There was every chance the door would remain locked against her.

She told herself to keep walking, to ignore the lilac-covered trellis that beckoned her to climb up to the second floor balcony and slip into his bedchamber, as he had once entered her room at Parklands.

She tried to convince herself, but it was no use.

Reaching down, she grasped the hem of her nightgown and blue silk wrapper, dragged them above her knees, and set her bare foot on the first rung of the trellis.


Caleb stripped off his uniform and changed into a comfortable pair of buckskin breeches for the return trip to London. Dragging his satchel from beneath the four-poster bed, he began to stuff in the clothing he had brought with him to Kinleigh Hall. Downstairs, he had sent word to his coachman to ready his carriage and bring it round front. Now that his mind was set, Caleb couldn't wait to leave.

He was desperate to get out of the house, anxious to get away from Kinleigh. Away from Lee.

Just thinking about her made his chest ache. God, he'd been a fool to think he could escape unscathed when half the men in London had fallen in love with her.

But Lee wasn't Vermillion. She didn't pander to a man's ego, didn't play games. She didn't even look the same.

And he had foolishly believed he was immune.

Instead, he had fallen wildly, desperately in love with her, and now he had to leave.

Caleb closed the satchel, snapped the brass latches, and started for the door, anxious to be away. The night was cloudy and a little bit cold, but at least it wasn't raining.

"Caleb?"

The sound of her voice whispered through him, slipped softly over his skin. He turned to see her standing beside the door leading in from the balcony dressed only in her night clothes. He remembered the lilac-covered trellis. It was a long way to the ground. He didn't know whether to be angry or amused. In the end, even knowing he would have to send her away, he felt grateful she had come.

"You shouldn't be here," he said softly, afraid to move closer, afraid he might reach for her, and he couldn't afford to do that.

"You were leaving. I heard you and my father talking in the study. You were going away without a word."

His eyes ran over her face, taking in the wisp of burnished hair against her cheek, the faint trembling of her lips, the look of regret in her eyes. He wondered if his own eyes looked the same. "You weren't supposed to be eavesdropping."

"I can't believe you would go away like this. I thought you cared for me… at least a little."

He cared for her. He loved her. So much it hurt. He cleared his throat. "Your father thought… we both thought it would be better this way."

"Would it?"

He knew he should lie. He looked into her face and saw the hurt there, saw the betrayal she felt. "No. Not for me."

She was in his arms in a heartbeat, bare feet flying across the carpet, her nightclothes sweeping out behind her. He held her. Just held her, his arms tight around her, pressing her into his chest. He inhaled her scent, felt the brush of her silky hair against his cheek. Her breasts pillowed against him. He could remember their weight and the softness, the way they filled his hands. He remembered how good it felt to be inside her and he began to go hard.

Gently, he set her away. "You have to go, Lee. Your father would be furious if he knew you were here."

"I've lived all my life without him. I can manage a little while longer." She reached out and touched him, went up on her toes and kissed him softly on the lips. "I'm going to miss you, Caleb."

He swallowed. "I'm going to miss you, too."

"I don't know what will happen to me. I'm frightened of the future. When I was with you, I was never afraid."

His throat tightened. "I know how brave you are. I know the marquess will take care of you. Already he loves you. He only wants what is best for you. You don't have to be afraid."

"Do you think… if I became the daughter of a marquess, things could be different? Between us, I mean."

Ah, God. He reached out, caught her shoulders. "Don't you know by now this has nothing to do with who you are. I can't marry you, Lee. I'm a soldier. It's what I do—what I am. I can't give you the life you want, the life you deserve." He reached out and cupped her cheek, ran his thumb along her jaw. "The war is far from over. I don't even know if I'll be alive when it's finished. I want you to be happy. You deserve it more than anyone I know."

She leaned her face into his palm and a painful longing tore through him. He was in love with her. God, it hurt to leave.

"I want you, Caleb. Make love to me one last time."

His hand fell away. He stepped back from her, wanting her, unsure how much control he had. "I can't, Lee. I gave your father my word."

