A Scoundrel's Surrender (19 page)

Chapter 19

“H
e's going to kill him,” Marah moaned as she paced the room, wringing her hands together before her. Whenever she pictured the time Caleb and Emerson were spending together, it ended in fisticuffs.

Victoria sank into the settee with a tired sigh. “Which one?”

Marah stopped and sent a glare toward her friend. “Caleb is going to kill Emerson, of course.”

“And why would he do that?” Victoria said softly. “You have told me time and time again that Caleb cares nothing for you. And that you cannot allow yourself to care for him. And apparently you meant it, for you have accepted the marriage proposal of another man.”

Marah winced at her friend's frank summation of her past statements. Hearing them come back to her was rather stinging. She came to the settee and sat beside her friend. “I accepted Emerson's marriage proposal because he is the only one making one.”

Victoria's eyebrow lifted slowly and Marah shook her head. “Th-that didn't come out the way I meant it.”

“And how
did
you mean it?”

Marah swallowed. “Of course there are other reasons for my accepting Emerson's offer. It wasn't only because no one else has wished to marry me in the past.”

“Oh yes, I had forgotten Mr. Winstead's very romantic stability and dependability.” Victoria rolled her eyes. “Marah, be honest with yourself. Is that the kind of union you really wish for? Empty, passionless, cold? Caleb—”

Marah shut her eyes. “Caleb and I made love last night.”

Victoria stopped speaking, her eyes going wide as she simply stared at her friend. “
Last night?
”

Marah nodded, her cheeks burning with humiliation at that admission and the one she had yet to make. “Afterward, I-I thought perhaps we had a chance to make things right between us. I thought I felt a connection just as I thought we had made one two years ago. But I was wrong, yet again. As soon as I fell asleep, he left my side, he left the
house
with no explanation or even apology.”

Victoria clenched her fists, and her outrage on Marah's behalf was plain. “Oh, Caleb! That ass!”

“No,” Marah said, covering her friend's hand with her own. “Blaming him isn't fair.”

“Oh yes, it is.” Victoria snorted. “And I shall tell him so myself.”

“No, please don't defend my honor to him. I came to him at the depths of his grief. I knew what could happen.” Marah sighed as she recalled how nervous and anxious she had been coming to his chamber. “I suppose I
wanted
it to happen.”

Victoria's anger softened. “Oh, Marah.”

She nodded. “It was a foolish desire considering our past. But I believe you are right, even though he refuses closeness beyond a certain point, Caleb
does
have a deeper feeling for me than Emerson probably ever will. But obviously that isn't something we can build a future on. Caleb may confess his sins to me, he may take his comfort in me, but he doesn't see me in his future. I am and always have been a temporary consolation to him.”

Victoria squeezed her fingers gently. Marah recoiled from the pity she saw in her friend's eyes.

“Don't look at me that way, I have accepted it.” That was a lie, but Marah hoped if she kept saying it that it wouldn't be one day. “
And
I have accepted Emerson. That is the end of the story.”

Victoria pursed her lips. “I wish it wasn't,” she said softly. “But if this is your decision, I respect it. And I will do everything in my power to ensure you receive the happiness you so richly deserve.”

Marah covered her friend's hand with her own. “Thank you. Now, you look tired. Will you tell me how Justin, Lady Stratfield, and Tessa are faring?”

Victoria nodded slowly and Marah forced herself to forget about Caleb, forget about Emerson, and be the support her friend needed. As she had said, her decision was made. There was no going back now and she refused to have any more regrets than she had been lamenting already.

C
aleb handed over a glass of whiskey to his unwanted companion and then took a place behind his brother's big desk in his study. He rather liked staring over the expanse of oak at this man who would steal Marah away. It made him feel like he had power.

Unfortunately, in this case, that might not be true.

“You don't approve of my match with Marah,” Emerson said as he took a sip of his drink and smiled.

“I suppose I don't,” Caleb acknowledged.

He set his own drink aside. He needed a clear head for this situation. And he hadn't actually gotten drunk since Marah's last chastisement of him for his lack of control over a week ago.

“And yet I sense there isn't any way on this earth that I could change your mind about your opinion of me and my impending nuptials to Marah.” Winstead smiled. “So I question why you would bring me here under the pretense of verifying the correctness of my proposal to her.”

Caleb fisted his fingers on the desktop before him. This man's calm only served to enrage him further, but he fought to control it. An explosion was what Winstead wanted so that he could use Caleb's behavior to underscore his own steadiness to Marah.

