The other man caught Caleb’s eye, and then Wade winked.
The bastard. He’d always been unfazed by Caleb. He would remain so in this, too, refusing to be driven off.
Wade took a drink of his claret, finishing off the crimson brew. And then he stood. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this night, more so than I have enjoyed many more nights before,” the other man began, launching that flirtatious drivel that brought Caleb’s teeth together so sharply pain traveled from his jaw all the way to his temple, “I have to finalize our plans for tomorrow.”
Confusion creased Claire’s high brow. “Our plans? I’m not aware of…” Her voice trailed off into silence as she moved her gaze away from Wade, training a stare that was both shocked and hurt on Caleb.
Oh, shit.
“Uh… yeah. As I was saying, a pleasure.” Wade wrestled with his collar, and then touching his fingers to an imaginary hat brim, he beat a hasty retreat. One that Caleb envied him mightily for.
When Caleb had arrived to find Claire dining alone with Wade, there’d been nothing more that he’d wanted than to be rid of the other man so Caleb might be alone with her. Because he’d selfishly wanted to hang on to all of their last moments together, without intrusion—even if that intrusion came from his friend.
But that imagining had included her laughing and bright-eyed, as she’d been moments ago.
Not as she was now, wearing her hurt like a garment, so visible and real that all Caleb wanted to do was drive it away and restore her to the happy way she’d just been.
But then, as quick as the hurt had appeared in her eyes, it was… replaced. With a simmering anger.
Oh, hell.
This was bad.
Coward that he was, he cast a thankful look in the direction of the silent maid seated at the table…who chose that moment to stand, and also beat a retreat. One that, as he was left alone with Claire, he very much envied the other woman for.
Yea, this was going to be trouble.
Chapter 21
Claire had been hurt many times in her life.
From nasty words hurled viciously at her by fellow ladies of the ton about her family’s involvement in the disappearance of the lost lord, to the sudden retreat of cowardly suitors who’d been courting her.
Until she’d managed to erect an armor about herself and found a way to shut out the ugly insults and not only accept, but embrace the solitary life her family’s sins had afforded her.
Why, even when Caleb had handed down a blunt, harsh, and borderline cruel assessment of her mediocre work, he had offended more than hurt her.
But this? Learning from Mr. Harrison’s mention of the plans for her departure, plans that included him and excluded Caleb? This hurt. It was the manner of pain that wrapped like a fist about one’s heart, grinding and squeezing the organ.
She’d known Caleb wished to be rid of her. She’d even understood the reasons he’d rejected her offer of marriage. But she’d not thought he would pawn her off on another.
This, however, proved a more acute, more keen betrayal.
“I was going to tell you,” he said quietly.
Did she imagine the guilt coating that statement? Because it was an empty, useless sentiment that erased none of this betrayal. She made herself turn her head sideways so she could look squarely at him.
“Tell me what, Caleb?” She didn’t allow him to answer. “That you wouldn’t be escorting me to London yourself? That you were too pressed for time and couldn’t be bothered?”
Caleb winced. “He’s not just anyone. Wade’s my only friend. I trust him with my life.”
Claire could fix only on the words sandwiched between all the statements he’d just made. “Your only friend?” Another lance found its mark directly in her slow-beating heart.
“Yeah, no. You’re right.” He grimaced. “There’s Poppy, and you.”
Claire sank her teeth sharply into her bottom lip. And you. Two words tacked on there as an afterthought. When he’d come to mean so much to her. When she’d fallen in love with him so desperately. So deeply.
“But he’s my closest friend,” he said through the tumult ravaging her heart and mind equally. “Which is why I know you’ll be in good hands with him.”
Claire threw her napkin on top of her barely touched meal. “I didn’t ask you to find me a damned chaperone,” she hissed.
“I know,” he interjected. “But I wanted—”
“What?” she cried, jumping up so quickly her chair tumbled onto its back, landing with a noisy thwack upon the hardwood floor. “Foist me off onto another?” As soon as that pathetic charge left her mouth, she wanted to call it back. Only, there was no erasing the words. Their thunderous echo in the eerie stillness created by the snow twisted the blade of humiliation.
Caleb took to his feet. “Is that what you think?” he demanded, pinning a narrow-eyed gaze upon her.
“Isn’t it?” she rejoined. After all, there was no going back from the hurt she’d inadvertently revealed. She might as well own it and all her indignation. “I don’t know why I should suspect anything different,” she said, tiredly wiping a palm over her flushed cheek. “It’s been clear from the beginning, since I asserted myself too much, that you disliked me. You tell me that artists aren’t supposed to have pride. All artists but you, Caleb Gray, have it in spades. You might not like me, but your mouth and your body crave mine.”
“No. I don’t dislike you, Claire.” He spoke with a quiet solemnity that pulled a bitter laugh from her.
In an attempt to protect herself from the raw realness of this exchange, Claire hugged her arms about herself. “Thank y-you,” she said with all the mockery she could muster beyond this crushing pain. She headed for the exit, needing to be free of him and this exchange.
As if you can ever be free of him. He will always hold a place there in your heart and your thoughts and…
Caleb would not let her make the hasty escape she sought. He stepped into her path, and Claire instantly retreated several steps. The last thing she could afford was to have him near. It had always been dangerous. With her awareness of him, and the intimate bond they’d forged, it had only become all the more so.
Caleb stopped, allowing her the distance she’d established, and it was a willingness to surrender control when men hated ceding that sentiment. And it was yet again just one more way in which she found her heart shifting.
“Please, just…” He held his palms up. “Don’t go. Not like this.” And she knew he spoke of tomorrow’s departure.
How did he want for her to leave? Smiling and laughing and happily waving?
Only, she would be—and was—hurting deeply. Nay, not just hurting. She’d been splayed open, her heart shattered into two shards that rendered the organ useless. And it was because of him. But that did not mean he was to blame. Not really. Caleb didn’t care for her in the way she did him. His life was his art. He’d never attempted to pretend any other way. He’d been upfront and honest, and he’d already delayed his travels to Paris for her once already. It was wrong to expect a man who didn’t want a future with her to now put off his journey once more. The fight went out of her.