No Regrets (32 page)

   The sound came again. Then she saw it. A large wolf-like dog, its fangs bared, crouched and ready to spring.

   "Good dog," she whispered. "I'm just going for a ride."

   It growled low in its chest.

   "Go on," she said. Perhaps it only knew French. "
Allez-vous!"

   The dog stared at her with red eyes.

   She moved toward it. It crept closer to her and growled.

   She backed up. It moved closer and raised its top lip.

   It only stopped encroaching when she remained perfectly still. She glanced around. The pitchfork hanging on the wall behind the dog offered no help, and the saddle was far too heavy for her to throw. Her arms began to ache. She wanted to scream.

   Very slowly, she put her burden down. When the dog didn't move, she perched on the saddle with a sigh. "Nice doggy," she said.

   The dog flattened to the ground and snarled, its hackles stiff.

   Perhaps she could wait him out. He might get hungry or find some other prey more interesting.

   Fool. Idiot. Why hadn't she just ridden the mare bareback? At any moment, she could be discovered.

   As if on cue, a lanky groom whistling cheerfully strolled between the stalls. His mouth dropped open at the sight of her. Before she could say a word, he turned tail and ran out of the barn.

   Hot tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. "Damn you," she said to the dog. It thumped its tail, and dust flew up behind it.

   She wiped her eyes. "Now you want to be friendly?"

   It lifted its lip to reveal long yellow fangs.

   She didn't have long to wait. François, his shirt undone, his hair tousled from sleep, entered the barn. He gazed at her, one arm across his chest, supporting his elbow, while his chin rested in his other hand. "Good morning." He offered her his usual oily smile. "Going somewhere?"

   She glared at him. "Out for a ride."

   François snapped his fingers. The dog wagged its tail and wandered off. "Come." He signaled her to follow him. "I will not ask you to put the saddle back."

   With feet of lead, she stomped after him. Damn the dog. And damn herself for not expecting it.

   Outside in the morning sunshine, François strolled ahead. She glanced from his rigid back across the lawn to a small stand of trees abutting a forest on the other side of the wall. If she got a good head start, she might just make it. The trees would offer a hiding place.

   She veered off, keeping an eye on François. He didn't seem to notice. Her pulse raced.

   She lifted her skirts and ran as fast and as quietly as possible on the soft grass.

   François shouted, "
Arrêt!"

   Oh, no. She wasn't stopping for anyone. She tucked her head down and pumped her free arm, running for all she was worth.

   Heavy footsteps behind told her he was gaining ground. The trees came within spitting distance. She pushed herself harder. Her breath rasped in her ears, obliterating the footfalls of her pursuer.

   A piercing whistle rang out.

   The dog. He'd called the dog. Her heart thundered in her chest. She gasped for air. She felt hot breath on the back of her neck. Dear God. Not the dog?

   No. Imagination. Just run.

   Something hard banged against her ankles. A booted foot. She fell flat on her face on the green grass. Her palms stung, her knees ached, and her breath rattled in her chest. She rolled on her back. "Get away from me, you coward."

   François, his chest heaving, loomed over her with clenched fists. His eyes glittered as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Are you trying to make me look a fool in front of my people?"

   Fear closed her throat. She swallowed. "I just want to go home."

   Anger flushed his cheeks. "No." His voice pitched up. "What you will do is get on your knees and beg my forgiveness."

   Frightened out of her wits, she shuddered at the awful change in him. It was like facing a rabid animal. She'd far sooner face the dog. Her teeth chattered together. She took a deep breath. "It is you who should be begging my forgiveness."

   He stood as if turned to stone. "On your knees, Carolyn. Now. Or I will beat you. Then they will see and know I am still master here."

   He wouldn't dare. She glanced at the group of curious servants gathered at the edge of the lawn. "You are positively medieval."

   "Yes."

She folded her arms across her chest. "No."

   He rapped out a word over his shoulder. One of the grooms hurried forward with a riding crop. François snatched it of his hand with a curse. The groom backed away. Cold fury filled François's expression. He meant every word. This man she had trusted would whip her without compunction.

   Thoughts bounded through her mind. What good would it do to defy him? She would be no further ahead. In fact, she might be worse off after a beating. Shaken by trembles of rage mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation, she rose to her knees. To do anything else would be a hollow victory. Her face heated. She had never felt so humiliated in her life. She ground her teeth together and forced out the words he demanded. "Forgive me, François."

   "
En français
, madame," he snarled. His eyes blazed so horribly that for one moment, Caro had the distinct impression he was disappointed she had given in.

   Forcing her pride down, she uttered the words he demanded. "
Pardonnez-moi
, milord." And may you be damned, she thought to herself.

   He flung the whip down and hauled her to her feet. His fingers dug into her arms as he marched her into the house and up the stairs.

   There was no point in struggling. She would have to find another way to escape this madman.

   He kicked open her chamber door and flung her on the bed. "Now I will put a guard on you night and day. If you try to leave again, they will die, and I will punish you. Do you understand?" He bared his teeth in his so-charming smile.

   She thought she might throw up. "Yes," she whispered. "But I won't marry you."

   "We will see." He stormed out and turned the key in the lock on the other side.

   Caro sank back on the bed. How could she have been so taken in? How could this be the same man she had liked so much in London and Paris? And Cedric too? They must think her a gullible fool. Her limbs trembled. She had to escape. But how? Hopelessness clutched at her heart.

   She turned over and buried her face in the pillow and wept.

   Less than fifteen minutes later, the door opened. When she raised her head, a calm and smug François was leering at her, the little maid peering out from behind him. He held up his silver flask and flashed Caro a smirk. "Now you will do exactly as I say."

