by Cheryl Holt
Every aspect of their relationship was now called into question.
He’d told her he’d resigned from the navy due to his brother being swept up in mischief, and he’d protected Blake by taking the blame himself. What if he had actually committed the crimes? How was she to guess?
This was precisely why a girl’s parents picked her husband. They could evaluate a candidate in a cool, rational manner, without heated emotions being stirred into the mix.
He was glaring at her as if she was being a pest, as if she was deliberately failing to comprehend what he’d clarified. How could he think she would ever understand it?
“Let me ask you this,” she said, “and don’t lie to me.”
“I won’t lie to you. I haven’t been.”
He looked sincere, but how was she to judge his veracity? “Why did you climb into my bed? Was it because of the wager?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” He threw up his hands as if she was being ridiculous. “No, I didn’t spend the night there because of the wager.”
“Why did you do it then?”
“It just seemed. . . right, I suppose.”
“That’s it? It seemed right?”
“Yes.”
It was the most tepid, exasperating word he could have selected. She’d wanted him to say it was because he loved her, because he couldn’t live without her. But it had merely been. . . right?
“Your bet with Gregory was irrelevant?” she asked.
“Of course it was. I’m currently on a path to completely ruining him. He has no hold over me, and he has no power over you.”
She gaped with dismay. “You’re ruining my cousin?”
“Yes, and after how he imperiled you, he deserves it too. Don’t you dare claim I should show him some mercy. I won’t listen to any nonsense.”
A hard gleam had entered his gaze, so he appeared cold and cruel, and she suspected she was seeing the real Caleb Ralston. He was a man who owned a gambling club, who watched dispassionately as dissolute idiots destroyed themselves. He felt no remorse about the role he played in the downfall of so many unfortunate souls.
“What about me?” she asked. “What is it I deserve?”
He rubbed a palm over his brow. “Could we not fight? I’m very busy today, and it’s a mystery to me why we’re quarreling.”
“You sat in my home and dickered over my virginity with my drunken fiancé.”
“Would you get it through your thick head? He dickered with me. My only involvement with his foul suggestion was that I saved you from his being able to raise it elsewhere.”
“Aren’t you a saint?” she snidely said. “You talk about it as if it’s a common occurrence, as if it was no different from any other of your many entertainments.”
“It wasn’t different, Caro. You’re correct about that.”
Her pulse began to pound. Her anxiety was spiraling, and she couldn’t breathe. She was so confused by what she’d just learned. They’d spent a perfect night together. He’d proposed, and she’d accepted, but she was conflicted about what had really transpired.
Their joining had been very special—on her end—but then, maybe it hadn’t been on his. She’d given him a gift he’d won in an appalling manner, and he was so blasé about it, as if he couldn’t figure out why she was upset, but she was hideously incensed and wondering if she should wed him. Was he the husband to whom she should bind herself?
The problem for her was that they’d engaged in the marital act. They’d proceeded to the worst conclusion of all, but he’d persuaded her to participate because they would marry soon. But should they?
She had to contemplate so many issues. Was she being too fussy or critical? She definitely had to calm down or she might say things she didn’t mean and couldn’t retract.
She spun away, and he asked, “Where are you going?”
“I need some time alone to think.”
“About what?”
“About whether we should wed.”
“Don’t tell me we’re not marrying. Your cousin doesn’t have any bearing on you and me, and I have no idea why you’re so furious. I don’t intend to worry about him, and you shouldn’t either.”
“It’s too late for you to claim Gregory doesn’t matter.”
She would have kept on, but he sighed dramatically, his frustration clear. “Would you hold on just a damned minute?”
“No, and don’t you curse at me. I won’t tolerate that kind of rough language.”
“Well, you’re being silly, and you’re trying my patience.”
“I’m trying your patience? You ought to pause for a second and ponder which one of us is more vexed. I’m quite sure it’s me.”
She stepped into the hall, and he actually shouted at her. “Caro! We’re not finished discussing this. Don’t you walk out on me.”
She whipped around. “I’m not your servant or your employee, so don’t order me about. As my uncle could confirm, that sort of male posturing doesn’t have any effect on me at all.”
She marched away and headed for the stairs, and Blake peeked out his door, saying, “Are you all right, Miss Grey?”
“I’m just dandy, Blake, but I’ve had enough of you Ralston men for one day. Leave me be.”
She didn’t tarry to see if he obeyed. She simply dashed down to her bedchamber. She slammed the door and locked it, and she couldn’t help but notice that Caleb hadn’t chased after her. She couldn’t decide if she was glad about it or not.
Didn’t he care to mend their rift? Yet why would they mend it? She’d never been so angry, and she truly thought, if he’d blustered in and she’d been clutching a pistol, she’d have shot him in the middle of his cold, black heart.
She was shaking and couldn’t catch her breath. Her old claustrophobia was rising, and she had to get out into the fresh air before she suffocated.
Sybil had provided her with clothes, but she yanked them off and donned her own, more tattered garments. Then she grabbed the directions Blake had penned to Janet’s apartment. She was suffering from a desperate hankering to be with a female, to confide what had happened.
