No Regrets (20 page)

   Caro lifted her chin. "I can handle her."

   Mrs. Watson's cat-grin widened. "Then try to show me a clean pair of heels. We race from the park gate to Piccadilly, passing Clarence House. Fifteen minutes to tie the record, fewer to beat it, and the winner takes all."

   "Good God," Cedric exclaimed. "Lady Foxhaven would never dare anything so dangerous."

   "I can ride as well as anyone," Caro challenged.

   François sent her a smile of approval. "If it is to be a race, I will put one hundred guineas on my cousin and her noble Fraise."

   "I will see your hundred," Mrs. Watson responded.

   Three pairs of expectant eyes focused on Caro. Her heart picked up speed. After such a bold speech, she could hardly back down. "Yes, of course. One hundred."

   "Cedric?" François asked slyly.

   "Not me. I do not have money to lose, and I will not bet against my own cousin."

   Her greatest ally thought she would lose. An unexpected flash of something hot and bold seared her veins. "I'll raise you another hundred for the record," she said. Now she was really in the soup. She didn't have one hundred guineas, let alone two. She had to win.

   Mrs. Watson flourished her whip. "Done. A woman after my own heart. We need timekeepers. Mr. Rivers, you will start us off. Dear Chevalier, you must wait at the finish line."

   A chuckling François compared his timepiece with Cedric's "
En avante, mes dames,
" he called out before tipping his hat and trotting off.

   Caro hoped her face didn't show the panic clogging her throat as she trotted beside the jaunty Mrs. Watson toward the gate.

   Cedric tried not to smirk. It wouldn't do to let Lady Foxhaven see his delight. Mrs. Watson had fared better than he could ever have anticipated. Foxhaven controlled his wife as badly as he did everything else. He followed the two women— one willowy tall and as mean as a ferret, the other as voluptuously plump as a pigeon and as innocent as a newborn lamb.

   A sacrificial lamb. His heart twisted. What the devil? He slaved while Lucas frittered his future away, and he'd be damned if he'd let anything stop him now. Fortune smiled only on those who helped themselves. Perhaps he'd find a way to help himself to the fair lady too.

   He felt a sneer curl his lip. The marionettes jerked their limbs to his pulling of their strings. Stockbridge, the Chevalier, and now Lady Foxhaven, all dancing to his command whether they knew it or not. The sense of his own power gave him a heady feeling. He forced himself to remain cool, in control. The next steps needed a light hand. But his dreams began to look as solid as the ground beneath this cursed animal's hooves.

   At the entrance to the park, he halted his mount alongside Lady Foxhaven.

   "Take the first right," Mrs. Watson was saying, pointing with her crop. "Then on to the Haymarket. The Chevalier is waiting at the top on Piccadilly. Are you clear?"

   "I think so," Lady Foxhaven replied.

   She didn't sound particularly sure. It would be too bad if she missed her way or lost her nerve.

   "You could withdraw," Cedric muttered.

   Shock opened Caro's mouth. "Wouldn't that be dishonorable, after I made a bet?"

   He nodded. "Some would say so."

   "Then I couldn't think of it."

   Clay in his hands. He pursed his lips. "If you are unsure of the way, the best thing you can do is stay right behind her. Try to pass her on the last dash to Piccadilly. I will pay for any damage as I come through."

   A startled expression crossed her face. "Surely we won't cause any harm?"

   An heiress with a broken neck would not serve his purpose. "Not if you are careful."

   He dismounted and checked Lady Foxhaven's girth and then went to Mrs. Watson's side and did the same.

   He made a show of straightening the blanket beneath the saddle while she fiddled with her stirrup.

   Her head close to his, she murmured, "Well, Rivers, does it serve, do you think?"

   The malicious gleam in her eyes satisfied him more than he cared to admit. He grinned. "You are very clever, my dear. I never expected her to take such a dare. Will it pay Foxhaven back for casting you off in favor of Louisa Caradin?"

   "It might, along with the money you promised."

