is immoral, Mr. Ralston. Why would you involve yourself in such a corrupt enterprise?”
“I have to earn an income somehow, and in my own defense, I don’t force any scoundrels to wager. They’re adults, and they’re responsible for their bad choices.”
“That sounds like a very tidy method of excusing your complicity in their downfalls.”
He shrugged, not inclined to debate the matter. “Probably.”
“You gamble too?”
“Occasionally. I’m not reckless about it though. I only play when there’s a good reason.”
“What would you define as a good reason? Name one.”
“To pass the time? To make money? To prove a point? To put a cretin in his place when he deserves it?”
“Would you stop if I begged you to?”
He laughed. “No. First off, we’re practically strangers, so I would consider it to be incredibly brash of you to suggest it. And second, I like winning and growing wealthy because of it. Why would I stop?”
She slid off her knees and sank down next to him, so they were sitting very close. Their arms were touching, their thighs too. It was dark, and they were alone, so there were a hundred improprieties swirling, but she didn’t notice, and he wasn’t about to bring them to her attention.
“Is this how you know Gregory?” she asked. “From your gambling club? Out on the lane, you claimed it was the root of your acquaintance, but I didn’t believe you.”
He contemplated his reply, and he didn’t imagine he had a duty to protect Gregory or to hide his secrets from her. “Yes, he’s a member at my club.”
She looked aghast. “There are memberships?”
“Well, yes. We don’t admit just anybody. It’s quite posh, so the standards are very high.”
“Has Gregory been there very often?”
“Every night.”
“He gambles every night?”
“I realize it’s hard for you to fathom, but it’s a regular mode of entertainment among a certain fast crowd.”
“But. . . but. . . Gregory is so normal when he’s at home.”
“He’s very normal. He simply amuses himself as all his friends amuse themselves.”
“Perhaps he should find some new friends.”
“Perhaps,” Caleb agreed.
“Is he in debt?”
“They all are. It comes with the territory.”
“To whom does he owe money? And how much is owed?”
They’d arrived at a thorny juncture that would take them down a road he didn’t intend to travel with her.
Gregory owed money to everyone, but mostly, he owed it to Caleb. They continued playing, with Gregory anxious to win back what he’d lost, but he never could. Caleb was too skilled, and he had great luck. He was clever with numbers and at calculating the odds. Gregory never had any luck at all.
In fact, Caleb was positive the rash oaf would eventually wager away Grey’s Corner. It had to be why Gregory had invited him to the wedding. He wanted Caleb to view the property, to understand its value. Or maybe he wanted Caleb to see that Gregory had a fine home and Caleb should cancel the debt and let him keep it.
It would have been a viable ploy—if they’d been the least bit cordial—but they weren’t cordial. Gregory was desperate to be able to gamble at Caleb’s club with his chums. If Caleb finally cut him off, he’d be ostracized by the very fellows he’d worked relentlessly to glom onto.
“If you’d like information about Gregory’s finances,” he carefully said, “you should speak to him directly.”
“Oh, I will, but it would be nice if you could provide me with some ammunition before I go into battle.”
“I can’t aid you in that quest.”
“I was afraid that would be your position.”
“How old were you when you became engaged to Gregory?” he asked. “Seventeen? Why did you consent?”
“Why wouldn’t I have? My uncle suggested it, and I’ve known Gregory all my life. He’s always been kind to me.”
“Is that what you’re searching for in a husband? Someone who’s kind?”
“In my book, kindness is a worthy trait.”
“I suppose, although I’ve never had a chance to discover if that’s true or not, and you haven’t exactly explained why you’re marrying Gregory. Nor have you clarified what took you so long.”
She tsked with exasperation. “You can be so irritating.”
“If I’m keen to learn something, I don’t beat around the bush. I delve right to the heart of any matter that’s vexing me.”
She glared like a fussy nanny. “Will this satisfy your curiosity? I never expected to wed. When my uncle raised the prospect, I was delighted—and a tad astonished.”
He scowled. “Why would you have thought you’d never wed? You’re beautiful, educated, and interesting. Any man would be glad to have you.”
“I have no dowry, so who would want me?”
“Just Gregory apparently, but if you don’t have any money, why is he so eager? Is he more altruistic than another beau might have been?”
She grinned an impish grin. “Perhaps he simply likes me more than any other woman.”
“If he likes you so much, why the seven-year delay?”
He stared into her pretty blue eyes until he was drowning in them.
He yearned to mention Lucretia Starling. He yearned to talk about Gregory’s problems with alcohol, how he drank to excess, then wagered what he couldn’t afford to lose. He yearned to point out how unhinged Gregory could be, how self-centered and spoiled.
