Page 73 of With Love in Sight
Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “You can be assured, Mr. Samson, that I will find that out.”
• • •
The first thing Caleb was aware of was a bright, burning light. It shined through his eyelids in a haze of red, tearing into his head with a searing, hot pain.
“Close those damn drapes,” he growled. But even that sound made him gasp as it ricocheted about his skull. He winced, and at the indrawn breath felt the dryness in his mouth. He smacked his lips together ineffectively. His throat felt raw, his mouth like cotton.
He sensed movement at the side of his bed—it was his bed, wasn’t it? Must be his valet. Several violent thoughts coalesced in his head. He’d be sure to dock the man’s wages after this. What kind of a human being woke a man up in so brutal a manner after he’d spent the better part of the night drinking himself into a stupor?
He received an answer to that a moment later.
He sputtered and gasped as what felt like the entire contents of the River Spratt was poured over his face. The utter unexpectedness—as well as the chill—of it shocked him to complete wakefulness. His eyes flew open in outrage, his hand coming up to slough the water off of his face.
Who he saw standing over him, however, was not anticipated.
Of course, he’d really had no idea who would be nearly drowning him in his own bed. But he certainly hadn’t expected Imogen. Holding an empty water pitcher. With a glare like an enraged Fury.
“What the devil are you doing?” he bellowed.
To her credit, she didn’t even so much as flinch. “I want some answers from you, and I feel I’ve waited long enough,” she said with impressive hauteur. He had never seen her thus, and felt he would have been aroused if he wasn’t so damn mad. And wet.
He glanced in disbelief down at the bed, the sheets dripping, the pillow sodden, his shirt and breeches clinging to him in an uncomfortable, clammy way. “And you had to drown me to get them?”
She cocked one eyebrow, her lips twisting. “As it is already late afternoon, I thought it prudent to wake you.”
His head swung in disbelief to the window—he winced again at the sudden movement—and sure enough, only indirect light filtered in. His window faced east, which meant the sun was well on its daily journey at the other side of the house. He had slept all day? What in hell had been in that whiskey last night?
He turned with careful movements to Imogen. “And what answers would you be wanting, madam?”
She placed the pitcher on the bedside table, a muscle in her jaw ticking. “I would like to know why you reacted so harshly to your sister yesterday morning when you found us at the cemetery.”
With a sudden flash of insight he remembered everything, why he had stayed away all day yesterday and why he had drunk himself insensible. Emily and Imogen at Jonathan’s grave; Imogen proclaiming to Emily that she could not marry him; their fight after; the pain he had felt at Imogen’s betrayal.
Rage began to pound within him, pushing aside the thickheaded befuddlement that had been present since he had been woken in such an abrupt manner. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly, breathing deeply, trying to rein in his temper. Rivulets of water dripped from his clothes, pooling on the polished wood floor, but he paid it no mind. He towered over Imogen, expecting to see her shrink back, but she only stuck her chin out and narrowed her eyes.
“Perhaps you are the one who should be providing answers,” he said in biting tones.
“I get the distinct feeling,” Imogen said, not in the least cowed by his demeanor, “that you believe yourself to be wronged somehow.”
“No, just unfairly judged.”
“I assure you, the only thing I am judging you on is your asinine behavior to your sister yesterday.”
“Is that true?” He curled his lip. “Then why did I hear you declare that you cannot marry me? Do you mean to tell me that comment was not brought on by something Emily told you?”
Imogen blushed, but her eyes narrowed. “You know I have always been opposed to marriage,” she said, her voice low and saturated with pain.
A twinge of doubt crept in.
“You seem to be under the impression that somehow your sister sabotaged your chances,” she continued. “That could not be further from the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did not lie yesterday when I said Emily has been your champion. She had just gotten through with trying to convince me to accept you before I declared I could not marry you.”
He stared at her a long moment. “That cannot be.”
“Why, because you cannot conceive that I made my decision on my own? You think my mind would be altered by anything she could have told me?”