   Cedric nodded. "She doesn't know her way around Town. Make sure you don't lose her. She will pass you at the end."

   Her brows arched in question.

   "Don't worry, you will not be out of pocket," he said.

   "Much better than that I hope," she murmured, with a sharp stare.

   "Without doubt."

   A ragged girl selling flowers held up a basket of violets and primroses. "Buy a posy for the lady," she called.

   How apropos. He purchased one bunch of each and pinned the yellow flowers on Caro and the purple on Selina. Both women carried his mark as surely as he shaped their destiny.

   He pulled out his watch.

   "Well, Mr. Rivers," Mrs. Watson snapped, curbing her fidgety mount.

   Caro gulped a breath of air into her tight lungs. The hammering of her heart must surely be audible to everyone within a hundred feet.

   The cool and confident Mrs. Watson seemed unaffected. She patted her restive black's neck, her lips curved in a smile of pure devilment.

   Caro tightened her grip on her reins and focused her gaze on the blur of Cedric's face.

   "Go," he said.

   The quietly spoken word froze Caro. Mrs. Watson slapped her horse's flank with her whip, and within seconds, she had merged with the traffic on the bustling street.

   If Caro lost sight of the black horse, she had no chance of winning. Caro urged Fraise forward, shortened the gap, and fell in behind her rival. Her own noisy breath and the clatter of hooves filled her ears.

Mrs. Watson pushed her horse into a canter.

It was madness to go so fast in traffic.

   They passed Green Park to their right, weaving in and out of carriages. Fraise slipped on the uneven cobbles. Caro's heart lurched, yet somehow she checked the mare. A fall could be fatal to horse and rider.

   A wagon and a pair of stolid oxen blocked their path. Caro reined in. Mrs. Watson mounted the footpath, scattering pedestrians. Bad sport. Caro hesitated. She shouldn't do this. Mrs. Watson glanced back and raised her whip in a triumphant gesture. Dash it. Caro wouldn't let her win because she cheated. She urged Fraise forward, her heart in her throat, led on by the darting ebony gelding.

   Shouts of anger and curses rose up around them. A coal heaver reached out to grab her bridle. Fraise, ears flattened, neatly sidestepped.

   Openmouthed ladies and gentlemen stared from coach windows and high perch phaetons. Street vendors and pedestrians scattered, shouting and shaking their fists.

   A horrible sinking feeling invaded her stomach. She should have listened to Cedric and refused the bet. She should stop. She imagined the scorn with which Mrs. Watson would inform everyone of her cowardice. She would be a laughing stock. Cheeks on fire, she set her teeth and kept her gaze locked on the wild figure in front.

   "I say, what's this?" Lord Cholmondly, a goblet of ruby port in his hand and a plate of cheeses on the table in front of him, leaned forward in White's bow window.

   Lucas glanced up from the Gentleman's Magazine.

   "By Jove!" Cholmondly jumped to his feet. "A race."

   Opposite him, Lord Linden turned and also rose. "Well, well. Selina Watson up to her old tricks." He chortled. "Stap me. Doing the St. James circle. She said she would, if she could find anyone mad enough to take her challenge. Foxhaven, unless I'm mistaken, your record is about to be broken."

   "Who's the challenger?" asked one of the men crowding into the bow window.

   Clearly audible catcalls and jeers rose from further down St. James. Lucas, craning his neck to see over the shorter men, could not see the face of the challenger, but the distinctive roan looked unpleasantly familiar. It couldn't be Caro. Someone must have stolen her horse.

   Then he recognized the riding habit. He swore and pushed his way through the crush of leering men toward the door.

   As he reached the exit, Cholmondly shouted, "It's Foxhaven's wife. Stap me! Who will take pony on Selina Watson? Lady Foxhaven will never catch her now."

   "I wouldn't mind catching Carolyn Foxhaven," someone yelled out. Coarse male laughter burned Lucas's ears.

   "I'd give her a ride for her money," another called.

