No Regrets Page 8

  "It needs a great deal of work. I'll give you five."

  "Six."

  He repressed a smile. He had been prepared to go to at least seven. This meant his lads could leave London before Stockbridge learned of their existence. "Done." He shook her papery hand.

  Lady Bestborough tapped his shoulder with her fan. "You drive a hard bargain, young man." She grunted. "Just like your father."

  Lucas shuddered inside. "I would never reach so high," he replied smoothly.

  * * *

  The hot chocolate scalded Caro's tongue the next morning as much as the vision of Lucas and that woman had burnt her heart.

  An iota of commonsense would have told her he wouldn't change, not for her. But she'd let her hopes get in the way of good sense. She just hadn't admitted to having hopes before last night.

  She sighed. She never had a scrap of sense where Lucas was concerned. How would she be able to stand seeing him with other women? Especially if they were as beautiful as that one and as thin as a fashion plate in La Belle Assemblée. Mr. Rivers must have seen her distress, as much as she had tried to hide it. He had been so kind in suggesting they leave before the end of the farce. What if she had bumped into Lucas and his inamorata on the way out of the theater? Her blood ran cold at the thought. She put the empty cup to one side and reached around the rosecolored bed hangings to ring for Lizzie. Whatever happened, no one else must know how she felt and look on her with pity.

  She slipped on her dressing gown and went to the mirror. The remains of the tangles and teasing had the look of a bird's nest after a high wind.

  The door opened to admit Lizzie.

  Caro did a pretty good job of smiling. "There you are. Help me with this dreadful mess. I want to go to Hookham's this morning and borrow a book."

  Lizzie took the brush from her hand. "You'll wear your poor eyes out, my lady. It's not right— you sitting here day after day, reading, and his lordship gallivanting who knows where. Why, Mr. Beckwith said he didn't come home last night and—"

  To hear about Lucas and his debauchery in her own bedroom hurt more than she could bear. Smoldering disappointment flared out of control. In an instant, she leaped to her feet and snatched the brush from Lizzie's hand. She pointed it at the maid's chest. "How can you repeat servants' gossip to me?"

  Lizzie backed away.

  Caro advanced, waggling the brush. "How could you listen to such nonsense?"

  Lizzie edged around the end of the bed.

  Caro followed her. "I don't want to hear another word about the Viscount Foxhaven and what he does or does not do. Do you understand?"

  Out of breath, she halted. Lizzie, eyes wide, pressed flat against the wall, nodded.

  "Talking about me?"

  The indolent drawl sent a jab of pain to Caro's temples. She swung around to see Lucas in the doorway, his face full of laughter.

  Damn him for arriving right at this moment. "Why would I be discussing you?"

  His gaze ran over her in an insolent appraisal, and she snatched her dressing gown close. "Sorry," he said, spreading his hands wide. "I thought I heard my name."

  He stepped into the room dressed in last night's attire. His long hair had escaped its ribbon and fallen to his shoulders in ebony waves; his cravat hung limp around his neck. He had just arrived home after a night with that woman. He looked dissolute and dangerous. Dangerous to her peace of mind.

  A hard, hot lump threatened to choke her. Her grip tightened on the brush.

  His grin broadened. "Go ahead, throw it."

  "Don't tempt me."

  He laughed. "I'm doing my best."

  She opened her eyes wide. Was he flirting?

  The old urge to laugh back, to give in to his smile, softened her anger. No. One woman falling at his feet in a day was quite enough. How could that pirate smile set her pulse racing and her heart beating faster? She pulled herself up to her full height and gathered the remains of her dignity. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I am preparing to go out. I have rather a busy schedule planned." She glanced pointedly at the door, sat down at the dressing table, and offered the brush to Lizzie.

  Lucas remained in the doorway. "Caro?"

  Why couldn't he just go, before she burst into tears? She shot him an impatient glance. "Yes?"

  A hesitant expression crossed his face. He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes unsure. "I just wanted to tell you how lovely you looked last night."

  The words failed to register until he had closed the door quietly behind him. He thought she looked lovely? It was the second time he had said something nice about her appearance last night. Did he mean it? Or was it just a ploy to get back into her good graces? She wished she knew.

  She suddenly felt as limp as week-old cabbage. She slumped back against the chair. "I'm so sorry, Lizzie," she whispered. "Please forgive me."

  Lizzie, her lips pressed firmly together, attacked Caro's tumbled locks. "Aye, I'll forgive you." She drew the brush through a long strand. "There's others what don't deserve forgiveness. Never. Not nohow."

  Five

  Cedric shifted his weight on his aching feet and leaned one shoulder against the jeweler's bow window frame. He stared over the heads of pedestrians and between Bond Street's steady flow of traffic. On the opposite side of the road, Bingo Bob in a gaudy blue coat touched his hat. Curbing his distaste for the fat, red-nosed, greasy member of London's underworld who had brought the news of Lady Foxhaven's unescorted foray to Bond Street, Cedric nodded his acknowledgement.

