A Scoundrel's Surrender (15 page)

He stepped up beside her and looked up with her. She was correct that the night sky was uncommonly bright. He so rarely took the time to look at it, he was surprised by how pretty it really was.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

“Did you ever learn the constellations?” she asked.

He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye with a sheepish shrug. “I'm certain I did, but I have forgotten them over the years. I'm afraid I would make a terrible sailor and dash my ship within hours.”

She laughed, the sound as light and fresh as the breeze. “Well, that there is Cygnus.”

“The swan,” Caleb murmured as he looked where she indicated. “Though it looks more like a kite cross bar than a bird to me.”

“I suppose it does.” Marah smiled and pointed to another part of the sky. “And Capricorn.”

Caleb tilted his head at the shape she traced in the sky. “Headless bat?”

“It always looked like a heart to me,” Marah said softly. Then she shook her head. “Did you come out here to find me?”

“No,” Caleb said, lifting his hands. After their last conversation and his decisions since, he didn't want her to think he was disregarding her request, even though he wanted to. “Actually I was looking for—”

He broke off. It wasn't particularly good manners to tell one lady that he was seeking another. But it was too late. Marah's face fell slightly.

“Oh,” she said.

“I promised the next dance to Lady Greensboro's daughter,” he hastened to explain.

Marah's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. “Alicia? Well, she
is
very pretty. Very young and so pretty.”

Caleb tilted his head. Was that jealousy he heard?

“Lady Greensboro has an eye toward you matching with her, you know,” she said with a sniff.

He leaned back a fraction, surprised at this revelation. “She does?”

“Yes. She was quite bold about it while we were dancing near each other earlier.”

He shook his head. “Well, she would be less so if she knew the truth, I think.”

“About your father?” Marah asked.

He nodded. He had been thinking about his father a great deal, both the one who had raised him and the idea of finding the one who hadn't. Marah's accusation that he was a coward who hid from the truth still stung.

“You could always keep the facts of your parentage from any potential bride if you felt it would damage your chances. She needn't ever know the truth,” Marah said. “I would certainly never share your secret if that is your worry.”

“I would never think so low of you,” he said softly. “Of course you wouldn't. It isn't in your nature to sabotage any other person, even one who perhaps deserves it.”

She shifted slightly and her gaze dropped away. Caleb looked at her. He hadn't thought much about marrying or settling down in the last few years, his mind had been far too occupied with other things. But he couldn't picture sharing a life with a woman who didn't know or couldn't accept his past with as much ease and grace as the woman he stood near did.

“I-I'm going to speak to my mother about it,” he finally admitted.

Marah stepped away from the terrace wall with a gasp. “About . . .” She looked around her swiftly and dropped her voice. “About what caused her to stray?”

He nodded but his heart began to beat faster with just the idea of doing such a thing.

“You were right about what you said to me a few nights ago. I can't pretend the truth away. And until I know all the facts about what happened the night I was conceived, I won't be comfortable with who I am. I won't be able to decide who I
should
be.”

In the dim lamps, Marah's expression softened. “I think it's a very good idea, Caleb. You are owed some explanation.”

“Yes. And perhaps then I can do as you suggested.”

“What is that?” she asked, her head tilting.

“Move on,” he responded.

She stared at him for a long moment. “Yes. Well, that's for the best, isn't it?”

He didn't answer.

“You should go in,” she said, turning her face. “I can see the current dance is almost over. You should find your partner before the next begins.”

Caleb nodded. There was so much more he wanted to say, but didn't. Couldn't. So he bowed slightly and left her alone on the terrace. Wishing he still had her as a confidante and a friend.

Chapter 15

C
aleb shut the door to his father's chamber as quietly as he could and then leaned forward until his forehead touched the barrier. He let out a long sigh that expressed all the emotion he had been hiding during the previous hour when he sat beside the marquis, who was lost in what seemed to be a permanent sleep since the last attack that had nearly taken his life.

Behind him he felt a gentle touch on his arm and he straightened up to find that his mother was standing beside him, her upturned face reflecting the same emotions in his heart: love and loss.

“Hello, my dearest,” she said softly.

He rubbed his tired eyes. “Mother.”

When he lowered his hand he found she was staring at him, her unwavering gaze holding his. For a long moment they stood like that, really looking at each other for the first time since he had come home and tried his damnedest to distance himself from her.

“Will you join me for tea?” she asked as she motioned toward a chamber behind her.

Caleb shifted. If he went into her room, he knew the subject he would eventually broach.

“Please,” she added.

He found himself nodding as he followed her into the parlor. He took a place on the settee beside the fire in the private sitting area she had set up in what once would have been the dressing room of this chamber. The door behind her was closed, but he assumed it led to the place where she slept.

“Why are you no longer staying in the chamber attached to your husband's?” he asked in as much of an attempt to delay the inevitable as out of curiosity.