Caleb still hadn’t bothered to come down after her. The conceited ass! She stomped out of her room and down to the foyer. No servants were hovering, so there was no one to observe her departure. She speculated over how long it would take Caleb to realize she’d left.
She stormed out and down the street, and she stopped the first person she encountered and showed him Janet’s address. According to the information he supplied, her cousin lived a lengthy distance away, but Caroline was healthy and perfectly capable of walking.
She rushed off, but as she arrived at the corner where Caleb’s house would vanish from view, she glanced back.
She’d assumed he’d be standing in the window and frowning down at her, but he wasn’t there. She whirled away, wondering if she’d ever see him again, and wondering too why she’d ever want to.
Janet heard someone knocking on her door, but she didn’t answer. She was seated on her sofa and too lost in thought to worry about who it might be.
A maid stopped by in the mornings to tidy up and cook the day’s food, but she’d left already. Other than her, it could only be Blake, but he’d visited earlier and wouldn’t stop by twice.
There wasn’t another person in the world she was interested in seeing except for him. His furlough was over in a week, so he was about to climb onto his navy ship and sail away. He would be posted to the Mediterranean and based out of Gibraltar, so it wasn’t as if he’d be on the other side of the globe. But still, it felt as if he was about to fall off the edge of the Earth.
He couldn’t guess when he’d be back in England, and she suspected—if it was months or years—he’d have trifled with a hundred different girls and likely wouldn’t even remember her.
The pr
ospect was depressing and galling. She no longer wanted to be a lonely spinster with no husband to share her life. She wanted to be Mrs. Blake Ralston, but she couldn’t imagine how to achieve that conclusion. Blake snuck in frequently, and they’d immediately rush into her bedchamber and misbehave in decadent ways, but they never discussed private issues.
He never mentioned heightened affection, so she didn’t mention it either. He was about to leave, but he hadn’t evinced the slightest indication that he would miss her. He hadn’t suggested they wed or even that they correspond after he departed. She was sick with dread and regret and growing terribly afraid she might be with child.
She wasn’t positive of the symptoms, and it wasn’t as if she’d had a mother in her home to supply those sorts of details. But she was nauseous in the morning and smells made her queasy. Weren’t those pertinent signs?
What if she was increasing? What then? Dare she confide in Blake? What if she apprised him, and he shrugged off her condition? Or what if he learned of it and refused to marry her?
The knock sounded again, and she ignored it and sifted through a stack of documents she had balanced on her lap. She’d spoken to an attorney Blake had recommended, and she’d received a letter from him that she didn’t understand.
She’d been eager to investigate her inheritance from her grandmother. She had to remove her father as trustee so he couldn’t cut off her money.
Her attorney had researched the matter, and he insisted there was no record of Janet having a trust fund. According to court records, the only trust attached to her family was one created by Caroline’s deceased father, and it had been filed as the Caroline Grey Mining Trust.
There had never been talk about it, and she’d never been informed that Caroline had any money. Caroline had joined them as an indigent orphan, and Janet’s father had regularly teased her about being a financial burden they were happy to assume.
Janet simply had a bank account rather than a trust fund—as her father had always claimed—and she was sent monthly stipends from it. It wasn’t a trust disbursement, which was very perplexing, and she was frightened by it.
The account was listed in her father’s name, so he could shut it down whenever he wished. It meant she was in enormous fiscal jeopardy.
The knocking became more incessant, and she tossed the papers aside and stomped over to find out who was so adamant. She pulled the door open with a particularly irritated yank, and her jaw dropped in astonishment.
“Caroline!” she said to her cousin. “What are you doing on my stoop?”
“I hope you’re glad to see me,” Caroline replied. “Please tell me you are.”
They fell into each other’s arms, and Janet began to cry.
“Am I wrong to be angry? I’m not, am I?”
“No. You’re not wrong.”
Caroline gazed at Janet and said, “I’m so confused. I thought he and I were in love, but now, I’m not sure of what occurred between us. How should I proceed?”
“Let the problem fester for a few days. Once you’re calmer, we can settle on the best course.”
“That’s very wise advice and much more logical than my plan. My solution was to buy a pistol and shoot him dead.”
“It wouldn’t necessarily be the worst ending.”
“With how Gregory and your father treated me, then with Caleb turning out to be so depraved, I’d like to sail off to an island where there were no men. It would be marvelous to simply live around women.”
They were in Janet’s apartment and seated on the small sofa. There were three rooms: a sitting room, bedroom, and dining room. The ceilings were high, the windows big and facing south so plenty of sunlight filtered in.
Caroline couldn’t get over how quickly and easily Janet had landed on her feet, but then, she’d had Blake to assist her, and a man always provided a buffer against catastrophe.
“Can I mention something awful?” Janet asked, and she looked very glum.
“You’d better. Considering our dicey circumstances, we shouldn’t have any secrets.”
“Blake and I. . . that is. . . he and I have been. . . ah. . . we’ve. . . ah. . .”
Janet couldn’t spit it out, and Caroline said, “Apparently, it’s too humiliating to voice aloud.”