  Hookham's brown-painted front door opened. A couple of somber gentlemen emerged, shook hands, and strode off in opposite directions. Cedric groaned, pulled at his fob, and checked his watch. It must have been at least two hours since she had entered the bookshop.

  The door swung back again. He straightened, craning his neck around the fashionable couple who had paused to admire a display of rings.

  At last. Lady Foxhaven, in a dark-green spencer trimmed with black frogs and a matching silk bonnet, hesitated on the threshold. After a brief glance around her, she tucked a book under her arm, and with her reticule swinging from her wrist, she plunged into the eddying stream of shoppers, hawkers, and sauntering dandies.

  In line with his instructions, Bingo Bob lumbered into motion behind her. Cedric remained a few steps behind on his side of the street, joining the pursuit at a steady pace. All his senses heightened. Sweat cooled on his brow, one prickling drop at a time. Each in-drawn breath rasped in his ears and left the acrid taste of coal smoke on his tongue. The crimson of a passing lady's spencer seemed more vivid; the accoutrements on a carriage horse flashed and dazzled. The clang of a muffin man's bell added another distinct note to the music of London. A feral power pulsed in his veins.

  And all the while, the green bonnet bobbed through the forest of feathered plumes and jaunty beaver hats. His heartbeat quickened to fever pitch. His balls felt full and heavy in the confines of his tight pantaloons. Controlled and alert, he followed. A hunter on the prowl.

  A group of Bond Street beaux in deep conversation blocked the footpath and Carolyn stepped off the curb. A broken-down nag missed her by inches, the carter yelling an obscenity. She leaped back, a hand to her throat. In his mind, Cedric thought he could hear her gasp.

  She fumbled in her reticule, put on her spectacles, and once more picked her way through the fashionable jungle.

  For a woman of generous proportions, she seemed so very vulnerable.

  Bob closed in on her heels.

  Cedric curled his lip. Foxhaven was so damn careless with his property. Excitement as carnal as anything he'd known with a woman made his blood run hot. He curled his fingers around his walking cane. You are mine.

  He lunged across the road, reaching the curb a few feet behind Lady Foxhaven and the encroaching tub o' lard.

  Bob nudged at her with his protruding belly. Her head whipped around. She hesitated and tried to dodge. Bob edged her toward the alley beside the tobacconist's shop.

&
nbsp; Cedric sidestepped an idle rake ogling a curricle. He was too far back. Hell. He broke into a run.

  "You ought to be more careful of the road, sweet," Bob's fruity voice was murmuring as Cedric caught them up. Bob slipped an arm around her waist. "Yer needs a man to take care of ye."

  Panic blanched her face and widened her eyes. "Unhand me, sirrah." She twisted out of his reach.

  Out of breath, Cedric leaped forward. He swung the fat man around by the shoulder. "You heard the lady. Release her."

  Bob jerked back.

  Relief flooded Lady Foxhaven's face. "Mr. Rivers," she gasped.

  Cedric flicked the catch on the head of his walking cane with a lethal snick and slid a fraction of wicked steel from its polished-wood concealment. "How dare you importune this lady?"

  Bob spread his arms wide, licking loose lips. "Didn't mean no harm, yer 'onor." He backed away and trundled off.

  Cedric made to start after him but then halted. He turned back to Lady Foxhaven. The admiration in her large brown eyes sent an unexpected glow of warmth to the pit of his belly. He stilled, shocked by the unexpected pleasure pulse.

  He managed a stiff bow. "Are you all right, Lady Foxhaven?"

  She clasped her small gloved hands to her magnificent bosom. "Mr. Rivers, how can I thank you enough for your timely rescue?"

  A pang of guilt, a sensation long forgotten, disturbed his thoughts. He brushed the weak protest aside. Too much of his future rode on this scheme to let conscience interfere. He glanced around. "Where is your footman or your maid, my lady?"

  Hanging her head, she traced a crack in the pavement with the toe of her shoe. "I didn't think an escort necessary when I left home so early in the day, but time escaped me, I am afraid."

  He held out his arm, and she took it. "Come, I will escort you home. Surely my cousin warned you against lingering on Bond Street?"

  Shame-faced, she nodded. "He did. I know I should have been on my way home long before noon."

  "The time of day has nothing to do with it, Lady Foxhaven. No lady walks alone in London. I will have to speak with Foxhaven about this." While I watch the arrogant bugger squirm.

  An imploring glance peeped up from beneath the brim of her charmingly modest bonnet and lace cap. Her eyes reminded him of the color of sherry in candlelight. "Please, Mr. Rivers, do not mention this to Lord Foxhaven. I do not want to worry him. I assure you, it will not happen again."

  The appeal in her pale oval face gave him pause. Not only was she most anxious to keep this from Lucas, but the gentle creature trusted him already. How useful.

  He permitted himself a small, swift smile. "As you wish, Lady Foxhaven. I shall say nothing, if you promise to walk with your maid in future."

  "Believe me, Mr. Rivers, after today, nothing would persuade me to leave home without an escort. I beg you won't betray me." Golden lights danced in amber eyes and sunlight streaked into his dark world.