She took her own place and poured him tea. As she added cream and sugar from memory according to his taste, she sighed.

“I didn't wish to give up my room, but with your father's illness and increasing decline, that adjoining chamber was sometimes better suited for a doctor or even to store items for his care where they could be easily accessed. So I moved to this room across from his. I didn't want to be more than a step away from him.”

Caleb looked around. The room had been meant for a guest or even a child, not a marchioness. “It is smaller.”

“The size matters little,” she said with a shrug. “I don't mind it. And now I find I'm happy I no longer stay in my old chambers.”

“Really?” Caleb asked with incredulity.

She nodded. “I think it would be worse for me somehow if I was still in the chamber next to his. Those rooms hold such happy memories for me, I don't want to think of them this way. I'm trying not to forget the happier memories as the end approaches.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked and they cleared as she handed over his cup.

“Thank you,” Caleb said, his voice gruff at her blatant display of heartbreak. It wasn't false, he knew that for certain, and her unwavering devotion to his father only raised more questions about the past.

“Ever since you returned to us, I have wanted to ask you a question,” his mother said, almost as if she read his mind. “A few times I almost did, but you push me away before I dare. I feel your anger with me like a pulse beneath your skin.”

Caleb frowned. He had tried to be polite when he could, but as with many things it seemed he was a rousing failure. “I am sorry, my lady.”

She shook her head. “No, I'm certain you have your reasons.”

He looked at her. “And is that your question?” he asked. “What those reasons are for my behavior toward you?”

She shook her head. “No, I would not press for your confidence.”

He was surprised by that reply. “Then what do you wish to know?”

“I have wanted to ask you why you ran away from London so suddenly? And why you cut our family off for so long?”

Caleb sighed as he set his cup aside. He could hear Marah's voice in his head as he stared at his mother.
You deserve to know the truth
, she had said to him at the ball, and her permission to pursue the past had actually meant something to him.

Well, now was the time.

“The two questions are related, both the one you ask me now and the one I thought you would,” he said softly.

“I see.” His mother nodded slowly. “And what is the answer to them both?”

He stared at her. Since the time he had found out that he was a bastard, he had pictured what he would do if he broached the subject with his family. In his mind, he had confronted his mother over and again, in so many ways that his head spun from them. But now that the reality of the confrontation had come, the proper words eluded him.

“Please,” she said softly.

“I left because I-I found out about my father,” he finally said, ignoring the way his heart leapt to double time and his stomach turned.

She looked at him, her brow wrinkling with confusion. “What about your father?”

He stared at her. “That he is not the marquis who lies in that bed across the hall, madam. I don't know whose blood runs in my veins, but it isn't his.”

She bolted to her feet and all the blood drained from her already pale face. Her lips shook, as did the hands she had fisted at her sides. The seconds dragged into minutes as she grappled to remain composed.

“I see,” she finally whispered, and her voice trembled. “I-I see. Well, then your anger is understandable.”

Caleb shut his eyes. “So, you do not deny it.”

She moved forward and quietly closed the door, giving them privacy and sending a subtle message that they were only to be disturbed in an emergency.

She turned back to him and finally answered, “I wouldn't dare insult you by denying it.” Her voice caught and she drew a harsh breath. “It is true.”

Caleb couldn't speak. Of course he had known this was the truth for a long time. But now there wasn't even the tiniest hope that it wasn't.

She moved back to her seat across from him. “How did you find out?”

He lifted his gaze to her. She wasn't going to like his answer, but honesty was the only thing he could offer and hope for the same in return.

“Justin found out when Victoria's late father apparently uncovered the truth and blackmailed him with it. There were letters between her mother and you?”

His mother's face paled further. “Y-yes. We had once been good friends.”

Caleb nodded. “That was why Justin married Victoria despite her father's hatred of our father, not because he wanted to end the ‘war' between them as my brother told us all at the time of their sudden union.”

His mother's face twisted in agony, just as his had when he realized his brother had made such a sacrifice to protect him. In that, they shared a reaction.

“Oh, dear God, no!” she whispered “Poor Justin, to have had to endure such a thing.”

“Yes. He kept it all a secret for many years to shelter us all from the truth and its potential consequences,” Caleb mused. “But I don't think Justin would mourn the ultimate results. After all, Victoria knew nothing of her father's deception until much later. She was as much a victim of those circumstances as my brother was. And my brother is clearly very happy in his marriage.”

His mother nodded and her face relaxed a fraction at that thought. “More than happy. He loves Victoria with everything in him. She is his perfect match.”

Again Caleb's thoughts briefly turned to Marah, but he pushed them away. Only one man in a thousand found what his mother described.

“But if your brother kept this a secret for so long, what drove him to tell you?” his mother pressed.

He shook his head. “His revelation of the secret was unintentional, I assure you. When he obtained the letters back from her father, he attempted to burn them. But I found them and confronted him, forcing him to tell me what he knew.”

