No Regrets (3 page)

   "Your life? What about mine?"

   Head cocked to one side, he gave her a considering look. Another wild scheme being born in his razor-sharp brain, no doubt. She steeled herself for an argument.

   "Why not make it a business arrangement?" he asked.

   "That is what it is."

   "Not the arrangement dreamed up by our fathers. Something to suit us."

   It suited her to head down the backstairs before anyone caught her in here with him. She moved away from the window. "What kind of something?"

   His brow lightened. "Neither of us wants to get married. Why not wed in name only?" He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, dark gaze intent. "We will continue as friends, as always. No marital duties. You know, children and that sort of thing."

   She might be the daughter of a gentleman vicar, but she had some idea of the duties he meant. Disappointment left her feeling empty, but unsurprised. She didn't have the kind of attributes to attract a man of his ilk. She shook her head. "No."

   "If you won't do it for yourself, consider your sisters."

   "You would do well to leave my sisters out of your machinations. It is bad enough that I am involved."

   "You won't need to wash dishes for a living." He flashed a breathtaking smile, all seduction and even white teeth.

   She became suitably breathless. "I'm not doing it for a living. I'm helping Lizzie."

   Dark eyebrows rose in disbelief.

   She let go a small sigh. "I couldn't pay her wages this month, but she wouldn't hear of getting another position. When Grantham's butler put the word out in the village for extra help this evening, she took the job with her sister. When Nell became ill I offered to take her place so Lizzie would not lose the money."

   "Where is Lizzie?"

   "She's helping in the ladies' withdrawing room. I agreed to wash dishes, where I
expected
no one would see me."

   "Together we can make these problems go away."

   "I prefer them to the sort of fraud you propose. What would your father say?"

   "He won't know unless you tell him. Think about it. Neither of us will have to worry about finances again." He cast her a sly glance. "What will you do when the new vicar arrives? Where will you live?"

   He'd spotted her weakness, of course. Now he would pick away at her defenses until she raised a white flag. Defeat stared her in the face. "I have ideas."

   "Surely there's something you want, something you need for yourself?"

   She had a whole well of unfulfilled desires, but what she wanted meant nothing if it didn't help her sisters. "A season in Town?"

   His eyes widened. He seemed to have trouble replying.

   Heat rushed to her face. She ran shaking fingers down her stiff bombazine skirts. Idiot. He meant he wanted to buy her something. If he took her to London, he'd have to introduce her to his friends as his wife. He'd be far too ashamed. Perhaps she'd found the perfect way to hold him at bay after all.

   "Very well. If that is what you want," he said in rush as if afraid she'd change her mind.

   She stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment. "You do realize I will need you to escort me to balls and routs? My sisters will need a knowledge able chaperone when it is their turn to come out." She took a deep breath. "And they will each need a dowry."

   He nodded, albeit a little stiffly. "I understand perfectly. Is it yes?"

   She nibbled at her top lip. Since a married lady didn't need to attract young men to dance and flirt, she might actually enjoy herself. She'd certainly never have another chance to marry and this might well be her one opportunity to see something of the world beyond Norwich. She could visit the theater, see the Tower, and perhaps catch a glimpse of the royal wedding. The newspapers touted Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold as a fairy tale couple. A long time ago she had believed in fairy tales and happy endings. "If we married, I could do just as I please?"

   A frown creased his brow. "Within reason." His expression cleared. "We both could. You know, once my inheritance is sewn up, we could end it whenever it suits us. I would ensure you and your sisters were financially secure, of course."

   Her head spun. "A divorce, you mean?"

   "If we marry in Scotland it can be arranged, 'though it wouldn't be entirely free of scandal."

   She frowned. Was this another of his tricks to bend her to his will? "Are you sure?"

   A shadow of something akin to pain flickered in his eyes. She put it down to a trick of the uncertain torchlight when he curled his lip in sardonic amusement. "I didn't entirely waste my time at university, you know. What do you say? Is it a bargain? We certainly got on well enough before they threw this wedding nonsense in our paths."

   "You did," she muttered, refusing to think about happier times.

   She rubbed her chilly arms and turned to the window, vaguely aware of the torches twinkling along the crenulated courtyard wall. A bargain? He was proposing a convenient financial arrangement to end in shameful divorce. It sounded so cold and so daunting, particularly the part about the divorce. Her father would have been horrified. Her stomach roiled. A strange weight pressed down on her chest, something dark and slightly sad, like the sensation of finding a baby bird thrown from the nest by a cuckoo.

   She swung around to face him full on. "Are you sure there isn't anyone else you can ask?"

   He stiffened, his smile fading. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you found my company so abhorrent." His voice sounded harsh, strained. Asking for help clearly stung his noble pride.

   Guilt washed through her. "I don't, not really. I just thought you might prefer...." Someone he would not be ashamed to show off to his tonnish friends. The words remained stuck in her throat.

   He shook his head in a slow regretful movement. "There is no time. I must have the money now."

   He wouldn't be here if he had another option. A painful but honest confession. She chewed her top lip. He hadn't always been a careless rake. As a boy, he'd been gentle, sometimes rather too sensitive for his father's rough tongue. A true friend would try to turn him from his destructive path. Her beloved Papa would have insisted she make the attempt.

   If she agreed, she'd be living under the same roof with him as a friend, pretending to be his wife to the outside world. It sounded like a cross between heaven and purgatory.

