A Scoundrel's Surrender (4 page)

At first he had talked to soothe her, but somehow her presence had soothed
him
and he had found himself confessing the secret he had only just discovered that same day. He had whispered that his father wasn't the marquis. He hadn't meant to say it, but once it was out there was relief in trusting her.

Because she hadn't judged him. She had given him nothing but acceptance and comfort. And that had led to a surrender of a different kind.

But these bare, stark facts weren't why she identified with him now. No, she understood because he could see she, too, had changed since her last visit to the city.

In part that was his fault. Perhaps more than in part.

“Victoria says you'll see your father tomorrow,” she whispered, drawing him back to the present as she let herself face him.

Although she had been distant earlier and dismissive a moment ago, Caleb now saw the one emotion he had been missing in her. Empathy. Not pity, for he wouldn't have welcomed that, but a deep compassion.

He nodded, ignoring the powerful ache that troubled his heart at the thought. “We wished to see the marquis today, but he was unwell. My mother told Justin in her message that it would be better to come tomorrow.”

Marah was silent for a long moment, but then suddenly and unexpectedly her hand came out and covered his. Her touch made him want her, just as it had earlier in the evening, but this time there was something more. That same feeling he had felt two years before: that with her, he could surrender. And that he was capable of offering her more than mere passion.

“I'm sorry, Caleb. Truly.”

Hesitant, he covered her hand with his own and smiled down at her. “Thank you.”

The moment stretched out, as quiet as the silent room, but as meaningful as any deep and probing discussion. Finally Marah shook her head, like she was waking from a spell. She looked down at their clasped hands and slowly slid hers away. She took a long step back.

Caleb held back a curse. He could see she wanted to bolt, perhaps even excuse herself for the night, but he wasn't ready to release her, not when he'd had a glimpse of the closeness they once formed, but had been lost when he left. He searched wildly for a topic of conversation that would force her to stay out of innate politeness.

He choked out, “And what of you? How long has it been since you were in London?”

Her expression fell and the blood left her face. “Since—since—”

She stopped, and with one hand she caught the other and gently rubbed her wrist. Caleb stared. The sleeve of her gown lifted slightly when she brushed it and now he saw the faint pale ridge of a scar there. With a gasp he caught her hand and lifted it, pushing the fabric aside so he could see the mark better in the light.

The scar was faded but he could see how painful it had once been. He'd had no idea that the wounds he tended that long-ago afternoon were so deep.

He stroked his fingertip along the delicate skin and only looked up when Marah gasped softly. She was staring at him, eyes wide and face even paler than before. Her breath came in sharp heaves and her hand shook as she withdrew it.

“I'm sorry,” he said as she pushed her gown sleeve back over the mark. “I'm sorry for that.”

She jerked her face up. “
That
was not your fault.”

“Other things were,” he said without meaning to.

Marah spun around, putting her back to him. Caleb watched, helpless, as she drew in several long, shaky breaths, watched her fight for control. After a few awful moments, she turned back to him with a smile that was very obviously forced.

“Victoria says I've lived in the past for too long,” she began, casting a quick glance to their utterly distracted companions, neither of whom had even noticed the intense interaction of their guests. “Perhaps she's right. But there
is
a future for me, and I think there is one for you, as well. But only if we forget about what happened before, and find some way to move forward.”

Caleb shut his eyes briefly. Marah was only repeating the very speech he had made to his brother that afternoon, but somehow that gave him no comfort. Now that she was here and he would be forced to see her on a regular basis, the idea of forgetting what they had shared seemed almost impossible. How was he to forget what she had tasted like? How soft and sweet her sighs of pleasure were? Not to mention how quick her mind was . . . how much he
liked
her.

When he looked at her, those things came back to him so powerfully that he could have shut his eyes and relived the entire afternoon they had shared in vivid detail.

“Caleb,” she whispered, drawing his attention back to her. “Let us agree not to revisit the past again.”

He stared down at her. Her jaw was firm and her eyes were clear. She believed this course of action to be best and was determined to stick with it, regardless of his response.

“It is an admirable desire, Marah, but—”

“No!” she interrupted, her voice breaking. “
Please
do this one thing for me. Shake my hand, Caleb and let us pretend that we have only just met. Let us be acquaintances alone from this moment forward.”

She held out a hand for him to seal the bargain she required. Her fingers shook, the only outward signal that what she was asking was difficult or painful for her. But even her hesitance did Caleb no good. One look in her dark eyes and he could see that once they clasped hands on the bargain, she wouldn't look back. She was stronger than he was. Strong enough to do as she promised and pretend they had no shared history, no personal connection.

He stared at the delicate fingers, still outstretched toward him. And with difficulty and more pain than he expected, he took them.

