No Regrets (13 page)

   He should not have gone to Wooten. There simply hadn't been enough time to get there and back before Tisha Audley's tea. But when his man of business had reported that the work would start today, he'd found the temptation irresistible.

   Sliding the end of the cravat through the knot, he gave it a gentle tug and worked at the folds.

   He'd been right to go. The house's disastrous condition and the lack of progress required his attention. If nothing happened soon, the boys would drift back to their old haunts and their old ways. It had taken Lucas too long to gather the little band together to let them slip through his fingers.

   Yes. Finally, the strip of cloth bent to his will. He held out his arms, and Danson eased him into his shoulder-hugging coat.

   As tightly trussed as a capon, he inspected himself in the mirror. The regulation black coat, pearl-gray waistcoat, and neatly tied, white cravat ought to satisfy the suddenly particular Caro.

   He frowned. Since when did he care what other people thought?

   Since I married Caro, he thought.

   Lucas stilled, his throat as dry as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of feathers.

   She'd presented such a pretty picture with a jaunty little blue shako perched on her shining tawny locks and her spencer clinging to her ripe curves that he'd wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss away her frowns.

   Bloody hell. Lack of female companionship these last few months had turned him into a ravening beast. His taste ran to flirtatious widows who understood the rules of amour, not modest vicar's daughters who looked shocked every time he opened his mouth.

   There were plenty of other men to entertain her—men like Bascombe, who had nothing else to do but worry about the set of his coat and the cut of his hair. Men who might well turn the head of an innocent newly on the Town. A strange feeling writhed in his stomach. Unease. It had to be fear for Caro's safety and nothing to do with the fact that she was his wife.

   Damn. He'd have to warn her against men who trawled the fashionable waters for a fleeting liaison. Perhaps he was mistaken in thinking he could leave her to her own devices. He'd talk to Cedric about keeping an eye on her. His stomach slowly settled.

   The clock on the mantel chimed a quarter to six. His heart dipped. Arriving too late seemed worse than not arriving at all. Tisha's function ended at six. His redemption had slipped away in the sands of time.

   He eyed the cravat at his throat with distaste. If he'd just worn his normal neckerchief, he would have been able to spend at least a half an hour doing the pretty with Caro. Instead, he'd tried to prove he was the dandified type of gentleman she seemed to prefer. He stared at the pile of ruined cravats. Apparently not.

   Danson held out his shoes. "Sit down, your lordship, and slip these on."

   "Not those. My riding boots."

   "I thought you was going to a fancy tea party?"

   Lucas tore the cravat from around his throat and shrugged out of his coat. "I'm going driving with Charlie Bascombe."

   Danson stared at him, his mouth agape.

   Lucas unclenched his jaw. "I've changed my mind, if that's all right with you." He'd have to find another way to make up to Caro for this afternoon's debacle.

   This marriage of convenience entailed a deal more work and worry than he had anticipated, blast it. And it couldn't have come at a more inopportune time.

Caro had floated home on a cloud of confidence. Her first outing amongst the ton, and she had survived without a single faux pas. Lucas would no longer find her a troublesome burden.

   With two hours remaining before dinner, she settled on the sofa in the drawing room with a cup of tea and The Mysteries of Udolpho. Thank goodness things didn't happen like that in real life.

   Two chapters later, she glanced up to find Lucas watching her from the doorway. He flashed her a hesitant smile. "Nose stuck in a book as usual, I see. What are you reading?"

   Her disappointment salved by this afternoon's triumph, she smiled back. "A rather dreadful novel, I'm afraid."

   "Can we talk?"

   "Of course." She set her book face down on the seat beside her.

   He strolled into the room and leaned one elbow on the mantel. Dressed in buckskins and only a belcher handkerchief at his throat, his attire was completely inappropriate for her drawing room, and yet her heart lifted to see him.

   The light from the wall sconces on each side of the chimney gave his angled face a devilish cast. A thrill hummed through her veins. A sweet ache pulsed somewhere she didn't want to think about. It would be better if he just stayed away.

   "I'm sorry I didn't make it to Audley's in time," he murmured.

   She blinked. "I honestly didn't expect you." She hadn't. She wasn't in the least surprised he'd abandoned her completely after she'd scolded him. No man expected his wife to question his movements. It just wasn't done.

   The shadows on his face seemed to deepen. "Did you have a good time?"

   "Yes, I did. Tisha is an excellent hostess and introduced me to lots of people. I just hope I can remember their names when next we meet."

   He grinned. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

   The silence stretched out. The tick of the mantel clock filled the room. She searched feverishly for something to say. "Tisha offered to accompany me to Almack's. She said I will receive lots of invitations after today—which reminds me . . ." She jumped to her feet and went to the silver tray on the console table. Unaccountably breathless, she held out the white card with black script for him to see. "We are invited to a ball by His Grace the Duke of Cardross."

   The amusement in his face dulled. "That will be my father's doing. He's thick with the Duke. We will have to attend."

   "Don't feel obliged to go on my account. I'm sure your cousin Cedric would be willing to escort me."

   For a moment, he looked almost relieved, but then a muscle flickered in his jaw. He shook his head. "Cardross is not a man to be taken lightly. What a bore. Which night is it?"

   She glanced at the card. "Friday week." She returned to her seat. "The following week, I am invited to join Lady Audley's party at Vauxhall."

   He nodded. "You will enjoy that. Don't forget to order a domino." His brow furrowed. "You will need to take care. There are a lot of undesirable types at Vauxhall, cits and mushrooms. I've a good mind to join you."

   She held her breath in hope.

   He shoved off from the fireplace, shifted her book aside, and dropped down onto the cushion, angling his body toward her. His gaze intensified.

