A Scoundrel's Surrender (10 page)

Marah turned from them and faced Caleb and his mother again. She smiled first at the marchioness, but then her gaze fell on Caleb. “If you think I could help him, it doesn't hurt to ask if he'd like to meet me.”

“I think we'll wait for you here,” Justin said as he slid his chair closer and slipped an arm around his wife's shoulders. “I wouldn't want him to feel overwhelmed by guests.”

His mother smiled as the rest of them got to their feet. The marchioness grasped Marah's hand and guided her to the hallway. Caleb followed, unable to hear them as they talked in low tones ahead of him. But he could watch them. He could see that her offer still worried Marah, but she did this regardless because it seemed to please his mother.

Because it pleased him.

But his thoughts left him as they all stopped outside his father's door. His mother released Marah and entered the room, closing the door behind her. Caleb slipped into the place beside Marah. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. There was so much he wanted to tell her, wanted to advise her on how to interact with his father if she did have the chance to pass through the door, but she looked nervous enough at this strange situation. There was no need to make her more anxious as she waited.

So instead he reached out and briefly squeezed her hand. “Don't worry,” he whispered.

She glanced at him swiftly, but when he made to remove his hand she clung to it a moment longer before she dropped it away and sucked in a breath as his mother rejoined them in the hallway.

“Well?” Caleb said, uncertain why he so wanted his father to meet Marah.

The marchioness nodded. “He is as stupefied as Miss Farnsworth here by the oddness of this situation, but he seems intrigued by the notion that he could greet his guests without leaving the comfort of his bed. He's ready for you now, my dear. Won't you follow me?”

She opened the door again as she said the last and motioned to Marah as she entered. Caleb followed her, almost colliding with her as she came to a sudden stop just within the chamber door. He had grown so accustomed to the darkness of his father's chamber that he hardly noticed it anymore, but now he saw the room through Marah's eyes and recalled his own feelings when he had first entered the chamber not so long ago.

He leaned in over her shoulder and whispered, “Brighter light bothers him. Your eyes will adjust momentarily.”

She nodded, but she was staring toward his mother as she went to the bed and said something to the figure who was propped up there, waiting. Then she turned back and motioned toward Marah.

“Miss Marah Farnsworth, may I present my husband, the Marquis of Stratfield.”

Marah hesitated, and for a brief moment Caleb wondered if she had become overwhelmed and would run. He certainly couldn't blame her if she did the very thing he had done not so long ago. Between the oddness of this situation and the pressure put on her to make a sick man happy, it was much to ask of her.

But the moment passed, and then she stepped into the room and made her way to the bedside.

“My lord, how happy I am to have this chance to meet you,” she said.

Caleb marveled as she maneuvered so his father could see her well and then bobbed out a quick curtsy in deference to him. She didn't behave as if it was odd to be here, she didn't recoil at his state, she simply acted as if this was all perfectly normal.

His father smiled up at her. “Hello, my dear, I've heard so many wonderful things about you from my son that I'm happy to have this chance to meet you. Even under these odd circumstances.”

His mother motioned delicately and Marah seated herself in the chair beside the marquis' bed and laughed. “I am certain Justin exaggerates about my character. You will likely find me very dull in comparison.”

“That is not the case so far,” the marquis said, his breathing labored and his words slow, but as Caleb moved closer, he could also see a light in his father's eyes that hadn't been there in all the times he had come here. “And it wasn't Justin who praised you so high. It was Caleb.”

Marah hesitated, and in the dim light Caleb saw her swallow hard. She cast a quick glance up at him and then back to the marquis. “Caleb spoke of me? Well . . . I appreciate his compliments to you. He has often spoken of you as well, sir.”

Slowly Caleb backed away to stand at the door beside his mother as the two continued their conversation. Even from a distance, he could see his father was brighter as he spoke to Marah. And she occasionally laughed, never taking her eyes off her “host.”

“This has made him happy,” his mother said softly.

Caleb nodded. “He was always a social man. In the moments when his mind is unclouded and his pain is less, he must feel trapped by this bed and his illness.”

“He
did
love to mingle and talk and occasionally flirt in a harmless manner with a pretty girl,” his mother said with a light laugh. When Caleb spun to face her, she shrugged, but he could see her smile. “Well, Miss Farnsworth
is
a very pretty girl.”

“Indeed she is,” Caleb said, barely suppressing a sigh.

His mother opened the door quietly. “And a very kind one. Someone should go down to Victoria and Justin, but Miss Farnsworth will need an escort.”

