No Regrets Page 5

  "Yes, of course. My man of business wrote they would expect us on the fifteenth and—"

  "And the fifteenth is tomorrow." Her stomach plunged. Not another night at an inn. "Oh, Lucas."

  His mouth set in a firm line, Lucas took her arm. "Stop worrying so much. If we are a day early, they will have to cope."

  Clutching Caro's valise, Lizzie trailed behind them.

  The tall thin butler who opened the door had an impressive moustache and a frigid stare. He glanced at the carriage. "Welcome, Lord Foxhaven, Lady Foxhaven." He was a man with aplomb.

  Lucas ushered Caro over the threshold. "You must be Beckwith."

  "Yes, my lord." The butler snapped his fingers. A liveried footman hurried forward to take their outer garments. "If your lordship and Lady Foxhaven would care to step into the green drawing room, I will have some tea brought in." Beckwith glanced at Lucas, who grimaced. "And some brandy or . . ."

  "Brandy," Lucas said.

  "Tea would be lovely," Caro said at the same time.

  "And perhaps dinner in two hours?" the butler asked. "Time for my lady to rest? I understand that the remainder of your luggage follows?"

  "Yes, thank you," Lucas said.

  Caro gazed around the square entrance hall lit by a candelabra hanging from the landing above. A set of sweeping marble stairs led upward. She hadn't imagined anything so grand.

  "The green drawing room is on the first floor, my lady," Beckwith said. "I'll direct your maid up to your chamber."

  A little overwhelmed by the grandeur, Caro hung on to Lucas's strong forearm as she climbed the stairs.

  The drawing room was a pale shade of turquoise trimmed in white. Two tall windows overlooked the square. Caro felt drawn to the room the instant she crossed the threshold. Furnished by the owner with overstuffed green-striped sofas and chairs and the occasional mahogany table, it had an air of comfortable calm. She sank down on the sofa next to the fire.

  Lucas set one booted foot on the hearth and leaned an elbow on the mantel. He looked so handsome, so self-assured, so right in the rich surroundings, good enough to eat in fact. Could he really be her husband?

  "I think this will do, don't you?" Lucas said.

  Do? She chuckled. "Oh, yes, Lucas. It will definitely do."

  "Good. I hope you don't mind, but I am engaged elsewhere for dinner."

  For one brief moment, her heart squeezed tight. Her husband in name only. A questioning expression crossed his face. She unscrambled her thoughts. They had agreed to this. She forced a smile. "Why would I mind? You are free to do just as you please."

  He looked relieved. "Right. It won't do to be sitting in each other's pockets, you know. Besides, you can't go anywhere until you order a new wardrobe."

  Was it guilt in his voice or embarrassment? She retained her cheerful expression. "I have no interest in going anywhere this evening. I am much too tired."

  He cast her a blindingly beautiful smile, and her heart hopped into her throat.

  A discreet knock sounded at the door.

  "Come in," Lucas said.

  Beckwith entered bearing a silver salver. He set the tray at Caro's elbow. "Will that be all, my lord?"

  "Yes, thank you," Lucas said. He waited for the servant's departure and then strolled over and splashed a generous amount of brandy into a glass. He raised the snifter in Caro's direction.

  Her hand trembling, Caro poured her tea.

  "No regrets," he toasted and took a deep swallow.

  A queasy feeling rolled through her stomach at the thought of the deceit they were about to foist on the world. She raised her bone-china teacup in return.

  "No regrets," she echoed, trying not to notice the hollow ring in her voice.

  * * *

  A familiar, crackling voice drifted up from the entrance hall. About to descend from the secondfloor landing, Lucas tiptoed to the balustrade. He peered down into the hallway as Beckwith bowed out a departing gaunt figure in widow's weeds.

  Aunt Hermione Rivers. The old battle-axe hadn't wasted a moment before coming to inspect Caro. She must have been here at his father's behest. This marriage thing had more snares than the poacher's trail through Stockbridge woods.

  After pausing long enough for the front door to close behind his aunt, Lucas made his way down to the drawing room. Unsure who else might be lurking under his roof, he eased open the door to the drawing room. At the window, Caro was holding back the drapery and peering down into the street.

  Outlined against the light, her ample bosom strained her high-necked gown. Its soft blue fabric skimmed her shapely hips, hinting at the hollow of her waist. The severe bun and the spectacles perched on her nose seemed at odds with her lushness. When had she become so damn curvaceous in all the right places? And why hide such enticing swells and dips beneath yards of fabric? Probably because fashion had decided that a woman should look as if they had been stuffed into a pipe. God rot Caro Lamb and those of her ilk. The desire to explore his new wife's womanly figure in intimate sensual detail made his palms tingle. A pulsing warmth thickened his blood.

  By George, was he so hardened by the dissipated lifestyle he'd embraced to enrage his father that he couldn't tell the difference between his childhood friend and London's infestation of trollops? He thrust the door back.

