Page 82 of With Love in Sight
She watched as he began feeling about the bedside table. Moving behind him, she raised the book high above her. Her muscles tensed, ready to bring the tome down on his head. She gave a fervent thanks for the heavy volume of Shakespearian plays she had decided to bring to bed with her when a candle flared to life. The intruder turned, his face illuminated.
Imogen gasped and dropped the book. It landed on her bare toes and she winced, dropping to the floor to rub away the pain.
“Imogen,” Caleb whispered, bending down beside her. “Are you hurt?”
Foot throbbing, eyes stinging, she looked up at him incredulously. “Caleb, what are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, he gripped her hands, helping her up. As soon as she was standing, she pulled away from him. Her mind was whirling, her heart beating hard in her chest.
He stepped toward her, but she held up a shaking hand. He stopped, his face tight with frustration.
“Why are you here in London?” she repeated. “Why aren’t you back at Willowhaven with your family?”
“I had to see you.” There was something new in his voice that she was vaguely aware of, even in the midst of the turmoil she was feeling.
“You saw me just two days ago,” Imogen said harshly. “I think we said everything there was to say to each other then.”
“No, there’s more.”
He looked as if he were about to draw close to her again. Desperate to put more distance between them, she moved to the open window, looking down at the three-story drop to the ground. She imagined him scaling the spindly tree, using the narrow stone ledge of the building to access her window, and shuddered.
Her back to him, the chill night air cooling her flushed skin, she rasped, “So you raced halfway across the country? You climb in through my bedroom window in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t you wait to use the front door?”
“I knew you wouldn’t see me.”
“No. No, I wouldn’t. And you know why, Caleb.” She concentrated on slowing her agitated breathing, on steadying her heartbeat. But her voice still came out strained. “Why can’t you leave me alone? Please, respect my decision. I said I will not marry you.”
She could hear him moving closer. She tensed, but he didn’t reach out to touch her.
“How can I respect your decision when I don’t understand it?” He paused, and the air was rife with tension. “I know you love me, Imogen.”
Imogen’s knees nearly buckled. She reached out a hand to catch herself, but he was already there, his hands warm on her arms.
“What did you say?” She swung about, her eyes flying to his face.
His gaze softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me you loved me, Imogen?”
His expression nearly undid her. More than anything, she wanted to melt into his embrace. She had used too much of her strength to leave him; she felt completely vulnerable now. She wasn’t supposed to have seen him again. How was she to build her defenses up against him now, when she had been torn raw from the pain of leaving him?
“It makes no difference,” she said through stiff lips.
His arms came about her and he pulled her against his body. She was acutely aware of how thin her nightgown was, of how completely unclothed she felt.
“It makes all the difference in the world,” he said, brushing her lips with his own. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the sensations bombarding her. But somehow, when her hands made to move up and grip his shoulders, she was able to reach deep down in herself and find one small shred of strength left. She placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed herself away from him.
“No, Caleb,” she choked, stumbling free from his grasp and turning from him. “Please, I cannot bear it.”
She rushed for the door, desperate to escape him, to escape the pain that seared her very heart. She didn’t care why he had chased her back to London. She could not do this anymore. This time she was certain it would destroy her.
“But I love you,” he whispered.
She gasped and reached out for the wall to steady herself.
“What?” she breathed.
He was suddenly at her back, his arms about her waist, his breath hot in her ear. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice tender. He pulled her back against his chest, his hands strong as they splayed across her middle.
But she was shaking her head, her hair rasping against his coat. “I know you love me. As a friend.”