   In control, he was his old debonair self, but his eyes were as cold and hard as bare trees in winter. The hardness had always been there. She just hadn't allowed herself to notice.

   Lucas paced the wall beneath the trees at the perimeter of the chateau grounds. "He should have been back before now," he growled. He struck his fist into his palm. "I should have gone with him."

   "You can trust 'Enri, my lord," Lizzie said. "He's as sharp as he can stare."

   Lucas had to agree that the lad had proved his worth and his intelligence over the past couple of days. "I hate the thought of Caro trapped in there."

   Lizzie shot him a darkling look. "And there's that Chevron fellow."

   "Chevalier," he muttered.

   "Whatever he is," she muttered. "I hates him."

   He loathed the bastard as well. Anxiety that he didn't want Lizzie to see sent him pacing again.

   A soft whistle halted his stride. He and Lizzie ducked into the shadows of the wall.

   With a wide grin, Henri strode to their hiding place. "What do you think?" He lifted his hands from his sides and turned a slow circle.

   "You look like a damn popinjay," Lucas said with a snort of derision as he took in the black and gold livery on the lad's lanky frame.

   "All that lovely braid," Lizzie said. "As fine as fivepence."

   "Thank you, Miss Lizzie," Henri said with a mischievous grin at Lucas. "They offered me a job on the spot. Apparently, a big wedding takes place the day after tomorrow."

   A chill crept into Lucas's soul. She was going ahead with it, then. He cursed. Perhaps he should just go home and forget all about her.

   "Did you see my lady?" Lizzie asked with fear in her voice.

   Henri shook his head. "Mais non. No one sees her, except for one morning when she tried to go riding without permission. She is locked up, guarded day and night. No one but the master or her maid goes near her."

   "I'm her flippin' maid," Lizzie muttered.

   Lucas gazed at Henri's serious face. "A prisoner in fact." Perhaps Caro wasn't quite so willing. He stared across the wall. "The place is huge. It will be almost impossible to find her."

   "I know where she is."

   The impatience he'd been holding in check for the past hour finally got the better of him. "For God's sake, man. Why did you not say so right away? Let's go."

   Henri shook his head. "It is not so easy." He leaned on the top of the wall and pointed. "See the tower there, in the corner. She is in a room at the top, where the balcony is. There is a man guarding the stairs, day and night."

   Lucas stared at the tower's rounded walls. "There has to be another way in."

   "No. I am sorry, my lord."

   "They haven't hurt her, have they?" Lizzie asked.

   Henri hesitated a second too long, and Lucas's gut clenched. He glowered at Henri. "Well?"

   "No." Henri said. "I do not believe they have hurt her."

   Not yet was what he meant. Lucas heard it in his tone. His stomach roiled with anger and with shame that he had caused all this. He had to get her out of there. "When are you required to return?"

   "Later this afternoon."

   "Good. That costume of yours might just come in handy."

   Henry grinned. "That's what I thought."

   Lucas slapped him on the back. He was developing a great liking for this young Frenchman. "Come on, then. We've work to do."

* * *

   At any other time, Lucas might have enjoyed the sight of an elegant chateau bathed in moonlight. Tonight, he would have preferred utter darkness. He and Lizzie had crept through the gate while Henri had engaged the gatekeeper in conversation. They now took shelter within the small forest on the chateau side of the wall.

   He stared across the expanse of lawn. The ladder Henri had placed against the tower earlier this evening could not have been more obvious or more out of place.

   "Let me come with you, my lord," Henri pleaded in a whisper.

   "No," Lucas said. "I need you here with the horses. There is no sense in all of us getting caught. If anything happens to me, go to Audley for help. Tell him Caro is a prisoner."

   "Perhaps we should go for Lord Audley now," Lizzie whispered. "He could bring soldiers."

   Lucas shook his head. Not an option. He would not leave Caro here a moment longer than necessary. He picked up the rope they had procured earlier in the day and coiled it over his shoulder. His heartbeat kicked up a notch. He rechecked the iron bar and the pistol in his belt. "I will whistle when I want the horses."

   "I understand," Henri whispered.

   Seeing no one, Lucas sauntered across the moonlit lawn, while every nerve strained with the urge to run. He reached the gravel of the courtyard with a sigh of relief. Careful not to make a sound on the loose stones, he made his way to the foot of the ladder behind the shrubbery at the tower's base. Once more, he paused to listen. Midnight and all seemed quiet. Taking a deep breath, he began the ascent.

   Henri had assured him that no one inhabited the rooms with windows on the first and second floors below Caro, but he took no chances and ran past them swiftly. Because the ladder did not reach all the way to the balcony, he was forced to stretch up and grab the base of the balcony's wrought iron railing.

   He let his feet swing off the ladder and pulled himself up. A sound of carriage wheels on gravel shattered the silence.

   Bloody hell. Caught like a spider on a web. He hung still and silent, sure every person in France could see him outlined against the light-colored walls.

   The carriage pulled up. He peered over his shoulder at the sound of voices. It seemed that Cedric and François had been off celebrating. Cedric supported a swaying François, and they laughed as they staggered toward the front door.

   The muscles in his arms screamed for relief. Sweat trickled down his face and dripped off his chin.

   Hurry up, damn it. See me, or bugger off.

His arms trembled. He couldn't hold on much longer.

   Their voices murmured endlessly. Stretched on the rack of his body's weight, the burn in his shoulders became agony. He had to let go.

   Damn it. Hold on.

   The voices finally faded. A door slammed. All became silent except his labored breathing. Pulling himself over the railing seemed beyond all hope. He inhaled deeply a couple of times, swung one leg up, and thrust his boot between the railings. Sweet relief.