A Scoundrel's Surrender (16 page)

That meant he was a product of something so vile, something so horrifying he could scarcely comprehend it.

Here he had been judging his mother for doing something horrible to his father, something appalling to him. And in truth he himself had done the greatest wrong to her of all. Just by being born.

Caleb's stomach revolted against the misery of what had been revealed by turning and churning, threatening to cast up what little he had fed it that day. He swallowed hard past the bile that collected in his throat.

“My God, Mother,” he whispered when he could find his voice.

She stood up and slowly moved toward him. “Please don't look like that. It was a long time ago, Caleb,” she said softly. “I made my peace with it.”

“How?” he asked on a gasping breath. “How in God's name could you when you had to look at me every day?”

“You think I could regret you?” his mother asked with a shake of her head to accompany the question. “I couldn't. You were the only good thing to come of that horrible night.”

Caleb clenched his fists at his sides. “How could you say that? How could you
not
regret me after what you endured?”

She grabbed for his hand and held it tightly in her own. He looked down into her face and saw all her love reflected there in undeniable, unwavering terms. It shamed him, for he had withheld his own from her for so long out of a misguided anger over a “betrayal” that had never occurred. He hated himself for doing that and so much more.

“You are my son, my sweet boy. From the moment you were put into my arms by my husband, by your
father
, I loved you with all my heart and my soul. I looked at you and saw hope and joy and mischievous wonder. You were a gift to help me heal. To bring your father and me back together after a long period of separation and pain when he found out I was attacked.”

Caleb shut his eyes as his thoughts turned to the man who had raised him. “The marquis. My God. How could he . . . why didn't he . . .”

She nodded, understanding the questions he couldn't manage to voice in his utter horror.

“When I returned home after the . . .
incident,
he could tell something had been done to me. When he heard the story, he wanted to kill Lor— the person who had done that to me.” She swallowed, as if the words she was saying caught in her throat. “But he couldn't. The secrets that vile man had tried to blackmail me with to make me his were still in his possession, waiting to be revealed. Your father could see how much I had suffered and I think he didn't want to make me suffer more, especially since it might not have even mattered against such a powerful man as the one who attacked me.”

“He was powerful?” Caleb asked, grasping on to this first bit of knowledge about the man who had truly fathered him, although that idea now made him sick, not satisfied.

She nodded. “Very. And blackmail was the way that . . .
thing
operated.”

“So the marquis was forced to stay silent. And when you realized you were with child, forced to be father to the son of a monster,” Caleb said softly.

She shook her head. “No, not forced. There were other options, Caleb. I proposed that I hide away during my pregnancy so that no one would know I was breeding. I even offered to give you away to another family to raise so that the marquis wouldn't have to see you, to face you. But he refused that idea immediately. He said that the law would see any child born of our marriage as the product of our marriage and he would also see you that way. I doubted he could, but he was . . .
is
a remarkable man.”

“Yes,” Caleb whispered.

She smiled. “When you were born, the doctor put you in his arms first and he looked at you with such joy, such love. No less than what I saw when he touched Justin or with Tessa. When I asked him about it later, he told me that enough ugliness had come from that terrible night and that he wouldn't allow even one more moment of it to touch our family, to touch
you
. We never spoke of it again. Even in moments of frustration with me or with you, he never said a word about it. To him, you were his son. And that was the final word on it.”

Caleb kept his gaze on his mother, but he didn't see her. Instead he thought of his father, he thought of being raised by the man in the bed across the hall who had treated him with nothing less than the just and loving hand that he gave his other children.

“Remarkable,” he murmured. “And there was . . . there was no chance I could have been his son in truth?”

His mother's face grew sad. “No. In the months before you were conceived, your father had been ill. We hadn't shared a bed during that time. But you
were
his son. And after you were born, we found a way to love each other again. To bond together as a family that was even stronger than before. Your sister was born after, and we even tried for another child after her, but weren't successful.”