Caleb looked at Marah and his father and then he nodded. “I would be happy to wait for the lady.”

His mother's eyes went wide, but then they softened a touch. She looked toward the slender woman who was sitting with his father, smiling and talking to him in tones they couldn't hear.

“It is not proper to leave her with
you
as chaperone.”

He arched a brow. “I don't think much in this situation is ‘proper,' madam. However, of the two of us, Miss Farnsworth does know me a little, and when she is finished with the marquis she might be more comfortable with a—a
friend
waiting for her.”

His mother hesitated a fraction while her gaze slipped to Marah once again. Finally she shrugged one shoulder. “Very well. I'll return downstairs while you wait for your . . .” She looked at him evenly. “
Friend
.”

Then his mother was gone, the chamber door shut behind her, and Caleb was alone with the two people who muddled and confused him most. His father, who had raised him and yet not sired him. Who brought out all the love and all the anger that Caleb had ever felt as he watched him die.

And Marah. He wanted her, but couldn't have her. She made him want to stay with her, and yet he was forced to run.

Before his tangled thoughts could grow even more indulgent and maudlin, Marah rose to her feet.

“I should leave you to your rest, my lord,” he heard her say. “I'm so pleased I was able to meet you.”

“As am I,” the marquis said as he extended his weak hand to her. She hesitated for a brief moment, but then she took it. “Good-bye.”

Caleb heard her suck in a breath at the finality of his father's farewell. After a brief pause, she whispered, “I think I shall say good night, my lord. I much prefer good night to good-bye.”

His father smiled, but said nothing as she released his hand and made her way back across the room toward Caleb. As she reached him, Caleb was shocked to see that tears filled her eyes. He quickly led her to the hall and closed the door behind them to offer them privacy.

Leaning closer, he murmured, “I'm sorry. We shouldn't have asked so much of you.”

She lifted her face toward his. “I'm not crying because I was forced to meet or spend time with your father, Caleb. I'm crying because when I said good night, he smiled at me with such an indulgent expression. He knew that he would never see me again. And I knew it, too.”

Caleb stared. In the few moments Marah had spent with his father, she had felt the same things he felt every time he opened that door to his father's chamber. In her eyes he saw a mirror image of the grief, the loss, the sadness that made his own chest ache.

“You may be correct,” he said softly as he cupped her chin with one hand. “You may never have the opportunity to spend another moment with him, but I can tell you, Marah . . . tonight you made him happy. Meeting you brightened him and lifted him. That is the best gift you could ever give him.”

He hesitated as he caught her one solitary tear on his thumb and swiped it aside. “And me,” he finally added in a low whisper.

He leaned down, close enough that her breath stirred against his cheek. Close enough that he could smell her warm skin and feel her heartbeat double. He wanted to draw her to his chest and crush her in his embrace. To lock his lips with hers until he felt like they were one person.

But instead he moved his lips to her cheek and gently kissed the smooth flesh there. Marah shivered ever so slightly, before she turned her face. But unlike the first time he'd attempted to kiss her the day after their mutual returns to London, tonight she turned her mouth toward him, not away. His lips brushed hers, her arms came around his neck, and then her mouth parted ever so slightly beneath his.

Caleb brought his arms around her, cradling her body against his not roughly, as he had initially imagined, but gently. And his kiss was just as tender. He parted his own lips, but didn't delve into her, he didn't try to drown himself in her taste or her feel. Tonight he just kissed her and drew from it as much comfort as he hoped he gave in return.

For the first time, Marah didn't pull back or turn away. Her fingers lifted to the base of his skull and she threaded her fingers through the thick hair there, massaging his scalp with her nails until he shivered with pleasure. She met each kiss with an eager one of her own, holding tight to him as her body began to shake.

Caleb didn't know how long they had stood there, and he had no idea how much longer or further they might have gone, because from behind them on the stairs he heard someone cough and then Victoria's voice called out, “Marah, Caleb?”

They broke apart swiftly and Marah turned away, first smoothing her shaking hands over her skirts and then touching her pink cheeks as Caleb said, “Yes, we were just about to come down.”

“Oh good,” Victoria said, still on the staircase. “I'll go back and tell the others.”

Her footsteps faded as she walked away and Marah turned back, her eyes wide and bright. “Do you think she saw us?”

Caleb looked toward the stairway. “She was far enough down that she couldn't have.”

Marah nodded, but from the nervous flit of her eyes toward the end of the hallway, Caleb could see the answer didn't satisfy her. Truth be told, it didn't fully satisfy him. There was no reason for Victoria to call for them from the stairs, to avoid coming up to intrude, unless she
had
seen them locked in an embrace and was doing her level best to avoid embarrassing them by pretending not to have seen.

