Page 50 of With Love in Sight
Imogen watched her depart in frustration. Suddenly Caleb was at her side.
“Shall we?” he murmured, indicating the path before them that trailed toward the west side of the house. His expression, she noted in consternation, was downright cheerful.
Without bothering to acknowledge him, she swept down the path, leaving him to trail after her. She kept her pace brisk, hoping she could reach a populated area before he had a chance to catch up to her. She was to find, however, that he was a much more determined man than she gave him credit for.
Chapter 21
Imogen was proving incredibly slippery in regards to this courting business. Caleb still could not understand why she was refusing him. But he had come to the conclusion that he might never understand it. The female mind was an incomprehensible thing. But it was changeable. And that was just what he would concentrate on.
He was not a rake for nothing. For though a woman’s reasoning was well beyond him, a woman’s body was another matter entirely. And if you played the body just right, the mind quite often followed. He saw the way her eyes softened when he touched her or whispered something inappropriate in her ear. He could see the way she shivered when his breath fanned her cheek, or the tiny flame in her eyes that she tried to douse when he came close to her. All Imogen needed was a bit of persuasion.
Right now she was hurtling ahead of him as if the hounds of hell were at her heels. A few long strides on his part, however, and he was beside her. And as they rounded the house and were fully out of view of the stables, Caleb took his chance, the only chance he knew he was to have for some time if she continued to expertly avoid him.
His arm stole about her waist and he pulled her past a row of tall topiaries leading into the knot garden. She didn’t have time to do more than gasp before he claimed her mouth, devouring her like a starving man at a feast, his tongue delving into her mouth. He pulled her tightly against him and felt the soft curves of her give to the hardness of his body. Moving one hand to the back of her head, he held her captive to his onslaught. His frantic fingers dislodged her small riding hat, knocking it to the ground amidst the lavender and sage and rosemary.
She felt like heaven in his arms. Her scent enveloped him, that wonderful, clean, innocent scent of soap and citrus and her own sweet musk. There was a fullness to her that made him want to drag her to the ground and sink himself into her and never emerge. If he did not get her to marry him, and soon, he felt he would go mad with wanting her.
Imogen trembled in his embrace, her fingers digging into his riding jacket. Her body arched into his, her mouth moving beneath his own. She did not try to break his hold on her. And yet he could sense her hesitation, as if she were waging some violent internal battle. She stilled and began to pull away. Desperate not to lose the ground he had gained, he pulled her deeper into the garden, the smell of lavender wafting to him as he trampled a small bush with his boots. One of his hands moved to her riding jacket, flicking the buttons open with practiced fingers. And then his hand was at her breast, its heaviness filling his palm. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple, felt her shudder as it puckered under his touch through the linen of her blouse.
She groaned softly, going pliant in his arms and bowing into his touch. He felt a wild thrill at her reaction. Yet it was not enough; he desperately needed even more from her. Tearing his mouth from hers, he bent over her, his lips finding her breast. His tongue laved her through the thin linen and she cried out softly, her fingers digging into his hair and holding him to her.
“You make me wild for you, Imogen,” he rasped.
A moment later he knew he had erred. She turned rigid, and before he could renew his efforts, she tore from his arms. Giving a small sob, she gripped the jacket closed over her chest and raced back for the house, her hair trailing loose behind her.
Breathing hard, his body a tightly coiled mass of desire, Caleb could only watch her go. Damn it, he had pushed her too hard. It had been such a heady thing, to have her back in his arms, that he had quite forgotten the slow seduction he had planned.
Cursing violently, furious with himself, he stalked back to the house. Perhaps if he wanted her less it would be easier. But he desired her with an intensity that left him as eager and impatient as a boy.
She had gone from a mildly pretty friend to quite the most desirable woman he had ever encountered in the space of weeks. How had it come to pass that he could not get her from his mind, that he thought of her day and night, that his body turned hard just remembering the feel of her soft skin?