“Maybe.” Janet flushed bright red and peered down at her hands.
“Should I guess what’s happened? Blake is a handsome scoundrel, and with how he prances about in that uniform of his, I suspect he hasn’t behaved honorably.”
“It’s my own fault,” Janet hastily insisted. “He’s just so. . . so. . . amazing, and I couldn’t resist.”
“What now? What future are you envisioning?”
“I’d like to marry him,” Janet admitted, “but it’s probably never crossed his mind.”
“I’m certain it hasn’t. As I’ve learned the hard way, the Ralston brothers aren’t exactly pillars of the community.”
“His furlough is over next week, and he’s leaving for the Mediterranean.”
“Well. . .” Caroline sighed. “That throws a wrench in your choices.”
“I might be increasing.” Janet started crying again. She’d been weeping on and off ever since Caroline had arrived.
“If you are, you shouldn’t be surprised. A baby is the expected result for this type of conduct.”
The comment made Caroline’s stomach clench with dismay. What if she was increasing? Caleb had said it was a possibility every time a couple fornicated, and she’d never been lucky. What if she was pregnant? What then?
No, no, don’t worry about it yet. It was too soon for symptoms, and Janet needed to be her focus. Later on, she could deal with her own dilemma—if it turned out there was one.
“What should I do?” Janet asked.
“As with my situation regarding Caleb, it can fester for a bit. We’ll figure it out once we’re not quite so livid.”
“I’m so relieved that you’re with me. I’ve been dying to hear a woman’s perspective.”
“I was thinking the same when I was walking over here. We never had a female in our lives, so we don’t have anyone to guide us through these sorts of issues. If your father was even remotely rational, we could have him speak to Blake. Uncle Samson could force him to marry you.”
“I couldn’t bear to have Blake forced into it. He should marry me because he’s madly in love with me.”
Caroline recalled Blake as she’d last seen him in the hall outside his bedchamber. He’d appeared elegant and sophisticated—and a tad wicked—and she didn’t suppose he ever thought about Janet. Why would he?
Janet had furnished him with what he shouldn’t have had until after he’d put a ring on her finger. He’d received a huge gift he shouldn’t have accepted. Caroline could have chastised her cousin for her moral lapse, but she was disgraced herself, so she was in no position to judge.
“We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?” she said instead.
“Yes. I’m especially wretched because my fondness for him runs counter to my views about men and relationships. It’s mortifying to confess that I simply want what all women want. I believed I was different, but I’m not.”
“Don’t mock the chance to wed and have children. Nearly every female who’s ever marched down that road winds up happy. You will be too.”
“How will I get him to propose though?”
Caroline knew how it could be accomplished. She could go to Caleb and inform him of his brother’s mischief. He could pressure Blake. Or Caroline could confer with naval authorities, and they’d demand he step up. She doubted they would allow such turpitude to remain unchecked.
At the moment though, when her spirits were terribly low, she couldn’t imagine pursuing those courses of action. She wished her uncle wasn’t such a fiend. He should have handled it.
“We’ll fuss over B
lake Ralston tomorrow,” she said. “We just managed to find each other, and with all our calamities, we’re fortunate we’re still in one piece. Let’s concentrate on ourselves and ignore the men who’ve stirred such anguish.”
Janet laughed miserably, then she rose and trudged to the bedroom. Caroline listened as she poured water and washed her face. When she came back, she gave Caroline some papers.
“I need your opinion about this,” Janet said. “I’ve been working with a lawyer to gain control of my trust fund, but I found out there hasn’t ever been one.”
Caroline frowned. “That can’t be right. You have that inheritance from your grandmother.”
“No, I don’t. Not that my lawyer could locate anyway. And look down toward the bottom. Our family has one trust fund, and it’s in your name.”
Caroline studied the words over and over: Caroline Grey Mining Trust.
It made no sense to her. She didn’t have any money. Her uncle had always told her that, and there had never been any evidence to the contrary. “This is too strange to be credible. Are you sure your attorney is competent?”
“I think so. Blake’s friend, Sybil Jones, recommended him.”
“He’s probably skilled then, so perhaps, he’s simply mistaken.”
“It just seems odd to me. Maybe your father left you a bequest, and it’s been quietly sitting somewhere, but we were never apprised.”
“I can’t fathom it. If there’s one fact about which Grandfather Walter was very firm, it was that my father was a lazy, negligent spendthrift.”
Another knock sounded on the door, and Janet braced as if expecting a hard blow. “It might be Blake,” she whispered, “but I can’t talk to him. I’m too upset.”
Caroline waved her away. “I’ll see who it is. You hide in the bedroom, and if it’s him, I’ll claim you’re not here.”
Janet dashed out as Caroline pulled the door open. A messenger was standing there. He handed Caroline a letter for Janet, then he hovered, as if hoping she’d slip him a penny, but she didn’t have a penny.
She shrugged an apology and sent him on his way. She went to the bedroom and gave the envelope to Janet, then she sat on the sofa again. A few minutes later, Janet joined her. She was holding the letter, and she appeared stricken.