  Caro dropped the curtain with a start and swung around to face him. Amber eyes gazed at him from beneath fair, straight brows with a wideeyed beauty he'd never really noticed. His childhood friend had been replaced by a woman with a voluptuous body and the face of a Madonna. Something twisted inside him. Something strange and uncomfortable. He stood transfixed, trying to master his confusion.

  She gave a small, breathless laugh. "Your aunt is quite terrifying, isn't she?"

  Jolted back to the recollection of their visitor, he nodded. "I'm afraid so. But her heart is in the right place, most of the time." He sauntered into the room. "What did she want? I didn't think you were at home to callers until your new gowns arrived."

  As Caro glanced down at herself, a fleeting smile curved her lips. "It seems your aunt couldn't wait. She came to invite us to join her and your cousin Mr. Rivers at the theater on Friday. Apparently, this season's performance of As You Like It is not to be missed."

  He sensed his father's hand in this. And it seemed Cedric had been roped in also, poor bastard. He curled his lip. "You refused, of course."

  Her eyes widened. "She asked me if we were engaged on Friday, and I said no; then she issued the invitation. What could I say?"

  He should have guessed how it would be. "You might have said you wished to consult me. I have other plans for Friday evening."

  "Oh, dear. I accepted for us both. What will she think?"

  The stubborn jaw warned him to tread with care. Confound it all. He had every intention of keeping his promise and taking her to a few select functions once the season got fully underway. He did not, however, intend to be marched around like a gelding on a bridle by his aunt. How his father would smirk. "I did not accept."

  With agitated steps and dismay writ large on her face, Caro crossed to the sofa by the hearth and sank onto it. "Can you change your plans?"

  He dropped into the chair opposite her. "You can't allow people to impose on me . . . on us. You have to stand up for yourself."

  Her mouth dropped open. "It wasn't like that at all. She came to offer help with my introduction to the ton at your father's suggestion."

  Just as he suspected.

  "She was kindness itself," Caro said.

  He took a deep breath, maintaining control of his growing irritation. "That is fine, but you don't need to include me."

  Her fingers twisted on her lap. "Why are you being unreasonable? This is your family. She is trying to help."

  The underlying expression of disappointment in her golden gaze drove a spike of guilt through his gut. He hadn't explained his distant relationship with his father, though she must surely be aware of it. "You don't understand them the way I d
o. First a visit to the theater, and before you know it, they will be running our lives. This is not what we agreed."

  Her jaw hardened. Her chin came up and her eyes flattened to polished bronze. Their gazes clashed for a moment before she gave a small half-smile. "You might have warned me about your aversion to your aunt. In future, I will have Beckwith deny her admission."

  He relaxed at her obvious attempt at a jest. "Wouldn't that set the old biddies' tongues wagging? Truth to tell, it never entered my mind that my father would ask her to take a hand in your introduction."

  "Well, I for one find it a kindness." She made a small gesture of appeal with her hand. "I'm sorry—I will not let it happen again, but I cannot be so rude as to cry off now."

  Bloody hell. This arrangement of his was fast turning into a nightmare of surprises. He certainly didn't need someone to serve as his conscience with regard to his father. Nor did he appreciate the distress in her expression or the hope in her gaze.

  "Dash it. Yes, I'll go. In future, don't accept any invitations without speaking to me first." The watery smile that greeted his capitulation eased the tension in his neck.

  "Thank you," she said. "I am sorry I made a mess of it. I'm sure I will do better next time."

  Now her gratitude had him feeling like an ogre. "No harm done, I am sure."

  "Your aunt promised to introduce me to all the hostesses and arrange for vouchers for Almack's. I thought it was a good idea. Is that something you prefer to do?"

  The black pit of matrimony yawned at his feet. A sudden gleam of mischief danced in her eyes. Was she playing some sort of game for control? He'd beaten a far better player than she would ever be.

  "No. I can't get you vouchers." He grimaced. "To be honest, I would just as soon not set foot in the place. They serve nothing but tea, and the men are required to wear knee-breeches."

  Unexplainable disappointment filled him as the light faded from her face.

  "Then I will accept your aunt's offer of assistance." She rose and strolled to the window, her hip-skimming skirts swaying to each step. A low pulse thrummed in his blood. Had he lost his reason along with his bachelorhood? No one could mistake Caro for anything but a vicar's daughter in her old-fashioned round gown and plainly dressed hair. The spiteful ladies of the ton would tear her to shreds if she went about looking dowdy.

  "I assume Madame Charis will have something ready for you to wear to the theater on Friday?" he asked.

  "If not, I'll wear the gown I wore to leave home."

  "Lord, no." The words were out of his mouth before they hit his brain.

  She swung around to face him, twin spots of color on her cheekbones. "My father loved that gown."

  Her spark of anger always caught him by surprise. Like a skittish mare, she balked at trifles. He put up a pacifying hand. "I liked your gown, Caro, but it is not fashionable enough."

  Her expression eased. "I know."

  "And you really should hire a proper lady's maid to do something with your hair."