   The stupid little fool. Lucas gritted his teeth and swallowed his challenge to the multitude of ribald comments flying around the room. He couldn't fight all the men in London, nor did he have the right. Caro had earned every word. The only sane thing to do was cut her off and put a stop to it before someone got hurt. He hurtled down the stairs and out of the door without stopping for his hat and coat.

   On foot, even cutting through the back alleys around St. James's Square, the busy streets made his task impossible. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and glimpsed the riders ahead of him. When he turned onto the Haymarket, he watched Caro give the roan her head.

   He groaned and increased his speed. If she fell and hurt herself, he wasn't sure what he'd do. She passed Selina Watson, barely missing a brewer's dray. He let his breath go as she drew up short at the corner of Piccadilly. She leaped off the mare and into the waiting arms of the Chevalier.

   Chest heaving, lungs desperate for air, Lucas stopped stock-still and watched the blackguard pick her up and swing her around. As the Chevalier placed her on the ground, she tipped her face and kissed his cheek.

   The little traitor. What the hell was going on? Had she given her heart to the slimy Frog? If so, what else had she given him? The thought seemed to poison the air around him.

   Selina Watson cantered up to the pair on her sweating black, laughing and shaking her head. "I can't believe you passed me on the hill," she called out.

   With wooden boards for legs, Lucas strode toward them.

   A laughing Caro pulled on the Chevalier's arm to look at his watch. "Did we beat the time?"

   The Chevalier shook his head. "I regret, no. Five minutes too long."

   The Chevalier glanced up and grinned at Lucas. "You will be pleased to know, my lord, your record remains."

   Lucas wanted to choke the life out of him. He could scarcely see for a thick red cloud of anger.

   Caro swung around. The laughter died from her face. "Lucas." She glanced over his shoulder and waved. "Cousin Cedric!" she called out. "I won."

   Cedric knew about this? Lucas jerked around. "How could you let this happen?"

   "A bad business." Cedric's disapproving gaze caused Lucas to remember his hatless, coatless state. "I warned against it."

   Unable to stand the curious stares of passing pedestrians a moment longer, Lucas grabbed Caro's arm and pulled her away from the Chevalier. The stiffness in his jaw and lack of breath roughened his voice. "Get back on your horse and go home."

   She flinched. He ignored her wounded expression. He grasped her around the waist and flung her up on Fraise, not caring if she hung on or not. She did, of course. She was too good a horsewoman not to. "I will speak to you at home, madam. Cedric, accompany her."

   Cedric pulled at his lower lip with his teeth. "Certainly."

   Selina Watson tittered, and Caro turned dull red. "Lucas, what is the matter with you?" she protested from atop her hard-breathing mount. "It was only a race."

   Only a race. Bile clogged his throat. "Leave, now, before I do something I will later regret."

   Sullen-faced, she wheeled the mare around and rode down Piccadilly with Cedric lumping along behind.

   Lucas was hot and breathing hard, and with Caro gone, all he wanted to do was murder the damned Frenchman. Ill-concealed amusement twinkled in the other man's shrewd brown eyes.

   Determined to conduct himself with honor, Lucas took a deep breath. "Now, Chevalier. You have some explaining to do. Tomorrow morning in Green Park will be a perfect opportunity. Name your friends."

   Dark brows shot up to meet a carefully arranged lock of brown hair on the Chevalier's brow. The slimy bastard raised his hands, palms up. "
Mais
non, mon ami.
I am but a pawn in this. The ladies asked me to oblige them. What could I say?"

   "It's true, Lucas." Selina's triumphant smile carved a hole in his chest. "If the Chevalier hadn't agreed, we would have asked someone else."

   "I thought it better to keep it
en famille,
" Valeron said with what Lucas could only describe as a smirk.

   "In the family?" Lucas clenched his fists. He wanted to throttle him, beat him to a jelly. The red haze at the back of his eyes threatened to blind him. "Do you know the route they took?"

   François shrugged. "I am not familiar with all the twists and turns of your so beautiful city. If it were Paris now . . ."