“A defiant daughter?” she returned. “How do you think a prim English mother would handle it? She forbade the lessons I enjoyed.” Claire spoke quietly, as if only to herself, as if she’d become lost in the past and the memory that dwelled there. “If I were to resume my work with my art instructor? Well, then I would need to become proficient in French, and not only that”—Claire delivered a perfect capture of that stodgy British woman whom Caleb had the misfortune of knowing through his connection with Poppy—“demonstrate a proficiency in the French language, which would be conducted publicly for Father’s most noble, most disssstinguished friends.”
Even as his friend laughed at her impressive impersonation, Caleb’s chest tightened as he thought of Claire as a small girl, with those same dark curls and longing even then for art lessons. He found himself filled with regret that he’d been the one to turn her away, and in such a spectacularly rude way. The efforts she’d gone to didn’t seem like such a very big deal now, after all.
“So what did you do?”
Because the other man had already gathered Claire was the manner of woman who acted, and the fact that he’d gleaned that about her after her short time here sent annoyance rippling through Caleb.
Claire matched Wade’s positioning, planting her elbows on the table and framing her face with her hands. “I did what any dutiful English daughter would do,” she said solemnly. “I learned my French as Mother wished and became proficient almost overnight.”
That wasn’t the whole of the story. Caleb knew her determined spirit, and he also had witnessed it firsthand during their time together in London and then at the Rotted Rooster, and she could and would go toe-to-toe with anyone.
“So… I gave a demonstration of just how well I’d mastered the language by sharing a litany of opinions and grievances of the French with some rather… creative”—Claire dropped her voice to a teasing whisper—“and, one might even say, naughty words.”
The dining partners laughed, and Caleb found himself bereft at being excluded. Granted, it had been a deliberate choice to not take part in dinner, and now he found himself wondering that he’d sacrificed these last moments of her being here for… anything.
“I trust I’ve shocked you with how deplorable I was,” Claire called over, and for a moment, Caleb thought at last she’d finally caught him there, captivated by her and her storytelling.
“On the contrary, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? A growl started low in Caleb’s chest and rumbled noisily. That ominous sound, however, was lost to the chattering and continued laughter between the amicable dining pair.
“I wouldn’t call that deplorable. You’ve got yourself some American spirit. Or, as we say, you’ve got spunk.”
Caleb gritted his teeth. Charm. The other man had always had it in spades. It had never grated before now. Before this moment of watching her and Wade engrossed in each other and their discourse.
Caleb hadn’t been privy to that story she’d revealed to Wade. Granted, there wasn’t a reason he necessarily would have been aware of it. Yes, they’d shared all number of stories and exchanges, but the time they’d spent together had still been short. But knowing Wade was now in full possession of that little detail about Claire’s life, while Caleb stood there with the remnants of a half telling, he for the first time found himself besieged by less-than-friendly sentiments toward Wade.
As if he’d sensed those unkind thoughts, and Caleb’s presence along with it, Wade glanced over. “Oh, hell,” his friend muttered. “Got company, we do,” his friend drawled for Claire’s benefit, nudging his chin Caleb’s way. “Evening, Gray.”
Claire’s head swung toward the front of the room, and the radiant smile she’d been wearing dimmed. A smile she’d been wearing for Wade, that was.
Caleb’s brows snapped together. “Oh, hell? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, directing his ire at the safer target.
Wade reclined in his seat. “It is just that Miss Poplar and I were wagering if you’d come to dinner. I was of the opinion no, that you’d stay at that easel until the sun set. But Miss Poplar expected you’d make an appearance.”
Caleb slid his eyes over to Claire. She’d known he could not stay away from her on this, their last night together. “Did you?” he murmured.
Claire inclined her head. “I did.”
The fact that she knew him even better than he knew himself in this should have terrified the hell out of him. And oddly… it didn’t. It felt… strangely… right.
That romantic drivel in his head vanished at Claire’s next words.
“I explained that your responsibility would prove even greater than your muse, and you’d not be able to resist putting in an appearance.”
“And the lady was right.” Reaching into his bag, Wade withdrew a small purse, and coming half out of his seat, the other man deposited that sack near Claire’s fingers. Close enough that those hands brushed.
Caleb sharpened his gaze on that faintest of touches that, he’d make his own wager, was deliberate. “What the hell are you doing?” he barked before he could call back the surly question.
A long awkward silence met his question as Claire and Wade shifted their focus Caleb’s way. Even the fact that their movements were in such harmony added to the red-hot anger brewing inside Caleb.
Wade grinned. “I’m paying my debts.”
“You needn’t,” Claire said quickly. “It was just in good fun.”
“No. I insist.” This time, Wade took the velvet pouch and placed it deliberately into Claire’s palm, curling her fingers around it.
The heat of that fury grew several degrees hotter, and Caleb gritted his teeth to keep from calling out again. He made his way over to the table, and ignoring the servant who rushed forward to draw out the chair at the head, Caleb availed himself to the one directly to the right of Claire.
Ignoring the strange look Wade shot his way, Caleb instead sharpened his gaze on Claire.
Claire, who would have had to be looking at him to have noted that stare. Alas, all of her attention was trained squarely on Wade, and just like that, the pair resumed speaking.
As a servant came forward and filled his plate, Caleb sat there, an outsider to the latest exchange taking place between Claire and Wade. Claire and Wade, who’d only just met yesterday, and only briefly at that, but who got on degrees better than he and the lady had at their first meetings. Grabbing his knife and fork, Caleb gleefully massacred his slab of roast beef. Or, for that matter, better than Caleb and Claire ever had.
Laughing at the start with Wade?
Caleb and Claire had gotten into it at their first meeting, her raising her voice, him taunting her with his words.
He forked a piece of meat and all but yanked it off the end of his fork with his teeth, chewing furiously.
Claire paused midway through speaking to Wade and sluiced a questioning glance his way. “Are you all right, Mr. Gray?”
Mr. Fucking Gray is what he was again?
“You seem surly.”
“That is more surly than usual,” Wade, his traitor of a friend, offered.
Claire and Wade joined in laughing once more, and all through that camaraderie, Caleb offered his darkest glare to Wade.