He could not think. His mind was full of faces, all of them scored with condemnation for his part in their misery. But now was not the time for this. Such thoughts would not help him figure out how best to deal with Imogen.
Caleb shook his head violently. Concentrating on the path before him, he kicked his mount to a gallop. And as his body and mind responded to the quickened pace, he watched as if from a distance as the memories of the past melted away.
Chapter 7
Later that evening, Caleb stood to the side of the group milling about the elegant gilt and burgundy drawing room before dinner. It seemed no one had refused the invitation to his cousin’s house party; the room was full to bursting. And yet Caleb felt Imogen’s absence keenly.
Just as he sensed the moment she entered; his chest expanded, his shoulders felt lighter. Indeed, the very air around him seemed less dense. Despite the urge he felt to cross the room to her, however, he forced himself to stay where he was. But he could not keep his eyes from her. She was as ever eclipsed by her sister, who shone as if she had been dipped in stardust. Even so, Imogen was all he could see.
He had taken time on the hard ride here to think deeply about his fascination with her. After his initial fury of emotion, Tristan’s and Morley’s comments had made him realize he needed to look with a critical eye at his feelings for Imogen. Why did she have this effect on him? What was it about her that drew him? But even after an hour of searching his mind, he was no closer to an answer. Now he studied her and forced the question on himself that had been at the periphery of all his musings that afternoon: did he desire her?
She was not his usual sort, of course. He always seemed to gravitate toward buxom, sultry women whose knowledge of the sensual arts sometimes eclipsed even his own. But Imogen was none of those things. She was small, though full-figured, and quiet. Everything about her spoke of calmness and virginity and innocence.
She looked at him then, squinting as always, and a small smile flitted across her face. But those eyes, he thought as he bowed to her, watching her take her place far across the room next to her harridan of a mother, he could drown in those eyes. Whole universes had been found in their depths. He never felt freer of the shackles of the past than he did when receiving a smile from those incredible turquoise eyes.
Did he desire her? He feared the answer was yes. For even as he considered it, he remembered with a suddenness that locked his muscles the kiss he had stolen from her that first night. Her body had been soft against his, and her lips, though slack with surprise, had been like the sweetest nectar. And he knew then that more than anything he would like to kiss her again.
He very nearly physically recoiled from the thought. It was Imogen, for goodness’ sake. She was his friend, an innocent, and completely out of bounds.
Damn both Tristan and Morley to the very pits of hell. They had effectively ruined what to him had become one of his greatest pleasures. He could not now look at Imogen the same way again. How could he continue their relationship realizing as he did the way he felt for her?
And truly, how could he in good conscience continue it anyway? His friends were right, though he hated to admit it. If he continued to show her marked attention and it went no further, the entire ton would think he had played with her. She would be the victim of every joke for the remainder of the Season and beyond.
Just then Miss Mariah linked arms with Imogen and whispered in her ear. Imogen blushed crimson and murmured back, keeping her eyes averted. Miss Mariah glanced his way, giving him a small smile before turning back to her sister.
Caleb’s heart sank. If those closest to them were beginning to believe there was something more than friendship, it was only a matter of time before the rest of Society did as well.
If he only had to worry about himself, he would damn them all and keep on his course. He had never been one to bow down to social dictates, and he did not intend to start now. But there was Imogen, who had enough sadness in her eyes and did not need it compounded upon by his selfishness. Despite the pain it brought him, he would have to break away from her.
Jaw set, he turned his back on her and walked purposely toward the nearest lonely widow, ignoring the pull he felt to turn about and go to Imogen’s side.
• • •
As dinner that night wore on, Imogen found the food growing increasingly tasteless. Lord Willbridge had not looked her way once since the initial meeting of their gazes across the crowded drawing room. Instead, he had joined a stunning woman in a deep sapphire evening gown, her bosom fairly spilling from the fragile silk. After that he had made his way to another woman’s side, this one in a lovely shade of emerald green that set off her auburn curls to perfection. And now there was the blonde he sat beside. Even with her blurred vision Imogen could see the melting smile Lord Willbridge gifted the woman, one that curled Imogen’s toes from where she sat halfway down the length of the immense mahogany table. She endeavored to keep her eyes from him, but he drew her gaze time and again with his laughing gaiety and flirtatious manner.
Mariah, seated across from her, did not even attempt to mask her confusion. She ignored the gentlemen to either side of her, instead glaring with barely banked frustration at the marquess. Every so often she would shoot Imogen a disbelieving look before returning her attention to the head of the table.
By the time the women left the men to their port and returned to the drawing room, Mariah was a seething ball of rage. She wasted no time in pulling Imogen off to the side.
“What is wrong with Lord Willbridge?” she hissed.
Imogen looked about, making sure no one, especially her mother, was within earshot. “There is nothing wrong with him. Calm yourself.”
“But he has been ignoring you all evening.”
“I am not his only friend, you know. And if he lives in my pocket, people will begin to talk.”
Mariah huffed. “Well,” she hedged, “I suppose that’s true.”
“Of course it is,” Imogen soothed. To her relief, the tense line of Mariah’s shoulders relaxed a bit. But as they moved to join Lady Tarryton, Mariah took hold of her arm.
“But the women he has been flirting with! Imogen, it is not well done of him.”
“Mariah,” Imogen said with exasperation, “we knew his reputation long before this night. He is not a monk.”
Mariah looked at her for a moment before sputtering in laughter. “No, he is not that.”
As the women settled themselves, Lady Knowles stood up and garnered the attention of the room. “Ladies, I have to thank you all for joining us here at our home. I know it was rude to call you away from London for even so short a time as a week when the Season has just begun.”
