No Regrets (19 page)
More of him dictating to her while he did whatever he pleased. "That is not our agreement. If you really must know, it is Cedric and Tisha." And the Chevalier. She inwardly winced at her cowardly omission.
"Oh, Cedric." His mouth curled in a quick smile. "In that case, I'll look at the mare another day." He seemed amused as he picked up the newspaper Beckwith had placed beside his plate. The pages rattled as he disappeared behind them.
She rose to her feet. "As you wish."
She skirted around him, heading for the door. "I hope you will excuse me, but my riding habit needs a slight alteration, and I am hoping Madame Charis can do it while I wait. I want to wear it this afternoon."
"Order another one," he said, not looking up.
Lucas cared nothing about economy. Why should he when twenty thousand pounds awaited him?
The newspaper rustled as he turned the page. His dark gaze rose to meet hers. "About last night . . ." He grimaced.
Twenty thousand pounds a year would be an incentive to bed even the most unattractive female.
She didn't want to hear a word about last night. "Yes?"
Wooden-faced, he held her gaze. "I don't want to find you alone with another man. You'll cause a scandal you won't like. And nor will I." He sounded tired, weary of having to do his duty to his unattractive ignoramus of a wife.
"Were I alone with a man with your reputation, Lucas, I might understand your concern. But when the gentleman is my cousin François, or your cousin Cedric, or even your friend Mr. Bascombe, no one could possibly imagine anything except what it was, a conversation on the balcony."
Liar, whispered her conscience.
A shadow seemed to cross his face, turning his eyes as black as the deepest abyss, his fingers crushing the edges of the paper. "Is that what you think?"
"Yes. It is."
She swirled around and opened the door.
"I mean what I said, Caro. For your own good," he said with deliberation. "One breath of scandal, and it's back to Norwich you go."
She glanced over her shoulder. "We agreed not to interfere with each other. Are you going back on your word?"
"Damn it, you're my wife; you have to listen to me."
"No regrets, Lucas."
She swept out of the door and up the stairs.
Ten
"Are you feeling well, cousin?" François murmured from the back of a prime chestnut gelding walking beside Caro's mare. Beneath his curly brimmed beaver, his handsome face mirrored the gentle concern in his accented voice.
"I thought we were going riding, not walking," Caro said as Fraise ambled between her escorts, her spirits dampened by the slow pace of their progress.
The group of fashionably attired pedestrians in front of them stopped to greet friends in a barouche traveling in the opposite direction, bringing the trio to a halt.
"The unusually mild weather has brought out the crowds," Cedric said in pacifying tones.
François's coffee-colored eyes danced with amusement. "
Vraiment
it is slow. But own to it,
mon ami
, you prefer this pace."
Vraiment
it is slow. But own to it,
mon ami
, you prefer this pace."
Poor Cedric. He sat upon the sluggish gray mare as if he had a broomstick between his knees and feared it might fly away. He had more chance of the horse dropping dead than it breaking into a trot. No wonder Lucas had abandoned the idea of coming with them so readily.
Cedric grimaced. "The afternoon promenade is not about equestrian antics. It is about engaging in conversation and meeting friends." His horse sidled. He clutched at the pommel with a nervous grunt. Caro resisted the urge to reach out and hold his reins.
A half-smile curved François's mouth. "I think one is also expected to be beautiful, non? This mount of yours, Cedric, it flees the abattoir."
The man certainly had a way with words. The urge to chuckle twitched at Caro's lips and eased the pressure on her chest. She should not be a damper on the outing. After all, her escorts were not responsible for her black mood. "La, sir. Be kind to your friend."
Cedric's mouth turned down. "Do not concern yourself, Cousin Carolyn." He stared with grim concentration between the mare's flicking ears. "This nag was all they had at the hostelry this morning." He glanced at François's chestnut. "I'm surprised you found anything better."
"Ah, my dear friend. I won this fine steed at cards last night. Sadly, I will have to sell it tomorrow. I must take my leave of you."
"You are leaving when we have only just met?" Caro said.
"The Chevalier has pressing business matters. He manages your great aunt's estate," Cedric replied, almost a little too swiftly.
A sudden feeling of loss rushed through her. "I had wished to hear all about my aunt and the estate in Champagne. Now there is no time."
His expression full of regret, François bowed, quite as elegantly on horseback as in the drawing room. "I too am sorry. I will visit you tomorrow morning and carry a letter to Aunt Honoré, if you desire. You must promise to visit her."
"I'd love to go to Paris, but Lord Audley says France is not safe."
"Pshaw," François exclaimed. "Paris is as it ever was. Drawing rooms full, people meeting, the best actors in the best theaters in the world. Your friend's husband is too cautious."
"Tempers also run high in the House of Deputies, while the Bourbons jockey for position," Cedric interjected. "Audley is wise to keep his wife at home when he is on official business. The Paris salons are one thing. The army of occupation quite another."
François stiffened. "They will leave soon."
Aiming to deflect the argument, Caro put in, "Are you sure you must depart right away?"
François flicked her a quizzical glance, but allowed the diversion. "I must. But I leave the oh-so-careful Cedric to take my place. I hope you will not miss me."
"I should rather think you want her to miss you a good deal," Cedric said with some asperity.
"I will," Caro said, setting Fraise in motion now that the people ahead had continued their stroll. "With Lady Audley's husband back in London, I don't expect to see much of her either."
Tisha had sent around a barely legible note. Regretfully, she had to cancel their engagement to ride to take full advantage of Lord Audley's short furlough in town.
"I will be here," Cedric said.
"There is also your husband?" François' eyes said he didn't believe it.
Caro felt a pang of sadness in her chest. Lucas never had time for her. She shook the thought off. She'd made a bargain, and no matter what Lucas arranged with his father, she planned to stick by it.
