Chapter Twenty-One
Caleb couldn’t believe the sense of rightness that stole through him at finally having Ophelia, his Siren, in his arms once more.
The altercation with the earl at the man’s home when he proved too stubborn to give Caleb the information he wanted at first, the bruised knuckles from planting the blackguard a facer when he’d insulted Ophelia, the breakneck journey from London to get to her – it had all been worth it the second he’d seen her again.
She responded to his kiss immediately and ardently as she always had and before long, their desires threatened to overwhelm as they always did.
But he hadn’t come here for this. At least, not just this.
It was high time they had an honest conversation.
Reluctantly pulling his lips from hers, he set her gently away from him but kept his hands on her because frankly, he couldn’t keep them off.
She looked beautiful as ever, though more tired than he was happy about.
There was something different about her, too.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. But it was there.
“Why did you run from me?” He asked the question that had bothered him since the night she’d failed to show up at his home.
Her expression, which had been reassuringly dazed, immediately became stricken.
“It doesn’t matter why,” she mumbled, pulling herself from his grip, eyed trained on his boots. “You know now who I am. Not a governess. A tutor at a girls’ finishing school. The school my brother sent me to under the guise of being an orphaned cousin.”
She wasn’t looking at him, so she couldn’t see how angry her words made him, and he struggled to keep a mask of cool indifference on his face.
He could happily tear her brother limb from limb for treating her in such a fashion.
“Miss Fisher allowed me to stay on and teach, once I’d finished my education.”
“I’m glad you had someone looking out for you, Siren. But that doesn’t explain why you ran.”
Her eyes darted up to his briefly before moving to the ground once more.
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I don’t understand why you followed me. I expected nothing from you. I told you I would never marry – you were under no obligation to offer any –“
“Stop!”
His barked command seemed to shock her into silence, and he felt bad for snapping at her, but he couldn’t stand to listen to her say such things.
No, she had no expectations. But he did. He expected to be allowed to love her every day for the rest of their lives.
He expected to have her in his life. Not out of obligation, but because he wanted her there.
“No, you don’t understand why I followed you,” he said, struggling to keep his tone calm and even. “Because you haven’t asked me why.”
Her eyes widened.
“D-do you know?” she whispered, causing him even more confusion.
“Know?” he repeated. “Know what?”
Her relief was palpable.
What the hell is going on ? He thought.
“Caleb, I – it was good of you to check on me. But as you can see, I am well so, so it would be best if you left.”
The lance of pain he felt at her words was followed swiftly by anger at her dismissal.
“Best for who?” he asked harshly. “Not best for me — I can assure you. I didn’t come here to check on you, Ophelia.”
“Then why?” she yelled now, her patience obviously as frayed as his own.
“Because I love you, damn it,” he yelled back. “I love you, and I want to marry you. That’s why I’m here. So, no, leaving would not be best. Because every second I’ve spent without you has been torture, and I don’t intend to ever do it again.”
His words seemed to freeze the very air around them, and he waited, his stomach in knots while she gazed wide-eyed at him.
The colour suddenly drained from her face, and he rushed forward to catch her as she staggered.
“Ophelia? Sweetheart?”
Panic clawed at him, and he swept her into his arms and inside her tiny, rundown cottage before she could faint dead away.
The inside, he noticed with a grimace, was as unimpressive as the crumbling outside.
Why would she choose this? Why would she leave her school for a pit?
Spotting a ratty chaise in the corner, he hurried over and placed her carefully along its length.
“Stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll fetch you some water.”
“Caleb.”
Her delicate hand on his arm stopped him when he would have darted off.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought – I just wanted —“
He broke off in frustration.
“I just want to love you,” he finally said. “I’ve never loved anyone or anything before. But I love you. And I want to become a man who you might one day be able to love in return. I want to work every day to be that man. But I need you with me to do that, Ophelia. I need you with me to just be able to breathe properly. I want to marry you, Siren.”
“Caleb.” She sniffed, tears running unchecked down her cheeks, tearing at his heart with each drop. He hated to see her cry. He hated to see her living here like this. All alone. “M-my brother told you who I am. What I am. You’re a marquess. You can’t – you mustn’t want someone like me for a wife.”
Caleb helped her sit up and took the seat beside her, clasping her hand in his own.
“Someone like you?” he repeated. “Someone beautiful and bright? Someone who keeps me on my toes like no other? Someone who’s stolen my whole heart? That’s exactly who I should have for a wife.”
“But, my father –“
“Your father didn’t do right by you. My own was hardly a paragon. But you are not your father and since meeting you, I’ve realised that I am not mine. And I don’t want to be.”
“What of your title? Your duty?”
“My title could never mean more to me than having you in my life. And frankly, I don’t give a damn about my duty. If you don’t want to withstand the censure and gossip of the ton then there’ll be a distant cousin somewhere who can have the lot. I have enough wealth to keep us comfortable. Though I should tell you that it wouldn’t take long for them all to move on to the next on dit. But I’ll go anywhere you want, Siren. Live not as a marquess, but as a man desperately in love with his wife.”
“You can’t give all of that up for me,” she sniffled.
“Yes, I can,” he insisted. “And I gladly will, if it means you’ll have me.”
He held his breath while she stared at him for what felt like eons.
But finally, when his nerves were at a snapping point, she smiled.
“You really, truly love me?”
He laughed, but it sounded choked even to his own ears.
“I really, truly love you, Ophelia Delacourt.”
“I love you, too,” she blurted, and Caleb felt joy like never before.
He bent his head to show her just how happy she’d made him, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“You might want to hang on to that title for your son,” she said, a blush suddenly staining her cheeks. “I-if it’s a boy.”
He frowned in confusion but as he glimpsed the fear in her eyes, suddenly realisation hit.
He reached out and placed his palm gently on her stomach, feeling the roundness that hadn’t been there before.
Lifting his eyes back to her face, he saw abject worry stamped on her features.
“That’s why you ran?” he asked.
She nodded wordlessly.
“You weren’t going to tell me?”
He couldn’t help but feel hurt that she would do such a thing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I knew that you would take care of me. Of the babe. B-but I was so scared, Caleb. Scared that you would offer me the life my mother had. A-and I knew that I loved you too much to be able to refuse whatever you gave me, however tiny the scraps. I didn’t want to do to our child what my mother did to me.”
His heart twisted at her words, his anger dissipating.
In truth, until she’d changed him so fundamentally, he might well have offered such a thing.
How could he blame her for wanting to save her child from the life she’d lived? He wouldn’t hold her desire to protect their babe against her.
Besides, she loved him. There was nothing they couldn’t solve together, as long as they loved each other.
“Our child,” he repeated, allowing the wonder of such a thing to wash over him.
He reached up and cupped her face, kissing her with every piece of love he felt until they were both panting.
“Does this place have a bed?” he growled against her lips.
“A tiny cot,” she gasped as he reached up to slowly undo the buttons of her dress.
“The chaise it is, then,” he said, pulling the gown from her shoulders.
Ophelia sighed.
“I seem to recall you promising to get me to a bed before we made love in your townhouse,” she smiled wickedly, making Caleb all the more desperate to divest her of her clothes. “The same should go for this cottage, should it not?”
“Next time.” He grinned.
“That’s the trouble with rogues,” she continued breathlessly, as he pulled at the garment until he heard the fabric rip, vowing to get her the finest dresses money could buy. “You can’t trust a word they say.”