“With the likes of anyone?”
Caine bit his tongue, wanting nothing more than to smack the satisfied smirk off of Fletch’s face. He knew Fletch was baiting him. He also was not in the mood to be baited.
Fletch tilted his head toward Caine in deference. “As I can see you are only a second away from making good on your threat to shut my mouth, I admit, I know she is yours.”
“She is not mine, Fletch.”
“No? Are you sure about that? Is she sure about that?”
“If you are implying that Ara loves me, be assured, she does not.”
“Whatever gave you that absurd notion?”
“She is indebted to me, Fletch. Nothing more. Not love.”
“And you are not willing to fight her on that score? You do nothing but spar with the woman when you are not looking at her with besotted eyes. Do you not think you would win?”
“You know nothing of what she is thinking.”
“And you do?”
Caine heaved a sigh. “You are meddling where you should not, Fletch.”
“Maybe so.” Fletch uncapped the flask and took a long sip of the brandy. “It seems to me, my friend, you now have absolutely nothing standing in the way between you and Ara. The money from the dowry will allow you to either make new investments or revitalize the mines. So your responsibility to the title is satisfied. There appears to be nothing but your own damn guilty conscience in the way.”
“I don’t feel guilty.”
Fletch snorted a laugh. “Never have I heard such a falsehood.”
“You are agonizingly close to getting thrown from this carriage, Fletch.”
“Throw me out, or not, but remember, I have been your friend for too many years to count, and the war years count for at least twenty years each.”
“Your point?”
“Unbelievable as it may sound, I do look outside of myself on occasion, and I have watched you these past six years. And you have been condemning yourself ever since the day Isabella died—flogging yourself for not saving her. I do believe you have determined that you are not good enough to find happiness with the woman that means the world to you.”
Caine bit the inside of his cheek. As much as he wanted to punch Fletch, his words, each and every one of them, rang too truthful. He did fail Isabella. He didn’t deserve to love another. And if he was completely honest with himself, Ara did mean the world to him, even if he was determined to let her go. Even if he had to let her go.
Caine rubbed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere but captive with his best friend in this damn carriage. “Ara does not love me, Fletch. She is beholden to me for saving her. It is not love.”
“As you said.” Fletch nodded, at least trying to appear as though he took in Caine’s words with the proper weight. Fletch’s lifted foot came down to the carriage floor, and he leaned forward, the lines on his face deepening. “And that is the lie you like to hide behind, Caine. But in as long as I have known Ara, she is not one to misplace her words or her feelings—sure, she is optimistic to a fault. Cares to a fault. But the woman has always known her own mind. Has always made her own destiny happen. Look at where she came from, what happened to her. Yet she sees the good in other people, and she figures out a way to make them shine. She has done it with her girls. Hell, she has done it with you.”
Caine’s eyes narrowed on his friend, a vicious swipe of jealousy cutting across his chest. “You were not just feigning an interest in Ara, were you? You truly mean to pursue her?”
Fletch shrugged, noncommittal. “Just consider my words, Caine. Ara does not look at you like she is indebted to you. Wherever you got that notion, you need to rethink it. And these last six years, you have paid dues that you never owed, Caine. Isabella’s death was an injustice, there is no denying that. But you did not cause it. Evil men did. This wedding that you just escaped from—it is a gift. A gift of the future you actually want—could actually have. Don’t be an idiot and waste it.”
Caine’s head dropped backward, his eyes closing.
Hell, was Fletch right? Could his atonement possibly be fulfilled for failing Isabella?
He had never thought it possible.
But maybe. Maybe.
The tiniest flicker of hope sprang from embers he had thought he had extinguished.
Yet even with hope, there was still the matter of what he had done to Ara over the years. Twice a bastard, violating her, and then he had abandoned her in the worst possible way this summer.
She had wanted him gone from her life, and he let it be so she could move on from him—but he could not put his actions solely upon her. He had made his own choice in the matter as well.
And he was beginning to see what an atrocious choice it had been.
{ Chapter 12 }
Ara pulled the dark cobalt hood on her cloak farther down her forehead. What had been a light drizzle when she had set out to the small House of Vakkar storefront they were readying for opening on New Bond Street had turned into fat droplets during the past few hours.
Thank goodness she had taken Patch with her and had left Mable at the Baker Street house. Mable despised the rain and grumbled about it endlessly when she was forced to be in it—whereas Patch loved the rain, loved jumping at it, his tongue flapping as he tried to snatch drops out of the sky.
A smile broke wide at watching her dog’s antics. If she had anything to be thankful for in the past few months, Caine’s absence and her moving into the Baker Street house had freed her from Caine’s constant insistence she adhere to the strictest rules of propriety.
Which suited her fine. Patch was good entertainment on a walk such as this. Mable was not.
Ara had only needed to gather a few measurements from the foreman at the site, so the designs for the cabinets that would house the jewellery collections could be complete. But what had been intended as a five-minute conversation had turned into several hours discussing with the foreman, Mr. Littlefoot, a multitude of finishing options he wanted her opinions on.