“He was utterly selfless,” Caleb whispered. “He loved me even though I represented his deepest pain.
Your
deepest pain. I don't know if I could manage to be so good, to be half the man he was . . .
is
.”

She smiled. “Oh, my dearest boy, you could be anything you wish to be. You have more of the marquis in you than perhaps you know.”

She was smiling at him with such openness and love, even though he had just forced her to relive one of the worst moments of her life.

“Mama,” he whispered as he took both her hands and held tight. “For two years I have judged you . . . I've allowed my anger to consume me when it was
I
who owed you an apology.”

“For what?” she asked as she reached up to touch his cheek. “None of this is your fault and it never could be. I only hope that finally airing this matter will provide you with some peace.”

He nodded. “Yes, I think I can find peace, if only I can persuade you to answer one more question.”

She hesitated. “I'll try.”

“Who was he?” Caleb asked. “Who was this person who was so powerful he could silence you and stop my father from taking revenge on him? Perhaps
I
can obtain some measure of justice if I know his identity.”

His mother shook her head. “He is dead now. It won't matter.”

Caleb swallowed. Dead. He hadn't thought of that possibility even in all the years he'd known the truth. Just as he had imagined confronting his mother, he had pictured facing the man who had fathered him. And once he heard her tale, he had allowed himself brief fantasies of destroying the bastard who had created him. But now . . . now all his chances for both answers and revenge were gone.

“I'd still like to know,” he said softly. “It is the only missing piece left for me.”

She hesitated. “He was . . . he was the last Duke of Billingham.”

Caleb blinked in disbelief as he remembered the old man whose name she said. “But he was—”

“Yes, he had an exalted reputation he certainly did not deserve,” his mother said with bitterness to her tone. “But I think his heir does. Simon Crathorne seems like a good man in truth, not just rumor. I hope you won't think to take out your anger at his father on him.”

In truth, Caleb hadn't thought that far down the road, but now he did. He thought of those who shared the Billingham blood. Simon, the new duke, had always been a good enough fellow when Caleb encountered him. He was closer in age to Justin than to him and he thought the two had been friendly in school. And there was also a daughter, Naomi, who had married and become Lady Westford. These people were his family, as much as Tessa or Justin.

And then there was one more issue. . .

“Last year I remember hearing about some odd confrontation at a ball where some crazy person accused Billingham of fathering a bastard . . . the Duke of Waverly, wasn't it?”

His mother sniffed. “Yes, I was in attendance at the event. I wouldn't doubt that what that madman said was true, though the two dukes handled the situation with great aplomb and the rumors died off almost instantly thanks to their frank and direct denials.”

Caleb winced. He had met the Duke of Waverly at a country gathering shortly before that scandalous party. He had always hated the other man for being a pompous, judgmental sod, but Waverly had tried to apologize. He had seemed . . .
different
, even though Caleb dismissed him at the time.

Now he wondered if Waverly was yet another brother to him.

“They may be my family,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to her.

His mother jerked out a nod. “I suppose they would be,” she admitted. “Does it help you to know that?”

He thought of it for a moment. “It does in some way. I've often wondered where I belonged since hearing this secret.”

“You belong with us,” his mother said softly. She hesitated, and her voice was strained as she continued, “But, Caleb, if you desire to form some kind of relationship with them, I want you to know that you have my blessing.”

He stared at her. “Truthfully? You would not be unhappy if I made some contact with them?”

She sighed. “No. I always feared the idea that you would discover the truth, but perhaps we were wrong in keeping it from you. Perhaps you had a right to pursue the past if it would help you.”

He moved toward her and for the first time in two years he hugged her without hesitation, without thoughts of her betrayal troubling his mind.

“Thank you for your candor,” he said softly. “I realize how difficult it must have been for you.”

His mother smiled as she backed away. “No, my darling. What was difficult was losing you for so long.”

He returned her smile. “Well, I'm back now.”

