“Oh, I know it,” the other man said in silky tones, giving him another once-over. “The question is, should I be concerned that you’ve noticed as much about Claire?”
The immediate obvious and definite answer was absolutely. Any brother with a brain in his head and an ounce of older-brotherly protection within him would have already beat Caleb down.
“Tristan!”
At that exclamation from the doorway, Caleb and the baron broke apart.
And just like that, the fury faded from the other man’s threatening gaze. Relief and love so palpable contorted the baron’s features that Caleb had to briefly look away from that show of emotion.
Bolingbroke held his arms open, and Claire was already racing over and launching herself at the other man. Her brother immediately folded his arms around her and closed his eyes.
It was… a new way to see the baron. Always before this, he’d represented every Englishman who’d been behind Caleb’s capture. A heartless, ruthless lord who cared about rank more than family. Hell, when Caleb had first met Poppy, the other man had left his new wife to go off in search of wealth and prestige with the King’s Army. Now, however, Bolingbroke was any other loving brother who’d been panicked at the idea of losing his sister.
Just then, Claire slid a glance beyond her brother’s shoulder in Caleb’s direction. She caught his eye and winked.
He stilled…
Why, the hellcat had been diffusing the escalating tension between Caleb and Bolingbroke.
He tamped down a chuckle. Claire Poplar could run circles around English and American men alike.
The baron set his sister back on her feet, and the pair of them proceeded to speak in hushed tones, with barely any of their exchange reaching Caleb. Occasionally, Claire would nod. Whatever responses she gave, however, ushered in a tangible relief from the gentleman as his shoulders grew less tense.
Through it, Caleb stuffed his hands in his pockets.
This was it. There was only one way this exchange ended, and that was with her departure.
As if Bolingbroke had followed Caleb’s thoughts, he said, “We need to return to London.”
“Yes.”
There it was.
As expected.
And yet, his stomach tightened in a sharp, painful way.
“…I took my mount for the sake of speed,” Bolingbroke was saying to Claire. “I will arrange for a carriage at the inn…it should not be long…”
As her brother went over the details of the lady’s upcoming travel arrangements, Claire looked to Caleb.
Something was expected of him here. Why was it even harder than usual to get any damned words out? Say something. “You can have the use of my carriage,” he said gruffly; interrupting Bolingbroke. “To get you back to London.” He could forsake the time during his carriage rides that he used for sketching so that Claire could have this.
The baron bowed his head. “Many thanks. For… all your assistance.”
Claire’s expression dimmed, indicating whatever response Caleb had given had proven the wrong one.
But what could he say? Nothing about how much he’d come to appreciate their time together could be spoken aloud, not in front of her brother. The last of their intimate exchanges and private discussions had come to an end in the ballroom when he’d taken his leave to meet her brother. In his haste to get to the meeting without further arousing Bolingbroke’s suspicions, however, he’d failed to realize it. And he’d let the moment pass.
“I trust you have to finalize your packing,” the gentleman said to Claire.
Claire proved uncooperative, refusing to cede the ground and leave Caleb and the baron alone. “It is already being seen to. As we speak, my trunk is likely now being brought down.”
She hesitated. The lady would try to protect Caleb? He was undeserving of that show of support.
He lifted his head slightly, and Claire held his gaze once more before taking a reluctant-looking retreat from the office. In her wake, she left the door gaping open.
The ghost of a smile brought Caleb’s lips up, immediately quashed by the black look Bolingbroke turned his way.
The baron spoke without preamble. “My sister and I are not like some of the siblings amongst the ton. We do and have always gotten on. Our affection for one another is real.”
“And?” Caleb asked coolly, wanting the other man to get to whatever it was he’d intended to say before Claire’s arrival.
“I know my sister,” Bolingbroke said bluntly. “I know she ran in here as a diversion, which of course only gives me reason to trust there was a reason she felt she needed to distract me.”
So the man wasn’t as empty-headed as Caleb had previously taken him for.
The baron took a step toward him. “I don’t know what occurred between you and my sister once you found her,” he whispered, “but I suspect whatever it was? It would require me to call you out.” A vein bulged and throbbed across the other man’s tense brow. He stepped back. “But I also know you are the reason l learned where to find her, and for that reason and that reason alone, I’ll let you live.”
Let him live.
The baron was shorter and less muscular than Caleb by half, but fire glared from the gentleman’s eyes. Caleb smirked. “I appreciate that.”
Bolingbroke flattened his lips into a hard, angry line, and then with all the arrogance, only an Englishman was capable of and all the command of the owner of the keep, he stalked off.
Caleb followed along after the gentleman through the corridors, every step bringing him that much closer to his trip to Paris. And closer to Claire’s departure.
When he reached the foyer just behind Claire’s brother, he found the space bustling with the activity of servants rushing about.
Wade, demonstrating all the reasons Caleb had made him his assistant and why he relied so heavily upon him, was calling orders to the footmen. He’d anticipated that Claire and her brother would require the carriage.
Next came a pair of strapping servants, each holding an end of Claire’s trunk. Right behind them followed the young maid who’d served as Claire’s de facto chaperone, and clasped in the young woman’s hands was the floral valise she was never without.
As if of their own will, Caleb’s eyes locked on that article as he recalled the day Claire had entered the Rotted Rooster, swinging that bag about, refusing to relinquish it. That bag that contained her art supplies and was always with her. Fixed on her valise’s journey from this place, and his life, he stared on until it was carried through those front doors to the waiting carriage outside.
All his muscles contracted.
His skin pricked from the stare of another upon him, and Caleb glanced at Claire’s brother.
From under hooded lashes, the baron stared intently back, his expression inscrutable.
Caleb made himself unclench hands he’d not realized he’d balled at his sides.
The baron whipped his attention away from Caleb and upward.
Claire.
She glided down the stairs, the queen that she’d set out to be of this keep. And, for all her regalness and strength and courage, the queen she should be. She was more deserving of this parcel of land than Caleb, or any other man, for that matter.
Claire reached the bottom step, and his housekeeper came forward to greet her with the green cloak. “Here you are, miss,” she said cheerfully, helping Claire into the garment.