   It all came back to money, or rather their lack thereof. If she went ahead with this, Lucas would pay off his debts and the girls could return to the luxury of their old life, maybe even better. Lizzie wouldn't need to find other employment and everyone's future would be secure. If she'd accepted him the first time, they might have had a chance at a real marriage, and perhaps her father would still be alive.

   So much of the blame for their desperate circumstances rested squarely at her door. How could she refuse for the sake of her pride?

   She stared at his darkly handsome face, at the fingers drumming on his knee, and crushed the flicker of hope that he might someday see her as more than a friend. If she did this, it would be with her eyes wide open.

   With an impatient hand, he swept a lock of hair from his brow. A long black hank escaped its ribbon and fell in a glossy wave to his shoulder. It tempted her touch. If they married, she'd be tempted every day. But not if she stuck to their bargain. She drew in a steadying breath. "I'll do it."

   He smiled.

   She didn't trust that smile. Not any more. "I want the agreement in writing."

   His jaw dropped in open-mouthed shock. "Impossible."

"Why is it impossible?" she asked.

   The golden tones of her skin, which had once reminded him of sunshine and carefree days, had faded to sallow. In her ugly black gown, she looked more fragile than he remembered, less well-rounded, as if she hadn't had a decent meal for months. He felt like a bully.

   "This is as much for your benefit as for mine, you know," he muttered. "If anyone were to discover such an agreement, it would be construed as collusion, and a divorce would be disallowed."

   She wrinkled her nose. "Oh."

   The vulnerability in her huge, amber eyes caused a pang of guilt deep in a place he'd thought frozen out of existence. Vulnerable? What a jest. She'd defied the mighty Lord Stockbridge for months. No mean feat for a woman. It had taken Lucas years to pluck up the same measure of courage.

   "If it is to be a business arrangement, we should have something in writing," she said.

   There it was again, the intractability that seemed to run down her spine like an iron bar. Hell. Why quibble over a piece of paper if it got him what he wanted? "As you wish. But it must remain a secret."

   "It will be our private agreement."

   He nodded toward the bedside table. "See if that drawer has writing materials, will you? Lord Grantham will throw a fit if I go down and ask for paper and pens."

   Lucas could imagine at least one lascivious use for a quill. The thought of drawing a feather over Caro's naked lush form and bringing her voluptuous flesh to a state of quivering anticipation stirred his blood, and things farther south.

   The ancient bed looked strong enough to endure an energetic romp. If he captured that ripe mouth in a kiss, convinced her to part her lips and let him taste her sweetness . . . His breath shortened.

   Was he mad? This was Caro, his straightlaced childhood friend and respected companion in countryside forays, not an opera dancer.

   Fortunately she noticed nothing of his body's response to his wayward thoughts as she hurried to the table. She pulled out an inkstand and paper and set them on the dusty surface. "It has everything we need."

   He dragged his chair over. After a moment's thought, he dipped the quill in the ink and wrote: This agreement is between Miss Carolyn Torrington and Lucas Rivers, Viscount Foxhaven, each being of sound mind and body. The parties agree to marry as a financial arrangement only. Both are free to live their lives as they see fit until one or the other decides to divorce. At that time, said Lucas Rivers will provide an annual income of one thousand pounds to Carolyn Rivers, née Torrington, until she marries another.

   Signed this twentieth day of March in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and sixteen.

   He added his name with a scrawling flourish. "I think that should do it."

   She shifted the paper out of his shadow and leaned close, peering over the top of her spectacles. She read it through twice.

   Did she think he would trick her? The thought made his skin crawl. Once upon a time, he never doubted her trust.

   "It seems fine," she said at last. She signed her name neatly beside his.

   Take that, Father. Lucas wanted to grin, to shake her hand, but her air of forced resolution stifled the moment. It was as if she'd made a pact with the devil. He felt a twinge of disappointment. He might not have deserved her heroworship from the days of their childhood, but did she have to view him in such a bad light?

   No matter. He'd do his best to make their bargain work. And just let his old man try to interfere.

   She folded the note, placed it in her apron pocket, and gestured toward the door. "Would you mind not making an announcement tonight?"

   Now what thoughts were going on behind those honey eyes? "You can't change your mind, Caro. I have your agreement in writing. We leave for Gretna the moment I collect my carriage from Stockbridge Hall." Even as he said the words, he knew he wouldn't press her if she balked.

   She glanced down at herself with a small, selfdeprecating smile. "I'm not exactly dressed for a ball."

   He released a breath. She had given her word, and she'd keep it. The tightness across his shoulders eased. He grinned. "No, that you are not."

   "I will use the back stairs and let Lizzie know I'm leaving."

   In a generous mood at the outcome of what could have ended in disaster, he nodded. "Good idea. I promise you won't regret this."

   The corners of her mouth lifted a fraction. "Let us hope not. I will meet you at Rose Cottage in two hours."

   "One."

   She opened her mouth to speak, but then nodded and scurried from the room without a backward glance.

   He flung himself into the chair. Damn his father for leaving him no option but to gull a green girl like Caro. A point of light reflected in the toe of his boot; he flexed his ankle, watching the light play on the shiny black leather. A season in London and all it entailed. The wretch had turned the tables on him quite handily. Perhaps she wasn't quite as naive as she appeared.

   A vision of being led by the nose to a host of stuffy functions flashed through his mind. Hell, no! He had to take care of his lads.

   He pushed up from the chair in a burst of energy. The sooner he got this wedding out of the way and got his hands on his inheritance, the sooner he would finalize things with Lady Bestborough.

   "I cannot believe you are really married," Alexandra said.