Exactly what she’d found in the gorge.
As she worked, and he watched, time ceased to matter or make any manner of sense. Whether it moved with an infinite slowness or continued with a dizzying rapidness, it all rolled together. Until, at last, Claire snapped her sketch pad shut with a firm click that marked the end of the magic that dwelled in the place and restored the earth to its usual spinning.
She glanced up. “It is time to go,” she said softly, with a return of the earlier sadness he’d seen in her eyes and heard in her voice. The same forlornness that had led him to stop them in this place and give her the time she’d had here.
Caleb stuffed his hands inside his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Yeah.”
And as they made their way back down the rise and to his carriage, he couldn’t quell that same disappointment.
Chapter 14
A short while later, they resumed the journey to the farthest-flung region of North Yorkshire.
Claire didn’t know what future awaited her as a married woman to the stranger in North Yorkshire.
She didn’t know whether she’d be happy in her changed circumstances. Or miserable.
She couldn’t say whether she’d have regrets at having given up all hope of love in the quest for the limited independence a lady was able to find in a world so very unkind to women.
Until she drew her last breath, she would recall walking hand in hand with Caleb Gray through a rugged terrain so raw and primitive it harked back to times long past.
And she would hold on to that moment forever, a gift given to her by the most unlikely person. When she was old and gray and sketching alone at an estate she’d agreed to take over and run, she would think back to that stolen moment in Malham.
Nay, it wasn’t just Gordale Scar that would linger in her memories forevermore. It was all of these hours spent with him, from the taproom at the Rotted Rooster to the night they’d shared in a lone room, sleeping on a floor and conversing so easily.
Her heart hammered.
There was also the pleasure she’d known in his arms. She’d remember that, too. Every last naughty, forbidden word of encouragement he’d breathed against her ear, the coarse brush of his unshaven cheeks upon her neck. And the bliss that had consumed her as he’d shown her all the passion her body was capable of.
Surely there was something wicked about her that she wanted more of those moments with him. Even knowing how he felt about her status as an almost-married woman and how committed he was to being a man of honor who didn’t infringe upon an engaged couple, she ached to taste of him again.
From under hooded lashes, Claire stole a glance at the seat occupant across from her.
Not that she need worry about him catching her watching him.
When they’d boarded the carriage, he’d grabbed his sketch pad and become lost in his own work. This time, while she’d sat on, unable to concentrate or think about anything. That was, she’d been unable to think about anything except him.
“You going to show me?” he asked so suddenly, so unexpectedly, she jumped.
However, with his head trained down as it was and his fingers moving quickly over his page, she might have merely imagined he’d spoken.
But then he ceased those broad strokes he’d been taking with his pencil and looked up.
Caleb lifted an eyebrow. “Well?” he prodded, snapping the leather book shut and setting it aside.
She’d not a clue as to what he was asking her.
At the protracted silence, he pointed to her bench.
Claire followed that gesture over to…
“My sketch pad?” She puzzled her brow in confusion.
He gave her a pointed look, confirming she’d heard correctly.
That had been all she’d ever wanted from Caleb Gray. She’d been asking him for as long as they’d known each other to consider her work, or evaluate it, and issue guidance. She’d wanted him to look at what she’d created and offer up his insight into how she might grow. But that had been before… before he’d shredded her for the kind of work she did.
Caleb, however, had made it abundantly clear over the years just how he felt about both her art and engaging with her in this way. “You’re teasing,” she exclaimed.
“You know I don’t tease, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “That much is true.” He’d been plenty mocking over the years, but that was altogether different. Having secretly observed him and Poppy at work, she’d hardly heard him laugh and barely seen him smile.
Only—
This time, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes formed on his mouth, that non-mocking, merry grin of his that did all manner of things to her heart. “Come on now.” He crooked his charcoal-stained fingers, the devil luring Eve.
“No.”
His grin fell. “No?”
She nodded. “No. We have gotten on these past couple of days, and I’ll not go ahead and ruin it now by…”
“Letting me be honest about your artwork?” he drawled.
She slunk in her seat. “I was going to say be boorish with your opinion.” A strand of hair tumbled over her vision, and she blew it back. “Though it’s probably all really the same.”
Caleb chuckled. “But it’s not.”
“You were so receptive to my opinion on your work when I came to visit the establishment showcasing your work?” The day that had seen her back to the wall, with his body pressed to hers and his thigh between her legs, and—desire reared itself once more, causing that all-too-familiar ache between her legs.
Color filled his cheeks. “Fair enough point,” he said gruffly, and Claire gave thanks that he’d no idea the naughty path her thoughts had wandered down.
“Furthermore, you were adamant you didn’t wish to see my work, Caleb. What’s changed now?”
“Everything,” he said softly. “Can’t explain it.” His enormous shoulders came up in a shrug. “Perhaps it’s that we were always at odds before. Perhaps it’s because I want to see what you’ve done and how you’ve grown. I don’t know, Claire. I just do.”
It was the most real and most honest response he could have given, absent of mockery or gentle teasing. And she appreciated his befuddlement, because it was the same one she’d been afflicted by in their recent time together.
Which was mayhap why she found herself reaching for her sketch pad. Only, as Caleb held his hand out to receive it—
Claire stopped herself. For there were images contained within that she did not want him to see. Nay, ones she could not let him see. Those belonged to her, ones she’d carry into her new home and look back upon. Ones that she couldn’t let him see and know meant so very much to her.
“Not all of them,” she said, setting the parameters for him. “Only the ones I allow.”
He inclined his head. “Fair enough.”
Claire hesitated a moment more, and then snapping it open, she angled the sketch pad out of his reach and fanned through the most recent drawings, making her way toward the back of the book. “I cannot believe I am letting you see my work,” she muttered to herself. “I must be mad.”
“I think we both can probably identify with having gone a little bit mad these past days, sweetheart.”