“And what about the other problem?” Reid asked.
“I don’t have any other problems,” she replied.
If he was going to be obtuse about things, then so was she. She picked at a piece of lint on her skirt and waited Reid out.
“I meant, how are things going with Callum?” he said.
And there it is; we have a winner. You may collect your prize ribbon.
What could she say to such a question? Things with her and Callum were the same as they had been since his return to England. Apart from when he was compelled to be in her presence, Callum actively avoided Eliza.
He wasn’t even subtle about it. More than once she had caught sight of him turning on his heel and walking out of a room at a party as soon as she entered. And since his arrival at Windmill Street, he had continued to do a very good job of keeping out of her way.
“Nothing is going on with Callum, so there is nothing to say. To be honest, I have barely seen him since he moved in,” she replied.
Most of her information regarding the elusive Callum came from the Follett House staff, and even they had little to add to the subject. Callum kept a steady, though sordid, routine from all accounts.
“All I know is what the servants tell me. Apparently, he is yet to sleep in his bed,” she said. She rolled the piece of lint into a ball and flicked it away. “His favorite place to pass out, once he returns home from his usual long night of substance abuse, is either the tiles in the foyer or just inside the ballroom”.
Reid gave a barely perceptible nod, then got to his feet. “I’m afraid that is how Callum is these days, and we all have to get used to it. Much as his friends and family all hope that he will change, I, for one, think that there is little chance of that happening,” he said.
“But there must be something we could do to help him. I am more than willing to assist in any way I can,” she replied.
Reid turned and faced her; his hands fisted by his side. “I hope you no longer hold any real affection for him, but if you do, I would strongly advise that you look elsewhere for love. The Callum you might have fancied yourself infatuated with when you were a young girl is gone and he is not coming back.”
Knowing Reid, there was every chance that he didn’t intend to be unkind with his words, but they were delivered in such a cold and hard manner that they stung. Their mother had married a drunk, and Reid had made it plain over the years that he would do all he could to save Eliza from the same fate as her.
Her brother marched from the room, closing the door loudly behind him. Eliza’s head dropped to her hands. Frustration and disappointment coursed through her.
But Eliza was stubborn; she was not one for giving up without a fight. She had loved Callum for as long as she could remember, and the memories of that last night with him in her room before he left for battle had helped to keep her resolve. He had told her he loved her. She still believed that to be true.
It was convincing Callum that their love was worth fighting for which posed the greatest challenge to her. He had winked at her as he’d passed by after the investiture ceremony. It gave her a glimmer of hope—hope that she was not alone in wanting them to be together.
Giving up on her work for the moment, Eliza headed to her bedroom. As soon as she had closed the door, she crossed to her dresser, and from the back of the top drawer she retrieved a small crystal jewelry box. She hesitated for a moment, uncertain about opening the box and examining what lay inside; she was also a little afraid.
There was a worry that there might come a time when she would open the box, take out the ring, and go rushing after Callum to offer it back. At times, she had wondered if that would be easier on her heart than continuing to endure the long days of waiting.
In her private dreams Eliza had imagined that if she did, he would pull her into his embrace, kiss her senseless, and chide her for being ‘a damn fool and trying to deny their love.’
She set the box on her bed and wandered over to the glass door which led out onto the balcony. The balcony was one of her favorite parts of her home. It ran in an unbroken line along the back of Follett House, with access to it from each bedroom.
Reid had been none too pleased when he’d discovered Eliza had allocated Callum the bedroom next to hers. There had been method to her madness. Each morning she would step out onto the balcony and, after admiring the view over the rooftops of the house opposite, she would turn and sneak a peek through the window of Callum’s bedroom. His curtains were never drawn, so his perfectly made, never-slept-in bed was visible from outside.
She was yet to see him in his room, but the evidence of his occupation was still there. The jacket carelessly thrown on the back of a chair. The half-finished glass of something amber-colored sitting on a table. Callum was living at Windmill Street, but it was clear he was doing everything in his power to avoid her.
She went back into her bedroom and picked up the box. Callum may well be residing under the same roof as she, but it was a version of him she did not know. A man she was unsure how to approach.
And what if she did try to tempt him with the box? He might well take the ring back and release her from their secret pledge.
It was painful enough living with him avoiding her, but if he rejected their love out of hand, she would be utterly devastated. “No,” she whispered, putting the box back into the drawer. She would not tempt the gods of love.
Chapter Five
Callum woke with a start. He touched his brow and was surprised to discover it was soaked in sweat. The shadow of the fire danced across the ceiling of his bedroom. He blinked and squinted at the clock on the mantelpiece; its brass hands reflected the light from the fire. They showed one o’clock.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
He sat up in the chair and rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of where he was and how he had come to be asleep in front of the fireplace.
“How did I get here?”
Then he remembered that at six o’clock, the Noble Lords had finished rehearsals for the day. Under Kendal’s careful musical guidance, they would soon be good enough to perform in front of the ton.