  "I don't need a lady's maid. I have Lizzie."

  His patience slipped from his grasp. "Do you want people to laugh at you behind your back?"

  She winced and pressed her lips firmly together. He wished she'd just speak her mind. This was all so new to her, and she had no one else to advise her. Lord knew he was hardly the best candidate for the job. "Caro, if you want to be accepted by polite society, you have to look up to snuff."

  A gentle sigh relaxed her shoulders. "You are right, of course, but I will do nothing to hurt Lizzie's feelings."

  Caro was a tiger when it came to loyalty to those she considered her friends.

  The weak spring sun cast elongated diamond patterns on Stockbridge's gleaming oak desk. The familiar friendly scent of Father's study, beeswax, leather, and old cigars filled Lucas's nose.

  "Someone left the gate open between the stallion and the mares this afternoon," his father said in unusually grim accents with his dark eyes locked on Lucas's face. "I lost ten years of careful breeding in an afternoon."

  At Lucas's side, Caro seemed to shrink into her riding habit. Lucas's father always had that effect on her.

  "That's awful, Father." The stud had cost a fortune these past few years.

  "Is that all you have to say, son?" Father asked.

  For a moment, Lucas didn't quite understand the question. "You don't think we left it open?"

  His father's expression chilled further. "Cedric saw the pair of you galloping across the stallion's field after I expressly forbade it." His sharp tone cut into Lucas like a whip. "Why bother to lie?"

  Caro gave a little moan.

  Dumbfounded by the accusation, Lucas swallowed. "I do not lie, Father, ever. The gate was properly closed." They hadn't opened it. They'd jumped the damned thing. Also against orders.

  Caro straightened her shoulders. "I did it," she announced in quavering tones.

  Lucas's mouth dropped open.

  Father turned his frosty gaze on her. "You?"

  At the risk of arousing his father's suspicions, Lucas tapped the side of his nose to remind her to follow his lead.

  "The latch must not have caught when I closed it. I am sorry, my lord," Caro whispered.

  Either she was in such a panic that she didn't see the signal, or she was deliberately ignoring him. Lucas shook his head at her. She lifted her chin.

  "I see, young lady," Father said softly. "Then I will have to have words with your father when next we meet. Good day to you."

  "Yes, my lord." Caro fled for the door.

  Father's disappointed gaze returned to Lucas. He narrowed his eyes. "Have you anything to add, son?" The pain in his voice hurt Lucas more than the disbelief in his eyes.

  He couldn't give Caro the lie. Father would think he had tried to hide behind her skirts. "I am very sorry we went by way of the paddock."

  "As am I, Foxhaven." Father stared at him for one very long moment, looking both sad and deeply angry. "That is all."

  "Yes, Father." Chilled to the bone, he bowed and hurried out.

  He caught Caro up at the front door. "What the devil made you tell such a bouncer? Didn't you see my signal?"

  She stared up at him, her eyes huge in her full face. "He didn't believe you."

  "I would have changed his mind, eventually. He knows I do not lie." He just wished he felt more certain. "Someone must have come along after we left, someone Cedric didn't see. I wish we had never gone that way in the first place."

  "Me too." She blinked behind her glasses. "Lucas . . . I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing in there."

  At twelve, she was still a baby in comparison with him at fourteen. She had no idea about a man's honor. He couldn't let her shoulder the blame for something that was his responsibility, even if neither of them had touched the gate. He heaved a sigh. "Do not worry. Father will come around." He hoped.

  She looked decidedly relieved. "Shall I see you tomorrow?"

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. His careless shrug felt forced as he thought of the unpleasant interview with Father in the offing. "Not for a few days I should think. Wait for the fuss to die down." If Father thought he'd caught Lucas in a lie, the punishment would no doubt be harsh. "I will call for you later in the week."

  Oh, yes, even at twelve, Caro had been unstintingly loyal to her friends—even if the loyalty was of the two-edged-sword variety that made you want to hug her and shake her. It was the reason he had trusted her enough to propose this ridiculous marriage.

  "Keep Lizzie, if you wish, but please, think about employing a hairdresser."

  A quick grateful smile acknowledged his defeat. "Do you know of one?"

  He opened his mouth to say yes. Admitting that kind of knowledge might raise more questions than he cared to answer. "Ask Beckwith, or the housekeeper; they are sure to know someone." He grinned. "By the way, I am expecting Bascombe at any moment. We are going riding."

  "I wish I could come with you." She sent him a questioning glance. "Do y
ou think it might be possible to hire a horse for me? I should like to ride in Hyde Park."

  This was something he would be delighted to take a hand in. The thought lifted his spirits. She was an excellent horsewoman. The best he'd ever met. "Of course. But not a hired hack. I will buy one at Tatt's and a carriage and pair too, if you like."

  Her face lit up like the sun emerging from a cloud. Her obvious pleasure gratified him a great deal, more than he cared to admit.

  "Are you sure it is not too extravagant?" she asked. "I wouldn't want your papa to think I'm bringing you to ruin."