A Scoundrel's Surrender (21 page)

His brother pushed to his feet and stretched his back. “Now I am going home to my wife. A woman I also almost lost due to an abominable stubbornness. Thank God I saw the light before it was too late.” Justin passed him on the way to the door and squeezed his arm. “Say good night to Mother before you go. She is still awake.”

Caleb nodded as his brother departed. He sat in the chamber alone for a long time, thinking of what Justin had said. When he thought of a gift he could give Marah, there was only one thing that came to mind. It might not be something she wanted, but it was something he knew she needed.

He could only pray it wouldn't be too little, too late.

Chapter 22

M
arah shook her head as she adjusted her gloves and smoothed her gown.

“Victoria!” she called in exasperation toward the parlor where her friend had disappeared nearly five minutes before. “We will be late!”

Her friend's voice was muffled in the distance as she said, “I'm coming.”

Marah frowned. Victoria was always on time, she never left anyone waiting. Marah would think that would be especially true of Lady Stratfield, who had invited Marah and Victoria to her home that day. There would be other ladies in attendance and Marah didn't want to be late and force the newly widowed marchioness to tend to them herself.

“Victoria,” she called again, this time sharper.

“Go to the carriage,” her friend said, her tone a bit peevish. “I shall be there in two shakes.”

Marah glowered as she marched out the open door toward the waiting vehicle. This was utterly ridiculous. Whatever Victoria was handling, Marah hoped it was important.

The footman opened the carriage door and Marah slipped inside. Just as the door closed, she realized she wasn't alone in the vehicle. Caleb sat across from her.

“Caleb!” she gasped, but before she could say more, the carriage began to roll. “What are you doing? We must wait for Victoria! Why are you here?”

She had never seen such a serious, anxious expression on his face before, even in the carriage a few nights ago when he had shockingly asked her to overthrow Emerson and marry him. That night had hung with her ever since, keeping sleep at bay and making her pick at her food.

“I'm sorry,” he said finally.

She shook her head. “You had best be. Victoria and I were going to your mother's house! She is expecting us and will be very disappointed if we don't arrive promptly.”

Caleb's chin dropped. “I'm afraid I must confess a ruse, Marah. There was no invitation from my mother today.”

Marah blinked. “You are not correct, I saw it myself.”

He nodded. “I arranged for that.”

“Victoria will be furious,” Marah said as she reached for the door handle.

He caught her hand. “You will hurt yourself if you jump out of the moving carriage now,” he said. “And Victoria knows perfectly well that there was no invitation.”

Marah's jaw dropped. “
Victoria
was your partner in this foolishness?” She shut her eyes in exasperation. “
That
is why she was late. That's why she urged me to go to the carriage and wait for her. She wanted me to be swept away by you.”

Caleb nodded slowly. Marah glared at him as she settled back against the carriage seats and folded her arms. “Well, you had best confess what your motives are for this ridiculous kidnapping. I thought we had said all there was to say a few nights ago.”

He swallowed, and Marah immediately regretted speaking so harshly. Her intention hadn't been to hurt Caleb, but to protect herself.

“We did,” he said slowly. “You are right that there is nothing more to
say
, at least not at this point. But I do have something I must do.”

“To me?” Marah asked, feeling her eyes go wide.

She wished she had controlled her tone and the physical reaction, for Caleb smiled and some of the wickedness that had once attracted her sparked in his stare. Despite herself, her stomach clenched and her body grew wet at the sight. She turned away from him, praying he wouldn't see her desire for what she couldn't have and had claimed not to want.

“Oh, there are many things I would like to do
to
you,” he purred.

She blushed and clenched her hands as she refused to turn away from the window.

“But this is
for
you.”

She glanced back. “For me? What do you mean?”

As she asked the question, the carriage slowed and she looked out to see they were pulling up to a great house. It was as beautifully appointed as Justin and Victoria's and even rivaled the fine house where they had visited the Billinghams.

“Where are we?” Marah asked.

Caleb hesitated as the footman opened the door. “You'll soon see.”

