She stepped away from him, going to the round mirror on the wall next to the French doors that led to the back gardens. She eyed her hair, tucking a few stray blond strands into her upsweep. An upsweep that was far more elaborate than her usual knot, with twisting braids weaved into an artful display on the crown of her head.
“I have an event I will be attending tonight.”
Caine sat up in his chair. “An event? What event? Why do I not know of this event?”
Her eyes veered to him in the mirror. “You do not know everything I do, Caine.”
He took her point as intended, and sighed. “I do not want to argue my current situation, nor how I found myself in it, Ara. The whole of it is as distasteful to me as I imagined it would be.” He stood from the chair, his thumb rubbing the leather along the top of the chair back. “You know very well why I must go down this path. The estate needs the money.”
She nodded, her gaze going back to her own reflection. “I do. And I apologize for my disrespect of your decision. I have been far too involved in your affairs. Affairs I have no right to witness.”
Caine bit his tongue. So that was what she had been doing these past three weeks. Withdrawing. Withdrawing from something she didn’t want to watch—him finding a rich bride. And if she was withdrawing…
His eyes narrowed on the back of her head. “Ara, just what is this event you are attending tonight?”
“The opera.”
He let the slight breath he held slip from his lips. “I am happy you have finally decided to take time to attend one. If I recall, Mrs. Merrywent always enjoyed the opera when she accompanied my sisters. Where will you be sitting?”
Her eyes slid to him in the mirror and then back to her hair as she fiddled with the same strand of hair across her brow again and again, the exact placement she strove for eluding her. “I am not positive. Mr. Flagerton said he has a box, but I am not sure where it is, or even how many there are in the theatre.”
“Mr. Flagerton? Our gemstone merchant?”
“Yes. He has invited me on more than one occasion to accompany him—ever since we started purchasing the emeralds through him. I had always declined, but he invited me again a few days past. I said yes. I am excited to go.”
“No.”
Caine’s sudden blurt surprised himself, just as much as her. But he couldn’t keep his mouth closed.
Ara whipped around, her forehead inclined downward so she could pin him with the bristling fury in her green eyes. “No?”
“No.” Without control, he repeated the damn word.
She took a deep breath, the slope of her chest rising far too enticingly above the cut of her gown. “I know you are not demanding to have control over my time—or are you, Caine?”
What the hell was he saying? He didn’t even know. He shook his head.
Her glare deepened. Waiting.
He had to say something—anything. He grasped onto the first thought in his head. “Why? Why now, Ara? Why accept his invitation?”
Her chin tilted up, her gaze leveling, but also softening at him. “I cannot be a burden to you any longer, Caine. That was made clear to me weeks ago. I do believe this house alone can free up tremendous amounts of money for you.”
His head snapped back in a quick shake. “What are you even talking about, Ara? This is your home.”
“It is your home, Caine. It always has been.” She took a step toward him, her voice at the volume she always used when she was speaking nothing but good, common sense. Common sense he wanted no part of.
“I will move in with the other women at the Baker Street house. It only makes sense, as there are four empty bedrooms there right now, five, once Amelia gets married next month.” She paused, clearing her throat. “Or I will get married as well, and start my own life. Either way, the Vakkar Line can easily support the running of the Baker Street townhouse, so that need not be a burden on your estate either.”
“No.” His fist slammed onto the top of the chair. The leather took the blow easily. Of course it did—anything Ara created could withstand a simple blow. “Dammit, Ara, that is not the solution.”
Her right eyebrow cocked. “Then what is, Caine?”
“I…I do not know.”
“Exactly. But I do.” She nodded, smoothing down the silk over her belly. “So I will be pursuing Mr. Flagerton’s affections. He is a kind man. Solid. Generous.”
With a tight smile and one last quick nod, Ara stepped around him, exiting the study before Caine could respond.