  Struck blind, he sought the dark cave of cool detachment and crawled inside its shadowy protection to find a guarded response. "Please, call me Cedric. After all, we are now family."

  She smiled, a tremulous curve of her lips. "If you will call me Carolyn. Lady Foxhaven sounds so stuffy, don't you think?"

  "The Foxhaven and Stockbridge titles are old and proud ones. They came to our family through Henry the Second."

  Her hand trembled and slid from his arm.

  Swift to sense a distress he didn't understand, he caught her fingers and replaced them on his sleeve. He softened his tone. "Forgive my pride, cousin. When you have sons of your own, our name will mean as much to you as it does to me."

  A seemingly nervous spasm tightened her fingers on his arm. "I expect you are right," she murmured.

  He glanced down, but could see nothing of her expression for the cursed brim shielding her face, but his nerve endings tingled. He had been right to suspect this marriage.

  "You know, cousin, it would greatly please my mother if you allowed her to help with your introduction," he said.

  "She is truly kind."

  Not many people recognized his mother's worth or realized the shabby treatment Stockbridge meted out to his poor relations. He bowed slightly. "She can be a little outspoken at times, but I assure you she means well."

  He ran his cane along the green wrought iron railings shielding the area steps of a small townhouse. It made a pleasant musical sound. "Will Lucas bring you to Almack's on Wednesday?"

  "I don't believe so." The merest hint of a sigh followed the words.

  "It would be a shame not to attend after Mother went to the trouble to obtain vouchers."

  "I appreciate her kindness, I do assure you."

  Good. Gratitude ranked almost as high as fear in garnering cooperation. He bared his teeth in a smile. "My mother is already fond of you. She makes the offer as much for your own sake as she does out of duty to Lord Stockbridge."

  Once more, the lady at his side averted her face. "How exceedingly generous."

  Too vulnerable. A pang of guilt squeezed his chest. Damn. He didn't have room for weak emotions. "I see you borrowed a book?"

  She held up the volume for his inspection. "A rather dreadful novel by Mrs. Radcliffe, I'm afraid." She chuckled. "My father would never have approved. I started reading it in the library and lost all track of the time." A rueful smile touched her full, soft lips.

  He raised a brow. "I've done the same thing myself and caught a scolding from my mother."

  She laughed. Cedric thought that distant church bells on a summer Sunday never sounded so sweet.

  Lush yet modest, her air of purity called to him with unaccustomed allure. Foxhaven didn't deserve her any more than he deserved his fortune or his title. The urge to know her better, much better, stirred his blood.

  He crushed the sensation and buried it beneath a mountain of disappointed hopes. Far more urgent considerations required his attention than the unruly demands of his body. He forced sincerity into his voice. "If I or my mother can ever be of assistance, you promise you will not hesitate to ask?"

  Once more, her eyes shone, for him. "As you did so fortunately today. I am forever in your debt."

  A genuine grin stretched his lips, a smile so broad his stiff cheeks complained of unaccustomed use. "It gives me great pleasure to be of service to you."

  * * *

  No bloody workmen.

  Lucas drew his phaeton to a halt on Wooten Hall's weed-infested drive and glowered at the Tudor mansion's crumbling façade.

  Where the hell was the builder? His man of business had said work would start immediately.

  "Take their heads, please, Tigs."

  The tiger leaped from his perch, landed with a crunch on the uneven gravel, and rushed forward.

  Lucas jumped down.

  He ran a critical eye over the old place. Ivy trailed from the patterned red brick walls as if ripped aside by a mighty hand. Broken chimney pots stuck up like rotten teeth. A casement hung drunkenly on its hinge above the magnificent columned portico, and missing panes of glass gave the house a gap-toothed appearance. At least the gray slate roof kept the rain out.

  The gardens also required urgent attention. Tangled and matted like a whore's hair after a night of debauchery, weeds overgrew what remained of rosebushes and shrubs. He'd have to hire a gardener from the local village.

  He sighed. A place like this would quickly eat all his capital if his recent investments didn't come through. He eyed the whole thing through narrowed eyes, imagining it in its former glory. The house nestled against a hodgepodge of green fields broken by stands of oaks and beeches on the hilltops. In the valley, the spire of Wooten's village church poked into an azure sky.

  Caro would like to ride here. The thought brought a smile to his lips. A picture of her as a child galloping, racing him neck-or-nothing, across the fields surrounding Stockbridge Hall flashed into his mind. What a contrast to this morning. She'd looked temptingly lush and tum bled. Mentally, he groaned at his body's instant
response to the recollection. That was not something he should be thinking about—especially considering that she had seemed ready to murder him.

  What on earth had he done? Appearing in a state of undress at her door, no doubt. He didn't recall her being so particular when they were children. Perhaps the strawberry roan he bought at Tatt's would turn her up sweet as well as occupy her while he kept busy here.

  A projectile hurled into the back of his knees. "Whoa!" he shouted.

  Small hands gripped his coattails, and a bullet head pressed against his arse.