“I can imagine it was terrible for you,” his mother whispered as she covered her eyes. “We never intended for you to find out.”

Caleb stared at her at that statement. “We?” he repeated, filled with confusion and suspicion.

She nodded as her hands dropped away from her tired face. “Yes. Your father and I.”

Caleb's mouth dropped open, and for a moment he couldn't find his voice. When he finally did, he said, “Are you telling me that the marquis
knew
he wasn't my father?”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “First, he
was
your father in every way that mattered. He never considered himself anything but, even though he knew he couldn't have been from the first moment I confessed to him that I was with child.”

Caleb shook his head. This flew in the face of everything he'd believed, everything he'd told himself for two years.

“No, no, you lie,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Somehow his mother managed to maintain her calm. “I can understand why you must feel that way. You have carried betrayal and anguish with you for two long years without an explanation beyond those letters that were . . . misleading. I can only imagine what stories you told yourself about how I betrayed your father with no remorse and then hid the truth in some dastardly attempt to save myself from his wrath.”

Caleb shifted. Her frank assessment of his very thoughts made him uncomfortable. And even more so since she was on the verge of denying the beliefs he had carried with him for so long.

She shook her head. “But I assure you that when I tell you that my husband knew that you weren't his son even before you were born, it is the truth. And if the marquis were conscious right now—” She broke off on a harsh sobbing breath. “If he were able, he would confirm everything I say.”

Caleb got to his feet and paced the length of her sitting room. His mother seemed to be honest, and as angry as he had been, he couldn't believe that she would be able to lie to him in this highly emotional state and not reveal some indication of it in her voice or mannerisms. So could what she said be the truth after all?

He turned on her. “Let us set aside for the moment whether your husband knew or didn't know about my parentage. I still want to know what in God's name happened to bring this thing about. You seem to love the marquis now, and I recall you two being affectionate and caring toward each other during my childhood. So what could have happened to make you stray? To betray your husband in such a devastating and ultimately
permanent
fashion?”

His mother's eyes came shut for a moment and her lip trembled ever so slightly. “It is very simple, my dear. I didn't. I never betrayed him. I never strayed.”

Frustration mounted in Caleb's chest. He had asked her these things to have understanding and answers but her every response only created more riddles to solve, more questions to ask.

“I read what was left of the letters, madam. And that is not what you wrote in your own hand to Victoria's mother. So please explain yourself, I tire of talking in circles with you,” he snapped, his tone far sharper than he had intended.

She flinched. “I'm not trying to talk in circles. It is a complicated situation and a very painful one. But despite what those letters said, I didn't go out looking for an affair.”

Caleb stepped toward her, gentling his tone as best he could. “Then what
did
happen?” She was silent, her chin dipping as she stared at the floor beneath her feet. “Please, I have a right to know.”

His mother swallowed, and when she spoke again her voice was strained and filled with undeniable pain. “My own father had his own vices. Gambling was his main one. Despite the sorrow his faults brought our family, I loved him very much. So when I was sent a mysterious message saying that someone knew something that could destroy him, I foolishly went to the meeting place of their choice thinking I might be able to assist him in some way.”

Caleb cocked his head. His maternal grandfather had died a few months before he was born. He had never known the man and his mother had rarely spoken of him.

“And?” he encouraged.

She shivered. “When I arrived a . . . a man was there. He offered me some evidence that my father had involved himself in some very underhanded dealings indeed, and told me that if I did not give him what he wanted, he would reveal the truth to the world at large, thus ruining my father's reputation.”

“What did he want?” Caleb asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

She caught her breath before continuing, “Me. He wanted me. He had been pursuing me for some time, despite my marriage, and I had refused him at every turn.” Her eyes hardened, a strength entering them that awed Caleb. “That night I refused him as well. I was aghast at the idea of betraying my husband. I told him to ruin my father if he had to, but that he couldn't have me. It threw him into a rage and he caught me before I could get out the door and then—”

She broke off, her cheeks darkening to red. Her posture was ramrod tall and strong, her chin lifted with pride despite the humiliation of her story.

“He—he forced you,” he said softly.

She nodded slowly but didn't speak.

“But the letters,” he whispered.

“Yes, the letters,” she murmured as she turned away. “I
did
write to Victoria's mother and confessed that I feared you were not my husband's child. She assumed I had entered into an affair and . . . I couldn't bring myself to write down the truth. It was so ugly and so painful. So I allowed her to believe the worst of me. I thought she would destroy our correspondence, I never thought it would fall into the hands of her husband, a man who despised your father.”

Caleb stared at his mother. Her pale face held no signs of deception, only pain and muted memories that were too horrible for him to imagine. And if he couldn't bring himself to picture them, he could well believe she wouldn't want to write down the truth. That she might mislead a friend rather than relive such a nightmare.

“So this person . . . this
man
raped you,” he repeated, the horror of that statement sinking in.