That cheerfulness was at odds with the familiar darkness that lived within Caleb, a darkness he’d not known… this week. Because this week, there’d been laughter and light and discourse. But instead of making him claustrophobic and becoming grating, it had been a welcome balm that he’d not appreciated… until now. Until this moment when he was about to lose it.
And then, as if fate sought to mock him for that loss, Claire, now attired in her cloak and bonnet, looked up.
Dressed to leave, she was.
“Again, please accept my heartfelt thanks,” the baron said quietly, his words reserved for Caleb and hushed so as to not be overheard by nearby servants.
I don’t want your damned thanks…
He’d not helped Claire because of the baron. Some of it had been because of Poppy, but always it had been about… Claire. To say as much would only invite the duel the other man had alluded to. Instead of saying anything, however, Caleb inclined his head.
Bolingbroke dropped a bow and headed for the open door.
Claire and Caleb lingered there together.
“So this is goodbye,” he said needlessly, his voice even more peculiarly flat to his own ears.
A wistful smile teased her lips. “So this is goodbye.”
He glanced outside to where her brother now stood speaking to the driver.
So little time. It was all slipping away so quickly. Too quickly. And there was so much to say. But he’d been without words for so long, he wasn’t even sure what the right ones were in this instant.
“What’ll you do, Claire?” When he headed to Paris and she was back in London, would there be another business arrangement she’d seek out with another man? And why did the thought of it make him want to toss his head back and snarl like a wounded beast?
Claire glanced down at her clasped hands. “I don’t know. Perhaps find an art instructor.”
He took a step closer. “That’s not what I meant, Claire.” He needed to know if she was going to go out looking for a marriage of convenience with a man who’d never be deserving of her.
“I know,” she said with a sad little smile. She opened her mouth as if she would say more.
“Claire!” Tristan called, and she and Caleb glanced over.
“Goodbye,” she said softly, and with that, she hurried off. Taking her brother’s hand, she let him help her into the carriage.
“Claire!” Caleb called out, and Claire froze, turning back to face him.
His heart pounded hard as he raced out onto the stone steps, taking them quickly. He ignored the way the wind cut through the fabric of his garments and rushed closer, stopping himself several paces away from the carriage. “Don’t accept anyone who’s going to place constraints on you. Don’t find someone who’s going to steal your joy and control you. An art instructor, that is,” he finished lamely.
Claire moved her gaze over his face and then nodded. “Goodbye, Caleb.”
Then, as quickly as she’d come crashing back into his life at the Rotted Rooster, she was gone.
Caleb remained there, staring after the place he’d last spotted her carriage on the horizon. Frozen. Numb. Neither from the cold.
The crunch of snow echoed behind Caleb, and he stiffened when Wade stopped at his side. Standing shoulder to shoulder with him, his friend stared out to the place where Caleb kept his gaze trained.
“Well, that’s done,” the other man said, so conversationally that Caleb gritted his teeth.
“Yes.”
“I’ve already taken the liberty of drawing this up,” his friend said, holding out a sheet.
Dazed from Claire’s sudden departure and Wade’s return to normal, matter-of-fact business, he glanced down at four names that had been etched in the middle of the page.
“I’ve dragged out the same list of the women I compiled before.”
Now, with one crossed out. That cinch wrapped about his chest once more, at odds with Wade’s casualness. “This time, I’ve taken the liberty of suggesting an in-person interview.”
Ripping the sheet from his friend’s hand, Caleb growled and stalked off.
His friend proved persistent.
“Do you want me to get new names?” Wade asked as they passed into the foyer. “Take out a different advertisement?”
The dutiful butler pushed the doors shut behind them.
Caleb quickened his stride, heading for his ballroom.
The ballroom where he’d made love to Claire, and now any time he entered that room, he would see her and hear her cries of pleasure like a ricochet about the walls and in his mind. “Just stop,” he bit out.
They reached the ballroom.
“Stop what?” Wade pressed. “Asking you what the hell you are doing letting that lady go?”
“You don’t know a goddamned thing—”
“I know you delayed your travels to Paris.”
“Because I had to,” he snapped.
“Yeah. Right,” Wade said with a sarcasm-filled smile. “You, whose life is your art, decided to make yourself a caregiver to a stranded lady.”
Heat climbed Caleb’s neck. “She—”
“Is Poppy’s sister-in-law. Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that. I think the sole reason you escorted Claire Poplar is because you wanted to. Not for any other reason. Just like I know you don’t really want to leave. You don’t want to go to Paris. You want to be here.”
It was insane to think as much, that he’d actually want to be here in England.
“I think you want to be here with her,” Wade clarified with a somberness that brought sweat to Caleb’s brow.
He pressed his eyes shut. “You don’t know anything about it.” How could the other man? Caleb himself couldn’t make sense of anything.
“I’ve seen you in pain. I’ve seen you terrorized. Afraid. I’ve witnessed you consumed by your work.” A sad smile formed on Wade’s lips. “But you know what I’ve never seen you?”
Blank, Caleb shook his head.
“Happy,” his friend answered. “I’ve never seen you happy. Until now. I’ve known you sixteen years and had never seen you forget yourself as you did until the few days you spent with Miss Poplar. And now, you’ll just let her slip away?” Wade gave his head a pitying shake, and with that, he finally gave Caleb what he’d sought—solitude.
And yet, as Caleb set to work on his painting, he’d never felt more hollow than he did in this moment.
Chapter 23
She’d expected questions the moment the carriage departed.
Claire had anticipated a furious diatribe as her brother unleashed his anger about all the foolishness of what she’d done and risked.
Alas, Tristan had shown restraint.
Nearly thirty minutes passed before he said so much as a word, and when it did come, it wasn’t accompanied by the emotion she’d expected, but rather, a quiet calm.
“Do you want to talk about it, Claire?” he asked.
Her gaze directed out at the passing snow-covered landscape, Claire stared at the wild, untamed lands of North Yorkshire. She wanted to forget about how close she’d been to having all she’d ever wanted, with Caleb Gray.
Caleb, who when he’d called her name and charged after her, had led her to believe for one moment that he was coming for her. That he couldn’t bear the thought of being separated. Tears stung her eyes. Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. Of course, that’s not what it had been about.