   Her breath hitched in her throat as his face came into focus. His stark beauty never failed to tear at her heart or to remind her of her own shortcomings. "What?" Her voice sounded sharper than she intended.

   "I truly want you to enjoy your season in London. I'm sorry my business calls me away so often."

   The business of his mistress. An ache throbbed dully in her chest. As soon as the season was over, she would return to her sisters in Norwich and leave Lucas free to continue his untrammeled life. Unless she found a way to create a real marriage, she thought. Certainly carping would not lure him away from a woman as lovely as Louisa Caradin. She forced a bright smile. "I really don't mind."

   He relaxed against the sofa back and triumph tingled in her veins. Perhaps if she made him comfortable at home, he wouldn't want to racket around Town.

   "I will try to rearrange a prior engagement on Wednesday and take you to Almack's." He paused. "And Vauxhall. That, at least, would be good sport."

   She crossed her fingers in the folds of her gown. "I would like it very much, but please don't change your plans on my account."

   He gave her a thoughtful glance. "Bascombe thought you seemed a little overwhelmed at Tisha's."

   To her chagrin, her cheeks heated under his steady stare. She shook her head. "Not at all. I am perfectly capable of making an afternoon call. I just didn't expect to find it quite so crowded."

   "I neglected to say so before you left, but you certainly looked top-of-the-trees today." He ran a fingertip across the point of her shoulder. A tingle ran all the way down her back to her toes.

   And she thought he hadn't noticed her new gown. "Thank you."

   Afraid she would say something to spoil their accord, she stood up. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I think it is time to change for dinner."

   He rose with her. He reached for her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "I'm only sorry I can't join you, my lady." He raised his gaze to hers, and her heart leaped at the piratical gleam in his eyes.

   She managed a shaky laugh. "There isn't any point. I'm planning an early night."

   A teasing smile curved his lips. "I wouldn't mind an early night myself."

   Trembles shivered her stomach, and a delicious warmth heated her skin. He was flirting again. She searched her mind for a witty response. "It might do you some good." How feeble she sounded. How green girlish.

   His lids dropped a fraction. "Perhaps on another occasion?"

   Utterly charming. A jolt of something hot arrowed to her core. No wonder women flocked to please him.

   This practiced flirtation meant nothing. It couldn't, not with her, but if he said one more word, she'd turn into a puddle of mush.

   "I'll certainly look forward to it," she managed to gasp and swept out of the door on legs seemingly made of butter.

"How is that, my lady?" the hairdresser asked.

   Caro stared in awe at her reflection. With her hair piled high on her head, she did look less of an apple dumpling, as the hairdresser had promised.

   "Thank you, it's perfect."

   "You are welcome, my lady." He packed up his pins and ribbons and brushes. "It is a pleasure to work for such a lovely lady." He bowed himself out.

   Flatterer. The mirror didn't lie. She might be tricked out in finery and primped and curled, but her figure retained all its old faults, even if they were better disguised by the stylish gown. And her hair and eyes remained the latest shade of mouse. No wonder Lucas never spent time at home.

   She turned to Lizzie, who stood ready to help her into her gown. "Do you prefer the strawcolored silk or the white muslin?"

   "Either one will suit," Lizzie muttered, still sulking about the hairdresser.

   Caro slipped her arms out of the dressing gown and stared at the two creations on the bed.

   "Wear the yellow," a deep voice pronounced.

   Her breath escaped in a rush. She whirled around. Lucas, bare-chested, clad only in his breeches, slouched against the doorjamb of their adjoining chambers with the grin of a satisfied cat.

   She snatched up the first thing to hand, the yellow dress, and clutched it against her chest. Her flaming face promptly set light to the rest her body. "What are you doing in here?"

   Lizzie's gaze flicked from one to the other.

   He crossed his arms over his chest. "Lizzie, be gone."

   Frozen by his shocking state of undress, Caro kept her gaze located somewhere above his right shoulder. At least, she tried to keep it fixed there and not on his sculpted arms, or the sprinkle of dark hair on his broad chest, or the ridges of muscle beneath clearly defined ribs and not an ounce of fat to be seen, curse him. "Stay, Lizzie," she choked out. "His lordship is leaving."

   She groaned inwardly. Could a wife be any less welcoming?

   "Out, Lizzie," Lucas said. "Lady Foxhaven will ring for you when she needs you."

   Lizzie whisked herself out of the door with eyes as round as tea plates.

   Caro inhaled a shaky breath. "I haven't finished dressing. I will be late."

   He stared at her hair and nodded slowly. "It looks nice." His gaze dropped to her face. "I have barely seen you all week."

   Hardly her fault. He came home late every night.

   She kept her tone neutral. "It seems we have both had plenty to keep us entertained."

   A wistful smile curved his lips and tugged at her heart. "I wondered how you were doing."

   She gave him a brilliant and patently artificial smile. "I'm doing very well, thank you."

   "Good. I hope Cedric has been taking care of you in my absence. Important business, you know."

   Lady Caradin? Or had some new light of love caught his wandering gaze. Pinpricks raced over her skin. "I'm sure."

   He gestured at the gown clutched to her bosom. "Wear that one. You will stand out amongst all the vestal virgins."

   "I think the white would be best."

   He cocked his head to the side. "Why so?"

   "I really don't want to stand out, and the neckline isn't quite so low."

   "And besides," he said, with a grin so cheeky it drove her breath from her lungs, "you are a virgin."

   A blazing furnace engulfed her. At any moment, she'd be naught but a smoldering heap of ashes on the pale blue carpet. She swallowed. "I think you should leave me to dress."