“Yes, you are.” She laughed. “Perhaps for the first time since your arrival, you're back with me.”

Caleb smiled as she poured him more tea. But even as they settled into far less painful conversation, he found himself thinking of Marah. She had been a sometimes silent companion with him on this journey to discover who he was. And now that he knew, he found he wanted to tell her.

He found that she was the only one he felt he should tell. And he wondered if she would allow him that if he tried.

Chapter 16

M
arah felt Caleb's eyes on her as they sat at Justin and Victoria's table having supper. It was odd. Emerson was sitting on the opposite side of her, but she didn't feel the same draw to look at him as she did with Caleb. She didn't feel his eyes on her when he looked her way.

She should, shouldn't she? Wasn't that important?

“Marah, are you quite all right?” Emerson asked.

She blinked as she returned her attention to him. “Of course, very well.”

“I only ask because you haven't touched your dinner.”

She glanced down at her plate and found he was correct. She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that while everyone else at the table was half finished with their meal, she had yet to pick up her fork.

“Goodness, my mind must have wandered,” she said with a blush as she picked up her fork and made every effort to concentrate on eating and stop thinking about Caleb at the other end of the table.

As the meal came to its end, and everyone rose to make their way into the drawing room for after-supper brandy and friendly conversation, it seemed her every effort was thwarted.

As soon as they stood and Emerson offered her his arm, Justin cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Winstead, I have been hearing so much about your business. I wondered if you and I might have a moment in private to discuss it further.”

Marah darted her gaze to their host. He was smiling at Emerson but she saw that his eyes moved to the end of the table and his brother. But when she looked at Caleb, he seemed all innocence, casually fiddling with the sleeve of his finely tailored jacket.

Emerson lowered his arm and didn't even look at her as he said, “Of course. I would greatly love to speak with you about what I do and perhaps even tempt you with some investment opportunities.”

Justin's responding smile was thin. “Indeed. Victoria, would you entertain our other guests?”

Her friend smiled as if on cue. “Of course, Justin. We shall see you both in the drawing room when you've completed your business.”

As the two men left the room, Marah glared from Victoria to Caleb and back again. There was something quite rehearsed about this entire exchange. Like it had been preplanned. She opened her mouth to confront them, but before she could, a servant entered the room and gave a quick bow.

“Er, Lady Baybary, Crenshaw is having a bit of difficulty with a household matter. Do you think you might come and offer your advice?”

The maid sent a quick glance at Marah that confirmed all her suspicions. As Marah scowled, Victoria nodded. She didn't even pretend to be surprised by this odd intrusion.

“Of course.” She turned to Caleb and Marah. “Perhaps you two could make your way to the drawing room. I shall be along shortly.”

Then she exited the room without waiting for either of them to respond, and Marah found herself alone with Caleb. She turned on him with her arms folded.

“I congratulate you on that wonderful performance you just inspired in our friends, and even their servants. Have you ever thought of directing on the stage, Caleb?” she said with an arched brow.

He shrugged. “If we had been alone with Justin and Victoria, I wouldn't have gone to so much effort, but would have simply asked you to walk with me or grant me a brief audience alone. But with Winifred here—”

“For God's sake, Caleb,
Winstead
! His name is Winstead, it has always been Winstead and your continual mispronunciation is both childish and ridiculous,” she snapped, though she had to admit that this newest “mistake” of her future fiancé's name was quite amusing.

“Of course,” Caleb said with an apologetic bow. “But whatever name I call him by, it is clear to me as it must be to you that he doesn't like me. I didn't want to ask you for a moment alone in front of him and create more of a scene later that I know would make you uncomfortable.”

“So instead you created a foolish diversion that only proves you still have little respect for my wishes or thoughts,” Marah said with a sigh.

“I have a great deal of respect for everything you said to me last week, actually,” Caleb protested softly but firmly. “But what I wanted to talk to you about tonight has nothing to do with you and me. I arranged for us to be alone for a brief time because something has happened that I cannot address with my brother or anyone else in the world.”