“You
are
direct, sir,” Caleb said through clenched teeth. “I will return the favor. You see, I believe you asked Marah to marry you with ulterior motives in mind. Things you perhaps haven't expressed to her fully during your ‘courtship.' ”

“Such as?” Winstead took another sip of his whiskey and set the tumbler aside.

“Your unending ambition for one,” Caleb said softly. “I believe you are as interested in Marah for her late father's name, her potential family connections if you manipulate those ties into being resumed, and her powerful friends like my brother and his wife. A marriage to her, especially since she is gaining attention during her return to Society, would elevate you substantially.”

“Of course it would,” Emerson admitted, his tone as cool as a winter wind. “How foolish I would be if I didn't consider those things when looking for a potential mate. When I met Marah, I had some concept that she would elevate me, but her newfound interest from Society is a definite windfall.”

Caleb was flabbergasted that Winstead would admit such things freely and with no touch of remorse. “How dare you?”

“It isn't as if Marah isn't aware of my ambition,” Winstead said with a shrug. “I
do
like her a great deal, and I haven't kept any of my intentions a secret from her in all the time we have been acquainted.”

“So you believe that the openness of your aspirations makes it appropriate to marry her for these purposes, without thought to her happiness or her comfort outside of the monetary realm?” Caleb asked, still in utter disbelief.

Winstead folded his arms. “You see, my friend, this is where we differ. I don't see Marah's happiness as being compromised by a union based upon practical considerations. In fact, I believe these sensible ideals can only make her more satisfied as time goes by. You, on the other hand, are driven by excessive passions.”

“And you don't believe Marah shares in those passions?” Caleb said with a snort of derision as he thought of her ardent display in his bed the previous night. She had been as swept away by desire and need as he had been.

“I do, actually,” Winstead said with a concerned frown. “That may be her only imperfection. Still, I believe that once Marah is my bride and those passions are no longer fed by bad influences and silly, romantic fantasies, they will fade.”

Caleb stared. “You are saying you will crush an integral part of her spirit?”

“Not crush it,” Emerson said with a shake of his head. “But without encouragement it will wither on its own.”

“How could you not wish for her to have passion?” Caleb asked with real shock. “How could any man not look at her and desire her?”

“I
do
desire her,” Winstead said with a confused tilt of his head. “To a reasonable degree. I'm certain we will be compatible in all ways, including the physical. But a wife has too many important duties to be seen as an object of pure lust. I want her to give me heirs, of course, but I wouldn't want her to keep me in bed all day and all night.”

Caleb shut his eyes at that thought. If Marah was his, that was
exactly
what he would want her to do.

“You are a mercenary,” he growled.

Winstead shook his head and for a brief moment Caleb saw anger flash in his eyes.

“No, sir, I am not. I am merely honest. But just because I have indulged you in your little interrogation doesn't mean that I appreciate it. I wonder what right you truly think you have to question my intentions when your own have been so base and unkind?”

Caleb straightened up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Winstead arched a brow. “I hate to speak so candidly, but this is my future wife we are discussing. It is plain to me that the two of you have shared far more than a mere friendship in the past. In fact, I strongly suspect that you may have taken advantage of her ‘excessive passions,' perhaps more than once. If this is true, that means you were utterly ungentlemanly in your conduct.”

Caleb had no retort. Winstead was correct that in the past he had let Marah down in the worst way possible. And he had done it again last night. He had meant to make it right, but she hadn't waited.

And why should she? He had given her no reason to have faith in him.

Winstead smiled. “I will take your silence and your sick expression as a yes to my charge. So I ask you, sir, when you have made no attempt at decent courtship, what right do you have to question my own? Marah apparently enters our marriage already soiled, yet I still accept her. I would never throw her past mistakes back in her face, in fact I will never even mention them to her. I think that balances out any other unsavory thoughts you may have of me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other appointments today and I believe our conversation is finished.”

Caleb got to his feet. “You—”

“What?” Winstead snapped as he clenched his fists at his sides in perhaps the first truly emotional display of their acquaintance. “Nothing you can say will change the fact that I have
won
. This is over. Good day.”

With that the other man exited the room and left Caleb steaming. He stared at the open door.

“Oh no,” he murmured. “Until she is your bride,
nothing
is over.”

H
aving said farewell to Winstead and with Victoria gone upstairs to rest for a while before she returned to her mother-in-law's home, Marah was desperately trying to find something to do to fill her thoughts. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that her head spun from it all.

She looked down at the book in her hand, but couldn't concentrate on the story. She had read the same page at least ten times.

