Page 63 of With Love in Sight
“Witches are not the only vindictive creatures, you know.”
“And will you kiss me after to turn me into a prince?”
She seemed to consider him for a moment, and her eyes took on that devilish gleam that was so rare to her and that he had missed so much in the last week and a half.
“No,” she said, “I think I shall leave you as a frog. The birds can have you after that.”
He chuckled and watched the answering mirth in her own face. “Blood-thirsty wench.”
She shrugged. “We wood sprites must look out for ourselves, you know.”
They shared a light laugh, and it was so pleasantly reminiscent that he unthinkingly reached out and covered her hand with his own. Immediately her smile faded as she stared down at his long fingers embracing hers. She pulled her hand from his.
He wanted to curse, to throw something. Why did she insist on pulling away from him? What was so bad about marrying him? Why could she not see that they would be wonderful together? And then he felt it, what he tried so fiercely to bury deep down in the desperation of his pursuit of her.
He was angry.
Her unexplained refusal to marry him angered him. He knew she liked him, knew she desired him. So why did she continue to turn him away?
“Back to this again, are we?” he commented, and he knew from her startled glance that the lightness of his tone did nothing to hide his frustration.
Instead of answering him, she looked about their surroundings. “It truly is lovely here. Thank you for bringing me.” Her voice was carefully measured, back to being painfully civil.
“I knew you would like it,” he replied easily. Too easily. It was frightening, the ease with which they dropped back into politeness with each other.
She faced him, her hands folded primly in her lap, one still glaringly bare and hidden beneath the other. “It is a beautiful land. Why don’t you return home more often?”
“I’m a busy man,” he replied, attempting to sound casual even as his insides roiled. “And anyway, does it matter why?”
“It just seems strange, is all, seeing how you love it here,” she replied carefully. “There must be a more essential reason for you to stay away.”
His eyes narrowed at her choice of words and he peered closely at her. Was that little tick at the corner of her mouth a sign of distress? And her rapid blinking, what did that signify? But with a sudden bolt of insight, he knew exactly why she had chosen such specific words with such precision, why she watched him so carefully: Emily had said something to her after all.
His heart cracked.
“Why does it matter? You are not planning on becoming my bride and living here with me. Why do my comings and goings concern you so much?”
He saw her flinch, knew the words had been much harsher than they should have been. It was not anger at Emily that had prompted them. It was his fear of losing Imogen. His sister had gotten to her, had poisoned her mind against him, and Imogen was as good as lost to him now.
He wondered if his sister had done it purposely. But surely not. Emily was distant and aloof, and she surely still held some animosity for him for what he had done. But she was not cruel.
Imogen looked on him with uncertainty. He felt a sharp stab of guilt. He should have told her the truth himself instead of leaving her in the dark, praying she never learned of his past.
He was about to reach for her, to bare all. He obviously had nothing to lose now. But at that moment Daphne strode into view, the Misses Sanders following behind her like ducklings.
“What a lovely time we had. Oh, Caleb, I wish you could have been there. I have never seen Miss Russell—er, Mrs. Fuller, looking so well. I declare, marriage suits her splendidly.”
She paused when she spotted Caleb and Imogen on the blanket. He imagined the tension was so thick she could taste it. He forced a smile and began packing up the rest of their luncheon, drawing Daphne’s attention to him in order to give Imogen a moment to compose herself.
“Does it now? Well, I must say that after putting up with you for all those years, the poor woman deserves it.”
The three young ladies laughed gaily, talking animatedly as Caleb continued to pack up. Imogen rose in silence and took up the blanket, quietly folding it. He watched her for a time, at how pale she had become and the tense line of her shoulders. He reached down to where she had discarded her bonnet and handed it to her. She looked at it uncomprehendingly for a time before reaching out and silently taking it. And then they were walking back toward the inn and home.
And Caleb did not know whether he wanted to sigh in relief or howl in pain that the moment was forever lost.
Chapter 26
Upon their return from the village, Daphne retired to her room and Caleb abruptly left Imogen in the front hall, mumbling something about needing to meet with his steward. She stared out the windows into the inner courtyard. The sky was beginning to darken with clouds, and she thought that her mood could not be reflected any better.