He helped her out and they entered a sparkling foyer. There a servant bowed, though it was clear he didn't need an introduction to know who Caleb was.

“We are here for our appointment,” Caleb said. “Will you let her know we have arrived?”

The servant motioned to a parlor just off the foyer, but Marah felt his eyes on her, watching her. She shifted with discomfort.

“Of course,” the man said. “If you will wait here, I shall fetch her. I know she is anxious to meet with you both.”

As he shut them into the pretty room, Marah looked around her, but still had no idea where she had been taken. Her confusion was giving way to worry and anger.

“I demand to know where we are,” she snapped, her tone harsher than she would have liked. There was no doubt of the riotous feelings inside her when she couldn't control her tone.

Caleb motioned her toward a settee, but she refused to move, arching a brow at him instead. He sighed almost imperceptibly.

“Look around you,” he said softly. “I think you'll understand.”

She stared at him for a moment, but then expelled her breath in an angry sigh and began to pace the room. She didn't understand his riddles. All she saw around her was a typical parlor as she'd seen in a hundred other houses in London. With heirlooms and fine furnishings and family portraits that—

With a start, she cut off her own thought. Hanging above the mantel was a portrait of a stern family. Their positioning was very formal, very regal, with the sense of an old and powerful tradition.

But in the middle of the portrait was a man she had seen before. In fact she had a miniature of him at home hidden beneath her bed in a box that had been left to her with
all
her dead mother's things.

She covered her mouth, stepping back away from the picture even though she couldn't take her eyes off it.

The man in the portrait was her father.

Marah turned on Caleb, her hands shaking and the blood draining from her face so swiftly that the room began to swim. As if he sensed her crisis, Caleb rushed for her.

She backed away. If he touched her now she would come undone in his arms, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her collapse.

“How could you bring me here?” she asked, her voice sounding odd and far away to her. “How could you?”

He reached for her, and this time she couldn't get away fast enough. His hands were cool and calming on her suddenly hot skin.

“Breathe, that's it, love. Breathe,” he whispered.

She did as she was told and the room stopped tilting after a few moments.

“Why did you do this to me?” she asked again, her voice cracking.

“For you,” he corrected. “For once I wanted to do something for you.”

She was about to retort when the door opened and Marah spun. An older woman stood in the entryway. She was thin and petite with a bright, open face. When she saw Marah, she staggered slightly, as if she was as shocked to see her as Marah was to be there.

“My God,” the other woman breathed. “You—you have his eyes.”

Marah caught a sob in her throat as Caleb whispered, “Miss Marah Farnsworth, may I present your grandmother, Lady Breckinridge.”

For a moment the two women simply stared at each other and then Marah managed to gather her senses and recall all the years of her life that had been filled with abandonment.

“I apologize, my lady,” she said, smoothing her gown gently. “My friend made a mistake in bringing me here. I hope you do not think of this as a manipulation on my part, or an attempt to invade the privacy you so obviously covet.”

She moved toward the door as she spoke, hoping she could slip past this woman and escape before she suffered the ultimate humiliation of breaking down and weeping.

Her grandmother's expression grew sad. “Oh, my dear, but you were invited here,” she said, moving slightly so that she blocked the door.

Marah stopped advancing. She couldn't break free of this torture now. Helpless, she turned back and looked at Caleb. His arms were folded as he stood across the room from her. He was watching her with a gaze filled with sadness . . . but also understanding. And although she was furious with him for what felt like a betrayal, she also knew that of all the people to witness this awkward reunion, he understood her emotions better than anyone else in the world.

“Marah,” he said softly, tossing a quick glance toward Lady Breckinridge. “Allow me to explain, allow your grandmother to speak. I know the desire to run away better than anyone, but from my own experience I can tell you it is a mistake. Please, will you hear us?”

Marah stared at him, then turned toward the older woman still blocking the door. It seemed she had no choice, so she nodded slowly. “Very well.”

Suddenly exhausted, she sank into a chair. Caleb and Lady Breckinridge seemed equally relieved and both took places, Caleb in a chair beside her, Lady Breckinridge on a settee across from her, where she gazed at Marah with an unreadable expression.