His silent breaths—much closer to heaving than he would have liked to admit—came fast. He stood, fists clenched, staring out the glass of the French doors at the vines running up a trellis along the walk.
Kind. Solid. Generous. That was Ara’s blasted list for a mate?
Walking over to the French doors, he glanced at the silver gilded frame Ara had studied her reflection in.
Damn, but she was confident.
He had seen it too many times to count—and he had always been astounded by her abilities. The care Ara took with the girls, how she transformed them from frightened mice into confident women. Women who knew how to create lives of their own making.
Exactly as she had done with herself.
That was what she was doing with Mr. Flagerton—creating a life of her own choosing.
So why did he so brutally want to stop her? Why couldn’t he let her have that? Let her have a life of her own?
She was his.
That was why.
She was his, yet he was the one working bloody hard to marry someone else. An ass.
But there were too many people dependent upon him. Lives at stake, food in the bellies of children. The miners, the farmers, every single soul on his lands. His responsibility.
Not to mention the vow he had made long ago to never touch her again.
He had not fought in the war—fought for honor and the way of right—just to abandon his own honor when his strength of character was tested.
And it was tested every time they were in the same room.
For six years, he’d had to live by that vow. Stand by what honor demanded of him. It had been easier in the first years, when he was still grieving Isabella. But Caine had found it harder and harder during the last four years to hold his hand back when he wanted to touch Ara’s cheek, brush back the lock of blond hair that always fell to tickle her chin. Harder to hold back the need to slip his fingers around her waist when she stood before him, draw her to him to let the full scent of the sweet lemons she smelled of invade his head.
No. He would live with his vow. Even if it killed him.
Caine ground thoughts of Ara deep into the recess of his brain.
She wasn’t his. She never would be. Above everything else, he had ruined that possibility years ago when he had been a bastard to her and treated her like a whore.
He swore he would never touch her again, and he had adhered to his promise. Adhered to the vow he berated himself every single day for making.
But he knew that vow was the only reason Ara stayed in his life. The only reason Ara didn’t hate him.
Distance.
He needed distance from her. Maybe with that, the boil of jealousy running through his veins would cool. He hadn’t expected it to be so vicious, but he couldn’t deny it. Ara in that dress that showed off far too many of her curves placed perfectly on her svelte body. The way her blond hair pulled gently from her face to highlight her high cheekbones, the delicate lines of her nose and chin, and the thin golden rings in her green eyes.
All of that care for another man.
Caine’s fist pummeled into his thigh.
Dammit.
He needed to distance himself.
~~~
The flush steaming Ara’s cheeks went hotter, and she tried to still her nervous knee twitch as she eyed Mr. Flagerton out of the corner of her eye. The man was handsome, and fully engrossed in the splendid performance of Rossini’s Il Turco in Italia before t
hem.
Or what she assumed was splendid. She didn’t understand much of the opera, as she had never been to one. Add that to the fact she didn’t speak Italian, and she found herself quite lost trying to follow the story. Ara idly wondered how many languages Mr. Flagerton spoke, as he obviously knew Italian quite well, and the many travels he did for his business of trade sent him to ports far and wide. He had said he was an enthusiastic devotee of Rossini’s operas, which was evidenced by his rapt attention on the stage.
That same rapt attention on the performance was not mirrored in the man sitting in the box directly below and across the theatre from Ara.
In obvious contrast to Mr. Flagerton’s steadfast concentration on the stage—Caine had stared at no other place in the theatre than at the box she and Mr. Flagerton sat in.
Of all people to see at the opera, Caine was the last person she would have imagined to be at the Italian Opera House. Over the years, Caine’s mother had dragged him to a few performances, but he had grumbled about it each and every time.
Surprise did not do justice to her reaction when her eyes had flitted past him, then darted back in recognition. By the time Ara had verified it truly was Caine in the box across from her, it was evident that he had been watching her for some time. Half hidden by the red curtain along the side of the box, he lounged, his body fully directed toward her, not the stage. Fletch, Lord Lockston, sat next to Caine, full smirk on his face as he occasionally let his look wander from the stage, to Caine, and then to Ara.