“I need to speak to you!”

Marah looked up as Caleb stormed into the parlor.

“I'm sorry, I'm busy,” she said, making the attempt to sound calm when just the sight of him made her heart roar to double time. “I'm rather engrossed in this story.”

“I heard an engrossing tale a short while ago, as well,” Caleb said, clearly in no mood to be deterred. “About a man who asked a woman to marry him with every intention of using her connections to raise himself up in Society.”

Marah threw the book aside. “I assume this tale stars a man named Emerson and a woman named Marah?”

“Indeed it does,” Caleb said. “Marah, he is using you! You cannot marry him.”

She threw up her hands in frustration. “As if you have any say! Did Emerson actually tell you he intends to use me?”

To her surprise, Caleb folded his arms and smiled. “Why yes, he did.”

That stopped Marah in her tracks. Of course she knew of Emerson's desire for social advancement, but the idea that he had confessed something so crass to Caleb, of all people . . . well, it stung a bit.

She swallowed. “Well, it isn't a great secret. Many marriages are built on similar practical desires. I'll obtain a stable future and he will have a wife who offers him the chance to elevate himself.”

“And
that
is all you want?” Caleb asked, his disbelief plain on his face.

Marah hesitated. She couldn't lie.
Want
wasn't the word she would use to describe the marriage she had just described and agreed to. But unlike Caleb, she couldn't build her life on
want
at the exclusion of all else. She had personally felt the consequences of such actions her entire life.

“It is all I can wish for,” she finally said.

He didn't speak. It surprised Marah, for Caleb was never at a loss for words. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he shook his head.

“You call me a coward,” he said softly. “And perhaps I am. But so are you, Marah. So are you. Good day, my lady.”

He gave her a swift bow and then left the room. She heard him in the foyer calling for his horse and then he was gone. For the first time, she actually felt like he w
as
gone.

She had spent weeks telling herself, telling him that this was what she wanted. But now that she had it, now that she had everything she swore she desired, she felt empty. So she sank down into her chair, covered her eyes, and had a good cry.

Chapter 20

W
hen Caleb entered Justin and Victoria's home with his mother on his arm, it felt like it had been a year since he had visited there, not mere days. He hadn't wished to return at all, not after his last encounter with Marah, but there was little choice. His brother and sister-in-law were hosting a small gathering after his father's burial. He was expected to attend.

His mother gently squeezed his arm and smiled up at him, though there was little joy in her pale face, made even starker by the heavy black she wore to honor her husband.

“I would like to speak to Reverend James,” she said softly. “His words at the grave were so moving.”

Caleb nodded as he released her. “Of course. Would you like me to go with you?”

Tessa stepped up. “I'll go with her,” she said as she took her mother's arm. “Perhaps you could see about getting her a chair?”

Caleb looked around. Even though Justin had only invited close friends of the family, there was little room in the parlor. The doors had been thrown open between the connecting chambers so that people could pass in and out at their leisure, but the uncomfortable crush remained. He supposed it was a testament to the marquis' character that virtually everyone who had been asked to attend had made the trek from wherever they were to do so. Some people had even come from the Continent to pay their last respects.

“Of course,” he said as they moved off to find the reverend.

Within a few moments he and Crenshaw had managed to obtain a very comfortable place for his mother. During that time, though, Caleb had been overrun with mourners who told him stories about his father or expressed their condolences with watery eyes. It was all too much.

Across the room, he motioned to Tessa and she acknowledged his indication of the place he had found for his mother. His one duty fulfilled, Caleb turned toward the terrace. He needed some air.

He stepped outside and looked around with a sigh. The afternoon was waning, so the air was beginning to cool slightly. Compared to the hot parlor, it was heavenly, and his headache, which had begun at the gravesite, faded a bit.

Behind him the terrace doors opened and voices echoed as a few more people stepped outside. Unwilling to converse with them and hear their condolences repeated ad nauseam, Caleb slipped down and around the corner out of sight from the party. Only to find Marah sitting alone at a small round table.

He came to a halt as her eyes came up and met his. She sucked in a breath of surprise as great as his own. Slowly she got to her feet.

“H-hello.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. He'd seen her at the burial, of course, but he had stood with his family while she kept toward the back of the crowd who had come to pay their respects. This was the first time they had been near each other since he had called her a coward.

A sentiment he now regretted. He had said it in anger and disappointment, but it was far from gentlemanly. Even if he believed it was true.

He was trying to decide if he should broach that subject when Marah said, “How is your mother?”