She liked the man—he and his crew were honest hard-workers—but he openly admitted to knowing very little about selling items, and even less about selling jewellery. Ara especially appreciated that about him—he knew his limitations, but once she explained something, he got it right, down to the most precise detail.
And Ara had been having to explain a lot as of late—Greta had a very specific vision for how her jewellery needed to be presented to the world, and Ara had been the only one able to translate the vision in Greta’s mind to Mr. Littlefoot’s work-worn hands.
Not that Ara minded the extra work in the slightest. This was her life now. Opening this store. Expanding the coveted Vakkar Line into the even more exclusive House of Vakkar. She needed to make a success of it.
But the last few unexpected hours spent at the storefront had seen the drizzle turn into a downpour—much to Ara’s disappointment, but Patch’s delight.
Cutting through the small park a block away from the Baker Street house, Ara glanced up from watching Patch leap in the air every few steps. The sky was darkening—which meant it had gotten late and the sun was setting far above the grey mass of clouds hovering close to the spires of the rooftops.
A brutal pang cut across her heart at the thought of a sunset and the last one she had seen.
The devil of it.
Without warning, the little memories—the smallest moments in time—would sneak up upon her and slice open wounds she thought were healing.
She took a deep breath. She needed to see a new sunset—one that would replace the last one she had seen with Caine in her mind. She needed a sunset so fantastic that it would be the only one she would ever think about again. Maybe when the shop opened, she could convince Mrs. Merrywent, Greta, and several of the girls to accompany her to the Eastbourne seaside for a stay. It could be something for them all to look forward to. That was, if Greta wasn’t already married to Mr. Flagerton by then.
Ara looked down and realized Patch w
as no longer in front of her. She was only halfway through the park, so she spun, scanning the neat bushes and lawns alongside the gravel paths. No Patch. He never strayed far from her, so Ara hurried, scanning the street they had been walking toward, praying he hadn’t darted out into the lane to get trampled by a horse or a carriage.
Reaching the walkway, Ara darted to the right around a carriage stopped in front of her, searching the street in all directions. Patch wouldn’t have just moved on to the Baker Street house without her, would he?
A yipping bark caught her attention. Ara spun around, looking under the carriage next to her.
“Miss Detton.”
She recognized that voice. Ara lifted the front of her dripping wool hood, looking up to the coachman. “Tom?”
He tipped his hat, pointing behind him to the inside of the black carriage. Ara’s eyes dropped, truly seeing the carriage. The door was open, and she hadn’t taken much notice of it when she had passed it. Caine’s carriage.
Her stomach instantly tightened as she considered fleeing. But then another bark echoed from inside the carriage.
Ara forced herself to shuffle to the opening of the coach and looked inside.
There sat her dog, tongue hanging out to the side and happily panting as the spot behind his left ear was scratched with gusto.
Ara followed the line from the hand, up the arm, to the face.
Caine.
She glanced down to Patch. His foot started thumping, his head leaning hard into the scratch. Traitor.
Droplets fell in front of her eyes from the edge of her hood as she looked up at Caine.
The same as always. His imposing form, swallowing the carriage seat. His dark jacket and waistcoat stretched to perfection over his shoulders. His devilish dark hair curling down to tease the whiteness of his cravat. His clear blue eyes watching her, instantly intense. The only thing that was different about him was the slight flush over the hard lines of his cheekbones, most likely from the damp coolness.
Ara steeled herself.
“You have my dog.”
The side of his mouth curled up slightly. “I do.”
She looked down at Patch, clicking her fingers through her gloves. The traitor’s foot thumping only went faster. Ara whistled, or at least tried to. She had never mastered much more than a faint tweet.
Patch only shifted his head farther back onto Caine’s hand, his neck stretched long.
“Can you please stop petting him? He will not come when you are mauling him so.”
“I don’t think he would consider it mauling.”
“What is it you want, Caine? I need to get back to the Baker Street house.”
“I need to talk to you, Ara.”
“I am standing here, waiting for my dog, so feel free to proceed. He will tire of you eventually.”
Caine’s hand switched to Patch’s other ear. Blast it.
“I would like to speak to you while you are not standing in the rain, dripping, Ara. Where is Mable?”
“She is at the Baker Street house. I was just out for a walk.”
Instant censure crossed his face, but he kept his mouth shut.
“You have no right to that, Caine.”
“What?”
“Judgement. No. Not anymore.”
“I said nothing.”
Her head tilted, her eyes pinning him.
“I don’t think you truly know what is in my mind at the moment, Ara.” He motioned to the bench across from him. “Please. Come with me, just for a short while. I do need to speak with you, and it seems bad form that I sit in here, dry, while you are drowning out there. Patch likes it well enough, and we both know how he loves the rain.”
Ara grumbled, lifting her skirts and stepping up into the coach. Caine reached around her and swung the door closed before she gained her seat across from him.
A quick jerk, and the wheels started to roll.
“Wait. I did not agree to go with you anywhere, Caine. Have Tom stop the carriage.”
“He is just bringing us to my townhouse, Ara. While I didn’t want to watch you standing in the rain, I also know I don’t want to have this conversation with you in a carriage.”
Her arms crossed under the swath of her cloak as she eyed him warily. What on earth could he take from her now? Did he know about the shop? Of course he did. Of course he would want to involve himself in some fashion. “What conversation is that?”