Yet he wouldn’t climb out on that limb. Her uncle had arranged a match for her—to her cousin. It would give her a permanent home, unless of course Gregory frittered it away. Caleb would have to reflect on that situation.
He liked her very much, and he felt sorry for her. But then, he felt sorry for all the wives who visited him and wept over their husbands’ negligent habits. He was regularly begged to forgive debts, but he was never swayed by sentiment. He couldn’t save his stupid, careless club members, and he wouldn’t presume to try.
Caro might wind u
p crushed by the weight of Gregory’s calamity. Should he warn her to beware of what was approaching? Or should he mind his own business and butt out?
“Gregory is a dedicated bachelor, Mr. Ralston,” she said, “but he’s turned thirty. It’s time for him to move forward with his life.”
“He’s a bachelor, so he waited seven years?” Caleb’s tone was incredulous.
“My uncle asked me to wed him. We’re a family, and you have a brother who landed you in an ocean of hot water with the navy, so you comprehend why I’d be loyal and behave as is expected of me by my relatives.”
“You don’t have to proceed you know,” he said as he had out on the lane.
“I realize I don’t have to. I want to.”
“Do you?”
The question hung in the air between them, and ultimately, she said, “Why are you so compelled to keep offering that inappropriate comment?”
“I’m merely stating the facts.”
“Will you use insomnia again as your excuse for being rude?”
“No, I’ll confess to being a rude person in general.”
“You’re determined to make me distrust my decision, but I can’t figure out why.”
“Maybe I’m simply worried about you.”
“I doubt that very much.” She slid away and stood. “I have to get back. I’ve been gone for ages, and I’m sure I’ve been missed.”
“Don’t depart just yet. Tarry with me a bit longer.”
“I shouldn’t have come with you in the first place, but I allowed you to drag me away. I must be growing deranged.”
“You like me more than you should,” he cockily said. “It’s a common dilemma that females suffer with regard to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are the vainest creature I’ve ever met.”
At the thought of her fleeing, he was actually a tad morose, and he asked, “Would you call me Caleb?”
“No, but I’m flattered that you suggested it.”
Without thinking, he clasped hold of her hand. She froze, and he froze too, those pesky sparks flying again.
“Stay,” he murmured.
“To do what?”
“Sit down, and I’ll show you.”
“I’ll just bet you would.”
She yanked away and hurried off. As she reached the stairs, he said, “Caro?”
“What?”
“Let’s sneak out to the gazebo every evening that I’m in residence.”
She gasped with offense. “You and I? Sneak off together? You are mad. I’m convinced of it, and I am about to marry.”
Then she vanished.
He dawdled in the dark, listening as her strides faded. When it was completely silent again, he rose to his knees, his elbows balanced on the rail so he could stare out at the lake.
“What am I doing here?” he asked the quiet night, but the night had no answer.
His doldrums would improve the next day, once his brother, Blake, arrived. He felt better when Blake was around to guard his back. With Blake present, he wouldn’t be so adrift, and Blake would tell him that Gregory deserved his dire fate. Blake would tell him not to waffle, not to second-guess.
Blake was a great judge of human nature, so he would be right.
Caroline strolled down the empty hall. It was very late, the party over, everyone in bed. Mr. Ralston wasn’t the only one plagued by occasional insomnia. With so many guests in the house, the energy in the air was all wrong, and she couldn’t sleep.
She’d given up and had snuck down to wander and snoop. It was a habit she’d commenced when she’d first returned from the Caribbean. She’d been whisked away from Libby and Joanna without having the chance to say goodbye. It was a cruel act that still haunted her.
She’d been sent to live with her Grandfather Walter. He’d been vicious and unpleasant, and so were the servants. They’d gaped at her as if she were an alien creature, so she’d had no allies in the manor. Gregory and Janet had resided with their father, Samson, at his property several miles away. They’d rarely visited, so there had been no children with whom she could play.
The place had been lonely and frightening. She’d mostly hidden in the nursery, tended by various grouchy nannies, then a succession of lazy, incompetent governesses.
The nights had been the worst. The ancient mansion creaked and groaned, and she’d been terrified that ghosts were stalking her. She’d begun meandering through the downstairs parlors, and it was odd to admit, but she took great solace from sitting in the chilly rooms when there was no one to spy and tattle.
Her conduct felt illicit and dangerous, and the joy she received from her petty insubordination always had her wondering what sort of person she was deep down. If left to her own devices, what mischief might she pursue? It was a liberating question.