"He has other interests." She gave a careless little laugh. It sounded too brittle, too hard.
A gap opened up in front of them, and she urged Fraise forward at a trot.
The two men caught her up at the next hold up in the traffic.
"Really, cousin," Cedric said, his mouth a thin line. "Have a care."
"Nonsense," François retorted. "Lady Foxhaven rides like angel. I am sure she longs to race the wind."
"Hmmp," Cedric grunted. "My cousin may look well on horseback, but nonetheless, I would not like her to come to grief."
Their gallantry and squabbling soothed her bruised heart. She did not, however, want it to ruin their friendship.
"I promise to be careful," she said.
Cedric seemed mollified, and François cast her a sidelong glance and a wicked smile.
"Speak of the devil," Cedric said.
Lucas? Caro craned her neck to see. A curricle traveling in the other direction at a smart pace, wove in and out of other, more staid vehicles on the row. A lady in turquoise silk and a widebrimmed hat waved wildly as she went by.
Unable to make out her features, Caro squinted into the blur.
"Not wearing your spectacles, cousin?" Cedric said. "I wonder you dare ride. That was Lady Audley and her husband." He stared after the carriage. "He's a hard man by all accounts, but she seems to have him wrapped around her finger."
François leaned close. "Except in regard to Paris." His breath tickled her ear, and his rather cloying perfume caught in her throat.
Fraise skittered at her jerk on the reins.
Cedric lurched forward at his mare's toss of her head. He muttered something under his breath.
François laughed, a bit unkindly, Caro thought. "And here is another acquaintance," François said, raising his crop in greeting. "The charming Mrs. Selina Watson. Do you know her, cousin?"
"I don't believe I do," Caro replied, staring at the tall woman who approached riding a showy black and wearing an equally showy riding habit à la militaire. A rakish shako perched atop the dusky curls framing her face.
François performed the introductions, and the woman wheeled her horse around to join the slow promenade.
She eyed Fraise with a discerning eye. "I do like that strawberry roan of yours, Lady Foxhaven. If you ever decide to sell her, you must let me have the first option." She raised her glance to François with a pert smile. "I like any creature with spirit."
François's smile broadened, and Cedric frowned.
How wonderful to have the nerve to flirt so unashamedly. Caro patted Fraise on the neck. "I would never sell her. I just wish I could take her for a good gallop."
"Perhaps later in the season, when the weather is warmer, we could get up a party and go out into the country?" Mrs. Watson said. "Hampstead for instance. We could test your roan against my Jet, here." She leaned forward and ran her hand down her mount's glossy neck. The ebony coat matched her shining curls.
"I will ask my husband," Caro replied.
"Foxhaven?" Mrs. Watson laughed. "Does he keep you on so tight a leash?"
A river of hot blood bathed Caro's face. She must sound like a terribly dull creature to the dashing Mrs. Watson. "I meant I would ask him to accompany us. Here, there is none of the thrill of the wind in your hair or the excitement of jumping a fence."
"You hunt, then, Lady Foxhaven?" Mrs. Watson's voice held a surprised note.
"No," Caro said. "I always feel sorry for the fox." The thought of cruel jaws snapping at their victim turned her stomach.
"If it is excitement you seek, we could race." A challenge gleamed Mrs. Watson's dark eyes, and a predatory smile curved her lips.
"Galloping in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour is not only unacceptable; it is passé," Cedric said in quelling tones. "It has been done before, and by you, Mrs. Watson. I'm sure my cousin is not looking for that kind of thrill."
She wasn't? Any distraction from the hard lump of disappointment crushing her ribs held allure. Tisha had her husband to keep her busy, and because François would return to France tomorrow, the immediate future loomed painfully empty.
With a toss of her head, Mrs. Watson laughed. "You are too staid, Mr. Rivers. Besides, I was thinking of something more akin to what you young blades are wont to engage in."
Cedric visibly shuddered. "I can assure you, I neither consider myself a young blade, nor do I enter into the kind of behavior indulged in by a set of idle rakes."
He meant Lucas. Cedric always defended him, but he didn't approve.
A deep chuckle cut across the ensuing silence. François's horse kicked out and started forward a few steps, causing Cedric to grab his mount's saddle. Caro winced. He really was the worst horseman she had ever laid eyes on.
Still chuckling, François waited for them to catch up. "
Mon cher ami
, so staid. It is
joie de vivre
which makes them engage in such pranks. Sadly you have none."
Mon cher ami
, so staid. It is
joie de vivre
which makes them engage in such pranks. Sadly you have none."
"Not all of us have the opportunity or desire to waste our youth in foolishness." Cedric softened his tart rejoinder with a sad smile. "I gather from your remarks, Monsieur Le Chevalier, you do not find boxing the watch or losing the family fortune at cards abhorrent?"
Was that the reason Lucas needed yet more money from his father? Caro's stomach tightened. "Please, gentlemen, I do not like to see you argue."
François raised a calming hand. "Forgive me, Lady Foxhaven. My good friend misunderstands me. I do not approve of tricks that cause harm to others—but a race? A test of skill? Where is the harm in that?" The twinkle in his dark brown eyes made Cedric's stuffiness seem ridiculous.
Pointy white teeth gleaming as she smiled, Mrs. Watson leaned across her horse's withers toward Caro. "Well, Lady Foxhaven, shall we show these smug men our mettle?"
It sounded dangerous and exciting and just the sort of thing Lucas would do. "How could we do that?" Her voice came out in a breathless rush.
"There is one record I would like to best."
"Record?"
"You are new to Town, are you not? The gentlemen are always setting records, walking backward down Bond Street, racing to Brighton in a curricle, or racing the Piccadilly run on horseback. It is this last of which I speak. How well do you manage that mare of yours in traffic?"
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