He sighed. Perhaps it was better to simply let it rest. “She is . . . as well as can be expected. Have you spoken to her?”

“Not yet,” Marah admitted, fidgeting nervously. “I will, though.”

“She would like that,” Caleb said, and it was the truth. His mother clearly liked Marah and enjoyed the time they spent together.

“I-I was watching you today,” Marah admitted.

Caleb cocked his head. “Yes. Does Winstead approve?”

Her gaze came sharply to him. “Winstead isn't here. He wasn't a friend of your father's, and this gathering is for friends of the family alone. Even if he was, I am not owned by him.”

Caleb turned away. She soon would be, if Winstead had his way. “Well, in your keen observation, what conclusions did you arrive at?”

She moved a little closer. “You're troubled.”

He faced her with an arched brow. “It
was
the funeral of the man who raised me.”

Her expression tensed at his peevish attitude, but then she whispered, “I've heard that the Billingham family has returned to London. I assume you've heard that as well.”

Caleb tensed. He had, just the previous day.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Apparently they have been summering with the Duke of Waverly and his bride. She is breeding and I have been told they returned to London as a party for the last few months of her confinement.”

“What will you do?” Marah asked.

He looked at her. He had been so shocked by the idea that his half brother . . . perhaps
two
of his brothers were now just a breath away, he hadn't actually considered what to do about it.

“Nothing, I suppose.”

She made a soft sound of distress and moved on him. “No, Caleb.”

He wrinkled his brow at her reaction. “You disagree?”

She nodded. “Very much so. I've seen you struggle with what you know for so long. I know, even if you refuse to admit it, that you are curious about these people, this family. Until you confront your past, you'll never find any peace or comfort in the future. I believe you should go to them.”

He swallowed. “Face them.”

She was silent as he paced away to look out over the grassy garden of the estate below. She had said her piece and now she didn't push him, didn't encourage one way or another.

“You've seen the way I am with my family,” he said softly. When he turned, she was looking at him evenly. “Before I left, my parents disapproved of the reprobate life I led. My father and I had several confrontations about it and he was forever scolding me about my choices. Since my return I have hurt my mother and angered my sister, not to mention frustrated poor Justin to distraction.”

Marah smiled, and the expression lightened his heart considerably. “And?”

He sighed. “I suppose when it comes down to it, I worry about this other family. What if I am trouble to them, not something they welcome? What if the new Duke of Billingham doesn't even know what or who his father was and this shatters his view and his life?”

Marah hesitated. “I suppose those things could be true. You might enter their family and be a thorn in their side. You
are
one of the most infuriating men I've ever met.”

Caleb chuckled and it felt so good to laugh. He realized it was the first time since his father's death that he had done so.

“
But
despite all those things you said, the family you were raised in still loves you.” She smiled again. “It was clear your father harbored no ill will, Justin adores you and worries about you constantly, your mother understands, and Tessa forgives, even if it is despite herself. Why do you assume any new family would be different? Yes, you might quarrel with them, in fact I'm sure you will, but you will also have the opportunity to have a second family. I don't think you should turn that down.”

Caleb frowned. She was offering him a rather pleasant future on a silver platter. Making him believe, in some small part of him, that he could formulate a relationship with his half brothers.

“How do you suppose I could approach them?” he asked.

She smiled. “The person who told me they had arrived also said that the group takes a daily walk in Hyde Park. You should go and ‘stumble' upon them.”

Caleb shook his head. “I cannot—”

She moved closer again. “I would go with you. If you are escorting the best friend of your brother's wife to shop for some wedding clothes, your presence there will be understandable.”

Caleb kept his face very still. Wedding clothes. Great God, the very idea made his stomach turn.

“And would you really force me to help you pick out wedding clothes for your sham of a marriage with Winstead?”

Her face went very still and he saw both the anger and the sadness in her eyes. He wasn't completely certain if they were directed entirely at him. There was some self-reflection to her countenance as well.

“I am only presenting you with an excuse for being with me,” she said softly. “I am offering to be your friend since I know you cannot turn to Justin with this matter.”

Caleb bent his head. She hadn't deserved his earlier barb. When he looked at her again, he offered a sheepish smile. “If I have ever earned your friendship, I appreciate it now. If you are certain you don't mind coming with me, I would welcome your presence.”

She nodded briefly. “Shall we say at two o'clock tomorrow?”

“Yes. But I have a question,” he said, moving toward her another half step.

“What is that?”

“Why do you not take your own advice?” he asked. “You, too, have a second family. One you have been estranged from through no fault of your own. Don't
you
wish to make some kind of connection with them?”