Tears welled in her eyes and began to slip down her cheeks. The moon crept out from between the clouds and he thought how beautiful she looked, standing there with her fiery hair unbound, her pale skin bathed in the soft glow streaking in through the trees.

"I have to go," he said gently. "If I don't, I'll break my word."

She just stood there and for an instant, he wasn't sure he could leave her. In some primal way, she belonged to him. She was his, and he had come to need her in a way he had never needed anyone before. But it wasn't fair to Lee. She deserved to have a husband who would be there when she needed him. A man who would be a father to the children she would bear.

"I wish you didn't have to go. I wish I would wake up and find out all of this was a dream." Her eyes filled with tears and his own eyes burned. When she leaned toward him, he didn't push her away, just pulled her closer, held her until his throat closed up and the whisper of her name remained unspoken.

It took sheer force of will to set her away from him. He didn't look at her again, just reached down to pick up his satchel and started walking, one painful step at a time. Lee made no move to stop him. If she had, he might not have made it to the door.

Once he did, he turned to look at her one last time, saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Be happy, Lee."

She tried to smile. Failed. "Take care of yourself, Caleb."

He forced his legs to move. He didn't look back as he walked down the hall, descended the stairs, and walked out of her life into the lonely future that awaited him.






23


« ^ »


Life at Kinleigh Hall was as nothing Lee expected. In a way it was so much more. Her father was all that a father could be: gentle and caring, protective and loving. He began the legal proceedings to give her his name the day after Caleb left for London. He lavished her with gifts, had Grand Coeur and three other of her prized Parklands horses brought to his stable, and rode with her over the vast expanse of Kinleigh holdings nearly every day.

She was surprised at how often he spoke of her mother, making Angelique Durant seem real in a way she never had been before. Lee would have been happy—if it hadn't been for Caleb.

She tried not to think of him, tried not to let her heartbreak show. Her years of playing Vermillion enabled her to disguise her grief, but there were times she thought that her father suspected. After all, he had suffered the loss of the woman he loved. Perhaps he understood. If he did, he did not say.

She wondered why he hadn't forced Caleb to marry her, as a man of his position surely could have, but she wouldn't have wanted Caleb that way and she was grateful he seemed to know.

There was only one fly in the ointment. Well, two flies, actually: Bronson and Aaron Montague, the marquess's sons. Bronson had loathed her on sight. He'd been aghast when his father calmly informed him he had a sister he meant to make a member of the family.

"Good grief, Father, have you lost your wits? The girl is the daughter of your former paramour, for God's sake! She is a commoner, scarcely a suitable addition to the Montague line!"

"Need I remind you, Lee is my child as well. And her mother was scarcely common. She was a descendant Of French nobility. Had I married her as I wished, Lee would have been my legitimate offspring and I intend to rectify the situation as quickly as I can."

Bronson had threatened and they had argued.

"Lee is your sister," the marquess said, barely hanging on to his temper. "You will treat her with the respect she deserves or I shall cut you off without a farthing!"

"Perhaps Bronson is right, Father," Lee put in as Bronson stormed out the door. "I never wanted your family to suffer because of me. I have my own money. I can take care of myself. Perhaps—"

"Nonsense! You are my daughter. I intend that you should be treated as such."

Though his younger son, Aaron, had yet to arrive home from boarding school, Lee imagined once he did, the scene might be even worse. It would probably be better for all of them if she simply left Kinleigh and returned to Parklands, but she couldn't bear to think of resuming that sort of existence.

Thanks to Caleb, she was more sure of herself and what she really wanted.

Unfortunately, what she wanted was Caleb. If he had asked, she would have gone with him to Spain, though the army life wasn't the sort she would have chosen. She wanted a home of her own, a place in the country where she could raise her horses. More than that, loving Caleb had finally made her realize what she really wanted was a family of her own.

She tried not to think of him, to wonder where he was or if he had yet left London.

She tried, but she loved him so much it was simply no use.


The day was overly warm, the sun beating down from a washed-out, cloudless sky, the wind no more than a memory. Caleb walked between Luc and his father back from the fields toward the big Georgian house that was Selhurst Manor. They had been partridge hunting since early that morning. Caleb was dusty and tired, his long-gun heavy where it hung over his arm.