Imogen closed the door softly and leaned her head against the smooth wood. A wide smile stole over her face as his jaunty whistle, slowly growing fainter, reached her ears.
But as the glow of the morning began to fade, so did her smile. Perhaps she should put a stop to it. But at the mere thought of letting him go, her heart twisted painfully in her chest. Nearly gasping, she gripped the fabric over her breast tightly.
She thought suddenly of her sister Frances, of the daily heartache she suffered from loving a man who could not love her in return. Not that their situations were at all the same. She would never marry Caleb, after all. But she could now sympathize more with her sister, could now understand a bit of the quiet sadness that filled her face every time she looked on her spouse.
She could not stand the thought of having to live with such a grief. But she knew that, to some degree, she would. Just how much it would hurt when they parted for good, after her heart was even more embroiled than it was now, only time could tell.
• • •
The following afternoon Lady Tarryton deemed her daughter well enough to join the rest of the party. Imogen accompanied her, along with Mariah, to the library before luncheon in an attempt to locate Lord Tarryton. He was there, buried amidst a towering mound of books he had pulled from the shelves.
As her mother was engrossed in talking with him and Mariah was quickly cornered by several of her admirers, Imogen was left to her own devices. She wandered down the shelves, perusing the titles there. Her fingers trailed lightly over the leather bindings, noting with satisfaction the wonderful variety the Knowleses had accumulated over generations. She could get lost in a room such as this, she thought with a happy sigh.
Just then a person stepped in her path. She looked up to see Caleb standing before her. His eyes twinkled merrily, though his mouth was unsmiling. He held out a book to her.
“Miss Duncan,” he said in a carrying voice, “perhaps you would enjoy this book. I highly recommend it.” As she reached out and took hold of it, he leaned in and muttered darkly through stiff lips, “Turn to page one hundred and thirty-two.”
Imogen’s lips quirked. “Did you know you would make an appalling spy?” she whispered back.
He flashed her a mischievous smile before turning about and striding toward the door. After looking about furtively, Imogen flipped to the appropriate spot. A note lay there, written in a bold, messy scrawl.
Meet me at the entrance to the North Tower at midnight, it read. Below the words a small, detailed map had been copied out carefully, showing her the way.
How very gothic! She glanced toward the door. To her surprise, Caleb was still there. He waggled his eyebrows at her when he caught her eye. Imogen clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a laugh escaping, but she only managed to make herself snort inelegantly. Several people glanced at her in some alarm, and she turned her faux pas into a coughing fit. Over the noise she could hear Caleb’s laughter as he moved down the hall.
“Imogen,” her mother hissed as she approached, “you came down too early. You should still be abed. Now you shall get on my nerves with that cough.” Lady Tarryton glared at her and shook her head. “You had best retire early. I’ll have a tray sent up.” When Imogen did little more than stare open-mouthed at her, she sighed in exasperation. “Go on,” she said, making shooing motions at her. “Off you go.”
Imogen escaped with all due haste, the treat of an entire afternoon and evening with nothing more to do than read in blessed peace spread before her, followed by a mysterious assignation with a handsome man. A thrill of anticipation coursed through her, and she hugged the book to her chest. As she closed herself off in her room, however, a realization settled like a weight on her. She was looking forward to her time with him too much. She did not know if it was possible to love someone by degrees, but she knew that if this kept up she would be even more deeply in love with him, even more in danger of emotional agony.
But despite this knowledge, she could not quiet the rapid beating of her heart at the idea of meeting him late that night. No, she thought in dismay, there was no hope for her. She was truly lost, indeed.
Chapter 12
Hours later, Imogen followed Caleb up the winding stairs of the North Tower. He was carrying a lamp, and each time he turned to glance back at her it cast a ruddy glow over his face, making her heart twist in longing. He still hadn’t told her what they were doing, but she didn’t care. She was with him; that was all she needed.
He had managed to keep up a grave manner, but his eyes held all the mischief of a little boy. Occasionally they passed a narrow window and the pale moon shone on her face in a fleeting, thin shaft. The lantern threw dancing light upon the unfinished brick interior, and she got the distinct impression that this part of the house was rarely used, though it was as well-maintained as the rest of the manor. Finally they reached the top and Caleb opened a door, motioning her through. Imogen stepped out into cool night air, and as she pulled her shawl more tightly around her, she looked up at an inky black sky full to bursting with stars. She realized with a jolt that they were on the rooftop of Pulteney Manor, its many chimneys rising up like benign sentinels around them.
She gave him a questioning look.
He motioned to the sky in a broad wave of his arm. “Stargazing,” he answered simply.
And then he stepped onto a blanket she had overlooked and that he had obviously placed there earlier. He sat, staring up at her with a small smile on his lips, his hand extended to her in invitation. If Imogen hadn’t already realized she was in love with him, this would have done her in. In the lamp glow, he had to be the most achingly beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life.
“Stargazing?” she repeated stupidly, her voice oddly breathless. She moved forward, taking his hand and sinking down onto the blanket. A hot desire snaked through her at the contact, but she shook herself, trying to jolt some sense back into her brain.
She had done much thinking since they had returned from swimming the day before and had come to the conclusion that having him guess that her affection for him went beyond friendship would be an end to it. The last thing she wanted was for him to look on her in pity. Miss Imogen Duncan, aging spinster, in love with Caleb Masters, Marquess of Willbridge? There wasn’t anything more pathetic than that.
He suddenly blew out the lamp, bringing her back to the present. “Have you ever just gone out at night to stargaze?” he asked as she settled her skirts about her.
She paused, thinking back. Now that she considered it, she couldn’t remember a time she ever had.
He noticed her uncertainty and smirked. “I thought not. Now,” he said, stretching out on his back, “just do as I do.”
She looked at him in fond exasperation before complying. “Is there an art to stargazing?”
“There is an art to everything.” he replied, utterly serious.
“Very well then. Lead on, tutor.”
