Chapter Fourteen

Caleb eyed himself critically in the looking glass. Something he’d never done before.

Judging from his valet’s confused countenance, the staff had noticed his strange behaviour, too.

Of course, none of them would comment.

Even when he’d instructed Havers to once more send word to his cohorts that there would be no debauchery at the Guilford Townhouse again this evening, the butler had merely nodded and sidled off to do his bidding.

“Perhaps the navy,” Caleb said, ignoring the befuddled frown of the valet.

He removed the charcoal superfine from his shoulders and replaced it for the third time with the navy-blue jacket his valet held out.

This was all probably going to be pointless, he told himself as he buttoned the jacket.

There was every chance that his Siren would stay away, despite the invitation that had bordered on begging.

Last night, they’d removed to his bedchamber, and he’d made love to her until she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep.

And then to his surprise, he’d sat and watched her, stroking a hand along the smooth curve of her spine.

Who is this woman who has bewitched me so? he’d asked himself while she slept.

His feelings had confused him. His stamina had honestly impressed him. For even when he’d wrung every ounce of passion from them both, he’d still stirred to life again merely looking at her.

When she’d awoken just before dawn, stretching and almost giving him an apoplexy, he’d asked her to return to him this evening.

She hadn’t given him a definitive answer either way, far too worried about getting home – wherever home was – before anyone noticed her absence.

Caleb had insisted that she be returned in one of his unmarked carriages. When she refused, he’d merely explained to her that she’d draw more attention to herself being followed by the Marquess of Guilford than she would in an inconspicuous carriage with the drapes pulled. Especially now that her dress was essentially a rag.

In the end, she’d conceded because she seemed to sense that he was actually serious. That hell would freeze over before he’d let her walk out onto the London streets alone. And he had a point about the state of her dress.

He’d known that he’d irritated her, and so he’d kissed the temper out of her until she’d been pliant enough to hear his request and give it serious consideration.

When he’d extracted a promise that she’d at least think about coming back, he’d let her go.

And now, he stood here like a damned debutante nervously awaiting her first ball, worrying about clothing and hoping to catch someone’s eye.

If his father could see him now…

No doubt, the old marquess and his eldest son would be rolling in their graves if they knew what had become of Caleb.

In only days, he’d been thoroughly turned around by a woman who wouldn’t even give her name. Who wanted nothing but sex from him.

Truth be told, most of the ladies of his acquaintance wanted nothing but sex. It had never bothered him because he’d never wanted more himself.

But with the siren…for whatever reason, things were different.

Lying with her had been incredible. But it wasn’t just that. He wanted to talk to her, spend time with her.

A singular feeling for him, but then she’d gotten under his skin.

The clock struck the hour, and damned if he didn’t feel a fluttering in his stomach.

Never in his life had he bloody well fluttered.

The woman would be the death of him. Or at least his reputation.

Is your reputation really important to you? He asked himself as he dismissed the valet and made his way to his study. Do you even want it?

No, he didn’t, Caleb realised.

For a while now, he’d been dissatisfied with his life. The siren had only served to put the final nail in that particular coffin.

Well, his mother would be well pleased, at least.

Surely it was just coincidence though, Caleb reassured himself, as panic began clawing at the edges of his mind.

He just happened to meet her around the same time as already deciding he wanted to change his ways.

It was timing.

Not her.

It couldn’t be. He barely knew her.

Entering his study, Caleb found himself immediately moving to the window to stare at the street below.

Christ! What had become of him?

As he watched, suddenly a cloaked figure appeared at the corner of the square and hurried toward the house, and something that felt strangely like elation burst to life in his chest.

So it was her, then, he conceded.

He was in trouble.

So, why didn’t he care?

***

Ophelia told herself repeatedly how foolish she was for coming back here.

Hadn’t she told herself that it would be only one night?

Hadn’t she sworn to herself that she wouldn’t be like her mother?

Yet, here she was – risking it all, once again, for a man.

But it wasn’t just any man. It was that man.

That’s why she was here again. Not for anything as base as wanting – well, there was no need to be crude. Even in her thoughts.

Though they’d certainly been crude enough all day when she’d been so distracted by memories of her night with the marquess that Miss Fisher had actually sent her to her rooms for a spell, as though she were an unruly student.

It had been while she was sitting in her room, looking over old diaries filled with nothing that she’d decided she would accept his invitation to return this evening.

Yes, she’d wanted one night. But now that she’d experienced it, now that she’d spent time in his company, she wanted more.

And maybe it would all prove to be folly. Maybe she’d regret it. But she didn’t think so.

Of course, this thing, whatever it was between them, wouldn’t last forever.

Eventually he would marry, most likely a lady who wouldn’t mind turning a blind eye to his lifestyle.

And since the idea of said lifestyle made Ophelia’s stomach twist with jealousy when she barely knew him, she most certainly would not be a lady who would turn a blind eye.

The truth of it was that men like Caleb married for duty not love. And most women of Quality married for the same reason.

There were many members of the ton who’d put up with anything if it meant becoming a marchioness.

Not that Ophelia would ever be in the running, in any case.

The bastard child of a now-dead earl? The sister of another, who had wanted to throw money at her and send her out of his life forever? Hardly marchioness material.

The most she could ever expect from Caleb would be an offer of carte blanche. Becoming his mistress, a kept woman. Just like Mama.

And Ophelia would rather die than live that life. Or worse, force any child to live that life.

But she was getting ridiculously ahead of herself!

The marquess would likely send her on her way after tonight. She’d known the man mere days. Nights, to be exact. What was she doing, thinking of things like marriage and mistresses? The man, quite literally, didn’t know who she was.

Pushing aside any misgivings, Ophelia stopped at the edge of the square and looked up at the marquess’s townhouse and almost sagged with relief.

She’d been terrified that the place would be lit up with raucous laughter spilling out into the London night, as it had been when she’d first met Caleb.

Earlier, when she’d decided to return, her anticipation had been mixed with trepidation. She’d been worried that perhaps he was inviting her into his lifestyle. Asking her to become one of those women she’d seen with dampened skirts and a blatant disregard for priority.

Hypocritical perhaps, given what she’d been up to last night, but she knew she could never be the type of woman who gave her favours so flagrantly to more than one man. It didn’t appeal to her. And she certainly wouldn’t want a world filled with debauchery and iniquity.

Perhaps, she wasn’t quite the paragon that she presented to her students. Last night had proven that, if nothing else.

But that didn’t mean she suddenly had an interest in the things she’d seen at Caleb’s house that first night.

But the house was mercifully in darkness, save for one or two windows. And the street was silent and empty of carriages and carousers.

It made her more pleased than she probably should be that she would have him to herself. At least for tonight.

Her stomach fluttered with excitement at the idea, and taking a steadying breath, she hurried toward the steps, already anticipating the pleasures that lay ahead.