The half-cocked smile was back on his lips. “It is only a few minutes to wait, Ara. Patience.”
She took another big breath, looking down at Patch as she tugged the hood back off her head. Caine had ceased scratching Patch’s head, but now her stalwart dog had wrapped himself along Caine’s ankles. Her eyes rolled. Double the traitor.
Silence filled the carriage until Ara found the nerve to ask the only thing that had pulsated in her mind since she sat down across from Caine. “Was the wedding all you had hoped for?”
His eyes went wide, shock crossing his face.
Ara wondered at it. Shock that she had dared to speak of the wedding? It had only been five days ago, so why wouldn’t she acknowledge it?
“You do not know?”
“Know what?”
“I thought you always read the papers, Ara.”
She shrugged, not that he could see that under the draping of her cloak. The truth was, she had buried herself in her work during the past week, her eyes avoiding anything that would even hint of Caine’s nuptials. She very well knew he was getting married, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to be reminded of it at every turn.
“It seems the papers have escaped my attention as of late.”
He nodded, his light blue eyes suddenly serious as he stared at her.
Ara shifted uncomfortably, looking out the window at the droplets sliding down the glass. Why were they not at his townhouse already? She looked to him. “I am sure you have heard from Mr. Peterton of the jewellery shop we are opening for Greta’s designs. It is the next logical step, and I am sure you will see the proceeds from it soon, as you are part owner. It has consumed my time as of late.”
“It is a great idea. I am sure it will be a success, Ara. But you did not need to name me part owner of it. Everything you and Greta have built has been your own.”
“You invested in the idea of a jewellery line, in Greta’s skill—”
“I invested in you, Ara.”
Her look dove from him, staring out the window. “Regardless, you allowed us to start and grow her work. You will always be part owner, Caine.” Her eyes lifted to him, smirk playing on her lips. “As long as you are a silent owner, that is.”
He chuckled. “I will strive to remain so.”
“Thank you. I have enough to do what with handling Greta’s wild whims.”
“She is driving you mad?”
“She is genius. Apparently, genius sometimes comes with madness.” Ara smiled wide. “But I wouldn’t trade her for the world—she is fierce in her loyalty to me—and to you. I suggested she do this on her own, as they are her designs, but she would not hear of it. Almost slapped me when I suggested it.”
“She has always been fiery.”
“Yes. And I love her dearly, even with her eccentricities.”
The carriage stopped and Patch was quick to his feet, his nose nuzzling Caine’s knee. Ara’s lips pursed. Had her own dog so completely forgotten her existence? She stared at Patch’s perked ears, her voice low. “This was a mistake. I never should have gotten into the carriage.”
“Please, Ara.”
She looked up at Caine, her eyebrows cocked in question.
“Please come in, just for a moment. Just in the study, like we always were.”
A lump suddenly lodged in her throat, her head shaking.
“Please.”
The one word was strained coming from his lips. Strained, what begging would sound like if the man knew how to do it. But she knew Caine too well for that. He did not beg. He got.
&nb
sp; And of course, he got her. He always did.
She nodded.
~~~
Unclasping the silver catch on her cloak, Ara followed Caine down the hall to his study. She pulled the cloak free from her body, handing it and her wet gloves to Wilbert. If Wilbert noted that she had come in hidden under her cloak, sans Mable, but with Patch at her heels, he offered nary a blink at it.
Caine nudged Patch on the rump with his shin, sending him farther down the hall and back to the kitchens. Ara stifled a sigh. Now she would have to tear Patch away from his begging for scraps in a few minutes. For a man always worried about her keeping her reputation above reproach, Caine was making it quite difficult to exit his house without the entire staff knowing she had come here unchaperoned.
Of course, maybe it was different now that he was married. New rules. Ara’s eyes flew to the hallway ceiling as if she could see into the rooms above. Was his new wife here? Of course she was.
Ara’s heart flew into a frenzy, battering against her chest. Caine did not mean to introduce her to his new wife, did he? Why had she not figured this out in the carriage?
She spun in the hallway, panicked, taking one step first toward the kitchens to retrieve Patch, and then she flipped her motion, aiming to retrieve her cloak back from Wilbert first. Cloak, dog, back door. That order.
“Ara.” Caine snatched her forearm before she made it even two steps from him.
She yanked on her arm. Damn his strong clamp. “I need to go, Caine. I didn’t realize your wife would be here and I cannot—”
“Stop, Ara.” A smile cut across his features. That he found her panic amusing was cruel.
“No, you stop,” she hissed. “I am not going to meet your wife today, Caine, not ever, if I can help it.”
With one swift motion, he pulled her into his study, slamming the door behind her. “Dammit, Ara, you need to stop for just one blasted second and look at me. Listen to me.”
Her mouth agape, she looked up at him.
“I did not get married, Ara. I thought you knew. I thought you would have read about it—heard about it.”
“You…you did not get married?” She twisted her arm free, taking a step away from him into the center of the room. “But you were up at Notlund Castle—the wedding was days ago.”
Vow: A Lords of Action Novel Page 14