Marah shut her eyes. He saw the struggle on her face and the pain. She might pretend that her lack of bond with her father's family mattered little to her, but he could see what a lie that was. And her pain cut him as deeply as his own.

“With me it is different,” she murmured as she shook her head. “Complicated.”

“Is my situation not complicated?” Caleb asked softly.

She hesitated and he could see she had no retort for that.

“Marah . . .” he began.

“They don't want me,” she murmured as she stared down at her feet.

He stepped toward her, longing to comfort her in this moment of exposed emotion. Her gaze came up to meet his and she shifted, looking around as if she had just recognized the inappropriateness of being alone with him in a darkened corner of a terrace. He felt it, too, and was well aware of how easy it would be to kiss her.

Marah blushed and stepped away. “I-I should return and make certain Victoria and your family don't need anything. Good night, Caleb.”

He nodded as she slipped away, but he was perfectly aware that tonight wouldn't be good. He was certain he would dream of his meeting with the Billinghams. And of Marah. Always of Marah.

S
he shouldn't have agreed to do this. It was utterly wrong. Marah knew it was wrong because when Emerson had sent her a message that morning asking her to join him for a ride, she hadn't told him the truth about what she was doing. The lie and the fact she felt she had to tell it were evidence enough of her guilt.

If she needed further proof, there was her fluttering heart as she and Caleb took a leisurely stroll around the park. Her hand was tucked in his arm and she could smell the warm, masculine scent of his skin. She wanted to lean into that, lean into him. It took all her self-control not to do so.

They crested a small hill and Marah looked around. Caleb had been quiet during their walk and on the ride over in his carriage. Now she felt the tension coursing through him.

“There,” he said softly.

She followed his gaze. There on a blanket about a hundred yards away was Simon Crathorne, Duke of Billingham, and Rhys Carlisle, Duke of Waverly. Their wives were also with them and the small party seemed to be sharing a late luncheon.

“Perhaps this is a mistake,” Caleb murmured as he came to a sudden stop.

Marah squeezed his arm gently. “It may be, indeed. But why don't we make it just to be sure?”

He smiled down at her and for a moment she forgot everything else in the world but him. Yes, all this might be a mistake, but she refused to regret making it.

Slowly they approached the group. Billingham saw them first and from the way he slowly straightened up and stared at Caleb, it was clear he recognized him. But why? Because he already knew the truth? Or was his sudden awareness only because he had heard of the marquis' sudden passing?

“Good afternoon,” Caleb said as they reached the blanket.

The gentlemen on the blanket rose, as did Lady Billingham. Lady Waverly stayed where she was, laying a hand on the slope of her pregnant belly as she looked up at Caleb and Marah with a warm, if curious, smile.

“Talbot,” Billingham said.

Was his voice gruff with hidden emotion, or did he just need to clear his throat? Marah racked her brain with every little motion, every turn of his head. She could only imagine Caleb was doing the same.

“Billingham,” Caleb said in return. “Waverly.”

There was a long, awkward silence as the three men stared at one another. Finally it was Lady Billingham who broke the tension. “Hello, you must be Caleb Talbot.”

Her outstretched hand seemed to break the odd spell over the three men.

“I'm sorry, my love,” Billingham said with a smile for his wife. “I have taken leave of my manners. Mr. Caleb Talbot, may I present the Duchess of Billingham, and there on the blanket is the Duchess of Waverly.”

“Forgive
my
lack of manners in not standing,” the pretty lady on the blanket said with a laugh as she covered her swollen belly with one delicate hand. “I'm afraid I carry quite a load with me.”

Marah smiled. It was difficult not to when Lady Waverly was so open and fresh, her laughter filled with sweetness and welcome.

“And this is Miss Marah Farnsworth,” Caleb stammered.

Marah smiled. He hadn't introduced her as Lady Marah. The ladies and gentlemen said their hellos to her and if any of them had heard the stories of her relationship to the house of Breckinridge, no one was impolite or direct enough to address the subject.

“Why don't you two join our party?” Lady Waverly said. “We have more than enough food. And you were friendly with our husbands as children, were you not, Mr. Talbot?”

Caleb shot her a side glance and Marah could see he was asking her permission to stay. She nodded. “We would love to join you if it's no trouble.”

They sat down on the blanket. The gentlemen were ill at ease with each other, talking of crops and weather and politics. Marah smiled to encourage Caleb. This was a mere first meeting. If it went well, she had no doubt there would be others. There was no hurry for him to ask about their family connection.