Marah's brow wrinkled and an unwanted feeling of concern and empathy for the man before her rose up in her chest.

“Something has happened?” she repeated softly.

He nodded, and in that moment she saw an unguarded pain and confusion in his normally cocky stare. “You see, I took your advice, Marah. I spoke to my mother, so I now know the full truth about my father. And I realized that there was no one else I could share that fact with but you. So have I broken our friendship so irretrievably that you will not hear me? If I have, then I apologize and I'll call Victoria back immediately.”

Marah pursed her lips at him. She should have remained angry at his manipulation of the circumstances, especially since poor Emerson was likely wildly pitching an investment opportunity to Justin, who had no real intention of making any kind of partnership with him.

But instead something else filled her. A sense of curiosity about what exactly had happened that could send Caleb to these lengths. What could he want to tell her that he couldn't share even with Justin?

“Very well.” She sighed. “I'll go to the parlor with you and hear what you have to say. But nothing more, Caleb. It will go no further.”

“I understand,” he said, his relief clear on his face as he motioned to the door. “Thank you for doing this.”

She nodded as they walked without touching to the parlor. And she hoped that she wasn't being duped by Caleb. She feared she was still too weak to deny him even if manipulation was his motive.

M
arah stared as Caleb finished telling her about his encounter with his mother the previous afternoon. He was leaning on the mantel in a typically nonchalant pose, but from his stricken face and empty eyes she could see how much the words he spoke hurt and sickened him. And how could she blame him?

“So that is all I know. And you see now why I wouldn't want to tell Justin this,” he said. “He had to carry the consequences of this secret for too many years as it was. It would do him no good, nor any to my mother, to reveal to him that she was attacked in such a manner.”

She nodded. “Yes, Justin seems to hold none of the ill will toward her that you did. Victoria told me that once their own marriage was a happy one, Justin softened his stance toward your mother. He forgave her in his heart and determined that whatever the marchioness' reasons were for straying, they were her own. If you told him what you now know, I think it would only hurt him. Anger him. And with Billingham dead, what good would that do?”

Caleb nodded. “I'm relieved you see my position. It strengthens my resolve on the matter. But the last twenty-four hours I have held this secret inside of myself and I suppose I am too weak to keep it. I had to tell
someone
, and you are the only one who knows everything about my past, Marah.”

She smiled despite herself but it quickly fell as she thought of his story once more.

“Billingham, who would have ever thought?” she whispered with a shiver. “He is spoken of so highly, even so many years after his death.”

He nodded. “Yes, the man was very well respected and hid his true self with the skill of the finest actor ever to stride the boards. It sickens me to think that I am the spawn of such a creature.”

She moved toward him. “But it may not be so bad. You once told me you wanted to know this ‘other' family, and even your mother thinks that your half brother and sister are decent people. You knew them before, you interacted with them.”

“Yes, the new duke, Simon, was always a more than decent fellow, despite his unfortunate choice in best friends . . . although Waverly may be his brother, so perhaps there was little choice after all.” His voice grew distant with an awful thought. “Unless all of Billingham's decency is as pretended as his father's.
Our
father's.”

“You could find out,” she suggested softly.

His gaze darted to her. “What?”

“If Billingham and this Waverly person were confronted about their father's penchant for fathering children out of marriage last year and they defused it so easily, it could mean that the accusation came as no surprise.” She looked at him evenly. “You
could
approach them, Caleb.”

He blinked and she could see both how bewitching and how terrifying a concept her suggestion was.

“Approach them,” he repeated softly.

“I like to think I know you, at least a little,” she said quietly, moving even closer as she reached for his hand.

“You know me as well as anyone could,” he agreed, watching as her fingers tangled with his gently.

“You ran away not from one family, but two,” she continued. “And now that you are facing some of your past, I think you should face all of it. If the Billinghams refuse to acknowledge you or behave as though you are wrong . . . well, then at least you'll know.”