He had been with scores of women, all of them seductive and stunning, knowledgeable in giving pleasure as well as receiving it. Each of those affairs had been a partnership in sensuality, gone into for the physicality and never with any intention of emotional entanglement. He had never made any promises and had wanted none in return. They were usually over with quickly, it being understood that a swift exit from the affair was essential for it to begin in the first place.
But with Imogen he had not wanted that kind of cold arrangement. Her innocence made him desire her all the more. He wanted her as he had wanted no other. Was this desperate burning because he was her first and only lover? Or was it simply because she was the first woman he had desired who had refused him?
Whatever it was about her that had him so enthralled, however, he knew well that passions faded eventually. Caleb had been witness to that more times than he cared to count, as wild lust for past lovers simmered down to nothing. This thing with Imogen was bound to abate eventually, as strong as it was now. He wondered for a moment why he was so determined to change her mind on marriage, knowing that harsh fact.
Yes, he had ruined her, and no gentleman took a woman’s innocence and didn’t offer marriage, but it was more than that. The truth was, he cared for her. Never had he thought he would marry a woman he respected and liked. Romantic love, of course, was completely out. All that nonsense that turned men and women into emotional idiots. But to have a wife he wouldn’t mind seeing over the newspaper in the morning, a wife who made him laugh and smile—not to mention one who made his body burn, for however short a time he was blessed with that passion—was a boon indeed. He had believed his future marriage was to be one of polite disinterest at best. Now that he had caught a glimpse of the happiness life with Imogen would bring, however, he would not settle for less.
But if her reaction to him, that mad flight back to the house, was any indication, he had not set out on an easy task. He shook his head, frustrated, his body still taut with need. It seemed he was in for a long wait for her to come around. But he would need to learn patience if he was to make her his.
• • •
“Imogen, here is your cup, dear.”
Imogen accepted the tea. “Thank you, Lady Willbridge.” She sipped her beverage, trying to concentrate on the women before her and not on the brooding sentinel across the room. Caleb watched her with a silent intensity at all times now, though he never did more than offer her his arm to go into meals and such. She was grateful for the respite from his advances, but she found she also felt a certain loss as well.
It had been three days since Caleb had kissed her in the knot garden. No acknowledgement of the scene, or her subsequent escape from it, had been made by him, save for several sprigs of lavender tied with a pale green satin ribbon that had been left on her pillow later that night. At the scent she had been vividly reminded of their kiss, when his hands had roved her body and his lips had plundered her own. It made a longing for a renewal of the scene curl in her belly. She had wanted to toss the small bundle straight out the window. But at the last moment she had gripped it tight, instead hiding it away in the depths of her trunk.
No more was he attempting to get her alone. The invitations to go riding or walking were always accompanied with a twin invitation to another member of the household. Daphne, who was only too eager to be included, went along on most excursions, providing a vivacious centerpiece to each event. Imogen found more and more to like about the girl every day. She wished Mariah were here, for she was certain she and Daphne would become fast friends.
She had also come to respect and admire the marchioness in those three days. She was all that was gracious and kind and seemed so happy to have her son in the room with her, even if it was only due to Imogen’s presence.
Lady Emily was still distant, often hiding off in a corner to embroider or locking herself in the music room for hours at a time, from which the most lovely, if mournful, songs issued. Imogen would have been happy to let her go her own way, unpleasant as she was. But the sight of the girl’s face that first morning, white and tense, her eyes puffy from tears, would not erase itself from Imogen’s mind. She wished there was some way to get through to her. But, alas, it seemed the girl was determined to stay as far from Imogen as possible.
The idea that Jonathan’s death had been the cause for the strain in this family had whispered to her again and again in the past days. The more she watched the tense manner in which Caleb dealt with his family—and most especially the mutual avoidance between Caleb and Lady Emily—she couldn’t help the encroaching thought that her conclusion was correct.
Just then Lady Willbridge spoke, pulling Imogen from her maudlin thoughts. “And how did you enjoy your time boating this afternoon, Imogen?”