He doubted she would keep her silence on the matter forever, though. Victoria spoke her mind, which Caleb respected, but also didn't look forward to if her mind had opinions on his confusing relationship with Marah.

“Come, we should join them before they suspect,” Marah said, shaking her head as she hurried away from him toward the stairs. He followed her, catching up in a few long strides and they walked side by side, silent and awkward, together to the parlor.

As they entered the room, Caleb's mother instantly stood and crossed to Marah. She enveloped her in a hard hug before she released her.

“Thank you for that, my dear. And know you are always welcome in our home and by our family.” His mother touched her cheek. “You are a friend to us forever.”

Marah smiled, but Caleb saw her gaze flit to him briefly before she turned her face. “Thank you, my lady. If I helped in any way, I'm very happy to have done so.”

“It has been a long and trying night,” Victoria said, her gaze on Marah in a way that made Caleb even more certain that his sister-in-law had only feigned not seeing his kiss with her friend. “I think we shall return home.”

Justin nodded. “Yes.” He turned toward Caleb. “Will you join us in our carriage? I'm sure mother's stable can tend to your horse until our return tomorrow afternoon.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb saw his mother nod. For a brief moment he considered going home with his brother . . . with Marah. But if he did, he feared it would only increase his upset. After all, upon their arrival to Justin and Victoria's home, Marah would go to her bed and he to his own. Alone. The idea of that was especially troubling after tonight.

“No,” he finally said. “I think I will go out. I'll return home later.”

Justin hesitated, his mouth thinning to a worried line, but then he nodded. “As you wish, brother, of course.”

Justin motioned the ladies toward the foyer, but as everyone said their good-byes, Caleb saw Marah look at him. The warmth, the openness, even the desire he had seen on her face in the hall before she kissed him, were gone. Now she looked angry. She looked hurt.

And though he knew it was for the best, the loss of her brief acceptance stung him to his very core.

Chapter 10

“A
re you certain you are ready for this?” Victoria asked softly as she leaned toward Marah and poured her a cup of tea.

Surprised, Marah snapped her gaze to the group around them, but all the ladies Victoria had invited to tea continued to chat and giggle. None seemed to have heard Victoria's concerned inquiry.

“Of course,” Marah insisted. “I'm perfectly fine.”

But as Victoria turned her attention to another guest with an incredulous shake of her head, Marah stifled a sigh. Her statement was exactly the lie Victoria seemed to believe it was. There was nothing
fine
about how Marah felt.

Thoughts of the previous evening's events had kept her up all night. Whether it was the warmth with which she had been welcomed to Caleb's family or the strain between him and his mother or the odd and yet moving time she'd spent with his sickly father, all of it had kept her tossing and turning in her bed.

Being with their family had been such an enlightening experience, making Marah realize just how much she'd missed, sequestered away with her grandmother in the small shire of Baybary. She hadn't ever attended that kind of family supper, punctuated with friendly stories and meaningful glances and smiles.

It made her wonder . . . did her father's family share those same kinds of nights together? Did they talk about him as a boy? Did they ever wonder about her as she sometimes wondered about them in moments of weakness?

She blinked and forced the thoughts away. There was no use wishing for what one couldn't have.

Only that was what she seemed bound to do, for the other thoughts that troubled her, the ones that had made her yearn for sleep and yet fear the dreams that would surely come, were of Caleb.

Somehow, everything between them had shifted last night. She had been able to observe him in a way she'd never experienced before. She'd seen the strain with his mother, the boiling conflict about to erupt with his sister, and his heartbreaking love of the man who had raised him. He had, in some way, let her into his world, and she had allowed him to do it.

She had even been so foolish as to kiss him, even though it went against everything she claimed to wish to avoid.

And then, in true Caleb fashion, he had left her, likely to go cavorting with courtesans and drink himself into oblivion. Whatever they'd shared had, as always, meant far less to him than it did to her.

So now, rather than being “fine” as she claimed when Victoria asked, Marah was angry, she was hurt, and she felt so foolish that she wanted to go hide for a while. But she couldn't. This tea had been planned since her arrival and she wouldn't embarrass Victoria by running away to pout like a petulant child.

The door out in the hallway opened and she heard Crenshaw's low monotone in the hall as he greeted what was likely a late-coming guest. She settled into her chair and leaned a little closer to the ladies beside her, ready to attend more carefully to their conversation and forget her troubling thoughts.