As hard as Ara had attempted to keep her eyes on the performers, she could not resist ongoing sideward glances in Caine’s direction.
Sideward glances that told her Caine’s glare had only grown more searing throughout the first act.
Was he irate about their interaction earlier? She had assumed he would be off wooing a potential bride this evening, just as he had been occupied with that goal every other evening for the last three weeks. So why was he at the opera—of all things—on this night? And with Fletch, who clearly had very little interest in the drama unfolding onstage.
Ara exhaled with the last note of the first act, leaning to the side as the note echoed throughout the Haymarket venue. Thank goodness. Her eyes darted about for escape. She had to get to fresh air before her cheeks flamed up and caught the whole blasted theatre on fire.
Ever the gentleman, Mr. Flagerton’s hand was to her elbow as she stood, sympathetic to her overheating. They left Mrs. Merrywent in the box, as she wanted to watch the masses below, and Mr. Flagerton steered Ara through the throngs of people to an empty alcove near an open window.
She inhaled the cool evening air, waving the fan attached to her wrist and praying her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. The rush of air felt good, and Ara kept waving her fan steadily, knowing she wasn’t gently fluttering it as one normally did. But she guessed the heated splotches on her face were far less attractive than her boorish fan fluttering skills.
“Would you appreciate a glass of punch?” Mr. Flagerton asked, his soft brown eyes worried. “I would hate for you to have to miss the next act, as it is a remarkable showing of Rossini’s ability to utilize bold dramatic elements to create a triumph of comedic ingenuity. I would, of course, understand if we must leave. Your comfort is much more important, Miss Detton.”
He looked so very hopeful to not have to leave the theatre that Ara managed a smile. “I think I will recover. Punch does sound delightful in helping me to do so.”
Mr. Flagerton looked over his shoulder at the crush of bodies, a cringe crossing his face. He braved a smile to Ara with the tilt of his head. “While it appears to be a massive feat, I will persevere and succeed, have no doubt.”
Ara chuckled at the bravado, watching him disappear into the crowd. She turned to the window, closing her eyes as she leaned to the window opening to let the night air cool her chest.
“Watching you two is more entertainment than I thought to have this evening.”
Eyes flying open, Ara spun from the window to find Fletch trapping her in the alcove. “Whatever do you mean, Fletch? Mr. Flagerton is a perfect gentleman.”
“I mean you and Caine.” A smirk curled up the right side of Fletch’s cheek, creating the look of wry amusement that usually sat upon his face as he observed the world. “Him staring at you. You trying not to stare at him. Him spewing blasphemies under his breath. Your face turning red. Comedy at its finest. Much better than Rossini’s attempt at the same.”
Ara went to her toes, searching over Fletch’s shoulder to make sure Mr. Flagerton wasn’t on his way back to her. Catching her chatting with another man would put a damper on their first evening together. Her look went to Fletch. “I am glad we are able to provide such entertainment for your bored disposition. Why are you and Caine here tonight? And why is Caine muttering blasphemies?”
Fletch shrugged. “I thought you knew everything about him, Ara.”
“Far from it, Flet—Lord Lockston.” Her eyes skirted over his shoulder again, hoping no one within hearing distance overheard her gaffe with his given name. For as much as Fletch was a regular fixture in Caine’s study, and for as long as she had known him, Ara couldn’t very well call him “Fletch” in a public space such as this. “In truth, I know very little about what goes through Caine’s mind. Especially as of late.”
“Then maybe you should be looking a little harder for the answers to your questions.”
Ara’s head tilted. “My questions?”
The smirk on Fletch’s face dropped, his grey eyes turning serious. “The questions that are obviously running through your mind, Ara.”
Ara sighed. “Are you attempting to be sly, Lord Lockston?”
