Captive Splendors by Fern Michaels Read Free Book Online Page A

conscience to the point where he couldn’t face his father. He had felt sick with himself, but there had been no help for it. He had fallen in love with Camilla. She had been so young, so sweet, so tender. And when he had taken her in his arms, despite the prick of his conscience, and she had whispered over and over, “Caleb, I need you, I need you,” and offered her lips, he had taken them greedily, feeling her fragile weight in his arms. He had been overcome with emotions of love and desire and protectiveness. And when he had carried her to his bed and she had pulled him down beside her, the scent of her skin and the soft swell of her breasts had exorcised the feelings of deception and betrayal against his father. Camilla had been in his arms and cried that she needed him, and he had closed his mind to any voice of conscience which had told him it was wrong.
    Caleb shook himself from his reverie. He assured himself that he was only thinking of Camilla now because he was certain to see her again. It had all washed out in the end, and he was thankful Regan had never needed to know that his own son had cuckolded him. All had worked out for the best. Camilla had found her love in Tyler, and Regan had returned to his one true passion, Sirena.
    Assured that the past was well behind him and that he was now in control of his own destiny, Caleb cockily quirked an eyebrow. He was a man now, no longer the boy he had been who had fallen under Camilla’s charms. He could certainly take care of himself no matter how urgently Camilla might express her desire for him and her entreaties that they become more than friends. No, this time he would be in full control of himself, even if that meant disappointing Camilla. He had no doubt whatsoever that Camilla would wish to resume their past relationship. After all, she had been married to Tyler Sinclair for almost nine years, and, knowing Camilla, he assumed she had become bored with her role as Tyler’s wife.
    Humming a tuneless melody, Caleb settled back in the seat and contemplated the steps he would take to keep the ardent Camilla at bay.
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    Malcolm Weatherly smoothed his richly embroidered dark blue waistcoat and watched with a practiced eye as the groom readied the phaeton for his drive with the shy little bird called Wren. I could do worse, Malcolm thought as he fastidiously brushed a speck of lint from his cuff. After all, Wren was a van der Rhys, and it was well known that her father was one of the wealthiest men in the trades of the Dutch East India Company. Marrying Wren would serve to advance his own station in life, a station, he was loath to admit, that had sorely descended to just above the poverty level.
    Wren van der Rhys. Weatherly sneered. An awkward name at best. In no way did it suit the vital, amber-eyed maiden he was intent on making his own. A handsome dowry would certainly be forthcoming—if her father did not take it upon himself to look too closely into Malcolm’s credentials.
    If the van der Rhyses doted upon their daughter as he had been led to believe, there should be no problem. He shrugged his slim shoulders and glanced down at his boots. He would have to have them resoled very soon. He must remember to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground to avoid discovery of the newsprint which peeked out of the h’penny-size hole in the leather. Style, breeding and class distinction were all-important and if it were not for his wastrel uncle, he wouldn’t be in these dire straits.
    Malcolm had just returned from a visit to his banker, and the news was worse than he had expected. At his current rate of expenditures, he had only three more months left to him in London. At the end of that time his bills would have caught up with him and his landlady would be tossing him out for unpaid rent—lock, stock and barrel. Yes, Wren would do very nicely indeed for added insurance against that calamity ever happening. And to think he had