She wasn't given a chance. Before she had even said hello, the butler stepped into the doorway and intoned, “Mr. Caleb Talbot, my lady.”

Marah's gaze jerked to the entryway as Caleb strode into the room. He was wearing the same clothing as he had been in the previous night and he had a scruffy, yet utterly handsome appearance that both aroused and annoyed her. She pursed her lips and forced herself to look away as he bowed with flourish to the room.

“Ladies.”

The women around her actually began to titter as a few greeted him in return. Marah actually heard one, Lady Jericho, whisper to her companion, “A handsome one, that. Wild as anything, but the right woman will settle him down.”

Heat flooded Marah's cheeks as she stared at her clenched hands in her lap. The “right” woman obviously hadn't been she. It never would be.

“What are
your
thoughts on Mr. Talbot?” Lady Jericho said as she turned toward Marah with a suddenly focused stare.

Marah shifted, for the woman had been stealing glances at her since her arrival. Aside from which, her tone wasn't low at all, and Caleb's gaze flashed to the two of them as he moved to greet a few of the guests.

Marah frowned. “I'm afraid I don't know him well enough to render an opinion, my lady.”

“You are his fellow houseguest, you must have some thoughts about him,
Lady
Marah,” the other woman continued.

Marah stiffened. Had this woman just addressed her as the daughter of a peer? No, it had to be her imagination. Victoria hadn't introduced her as such, but as Miss Farnsworth.

“Come, Francine,” one of the other women said with a cluck of her tongue. “You called Miss Farnsworth Lady Marah.”

Lady Jericho smiled, apparently pleased that someone had noticed her social gaffe. “That is because
I
know who she is. Lady Baybary may have introduced her to us as a woman of no connection, but that isn't true.”

Because Lady Jericho made no effort to temper her tone, the entire room was now staring at Marah, including Caleb. She shifted beneath the scrutiny as she made a lame attempt to deflect the attention.

“I-I don't know what you could mean—” she began, but Lady Jericho's cackle kept her from finishing.

“Of course you do!” The older woman's brow arched. “My dear, I am a very good friend of your grandmother.”

Marah caught her breath as the blood that had flushed her cheeks suddenly flowed away. Her head spun as she stared at the woman who was stripping her bare in ways she had no idea were possible.

Caleb stepped forward. “I believe you are mistaken, Lady Jericho,” he said, his gaze never leaving Marah's face. In his eyes she saw concern and empathy, and she would have appreciated them if only he hadn't continued and made the situation worse. “Miss Farnsworth's grandmother recently passed away.”

The women of the group let out a collective gasp and then all their gazes pivoted from Caleb to Lady Jericho and Marah.

Lady Jericho shook her head emphatically. “You should not say such slander, Mr. Talbot. Why, I saw the lady's grandmother just yesterday afternoon. The Dowager Countess Breckinridge was in perfect health.”

“Breckinridge?” Another of the women raised a hand to her lips. “Then that makes
Lady
Marah the daughter of . . .”

“The late son of the earl and countess,” Lady Jericho finished. “He was only earl for a short time before his own death and the younger brother took the title, but according to
my
sources he was legally wed to Lady Marah's mother. Which makes her the daughter of one of the richest families in country!”

The last Lady Jericho said with a crowing and triumphant grin, and Marah's heart seemed to stop. She could hardly hear anything above the roaring in her ears as she stared around the room at the faces of the women in attendance. Expressions of shock, increased interest, horror, and scandal greeted her. And why not? It wasn't every day that one found out someone one thought was utterly common was actually as elevated as they were.

And once they overcame their surprise and realized that her father's family had all but cut her off entirely, she could only imagine the whispers that were sure to happen after today's exposure would turn into roars in every ballroom and backroom of the
ton
.

She pushed to her feet, her vision spinning as she looked around her in a panic. She just wanted to get out of this room. To get away and breathe fresh air until she could figure out how to respond to this secret she hadn't ever intended to come out.

“Excuse me,” she murmured past a thick, useless tongue before she tossed Victoria an apologetic look and then staggered from the room and down the hall to the closest chamber with a terrace.

But as she stepped into the fresh air, tinged with the scent of flowers on the breeze, Marah felt no respite from her horror. Things better left alone had just been dragged into the light. And she feared she could never go back to the way things had once been.

C
aleb watched as Marah fled the room, helpless in the face of her obvious upset at the revelation of this shocking news. Around him the women began to whisper and titter, their interest piqued by the idea of a member of an influential family whom they hadn't even known existed. And Marah's reaction only made them worse, for it was one more thing to talk about behind their fans.