“Very well,” he said with a stiff bow as he shook her hand.

She nodded as she withdrew from him, and then she took a few jerking steps toward Justin and Victoria.

“I'm very sorry to be so rude,” she said, her tone falsely bright. “But I should excuse myself. Today was trying, and a soft pillow sounds heavenly at present.”

Victoria shook herself away from her obvious distraction with her husband and moved toward her friend with both hands outstretched.

“Of course, my dear. You
do
look tired. A good night's sleep will make all the difference.”

“Yes,” Marah said with a smile as she nodded toward Justin. “Good evening, my lord, my lady.”

Slowly she turned on her heel and faced Caleb, but this time all the emotion had been washed from her face. She stared at him, and he
felt
her fulfilling their agreement.

“Good evening, Mr. Talbot.”

He swallowed hard as he inclined his head. “Miss Marah,” he choked.

And then she was gone, disappearing from his sight out the door. And he knew nothing would be the same for him ever again.

“I suppose you shall follow her,” Justin said as he came forward.

Caleb jolted. “She would never allow it.”

Victoria's eyebrows rose slowly as she stared at him. “I believe Justin meant you shall follow her lead and take to bed early, as you had a trying day of travel yourself.”

For the first time in years, Caleb felt the heat of embarrassment at his cheek. To say such a thing out loud and in front of one of Marah's best friends was inexcusable.

“Of course,” he murmured. “I'm sorry.”

Victoria nodded, but there was a gentle pity in her eyes that Caleb wished he couldn't see.

“You haven't seen her for a long time,” she said softly.

“Not since—” he cut himself off. “Two years.”

“Much has changed since then, for you both,” Justin said as he slipped an arm around his wife.

“Yes,” Caleb said with a sigh.

“You know she . . .” Victoria cast a quick glance at her husband before she continued. “Marah met someone about a year ago. He is a man of no rank, but great fortune, named Emerson Winstead. He seems to have taken a strong interest in her.”

Caleb stared at his sister-in-law but he no longer saw her. All he saw was this faceless man touching Marah the way he had once touched her. He saw her pleasure and it caused him nothing but pain.

“What kind of man is he?” he asked with a shake of his head.

Justin shrugged. “Although I have investigated, there is little to know about him, I'm afraid. But Marah is determined to like him.”

Caleb nodded, but now the nausea and the ache that had begun in his belly doubled. “Well, I wish her the very best. And now I think you are correct, I should go to bed myself. Tomorrow is certain to be a trying day for us both. Good night.”

Without waiting for a response, Caleb hurried from the room, hoping his brother and sister-in-law didn't see his emotions reflected on his face and wishing he was stoic enough not to feel them at all.

Chapter 4

C
aleb walked the length of the small parlor, then pivoted to repeat the action. He had been doing this for the past quarter of an hour and had counted fifty-three times that he had restlessly paced the room. Justin sat on the settee across the chamber from him and his brother watched his every step, almost as if he was counting them as well.

Finally, with a shake of his head like he was waking from a dream, Justin stood up.

“How are you holding up?” his brother asked.

Caleb stopped mid-stride, the nervous accounting of his steps dissolving from his mind. In just a few short moments he would be escorted upstairs to see the man who had raised him.

He would be forced to face the very thing he had run from, hidden from for two long years. But there would be no more of that. Not when he had to look the marquis and his own lying mother directly in their faces.

And behind those thoughts of grief and anxiety were others about a person not even in this home. Ever since Victoria and Justin had revealed that Marah had a beau, that idea had been crowding into Caleb's thoughts and even his dreams. It mixed with his other anxieties until they were all a confused, jumbled, bitter brew in his belly.

“Caleb?” Justin whispered, his tone heavy with concern and empathy.

He shook his head as he realized his brother had asked a question he hadn't answered, but then he had no answer to give. He had no idea
how
he was holding up, or even if he
would
once the moment of truth came.

The door behind them opened and both men turned to face the intruder. A petite young woman stepped into the room. For a brief moment Caleb didn't recognize her, though from her fine clothing, it was clear she wasn't a servant. She stared at him, her brown eyes filling with tears. It was only when she spoke that her identity became clear.

“Caleb? My God, it is really you,” she sobbed as she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Caleb hesitated and then let his own arms close around the slender form of Tessa Talbot, his younger sister by five years.

“Tess, you look wonderful!” he said as he drew back to look at her closely.

His sister was edging toward old maidenhood after five unsuccessful seasons, but she was a beautiful woman. The two years he had been away hadn't changed that. If anything she only had a maturity about her now, a sophistication that was often lacking in girls of seventeen and eighteen who splashed onto the scene with giggles too loud and gowns too garish. But she was much thinner than he remembered and her face had a sadder, more serious look to it.