“I will take that as a compliment, Miss Detton.”
“Let us examine your slyness, then—just what questions do you see in my mind?”
Fletch’s finger tapped his chin, his eyes going to the gilded plaster frieze detail of a mermaid in the curved wall above the window. His grey eyes dropped to her, unusually solemn. “The first would be—why does he not see you? You take care of almost all of his affairs. You check over all the work his man-of-affairs sends his way. You started the Vakkar Line—which is now the talk of the ton. You have done everything and beyond to integrate yourself into his life, to become indispensable, and yet, he does not see you. That is what you think, what you wonder upon. And that is just the first question.”
Fletch’s words bordered on rudeness—no, they were rude. And the renewed flames in Ara’s cheeks told her she was not taking his rudeness with grace.
“I did not stand here so I could listen to insults, Lord Lockston.”
“Are they insults, or are they the truth? I merely speak the question, so I can encourage you to search—truly search for the answer.”
“Since you know so very much about Caine and me, you must already know the answers as well, so why not just share them?”
“If I must.” Fletch leaned in, his voice low next to her ear. “The first answer is that you love Caine, Miss Detton.”
Ara jumped back, both away from Fletch’s incendiary words and, more damning, the truth that sat within them. Her head shook, her voice hissing. “Too far, Fletch. Much too far.”
He shrugged, taking a step backward to afford her space as he gave a quick glance over his shoulder at the crowd. He looked back to her, his grey eyes piercing. “If you search hard enough, Ara, you may just find what you are looking for—but it is not going to be easy. Caine owns his guilt with more vehemence than anyone I know.”
With a slight bow, Fletch moved away from her, slipping into the bustle of bodies.
Ara sighed at the riddles Fletch insisted on speaking in.
Guilt? Caine harbored guilt? What on earth did that have to do with anything?
And how in the blasted hell had she made it so obvious she was in love with Caine? She had worked damn hard to cover that fact.
If Fletch knew, then the whole of London probably knew as well.
/> Except for Caine. No, she was positive Caine had no idea of her feelings.
For if he did and he had still chosen to go forth with his plan to pursue a bride…
Ara whipped back to the window, her hand on her belly, gulping air as she fought back waves of humiliation.
He couldn’t know.
Could he?
~~~
“What are your plans for the day, Ara?”
Ara stilled for a second, her chest rising in a quick breath before looking up from the ledger on her desk. Her fingers twirled the quill Caine had watched her scratching numbers with. “Caine. I would have thought you dedicated solely to preparing for your upcoming trip to Notlund Castle with Miss Silverton’s family.”
Caine stood in the doorway to Ara’s study and took in the annoyance on her face. After torturing himself at the opera weeks ago—watching her with Mr. Flagerton had been brutal—he had forced himself to truly gain distance from Ara. He hadn’t talked to her in more than a fortnight.
But those weeks of distance had done very little to clear the consistent sourness that marred her face when she looked at him. Nor had the distance eased the sourness eating away at his own disposition.
The only thing that had changed in the time since the opera was that the weather was now warmer, and Ara’s current dress had a decidedly lower cut across her chest. It had to be the heat. He didn’t want to consider it was because of Mr. Flagerton’s attentions.
Caine sighed, tapping his riding gloves on his thigh. “So you know of my upcoming visit to Notlund Castle?”
“Yes.”
Of course she did. She had far better relations with his staff than he did, even if their loyalty should belong to him. “I am letting my mother and sisters plan the excursion to Notlund. It is only for a few weeks, and not necessarily where I would like to be.”
Ara nodded, her eyes going to the ledger in front of her without letting the slightest emotion slip from her green eyes. “Miss Silverton appears to be quite the perfect catch. The papers have been expounding upon what a delightful match you two make—they have deemed you as the most worthy of her suitors. She should suit the Newdale line well.”
Vow: A Lords of Action Novel Page 8
