Chapter Eleven

Caleb felt relief sweep through him as he recognized the moment his siren decided to stay.

For a second, he’d thought she was going to turn tail and run.

And surprisingly, he already knew he would have gone after her.

She’d gotten under his skin.

Bizarrely, confusingly – she’d managed to do what women had been trying to do for years.

Yes, he’d had friendships with ladies like Anita. Longstanding arrangements with mistresses with whom he’d developed a friendly relationship.

But this was new to him. This desire bordering on desperation. This obsessive curiosity about the woman before him.

He’d meant what he’d said, too, when she’d so candidly demanded to know why he’d stopped kissing her.

He admired that about her – her no-nonsense approach, her brutal honesty.

And he’d been honest, too, in his response.

He simply hadn’t trusted himself to maintain control.

He’d been intrigued by her after their first kiss. But this went beyond mere interest and intrigue.

She called to him in a way no one else ever had.

And he didn’t even know her name.

“My lord.”

Her voice interrupted his wandering thoughts, and Caleb was struck once more by the beauty of her eyes.

He was no longer sure he’d survive this night with her.

He was, however, sure that it wouldn’t be his last with her. Because one night wouldn’t be enough.

“Call me, Caleb,” he suddenly blurted. “Formality seems a little misplaced, does it not?”

She frowned slightly, and he was, once again, amused by the paradox.

Demanding that he bed her was evidently more agreeable to her than using his Christian name.

She seemed to reach the same conclusion as he, for she suddenly smiled shyly, and Caleb realised with a start that this was the first time she’d smiled in his company.

And on the heels of that realisation came another one. He wanted to make her smile again. And a lot more, too.

“Caleb, then,” she said a little impatiently. “I thought that –“

“And you are?”

Her frown was significantly more pronounced now.

“We’ve been through this.” She sounded every inch a governess again. “Have we not?”

“We have,” Caleb answered with faux solemnity. “But what can I say? I’d like to know your name before I bed you.”

He watched her swallow hard.

“A-and that’s a requirement, is it? You need to know my name for me to – for, for us to – well –“

Damn, but she was endearing. It had been a long time since Caleb had been around such virtue and innocence.

He used to think he found it nauseating. But he was utterly charmed.

It was most disconcerting.

He found himself taking pity on her.

“The only thing I need is to be in the same room as you,” he answered wryly. She might not be aware of the uncomfortable tightness of his breeches right now, but he most certainly was.

“Why won’t you give me your name?” he asked curiously.

“I don’t want you knowing who I am,” she answered, brutally honest once more, and damned if he didn’t feel a little hurt at that.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Caleb was starting to feel a bit panicky about the emotions this odd, beautiful creature was evoking.

And rather than delve too deeply into that, he figured it was safer to revert to type.

“Siren it is then.” He turned the full power of his charm on her and was relieved to see that it was working. At least, it seemed to be, given the heightened colour in her cheeks as he stalked back toward her.

Removing the half drunk brandy from her hands, he placed it on the side table beside the chaise before straightening to look directly into her eyes.

His own tumbler had been emptied in one gulp and previously placed on his desk.

“I’m hardly a siren,” she scoffed, eliciting a grin from him.

She was amusing company, if nothing else.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he quipped. “Granted, I haven’t heard you sing, only scold. But believe me – any red-blooded male would be utterly enchanted by just a glimpse of you. I know I am.”

He saw the disdainful disbelief in her eyes.

The irony was that had she been any other female, he probably would have said similar in an attempt to seduce.

And they would have believed him because they wanted to.

With her though, he actually meant it.

And he’d never again think of the Greek seductresses without thinking of her.

“Tell me one thing about yourself,” he urged in a whisper.

Standing this close, it was impossible to ignore the spell that had weaved itself around them only moments ago.

“You are young and intelligent. Astoundingly beautiful. Yet, you say you will never marry. Your preferences don’t lie elsewhere or you wouldn’t have sought out male company.”