“You don't look well,” his sister said as she stepped away. “Roaming aimlessly, abandoning your family doesn't suit you, brother.”

“Tessa,” Justin said sharply.

Their sister turned toward him and Caleb saw the unspoken communication that passed between the siblings. Seeing their connection hit him like a punch in the gut. He no longer shared that with them. Perhaps a small bit with Justin, who had never stopped reaching out to him, but not anything like the close bond they had shared before. The years away while he pondered the truth about his parentage had cut him from his family almost more than his secret had.

An aching loneliness burned around his heart, merging with a guilt that nearly took him to his knees at that realization. How much worse would it be when he saw his parents?

“Come, they are waiting for you upstairs,” Tessa finally said with another frown toward him.

Justin motioned Caleb to follow her as she exited the parlor, and Caleb acquiesced. As he stepped onto the landing and then up the winding staircase to the second floor of the home, he couldn't help but feel he was a prisoner being taken to execution, with his sister as escort and his brother behind him as jailer meant to keep him from bolting.

The feeling only increased as Tessa stopped at the door to his mother and father's chamber. She turned toward him with a shaky, tearful smile.

“Papa will be so happy to see you. He's been asking for you every half hour since he awoke this morning. And Mama is waiting for you at his side.” Tessa tilted her head to look at him. Caleb shifted with discomfort beneath her stare, wondering what thoughts passed through her mind. Then his sister lifted her hand and gently touched his face, her anger with him faded, at least for the moment. “Don't look so worried, Caleb. It won't be so bad as all that.”

Caleb shut his eyes. Oh, if only she knew. But he smiled down at her with difficulty and then turned toward the door. After a few long, calming breaths, he turned the knob and stepped into the chamber.

It was darker than he had expected, and Caleb stood in the doorway for a long moment before his eyes adjusted and he was able to see clearly. The fire burned low, and across from it his father's bed was outlined by a solitary lamp burning on the side table.

“Is that him?” came a weak voice from within the chamber. “Has he come at last?”

For a horrible moment, Caleb considered turning on his heel and fleeing the room rather than facing the man in that bed. He was certain he could have a horse and be gone before anyone caught up with him, only this time he would be careful never to be found again.

But then his rational mind retook control. Running hadn't been a successful way of dealing with this situation for all these years. As he'd told Justin, it was time to stop and reclaim his life. And part of that reclaiming was to face the man who had raised him and find a way to pretend he didn't know the truth.

“Yes, my lord,” he said as he entered the room. “It is Caleb.”

A rustle sounded from beside the bed, and then a woman stepped into the light. Caleb stared as his mother, Phillipa Talbot, rushed forward. In the brief moments before she launched herself at him in a crushing embrace, he noticed that she, like his sister, had lost a great deal of weight. And she had a haunted expression that made her once happy face very long and pained indeed.

She held him, shaking like an autumn leaf about to break away from the tree, but said nothing for a long moment. And despite his anger with her at the lie she had created, despite his utter lack of understanding of why his mother would do what she had done, Caleb allowed himself to hold her.

When his arms came around her, a hundred memories assaulted him at once. Ones of his mother's comfort, of her laughter, of all the special things she had done for their family over the years. Despite not being the heir, despite being born into this family as a middle child who was neither to be groomed for inheritance nor babied, he had never once felt neglected or uncared for, thanks to his mother.

Finally she released him and stepped away, swiping uselessly at the tears that clouded her eyes and overflowed onto her pale cheeks.

“Oh, Caleb,” she murmured. “My boy, my precious boy.”

He dipped his head at the endearment she had used for him as a child. He'd almost forgotten it.

“Mother,” he managed to say gruffly, but could say no more. He had too many questions to dare it, for he didn't think she would appreciate such an inquisition with his father lying not three feet away.

Caleb turned toward the bed and faced the man who lay there. It took everything in him not to stumble away at what he saw.

The skeletal person who lay within the folds of blanket couldn't be the same bold, powerful man who had raised him. It wasn't possible.

Illness had made the marquis' skin sallow and stretched it along his face until it was almost translucent. His dark brown eyes, the ones Caleb's brother and sister shared, proving they were of their father's true blood even if Caleb wasn't, were cloudy and dilated with pain.

The thin, pale hand lifted from the blanket and reached for him. Caleb took it and was shocked by how light and cold his father's touch was. There was no strength left in it and very little life.

“Caleb,” he finally said, and the voice, at least, was the same as Caleb had remembered. That deep, resonating voice that could bring down the house in anger or soothe the slightest pain with compassion and grace.

“Hello, my lord,” he whispered, taking the seat beside the bed that his mother had begun to motion toward wildly.

