Page 43 of With Love in Sight
He wondered, not for the first time, the wisdom of bringing Imogen here. He had needed to get her away from London to someplace she would feel comfortable, more herself. She had bloomed at his cousin’s house party in the country. It had been a simple leap to come to the conclusion that bringing her to one of his estates was the answer.
He did not know why she had refused him. But at least in this setting he would be able to prove to her more easily how wonderfully they would suit. If he could claim back some of the ease they had shared at the house party, he was certain she would accept his proposal.
He had briefly considered opening up one of his lesser homes for this. They were all well-maintained places, beautiful each in their own way. But in the end he had dismissed them all. Not only was Willowhaven spectacular, but he also required the presence of his family.
His family. He shook his head, his jaw clenching almost painfully. Yes, he needed his family, as he had not in many, many years. He could not invite Imogen to visit him at one of his country residences, being the bachelor that he was and with the reputation he had, regardless of her father accompanying her, without his own family in attendance. It was essential to protect her reputation, as well as to make her see he was serious in courting her.
But was it wise? His mother, he knew, would do everything in her power to see the match was made. He was thirty, after all, and needed to marry and produce an heir. He was certain that, had they been closer, she would have been badgering him as unmercifully as his peers’ mothers did to find a bride and set up a nursery.
Daphne, as well, would not prove a problem. Indeed, with her enthusiastic nature, she might even be a help in making Imogen feel at home.
But then there was Emily. He fought the urge to look over at her, seated beside their mother, staring as she always did at nothing in particular, her posture stiff and unwelcoming. He could not know how she would play into this whole business. Would she ignore Imogen as thoroughly as she ignored him? Would her reserved manner hinder his suit?
Just then he heard a commotion at the door. He turned—and found he forgot to breathe for a moment.
He had only seen Imogen arrayed thus once before, and that was the night of the masquerade ball. He recalled his anger at the sight of her then. She had not been his Imogen, but someone else entirely.
Now, however, he felt none of that. This was his Imogen, there was no question about it. There was no tight corset, no outrageous pile of curls, no rouge. Her hair had been softened in a quietly elegant style, her gown cut to enhance her figure. And the blush that stained her cheeks was entirely her own.
He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.
He strode to her, forgetting everyone else in the room, including her father, to whose arm she was clinging. Taking up her hand, he brushed his lips against the backs of her trembling fingers. Her eyes were huge and an unbelievably clear turquoise behind the delicate wire frames of her spectacles.
“Imogen,” he murmured, knowing he was staring at her like a starving man confronted with the most delicious food in the world and not caring a bit. “You look…”
Her lips thinned. “I know,” she muttered as her father moved discreetly away to greet Lady Willbridge and her daughters. “It is too much.”
“No,” Caleb hastened to assure her. “That’s not it at all. It is just right.”
Just right? What was he, some green boy fresh out of University?
At her puzzled glance he attempted to repair the breach. “What I mean to say is, you look beautiful beyond words.” He had lowered his voice to an intimate rumble, and was rewarded with the glazed look in her eyes and her slight shudder. Her tongue flicked out nervously to moisten her lips and his eyes were captivated by the movement. Had he ever seen anything more erotic than that quick flash of her small pink tongue?
Just then Billsby entered, announcing supper. Caleb silently held out his arm to Imogen, and felt her fingers, as light as a bird, alight on his sleeve. As he guided her from the room, he smiled to himself. Goodness, but his Imogen was full of surprises. And he was eager to uncover every single one.
• • •
It seemed that sleeplessness was just something she would have to get used to.
Imogen lay in the wonderfully soft, large bed that was hers for the next two weeks, staring up at the intricately detailed stucco ceiling above her, seeing only a hazy moonlit mix of swirls and curlicues. Her mind, however, was several doors down, where Caleb slept. If she had only said yes to his proposal, she would be there with him even now, wrapped in his arms. Instead she was here, in this strange bedroom, positively aching for him.
She sighed and turned onto her side. She would not allow herself to visualize him in bed. Determined to get some rest so she would not be a bloodshot ogre in the morning, she purposely closed her eyes and tried to think of something, anything, but Caleb.
Except now that her mind was not full of him, it was replaying the entire evening over. After her initial nervousness at her state of dress—or undress, as the case may be—had faded, she had been better able to study the Masters family. Caleb was still the same charming rogue, smiling and making jokes. But he held himself back from his family with a distinction that seemed so out of character. There was no friendly banter, no affection. He treated them as he would strangers.
His mother, on the other hand, looked at him with such longing and worry that more than once Imogen had to turn away. The woman obviously loved her son, wanted his attention, and yet he would hardly look at her.
His sisters were opposites in every way. Lady Daphne was a bubbling ball of delight, finding something to please her in everything that was said. And despite what Caleb had said about being estranged from all of his siblings, Daphne did not seem to see it that way, often joking with her brother despite his seeming determination to stay aloof. Lady Emily, however, sat stiffly in her chair for most of the evening, her entire bearing unwelcoming and cold, only giving the barest answers to any inquiries put her way. Several times Imogen caught her looking with a hooded gaze on her brother. For the life of her, she could not interpret it. But it was obvious that there was something wrong here.
Giving a low growl of frustration, Imogen threw off the sheets and rose, finding her slippers and night robe. She slipped them on along with her spectacles and then, lighting a candle, made her way out of her room. She would go to the library, she decided, having exhausted the books she’d brought with her for the journey. Perhaps she’d be able to find something to calm her galloping mind.
She made her way down the long hallway, moonlit rectangles of light shining on the floors and wood-paneled walls. Willowhaven was old, but obviously well-loved. It was not drafty, as so many of these old houses were, or a showplace for ancient family heirlooms, but comfortable and warm, a place you could truly call home. She made her way down the main oak staircase, letting her fingers trail over the silky railing, and through the long entrance hall. She remembered the way to the library vividly. Her father had insisted on being shown the room before they retired so he might get an early start the following morning, and she had committed the path there to memory, knowing he would be spending the majority of his time there.
She found her way with ease, and once inside walked over to a towering bookcase, bringing the light close to peruse the titles. As she made her way down the row, she gave a wry smile. Her father would be unlikely to make it out for meals if even this one shelf was anything to go by. It seemed to be an eclectic collection of botanical tomes, including several catalogues of specimens that Imogen knew her father had a particular interest in.
She sighed and moved on. Before long she came to a section she knew to be much newer. She grinned. It seemed that one of Caleb’s sisters was an avid fan of gothic novels. She let her fingers skim the bindings, finally deciding on volume one of The Romance of the Forest by Ann Radcliffe. She had pulled it from its place and was about to return to her room when Caleb walked through the door, a small lantern in his hand.
She started. He saw her in that very same moment and stopped dead in his tracks.