She tiptoed into a deserted salon and walked over to the window to gaze at the moon shining over the park. Her mind was awhirl with problems.
She had to speak with Gregory about his gambling. She had to press him for answers about their finances, as well as how he expected them to carry on once they were married. She thought he should sell his bachelor’s lodging in town and come home. As his wife, she had the right to make that demand, didn’t she?
She had to chat with Uncle Samson too. After she was wed, she’d be the official lady of the house. Would she have full authority? Would he agree to cede any?
And what about her cousin, Janet? Janet viewed herself as a liberal blue-stocking, so she was refusing to ever wed. Should Caroline interfere in that situation? Should she persuade her uncle to choose a husband for Janet anyway? Or should she ignore it?
What about Libby Carstairs? Evidently, Libby was performing on the stage in London. She was a celebrity who’d grown famous from sharing stories about their tribulations in the Caribbean, which was such a shocking revelation.
Though she’d always deemed it to be peculiar, Caroline’s family treated her experience as a shameful secret. They’d warned her to never discuss her past, to never tell people who she was. For the most part, she didn’t. The older neighbors knew her history, but it was never mentioned, so she felt as if the tragedy had been her fault.
She never went to London, but should she ask to go? Gregory had a residence there, and she was about to be his bride. Why shouldn’t a trip be permitted?
She wanted to be with Libby so badly that it was like an ache in her heart. If Libby was singing songs about their ordeal, she couldn’t have forgotten any of it. Surely she’d remember Caroline. They could become friends again, and Libby would commiserate over what Caroline’s life had been like after they’d been brought home.
She laid her palm on the cool glass of the window, and she sent a quiet wish out to the universe that she’d find a way to connect with Libby. If she insisted on going to London, her uncle and Gregory would be stunned, but she wasn’t a prisoner at Grey’s Corner.
Who was there to stop her from contacting Libby? Perhaps Janet would like to accompany her to town. Janet’s presence would calm any reservations her uncle or Gregory might voice.
Excitement flooded through her, and she murmured, “I’ll come to London. I swear I’ll figure out how!”
From behind her, a man said, “Who are you talking to?”
She jumped a foot and whipped around. Caleb Ralston was seated on the sofa and staring at the hearth where no fire burned.
“Why are you lurking in here all by yourself?” she asked. “It’s horrendously rude of you not to have spoken up immediately. You scared me to death!”
“I see that, and you haven’t explained yourself. Who were you talking to?”
“No one.”
“Liar.”
He pushed himself to his feet and sauntered over to stand next to her. Their proximity instantly generated a powerful surge of energy. If she’d had
any sense—and recently, she appeared to have very little—she’d have shoved by him and returned to her bedchamber, but he claimed to be fascinated by her, and she’d never previously been declared fascinating.
His words had stoked her hidden vanity, and it made her eager to linger by his side to hear what other thrilling compliments he might bestow. Her burgeoning interest in him was very, very wrong, but she couldn’t force herself away. He simply tantalized her in a manner she shouldn’t have allowed, but couldn’t seem to prevent.
“You vowed to visit someone,” he said. “Who was it?”
Brashly, she admitted, “Miss Libby Carstairs. I want to see her on the stage.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You are so strange. Of all the names I might have predicted you’d utter, hers was the very last one.”
“You told me she’s very famous and audiences love her. Why shouldn’t I have a chance to see her too? I never travel to the city. Why shouldn’t I be permitted a small adventure?”
“Why indeed?”
She wasn’t about to clarify her fixation with Libby Carstairs, so she changed the subject. “Why are you sitting in here?”
“I couldn’t sleep. When I confessed that I suffer from insomnia, I wasn’t joking.”
“What keeps you awake at night?” she asked.
He countered with, “What keeps you awake? I’ll tell if you will.”
She scoffed with amusement. “A recitation of my worries would sound incredibly dull to you.”
“You should list them for me then. If they’re as tedious as you imagine, it might be the tonic I need to doze off. I’ll be slumbering in two seconds flat.”
She smiled. He really was charming, but he was hazardous to her equilibrium too. His arrival had lit a fire under her discontentment. Suddenly, she was questioning her choices and her path. She was wondering if she should wed Gregory after all, if it was a wise decision.
They shifted toward each other, their shoulders leaned against the window. They were alone, and the most delicious intimacy flared. She felt she could confide any woe, and he would empathize and understand.
“What time do you suppose it is?” he asked.
“The clock chimed four a bit ago, so dawn is about to break. How long have you been loafing on that sofa?”
