Under her ear, his heart thundered, beating an erratic time with her own.
No words were passed. But then, what was there to say?
And yet, as passion receded and reality returned, she was left with but one realization: She’d lied to him.
When she left, this wasn’t going to be enough.
She wanted all of him.
Chapter 22
He always slept on the floor.
It was a habit born of his imprisonment.
The cold, harsh hardness of an unforgiving floor had become more natural than any bed.
But that morning, with light streaming through the windows as the new day shoved back the fog of sleep, there was something different.
The warmth. A blanket of heat proved maybe he’d not been at all right after all about the cold. Because surely he’d never felt more at peace and more rested than he did in this moment.
A snore slashed across the quiet.
And the snoring…
That was decidedly different, too.
Caleb forced his eyes open.
That was what had awakened him, the damned knocking.
Her snore broke into a noisy, shuddery bleat. He had exhausted her. Though, in fairness, they’d exhausted each other making love throughout the night.
He couldn’t get enough of her, or she of him.
He slid Claire off of his chest, and like a kitten seeking warmth, she immediately curled into the place Caleb had vacated, her lithe, naked frame a shadow upon the indentation he’d left on the canvas. Fetching his jacket, Caleb covered Claire, and gathering up his trousers, he proceeded to dress as he headed for the damned interruption. Bare-chested still, Caleb drew the panel open a fraction and found Wade.
“What the hell is—”
“Company.” Wade’s grave pronouncement cut off Caleb’s annoyed whisper.
His stomach lurched.
Company?
Caleb pulled the door nearly shut and peered through the crack at his friend.
“Lord Bolingbroke arrived a short while ago,” Wade confirmed.
Claire’s brother.
It should come as no surprise. After all, Caleb had been the one who’d sent a missive alerting the gentleman of his sister’s whereabouts. And yet, neither had he expected… what? That the nobleman wouldn’t rush like hell to come to the rescue of his unmarried sister?
“Caleb?”
And now, the brother was here, with Claire thoroughly rid of her virtue and—
“Caleb?” Wade repeated his name a second time, his tone growing more insistent.
He gave his head a shake. “Where did you put him?”
“He’s in your offices. I told him I’d fetch you.” The other man paused and nudged his chin at the oak panel. “You’re going to want to make yourself more presentable than that.”
As in, not half-naked. Yeah, the only thing his current state would ensure was a bullet from the older brother. And a deserved one at that.
“I brought these.”
Caleb opened the door a faction and accepted the change of garments from the other man.
“Tell him I’ll be there. I’m finishing up work.”
“Work,” Wade repeated. “I’ll let him know.”
Caleb stopped him before he could leave. “And see that a bath is prepared for Miss Poplar and a change of garments prepared by the maid.”
Touching his fingers to his forehead, his friend rushed off, leaving in his wake all the condemnation and judgment that Caleb was entirely deserving of.
Bringing the panel shut, he rested his forehead against it and then promptly began to bang his head silently against the wood.
He’d lost control of his senses and self these past days. He’d set aside honor for desire. And disregarded his work for a dangerous fascination with Claire Poplar.
Now, he needed to face Claire’s brother, and if Tristan’s outrage was strong, well, then it was doubtful Caleb would be leaving this island alive.
Of course, he knew what he needed to do. There was only one course for him and Claire.
Caleb turned—and found Claire awakened.
She was seated like Athena, her legs drawn at a sideways angle and her upper body twisted so that she faced him. Her dark curls hung loose about her shoulders, and the pebbled peaks of her full breasts poked through.
He knew in this moment with her presented as she was, that he’d never be uninspired in his art again. For he’d merely need to recall her as she was just then—
“Tristan arrived?” she called out, her low contralto made huskier by the remnants of sleep, and yet her question managed to kill his muse… and his desire.
With his change of garments tucked in one arm, Caleb put all his attention into collecting her clothing. “Yeah.”
Since his capture, he’d never been much for words. He had even fewer words now. His stomach churned at the upcoming meeting with her brother. At what he was about to do.
Caleb reached the makeshift bed they’d made out of paint-splattered canvas, and handed her garments over. Wordlessly, she accepted her things.
Making his way over to a basin and untouched pitcher of water from yesterday’s art session, he rinsed his face. The chill of that water cleared the fog Claire always created in him. Caleb dunked a cloth, and wringing it out, he washed the stink of sweat… and sin… from his body.
“You summoned him,” she remarked, shades of hurt within that statement.
Caleb continued to wash himself.
“What?” Claire called over. “Nothing to say?”
“It didn’t sound like a question.” He didn’t pause in his efforts. After all, the brother awaited.
Don’t act like it’s about rushing off to meet Bolingbroke. It’s all about you wanting to turn tail and run from this particular exchange.
“It wasn’t.” She paused. “But I hope you’d have answered anyway, instead of giving me this silence, Caleb.”
Tossing the rag into the basin, he faced her.
At some point, she’d donned her wrinkled chemise and now clutched the rose-colored gown close to her chest.
“What did you think I’d do after finding you alone, Claire?” he gritted out. “That I’d just go on my way without sending word to your brother and Poppy?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Her lips pulled up in a wry grin. “I’d hope that you’d do precisely what you might had you come across a grown man making his own decisions.”
“Well, you’re not a grown man. You’re a woman who rushed off to meet a stranger.”
“You,” she said softly, her droll smile fading. “I was coming to meet you.”
“Unknowingly,” he pointed out. “You could have found yourself rushing off to meet a man who’d beat you.” Every muscle in his body seized as the very thought of that possibility haunted him. “Or sell you… or worse.” Shucking his wrinkled trousers, he swapped them for the perfectly laundered ones Wade had supplied. “Bad things happen to people all the time, Claire. Not just to women. To men, too.”
“Like what you endured on that British naval ship?”
It was the gentleness of her voice, compassionate and understanding, that proved a balm upon his battered soul. “Like what I endured on that British naval ship,” he said, more to himself. Drawing the neat white lawn shirt over his head, he stuffed the long tails into his pants. He dragged his fingers through his hair, combing the damp strands, making himself as presentable as possible before he faced her brother and… Caleb drew a slow breath in through his teeth. “You should bathe.”