They were all convinced that as soon as they started making headway against Marco Calvino and his friends, the wicked wives of London society would once again be gracing the Noble Lords with their come hither smiles.
After helping the others to pack up their instruments, Reid had retired to his room, telling them he was feeling unwell and needed to catch up on some sleep. Kendal and Owen had decided to share a quick supper with Eliza.
He, meanwhile, had gone up to his room to change into his evening clothes, fully intending to head out to a party. If he was any sort of polite guest, he would have dined with the others, but he was maintaining his routine of avoiding social situations with Eliza. She had already asked twice this week when his parents were going to host the belated dinner to celebrate his knighthood. Never was the answer, but he wasn’t going to say that to her face. Instead, he was hoping she might eventually get the hint and stop asking.
He snorted. How ironic was life? Here he was, working with his friends to find their way back to bedding willing women, when the only woman he really wanted to hold in his arms was the one he was determined to elude.
His valet had helped him to dress and shave. It had been too early to hit the evening social scene, so he had taken a seat by the fire to rest his eyes. He had intended it would only be for a few minutes.
Callum rose from the chair, his shoulders a little stiff. His left shoulder protested as he tried to stretch his muscles.
“Ow, you bastard,” he said, wincing.
There was nothing unusual in him swearing at his war wound. It was no friend of his. He owed it nothing but contempt.
He looked out the window. The curtains were open and through the glass, the dark of night spilled into the room.
He pondered the choices which now lay before him. Considering the hour, he should undress and climb into bed.
But how could he try and sleep when he was stone-cold sober? His having fallen asleep in front of the fire without being under the influence of alcohol or drugs was nothing short of a miracle.
“No. Not a good idea.” He couldn’t stand to face the vivid and painful dreams which came when he tried to sleep without being drunk.
He could, of course, go out and find himself a cozy corner in one of the nearby taverns and have a drink or two. It wouldn’t be the first time he had gone drinking on his own. But that would mean retrieving his coat, putting his boots on, and making some sort of effort to leave the house. That idea was also tossed aside.
“Ah.” He held up his finger and pointed to the small drawer at the top of his gentleman’s dresser. The perfect solution lay within easy reach.
He grabbed a small leather bag from the drawer and emptied its contents onto a table. There was a small tobacco pouch and a bunch of short tapers. From out of the pouch he pulled a thin cigar and held it to his nose, taking in a deep breath as he rolled it between his fingers.
Perfect. There was no gin left in his room—an oversight he made a mental note to rectify in the morning, but he could always count on having one or two cannabis-infused cigars on hand.
For a moment, he considered lighting up and smoking in his room, but Eliza had made it clear she frowned upon the practice. Cigars and their ilk were fire dangers. He grabbed a blanket from a nearby cupboard and wrapped it about his shoulders. He then used one of the tapers to light the cigar and made his way to the balcony door.
Stepping out into the shadowy night, he closed the door behind him. The wind was fresh, but not blowing too strongly. It was comfortable outside and the light from the fireplace was enough for him to see his way.
A small setting comprised of two chairs and a table were situated to the left just outside the door. He arranged the blanket so that it covered most of his torso before settling into one of the chairs.
He took a long drag of the cigar, then blew the pale grey smoke out into the wind. It swirled around in the breeze for a moment before disappearing into the night sky. It was good to have something to dull his senses. Just enough to take the edge off.
“I thought that was you out here.” A familiar shape stepped out of the darkness.
Callum’s blood ran cold. It was Eliza.
Oh no.
There was no polite way to get out of having to speak to her. He could hardly get up from his chair and suddenly dash back inside without causing all manner of offense. She most certainly did not deserve to be made to feel unwelcome in her own home. For the better part of a year he had successfully managed to avoid being alone with Eliza, but now there was no escape.
“Yes. I thought I might come out and get some fresh air,” he replied.
She chortled softly. “You won’t get much fresh air if you are smoking a cigar.”
“True.”
“I am surprised that you are already home. Kendal is still out, and Owen only arrived in the front door a short time ago,” she said.
He took her in. Eliza was clad in a long cream, silk dressing gown, her light brown hair tied in a simple braid which hung over her left shoulder. There was a hint of peaked nipples under the fabric of her gown.
She was bare foot, the hem of her nightdress stopping just above her ankle. Callum caught an enticing glimpse of skin and swallowed deeply. Memories of running his hands up her leg and touching her most secret of places speared sharply into his mind. What he would give to be able to kneel before her and give her that pleasure once more.
He took another deep drag on the cigar, silently chastising himself for being a fool to indulge in those sensual memories. He couldn’t afford to start thinking about her like that again. A man who had treated a woman as badly as he had Eliza was a man who had no right whatsoever to be thinking that way. But even as he told himself he shouldn’t, he still did.
Her rosy nipple in my mouth, her soft whimpers…
Callum cleared his throat. “I didn’t go out this evening. I meant to, but I fell asleep in front of the fire. I only woke a few minutes ago. What brings you out here at this hour?”
