Why hadn’t she sought him out earlier? As he’d departed Grey’s Corner, he’d encouraged her to contact him if she ever needed his help. She’d assumed she’d be too proud to ever consider it, but pride was the main casualty of her current position. She had none remaining.
It hadn’t occurred to her to pester him. After all, they were barely acquainted, and it would have seemed presumptuous to have him intervene in her problems, but at the notion that he’d assist her, she was so relieved that her knees buckled. She staggered and had to fight to keep her balance.
There were three steps that led to the entrance. She marched over, climbed them, and briskly knocked.
Caleb was sitting in Sybil’s office. She was conferring with a deliveryman, then they would go home for a few hours. They’d return later, when the crowds arrived.
For a brief moment, his temper flared, and he reveled in it. He’d been born and raised in Jamaica and had spent much of his life out on the water, but now, he was stuck inside. With his business thriving, he’d likely never escape England. It was galling, and the unfairness nibbled away at him, but he tamped it down.
He was an adult who was free to pick his own path. He’d chosen to accept the blame for Blake’s mischief in the navy, so he’d had to retire. He’d chosen to tarry in London rather than sail to the Caribbean. He’d chosen to buy a house and settle down. He’d chosen to open a gambling club with Sybil.
No one had held a gun to his head, and his decisions meant he was very rich. What kind of idiot would complain about it?
A footman knocked and peeked in. “A young lady has asked for you. Should I claim you’ve left? What’s your preference?”
He bristled, figuring it would be a wife or sister of a member. She’d beg him for mercy and would perhaps even offer salacious favors so he’d cancel a debt. He never cancelled any of them though, and once a member reached the spot where his female kin were bothering Caleb, the fellow was kicked out.
“Did she mention who her relative is?” he asked. “On whose behalf am I being petitioned?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“I don’t have the patience for it today. Have her come back tomorrow afternoon—and talk to Sybil.”
“I hate to send her away, Mr. Ralston. She looks as if she’s experienced some difficulties. She could probably use a hot meal. Could I take her to the kitchen and feed her?”
“That’s fine, but escort her out the minute she’s finished.”
“And. . . ah. . . she told me—in case you were reluctant—to remind you that you invited her to contact you if she was ever in trouble. She asked me to add that she hoped you were serious.”
Caleb scowled, struggling to remember any woman to whom he might have tendered such a vow. “What’s her name?”
“It’s Caroline Grey, sir. Miss Caroline Grey? From Grey’s Corner?”
Had he heard that correctly? “Caroline is here?”
“Yes, Mr. Ralston, and I’m afraid she’s—”
Before the man could complete his sentence, Caleb had leapt up and rushed by him. He ran down the hall to the foyer, and he skidded to a halt, feeling as if he was hallucinating.
There was Caro! Standing in his lobby! She was filthy and bedraggled, her hair hanging down, her skirt ripped, her face smudged, but he’d never observed a more glorious sight.
In the past few weeks, he’d nearly saddled a horse and ridden to Grey’s Corner on a hundred different occasions. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, and he’d been anxious over her plight, as if she might need him. Apparently, his intuition was working quite well. Since he’d last been with her, she’d definitely suffered a catastrophe.
“Caro,” he said tentatively, as if she were a wild animal that might bolt. “Is it really you?”
She spun toward him in a sort of slow motion that was thrilling and peculiar. It seemed as if the entire universe was noting the encounter.
“Oh, Caleb! Am I glad to see you!”
“What happened?”
“I’ve been having the worst time of it.”
She burst into tears, and he hurried over and pulled her into his arms. She wrapped herself around him, holding on as if they were floating in the middle of the ocean and—should he release her—she’d sink to the bottom.
He began kissing her, and instantly, he was in too deep. He’d forgotten how intensely connected they’d been. He’d forgotten the sparks they generated, the joy she induced.
He couldn’t guess how long they continued. He was vaguely aware of members gaping and servants staring. It was Sybil who penetrated the fog of elation that had enveloped him.
“Caleb,” she said, “I have to point out that you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
He drew away from Caro. She hadn’t loosened her grip on him, and he wondered if she’d ever calm down enough to let go.
“Everything will be all right now,” he murmured to her.
“I know.”
“At the first sign of trouble, you should have come to me. Who put you in this condition? Was it Gregory? Was it your uncle?”
Caro might have expounded, but Sybil bustled over, saying, “We shouldn’t dither over it here. It’s clear she’s too distraught to explain.”
“You’re correct, as always,” Caleb said.
Sybil focused her wily gaze on Caro and said, “Will you introduce me, Caleb?”
“This is Miss Caroline Grey. I told you about her.”
Sybil snorted with amusement. “You told me about her, but obviously, you didn’t tell me.”
“We met when I was in the country.” He smiled at Caro. “Caro, this is my friend and business partner, Sybil Jones.”
“Hello, Miss Jones.” Caro was trembling slightly, tears still dripping down her cheeks as if there were so many she couldn’t keep them at bay.
Sybil wedged herself between them, deftly separating her from Caleb. “I’m sorry for your dilemma, Miss Grey. Will you permit us to tend you