“Let
me
begin,” Caleb said, turning in his seat toward her. He looked her straight in the eye, never turning away, never wavering though Marah was sure her expression wasn't exactly a kind one.

“Please,” she whispered as she fiddled with her reticule.

“Since you came to London,” he said, his voice gentler than she had ever heard it. “I have watched you struggle with the subject of your father's family. It was obvious how much pain that subject brought you, but also how frozen you were by fear. Too frozen to face them.”

Marah shook her head. “And so you thrust this upon me?”

“Please don't blame Mr. Talbot,” her grandmother interrupted softly. “When he came to me two days ago, I was as shocked as you are that an emissary to you was reaching out to me. Only when he explained that you didn't know did it make sense. I told him that I did wish to meet you, but that I thought it would be better if you were not told the truth. After all, my prior attempts at contact had been so shunned over the years.” She blinked. “Not that I blame you, my dear. I think our family did yours a great wrong. We may have deserved your censure.”

“What are you talking about?” Marah finally whispered. “I have never had
any
attempts at contact from you or anyone else in your family in all my life. Even when my father died, I was forced to read about it in an announcement in a paper a few months later.”

Her grandmother's lips parted. “You are saying you never received my letters?”

“Only your money, madam,” Marah said, trying to keep her voice cold. “Are you saying there was more than the guilty payments I received twice annually?”

“Yes.” Lady Breckinridge leaned forward. “From the moment your father died, I began writing you letters. At least a few times a year. For your birthday, I sent little gifts. I never received a reply.”

By now Marah's hands had begun to shake. She clenched them in her lap, but it didn't help. They still trembled. She found herself looking toward Caleb, with her gaze beseeching him to somehow explain this to her. She didn't understand it. Not any of it.

He reached across the brief expanse between them and covered her fingers with his. “Marah, sweet, just breathe.”

It was what he had said to her earlier, but now she realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled with a huge sigh and sucked in air in a painful gulp.

“Is it possible Lady Breckinridge's letters went astray?” he asked, his tone soothing and yet somehow strong. Like he was passing her the strength she needed.

She found her voice as she continued to look at him, unexpectedly drawing calm from his presence. “For so many years? I doubt it. Someone must have intervened.”

She shut her mouth. Her maternal grandmother, the woman who had raised and loved her like her own . . . how many times had she railed about men “like her father”? She had made it no secret that she felt his insistence on staying in London, on keeping her daughter from her, had led to Marah's mother's death.

“She wouldn't have,” Marah whispered.

Lady Breckinridge smiled softly. “If she did, I believe it was to protect you.”

Marah tilted her head. Could this woman really be
excusing
her other grandmother?

“You must understand,” the lady continued, her cheeks brightening with shame. “When my son married your mother, our family did not . . . well, we could have been kinder.”

“Yes, my grandmother . . . my other grandmother told me that you shunned her. I understand you even cut your son off financially for a time,” Marah breathed.

Lady Breckinridge's chin dipped lower and there was no mistaking her upset. “My husband had some very specific thoughts on the kind of woman his eldest son, his heir apparent should marry. He was unkind and I was equally so by my silent acceptance of his behavior. Your grandmother, the one who raised you, she must have hated us for the pain we caused her daughter. I wouldn't blame her. I have a daughter and granddaughters, even a great-granddaughter. If anyone treated them in such a fashion I would tear them to shreds. Over time that has been my greatest regret.”

Marah kept her gaze even. “Your greatest regret?”

“Perhaps not my greatest,” Lady Breckinridge corrected, her face going sad. “When your mother, when
Emily
died, your father was so grief-stricken and guilty. He blamed himself for not taking her home to her mother for your birth as she had requested. He could hardly look at you without breaking down. And then he disappeared with you.”

The other woman broke off and Marah saw a shiver work through her.

“I was terrified,” Lady Breckinridge whispered. “My son was so inconsolable over his terrible loss, I thought he might do you both a harm in order to be reunited with his wife. But then he came back and told us he had left you with his wife's mother. Giving you up was penance in some way.”