She shrugged. “I saw the light from your cigar reflected in the glass of my bedroom mirror. I was sitting up and reading. I leave the curtains open so I can greet the dawn on nights when sleep will not come.”
An uneasy silence followed. What was he to say to the woman he had spent the best part of the last ten months avoiding? The woman who probably still expected him to make her his wife.
When he had first returned from war, he had been bedridden for weeks while he recuperated from his injuries: bullet wounds he had insisted were not bad enough for him to be listed on the report of the dead and wounded.
While the laudanum the doctor had prescribed had kept him free from pain, it had also rendered him semi-conscious. During that time, Eliza had sent him a steady stream of notes and small cards wishing him a speedy recovery. He had not been capable of replying to any of them, instead leaving it to his mother to send a brief but polite thank you for her kind words.
He had hated the bitter taste of the laudanum and weaned himself off it as soon as possible. Then the nightmares had begun. Sleep constantly eluded him. His weary mind, unable to find rest, had often wandered into dark places. Memories fractured into dreams that were clearly not real, but which he could not defeat.
First one glass of gin had been enough to relax him and allow him to sleep; though the night terrors soon began to stir him from slumber. Then it became two drinks, and then a full bottle. The whole sleep, nightmares and dreams, fatigue and gin battle soon turned into one vicious cycle, repeating itself over and over again.
And then he’d started on the drugs.
Eliza cleared her throat, rousing Callum from his thoughts.
How long have I been sitting here musing and leaving her to deal with my silence?
“I am sorry if I disturbed you. I could go and sit at the other end of the balcony and let you go back to bed,” said Callum. His words sounded weak and pathetic. He was a coward, unable to face her.
“Is that what you want?” she replied.
He laid his head back and closed his eyes. What did he want? He had no bloody idea. “This is your house. You are fully entitled to come and sit out here,” he replied.
“But not talk to you. You keep yourself from me. I just want to know what I have done to make you not love me. Where did we go wrong?” Her voice was small, and the words tore at his heart. She thought she was being punished for something.
What the hell do I say to that? Where could I even begin?
Callum brought the cigar to his lips once more and drew back deeply on it. He went to lower his hand but instead held the cigar out in front of him, studying it. The drugs were not hitting his brain fast enough for him to be able to handle this conversation. He doubted they ever would.
“You have done nothing wrong, Eliza. Things change. People change. Sometimes we just have to accept that what we thought we were going to get is no longer possible,” he said.
How could he even begin to explain to her the misery his life had become, or why he had stayed away? Physical injuries left visible scars. The bullet wounds were now just red patches of angry skin on his back. Scars which would fade with time.
The damage to his mind was still raw, not even beginning to heal. Some days he doubted there would ever be scars. Instead, the mental wound kept tearing itself open again and again leaving jagged edges unable to hold together.
“And that is all you have to say to me after all this time? That people change and I should just accept it,” she replied.
He didn’t want to look at her, to see the pain his words had caused. It would be cruel, but also kind to push her away. Eliza deserved better than to continue to live in limbo, waiting for the Callum she’d fallen in love with to return. “Yes.”
One small word. And yet saying it felt like he was tearing his soul from inside himself, becoming even more of
an empty shell.
“You and I swore to one another that we would be together forever. In this very house, you promised you would come back and make me your wife—that you loved me. I can’t believe that it is so easy for you to simply abandon me. There must be something I can do to bridge this chasm which has opened up between us,” she said.
Callum got to his feet, tossing the blanket onto the chair. He couldn’t bear to stay and begin an argument which would have no end. He had always known it was going to be difficult to convince Eliza that they had no future. Guilt tore at him. “You have to leave all that in the past, Eliza. I cannot be what you need.”
He took another long drag of the cigar, all the while praying that his tortured mind would soon find the ease that the cannabis so often brought to him.
Eliza pushed back her chair and came to his side. “I am not giving up on us, Callum. I love you and despite what you say, I know you love me. The man who promised me his heart is still the one who is standing right here. When you are ready to come back to me, I will be waiting.”
She rose up on her toes and went to place a kiss on his lips. Callum turned his head and Eliza’s kiss barely brushed his cheek. In the still of the night, her sharp intake of breath went straight to his heart. It took all his strength not to grab her and haul her into his arms. She reached for his hand; the instant her fingers touched his, a chill ran down his spine.
This was sweet torture. This was agony.
“Eliza, please go back to bed. You shouldn’t be out here alone with me. If Reid found us, there would be hell to pay.”
Her hand dropped from his, and she turned and walked away. Callum kept his gaze focused on the rooftop of the house opposite them. His jaw was set hard as he slowly ground his teeth.
It was only when the click of her bedroom door being closed echoed in the silence that he dared to look back at where Eliza had gone.
I should never have come here.
It was folly for him to be living at Follett House, to be so close to her. If it wasn’t for the awkward questions it would raise, he would have asked Reid to move him to another room.
Callum: Regency Rockstars Page 3