“Are you here? Or is this is another dream?” the marquis asked, but it seemed every word took great effort, and he let out a pained sigh at the end of his question.

“It is no dream, sir,” Caleb choked as emotions he'd vowed not to feel overcame him.

Had his father truly dreamed of his return, only to awaken disappointed by his absence? The idea of it smashed Caleb as hard as any fist in a bar fight ever had. In fact, it stung more than any physical injury in his experience.

Caleb swallowed past the lump in his throat and turned toward his mother slightly. “Is he in great pain?”

She hesitated, her eyes tearing up before she nodded wordlessly.

Caleb flinched. “And can they give him nothing to relieve it?”

His mother smiled at him sadly. “He refused his laudanum this morning. He said he did not wish to sleep through your visit.”

Caleb stared at his mother for a moment before he looked back at his father.

“You wouldn't have your ease?” he whispered as he reached forward and gently brushed a long lock of gray hair away from his father's face.

“The drug makes me . . .” His father struggled for a moment. “Tired. Far away. And you have been far away from me for so long already. I was . . . afraid this might be . . . the only time I would see you. I didn't want to . . . forget.”

Caleb sucked in a harsh and painful breath, not only at the laborious way his father was forced to speak, but at the guilt his words brought. Here he had been wallowing in his own anguish and his father bore his own far larger share with such silent strength.

“Well, you needn't worry about that,” Caleb finally choked. “This will not be the only time you see me. I intend to come here every day. After a week you shall have had your fill of me and will be telling the servants to inform me you are not at home when they bring you my card.”

His father wheezed for a moment and Caleb tensed. Dear God, had he come at the very last moment? Was this his father's death rattle? And why had he waited so long to return home?

But after a brief moment of horror, Caleb realized his father wasn't dying, but laughing. The rattling, awful sound was the closest he could come to a chuckle. Behind him, his mother gasped.

“That is the first time he has smiled in months,” she whispered.

Caleb gaped at his father. This grimace was a
smile
? It was nothing at all like the broad, mischievous grin he recalled from his youth. And this wheezing sound that was now his father's laugh was but an empty, hollow shell of the booming chuckle that had filled their halls over the years.

The wheeze faded and his father's lids drooped slightly as he settled deeper into the pillows. “I promise to kick you out if I grow tired of your presence,” he said with difficulty.

Caleb nodded, taking the moment of his father's distraction to swipe at a tear that had somehow escaped and now clung to his cheek. “Very good. Now let me sit with you, sir. I would greatly love to hear about your adventures while I was away.”

His father opened one eye and speared him with a look. “I'm not certain I will be very entertaining.”

Caleb smiled. “Then let me tell you some of mine.”

The older man nodded slowly as he closed his eyes. Behind him, Caleb heard the door click quietly, and when he looked over his shoulder, he realized his mother had left the two of them alone. So he looked down into his father's haggard face and began to speak.

C
aleb had no idea how much time had passed when he finally stepped into the hallway and stretched his back. As if they had been listening for the sound of the door, his family stepped from the parlor across the hall. Still blinking from the brighter light, Caleb stared at them, gathered as a group before him.

The anger he had sensed in his sister earlier remained on her face, though there was love in her eyes and empathy as well, as she looked at him. Justin simply appeared worried, his face lined by anxiety.

As for his mother . . . she seemed drawn. Exhausted. And resigned, as if she realized her time with her husband was coming to an end and she had somehow managed to find peace with that fact. Caleb knew he shouldn't begrudge her that little comfort, but he found himself angry that she could once again distance herself from the man who had raised him.

“How was he?” his mother asked, breaking the silence.

When she spoke, it was as if everyone in the hallway exhaled at once, relieved that the awkward moment had passed at last.

Caleb shrugged. “He is tired. He dozed in and out during our time together, but I welcomed it, for the sleep seemed to ease his pain. He engaged me seldom, though when I stopped talking, he always encouraged me to continue. He seems to have fallen into a deeper sleep now.”

His sister nodded. “Yes, what you describe is how he is now.”

His mother stepped forward and took his hand. Caleb stared down into her face, loving and abhorring her with seemingly equal measure.

“How are you, my son?” she whispered. “You were in there for three hours, you must be overwhelmed.”

He slipped his hand free gently, unable to bear the touch meant to comfort him. He ignored the way her lips trembled when he did so.

“I'm fine. He is the one who suffers,” he said. “But I
am
tired. Justin, I know I promised I would find another place to stay immediately, but I find I'm not up to the challenge after this day. Perhaps I could trespass upon your hospitality one more night?”

Before Justin could reply, their mother said, “You are staying with your brother?”

Caleb let out a sigh before he nodded. “My own town home is in great disarray. Until it has been aired, cleaned, and restaffed, I won't be able to stay there.”