“And if they don't?” he said, lifting her hand to bring it against his chest.

She swallowed, her tongue suddenly thick and her throat dry. “Th-then you will have the opportunity to belong to two families.” She frowned, reminded of her own lack of relations and support. “I can imagine that would be a great comfort.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt. She could see his torn emotions in his bright blue eyes. Uncertainty. Worry.

She smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. “But you don't have to decide today, Caleb.”

“No?” he whispered, still holding her hand.

She shook her head. “No. I can only imagine your mind is spinning from all you've heard. Give yourself some time before you decide anything.”

“Sound advice,” he murmured, but his tone was strained, and not just by his upset.

In that moment, Marah fully realized their position. Her hand was tangled with his, their bodies close together. Once again she had somehow become tangled in his web. And unfortunately, she liked being there, despite her protests to the contrary and her attempts to distance herself from him and her own desires.

Yet every time she was put in a situation to test her resolve, she failed miserably. Why, at that very moment what she wanted to do more than anything was to lift up on her tiptoes and press her lips to his. She wanted to feel his arms come around her as he molded their bodies to one.

Her breath came short as the little rational part of her that remained told her to back away. Let go. Stop torturing herself with things she couldn't, shouldn't,
wouldn't
ever have.

“Caleb,” she whispered, tugging at her fingers.

His eyes came shut and she thought he murmured a low curse before he released her hand and backed away.

“Thank you for listening,” he said as he turned away from her. “I needed to talk about this and you offered me your attention although I don't deserve it.”

Marah tilted her head. “Caleb—”

But before she could finish, the door to the drawing room swung open. Both of them turned to see Justin standing in the doorway. His face was pale, drawn and streaked with pain.

“Oh no,” Caleb groaned as he moved forward.

At first Marah didn't understanding his reaction. But then it dawned on her. The marquis . . . their father. . .

“Caleb,” Justin choked. He stopped to scrub a hand over his face. “Caleb . . .”

He strode forward toward his brother and the two men embraced. Marah lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, unable to stop the tears that fell at the unguarded moment of emotion and love that flowed between the men.

“Is he . . .” Caleb asked as they parted. “Is he gone?”

Justin drew in a breath that seemed to echo in the room as he nodded in an odd, jerky fashion. “I-I just received word.”

Victoria was there then, appearing from the hallway to draw her husband into her arms. They stood together, her sobs muffled into his shoulder and the tears a man like Justin Talbot never shed flowing freely and silently.

Marah moved forward, ready to offer the same comfort to Caleb, but before she could, Emerson stepped into view in the hallway behind Victoria and Justin. Her heart sank. In truth, she had all but forgotten he was here for this very private family moment. His presence felt like an intrusion, although she recognized that hers was no better. After all, she was only a family friend. She meant nothing more to anyone than that.

“I am terribly sorry for your loss,” Emerson said, looking first at the earl and his wife, then to Caleb, and finally to Marah with a gentle smile that made her ashamed of her ire at his presence. Here he was trying to console her and her thoughts toward him were unkind.

Victoria lifted her head from Justin's embrace and nodded toward Emerson with possibly the first real smile she had ever gifted him.

“We do thank you, Mr. Winstead. I'm so sorry that this has cut our engagement with you short.”

“Think nothing of it. I shall take my leave of you with my sincere sympathy.”

“Allow me to show you out,” Marah said, finding her voice and her manners in the same moment.

She couldn't help but look at Caleb as she slipped past the small group. He watched her, silent, his eyes hollow and pain-filled.

In the foyer, as the servants hurried around getting Emerson's jacket and called for his carriage, they stood together.

“I'm so sorry about tonight,” Marah said softly.

She supposed she was apologizing for more than the tragic end to the evening. Emerson might not know it, but she was apologizing for forgetting him and resenting his disruption of a private moment that was not his fault.