Her face went from sceptical to confused in a moment, highlighting once again just how innocent she was. Caleb had seen everything at his parties. He knew that sexual desires came in all shapes and sizes. Clearly, she didn’t.

“You have confounded me,” he admitted ruefully. “Fascinated me. I just want to know one true thing.”

She stared at him for so long that he worried she’d just give up and go.

After an age, however, she heaved a great sigh.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” she whispered, as though the words were dragged from her. “I’ve never really lived. Because I’m afraid to. Afraid to end up like my mother.”

It was Caleb’s turn to be confused, but he kept his expression carefully clear.

“But I want – something. Something to prove to myself that I’m not completely boring. Completely without feeling or passion.”

He felt a stirring of compassion for the beautiful young woman standing before him.

He had no idea who she was. Who her mother was. But whatever her background, it clearly affected her profoundly.

And that made him quite desperately sad.

She was going to waste her life alone because she was too afraid to do otherwise. And oddly, given he hardly knew her, he wished that wasn’t the case.

“I didn’t even know I was missing anything like that until you kissed me,” she continued boldly. “But now, I do. And I want to change that. I want you. There’s your truth.”

***

Ophelia waited nervously for Lord Guilford, or Caleb she supposed, to speak.

She was worried she’d put him off with her raw honesty.

In truth, she hadn’t meant to say anything to him. She most definitely hadn’t intended to share her deepest fears.

But there was something about him – it drew her in. Made her trust him, or at least want to. Which was utter madness, given his reputation.

He called her a siren. Quite possibly the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. Ophelia Delacourt was a lot of things, but a beautiful seductress was not one of them.

Yet when he told her she was, she almost believed him.

He reached up and cupped her cheek in a gesture that was less passionate and more tender than she would have expected, and it made her foolish heart skip alarmingly.

“You are quite stunning,” he said roughly, the sincerity in his tone taking her by surprise. “In every way.”

She licked her suddenly dry lips, watching him as he watched the action.

“I suppose, it’s only fair that I confess something truthful to you, too.”

His eyes darted up from her mouth to connect with her own.

“My father was a womanising hell-raiser. And he raised my brother and me to be the same. To live how we wanted, to hell with the consequences. And I did it. We both did, until Gerald met his demise.”

The news of his lifestyle wasn’t a surprise to Ophelia, given she’d gotten a glimpse of it with her own two eyes.

She shouldn’t feel disappointed by the news. Of course, she shouldn’t.

She didn’t know him. Wouldn’t see him again. And that debauchery was why she was here in the first place.

“I’m afraid, too,” he rasped suddenly, shocking Ophelia to her core. “I’m afraid of being like my father. I didn’t think I would be. In fact, at one point, I thought that was exactly what I wanted. But I don’t.”

His smile made her stomach flip.

But as his words sank in, so too did their meaning.

“S-so you no longer want –“

“Let me be clear,” he interrupted, as his arm slowly snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. “I might not want a lot of things anymore,” he said. “But I definitely want you. Perhaps, it’s time I showed you how much.”

Ophelia’s body reacted immediately to the feel of Caleb’s solid form pressed against her.

Her mind, however, took a little longer to throw caution to the wind.

She couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between them. She had expected them to be intimate, of course. That was her entire purpose in coming here, after all.

But physical intimacy was one thing. This confessional felt far deeper, far more meaningful.

Of course, that could just be her imagination, but she didn’t think so.

Just as she didn’t think he was usually so honest with the women he bedded.

An emotion suspiciously like envy skittered through her, but she cut it off immediately.

It would be folly, bordering on insanity, to suddenly feel jealous of the women in his life.

For one thing, she didn’t even know him. And for another, well, that worldly experience was why she’d come to him, wasn’t it?

No. A brutally honest voice in her head piped up. You came to him because no man has ever made you feel even a fraction of what he has.

Well, that was true but irrelevant, Ophelia decided.

As she stood there warring with herself, Caleb’s head dipped toward her neck, and he began gently biting the flesh, sending any chance of rational thought flying.

All of a sudden, it didn’t matter why she’d come to Caleb. Only that she had.