Caleb turned toward Victoria. She was still staring at the space where Marah had last stood, her expression one of horrified guilt. He approached her and took her arm gently in an attempt to soothe her.

“Will you go after her?” Victoria asked softly. “I'll stay here and try to minimize the damage.”

Caleb stared. He was the last person anyone generally sent on a mission of comfort, but he nodded because minimizing damage was something he was even worse at.

As he moved to release his sister-in-law, she sighed. “I never meant for all of this to happen when I asked her to come to London. Between you and now this . . . I fear she may never forgive me.”

Caleb's stomach turned at his part in Marah's pain, but he patted Victoria's hand before he slipped from the room and down the hallway in the direction Marah had gone. The door to one of the parlors was open and he moved to it. He stepped inside, but found the room empty, though the terrace door was open. Drawing a deep breath, he went outside.

Marah was standing at the wall of the veranda, staring out over the greenery of the yard and toward a few city buildings that peeked above and around the treetops in the distance.

He stopped to stare before he said her name. From her posture, her upset was clear. Her shoulders were hunched like the weight of something great was bearing down on them. Her head was bent, as well. For the first time he saw her as . . . broken, and it made his heart hurt, for one of the qualities he had always been drawn to in her was her strength. She had shown it during Victoria's ruse two years ago, she had shown it during and after the attack on her, and she had shown it since her return to the city.

He shut the terrace door behind him. When the door clicked, Marah jumped, though she didn't turn to face him.

“I'm so, so sorry, Victoria,” she murmured.

“Victoria is the one who is sorry, I assure you,” Caleb said softly.

Marah spun at the sound of his voice and stared at him. “Y-you?
You
came for me?”

He nodded. “Of course. But don't fret, Victoria stayed behind to try to minimize the damage done by Lady Jericho's crowing.”

Marah let out a groan and covered her eyes with a palm. “There is no minimizing this! Surely you must see how quickly the story will spread. It will be made even worse since I ran from the room like a ninny.”

They were quiet for a moment and then Caleb dared to move a long step closer. Marah didn't recoil, but she slowly lowered her palm from her eyes and looked up at him in silence. She was waiting for . . . something. Maybe for him to judge her, but all he wanted to do was know more.

“Marah, I thought your grandmother died,” he said, gentling his tone as much as he could.

There was a flash of pain to her expression at the thought, but she nodded. “Oh, she did. But that was my mother's mother, the woman who raised me in Baybary. The woman to whom Lady Jericho referred is my father's mother.”

“And is she really Countess Breckinridge?” he asked.

Marah nodded silently, her face stricken.

“Which would make your father . . .”

Marah turned and her voice became faraway and so sad that Caleb felt the pain of it.

“Arthur Farnsworth, also known as the Viscount Farnsworth when he met my mother. Right after my birth and my mother's death, his own father died and he became Earl of Breckinridge, although he didn't hold the title long. He died within five years himself. It is his younger brother who holds the title now.”

Caleb swallowed. From her broken expression he could see just how tender a subject this was. And yet he was compelled to know more.

“I never knew,” he said softly.

She shrugged, her eyes still concentrating on someplace far off in the distance. “Few do. It isn't something I talk about often. My grandmother . . . the one who raised me . . . she insisted I be called Miss Farnsworth, not Lady Marah, though I suppose that is my proper address, as uncomfortable as I am with it.”

Caleb nodded. It was odd that he and Marah had shared the most intimate of moments, that she knew his darkest secret, and yet this tidbit of information about her past came as a complete shock to him. A shock and a shame, for it was utterly clear that despite all Marah's offerings of solace and comfort, he had selfishly never asked her about herself, nor offered anything in return.

Until now.

“Will you tell me about it?” he said as he motioned to the stairway that led to the garden below. “While we walk?”

Marah stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “I'm not sure . . .”

He smiled. “You know, you hold
my
secret in your very protective hands. Perhaps you will trust me with some intimate knowledge of you in return.”

Her eyes widened and he read her thoughts like they were written across a page before him. She was thinking of the afternoon two years ago when they had made love. His intimate knowledge of her went beyond any other man's and that was a triumph, at least for the time being.

“And if that reason doesn't suit you, how about this one? The air will do you good,” he insisted as he held out his elbow in offering.

She shrugged as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Very well. I don't relish the idea of going back inside to face that parlor of vultures so soon. Perhaps a walk
will
help me gather myself.”

He maneuvered them down the stairway into a small garden just behind the house. Marah seemed to relax with every step as she drew in a long breath of the fragrant air and then she began to talk.