Imogen recalled Mariah’s rant in the carriage, when she vowed she would only choose a husband who paid her sister the courtesy of his attention. Lord Willbridge had been present in their drawing room yesterday afternoon, obviously there for her sister. Perhaps he had decided on Mariah for a bride and realized that the way to her heart was through Imogen. Why did she not see it before?
She felt mortified to her very soul. For a very short, very sweet moment, she had believed that perhaps he had searched her out for herself. Not in a romantic nature. No, he could never desire her for that. She ignored the way her chest squeezed at that thought. But maybe he had liked her, had seen something in her that no one else had, had perhaps wanted to be her friend. Was that so very bad to imagine?
She became aware of a deep quiet in her room. Mariah had finally nodded off, her head pillowed on her arm, her nearly white hair a thick plait draped over her shoulder. Imogen gently smoothed a stray wisp from her sister’s cheek before snuffing the candle and snuggling down beside her.
Imogen vividly recalled the promise that Frances had extracted from her. If Lord Willbridge truly was trying to get to Mariah in this way, she couldn’t fault him for going to extremes to try to capture her attention, for her sister was being courted aggressively on all fronts. But she would not allow any man who did not love Mariah to win her. A true innocent, the younger girl would not be able to guard her heart if a man such as he besieged it.
It was up to Imogen, then. Her lips twisted. Could fate be any more cruel, that she should have to protect her sister from the attentions of a man who was becoming all too dear to herself?
But she must be certain that Mariah was protected. And she would not allow herself to be used, no matter how he smiled at her and made her knees turn to jelly.
She resolutely closed her eyes.
Chapter 5
Caleb entered Lord Avery’s musicale the next evening, scanning the crowd for a particular, unlikely face. It no longer had the power to surprise him, this desire to see Imogen. She was such a refreshing change from the dissolute crowd he typically hung around. There was an artlessness to her he was drawn to. And her quick wit, along with the unexpected joy she had displayed when he had danced with her, had been charming and completely without artifice.
His chest felt lighter than it had in longer than he cared to remember. He desired her companionship, looked forward to being not the consummate rake but a gentleman who could take pleasure in a woman’s company simply for the sake of being with her.
As he moved through the brightly lit house, he still found no hint of her or her family. He fought down a wave of disappointment, pasting a smile on his face as he joined several of his friends in a light discussion, headed off the advances of a certain married woman, and worked his way toward the music room. Eventually he passed the threshold, taking in the quiet cream and sage opulence, the doors into the adjoining drawing room thrown wide to enlarge the space. Seats had been placed in rows down the length, and there she sat toward the front, two seats in from the aisle, quite alone and scanning her program. There was no sign of her mother or sister, though he had no doubt they were about somewhere and that Imogen was meant to hold their seats. He moved toward her.
When he was still a distance from her, she suddenly looked his way, her eyes tightening at the corners as she squinted. A peculiar kind of joy filled him, a feeling he had come to associate with her presence. He smiled. As he came closer to her, she returned it, but only just.
“Miss Duncan, you are looking well this evening.” He motioned to the chair next to her. “May I?”
She nodded quickly and he sat, taking the aisle seat. Her hands clenched on the program, and he could easily imagine her knuckles turning white under the material of her gloves.
“I was hoping you would be here tonight,” he said.
Her eyes flew to his. “You have been looking for me?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
The question took him aback. “Why?” he repeated.
“Yes. Why were you looking for me? I know I’m not the normal type of company you keep.” She stuck her chin out. “Do you care for my sister, my lord?”
It had taken every bit of strength she possessed to force the words past her unwilling lips. Once they were out, she wanted to recall them. She lifted her chin a fraction more and waited, ignoring the faint trembling in her hands and the even more furious trembling in her stomach.
He sat back, the breath leaving him in a disbelieving huff. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Did she truly have to repeat herself? “Do you care for my sister?”
His mouth hung open for a moment before he shut it with an audible snap. “What does your sister have to do with anything?”
She looked down at her lap. “Many men have pursued my sister. And yet she has shown none of them favoritism.”
There was a charged pause before he blurted, “And? What has this to do with me?”
Was that annoyance in his voice? She swung her gaze up to his incredulous one. “It has everything to do with you.”
“Explain,” he demanded.
She began to feel incensed at his attitude. “It is no secret my sister and I are exceedingly close. It really was only a matter of time, I suppose, before someone realized her affection for me and decided to use it to gain access to her.”
His face fell slack. “Is that what you think of me?” Disbelief and hurt colored his voice. “Do you actually believe me such a cad?”
