He'd come outside for fresh air and escape. He didn't want Penelope or her well-meaning questions intruding upon his grief. But the salty air did little to ease his guilt. All it did was remind him of Caroline. She'd come home that afternoon with the smell of the sea in her hair and the touch of the sun on her skin.

Caroline. He closed his eyes in anguish. He knew that Caroline was the reason he'd forgotten Marabelle.

He poured more whiskey down his throat, drinking straight from the bottle. It burned a ragged path to his stomach, but Blake welcomed the pain. It felt raw and undignified, and somehow that seemed appropriate. Tonight he didn't feel like much of a gentleman.

He lay back on the grass and gazed up at the sky. The moon was out, but it wasn't bright enough to diminish the light of the stars. They looked almost happy up there, twinkling as if they hadn't a care in the world. He almost felt as if they were mocking him.

He swore. He was growing fanciful. That, or maudlin. Or maybe it was just the drink. He sat up and took another swig.

The liquor dulled his senses and muddled his mind, which was probably why he didn't hear footsteps until they were nearly on top of him. “Whosh there?” he slurred, awkwardly raising himself up onto his elbows. “Who is it?”

Caroline stepped forward, the starlight glinting off her light brown hair. “It's only me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I saw you from my window.” She smiled wryly. “Excuse me, your window.”

“You should go back up.”

“Probably.”

“I'm not fit company.”

“No,” she agreed, “you're quite drunk. It's not good to drink on an empty stomach.”

He let out a short burst of hollow laughter. “And whose fault is my empty stomach?”

“You do know how to hold a grudge, don't you?”

“Madam, I assure you I have an excruciatingly long memory.” He winced at his words. His memory had always served him well—until this night.

She frowned. “I brought you some food.”

He didn't say anything for a long moment, then said, in a very low voice, “Go back inside.”

“Why are you so upset?”

He didn't say anything, just wiped his mouth with his sleeve after taking another drink of whiskey.

“I've never seen you drunk before.”

“There are a lot of things you don't know about me.”

She took another step forward, her eyes daring him to look away. “I know more than you think I do.”

That got his attention. His eyes flared with momentary anger, then went blank as he said, “Pity for you, then.”

“Here, you should eat something.” She held out something wrapped in a cloth napkin. “It'll soak up the whiskey.”

“That's the last thing I want to do.”

She sat beside him. “This isn't like you, Blake.”

He turned on her, his gray eyes glowing fiercely. “Don't you tell me what is or isn't like me,” he hissed. “You have no right.”