No Regrets (33 page)

   He gave his arms a moment of blessed ease and then heaved himself up and over the railing onto the narrow balcony. Lungs grabbing air in greedy gasps, he rested his forearms on the balustrade and waited for his thundering heart to quiet. Across the lawn, Henri and the horses were dense shadows beneath the trees.

   He tied his rope to one of the wrought iron uprights and threw the end to the ground. With a roll of his shoulders, he turned to the window. Now for Caro.

   The window frame proved no match for his iron bar. The wood splintered with the sound of a pistol shot. He listened for signs he'd been heard. Nothing. He slipped into dark silence.

   Revealed in filtered moonlight, a sleeping Caro lay on a canopied bed. A long plait followed the curve of her breast and one hand cupped her cheek. The quilt rose and fell with each slow and gentle breath. Almost too gentle.

   He pressed one hand over her parted lips and shook her shoulder. She stirred, her hand falling from her cheek to lay palm up on the pillow. He tickled her palm. No reaction.

   Agonizingly aware of the guard beyond the door, he put his lips close to her ear and kept his voice low. "Caro, wake up. It's me—Lucas."

   Her eyelids drifted up. A slow smile dawned. "Lucas?"

   He put a finger to his lips. "Shh."

   "Kiss me."

   "What?"

   She pouted. "I like your kisses. Why don't you like kissing me?"

   Startled, he stared at her. "Of course I like kissing you."

   She beamed. "You do?" She curled her hand around the back of his neck, pulled herself up and planted a kiss full on his mouth. A sultry, seductive kiss. Instant heat flared in his veins. Rational thought went up in smoke as he deepened the kiss. He drew her close, her pillowy breasts press ing into his body, the scent of aroused woman filling his nostrils. Heaven come down to earth. Her hands caressed his shoulders. Even through his clothes, her heart pounded against his chest. She wanted him, not her bloody cousin.

   Sanity returned in an icy rush. He dragged himself free. There wasn't time for this.

   He stared into her face, all soft and hazy and confused, and at her full, moist lips offered with abandon. "I have to get you out of here."

   She nodded and smiled, open and unreserved, her skin glowing in the moonbeam spilling across the bed. "I have something important to tell you."

   "Not now."

   She frowned. "I mustn't tell, because I have to marry François."

   The words tore at his vitals. "To my knowledge, you are still married to me."

   Her gaze seemed vague, uncomprehending. "Ummm. Cedric is going to . . . He's supposed to take care of that lillum . . . little detail." She shook her head. "Don' like your cousin any more; he gave me nasty stuff to drink." She blinked and wrinkled her nose. "So did François."

   Drugged. That accounted for her strangely affectionate behavior. He ignored the flood of disappointment.

   "Kiss me again," she demanded.

   "Not now. Where are your clothes?"

   Her brow furrowed, and her lips pouted. "It's my dream. You are supposed to do what I want."

   "Later, Caro." He propped her against the headboard. "Right now we need to get you back to Paris."

   A breathy sigh left her lips. "I like Paris." Her eyelids drooped, and her head lolled to one side.

   He crossed the room to the wardrobe and peered inside. Empty. The Chevalier was afraid she'd try riding again, no doubt. Henri had given him the full story out of Lizzie's hearing. His blood chilled. He hadn't wanted to believe Henri, but the drugs and the lack of clothes confirmed it. Damn the pair of them, his cousin and the Chevalier.

   He had to get her to safety. He strode back to the bed, whipped the sheet aside, and revealed the swells and hollows of a womanly body designed for love. Desire flooded his groin, his tight buckskins barely yielding to his instant arousal. How could he have made such a stupid bargain? He swallowed a groan mixed with a curse as he fought for control. Wrong time, wrong place, as usual.

   He picked her up. She lay in his arms like an innocent child, soft and yielding. A fierce desire to protect her tightened his grip when she sighed and snuggled against his chest. No time to savor the moment. He carried her out onto the balcony and set her down on her feet, supporting her under the arms. "Caro. Wake up."

   Her eyelids fluttered up, and she peeped through her lashes at him.

   "Listen. Remember how we got you down from the apple tree?"

   She grinned. "Of course, I 'member. You nearly dropped me."

   "I didn't."

   "Yes, you did. Don' you 'member? You swore. Bad boy." She giggled. "And then you said I was a stupid girl 'cause I screamed. Didn't mean to be stupid." She sighed. "I just was."

   They'd never get anywhere like this. "You're not stupid. Relax and don't wriggle."

   He bent and tucked his shoulder beneath her ribs. He stood up, her head hanging down his back.

   "Oof," she said.

   He put one leg over the rail and grabbed the rope.

   At that moment, she chose to push herself upright, her hands scrabbling for purchase on his back. He wobbled and clutched the rail. Heat scorched through him followed in an instant by icy chills. Sweat started on his brow. "God damn it, hold still. Do you want to kill us both?"

   "There. You swore again. I need to tell you something."

   Damn the drugs. He tapped her sweet, softly rounded bottom. "Be silent and keep still for God's sake, or we'll both fall."

   She flopped over his back and patted his arse in return. "It's a secret."

   "Yes, I know," he murmured. "And you should never tell secrets when you are drunk or drugged." He lowered himself over the balcony and felt with his feet for the ladder.

   "I think it's a nice secret," she murmured. "But Lucas might not like it."

   "Hush." The rungs seemed farther apart than on the way up. About halfway down, her body went limp as if she'd fallen asleep. Thank God. Better than her trying to hold a conversation. His feet hit solid ground, and he released his breath. They'd made it.

   He inched out of the bushes and pursed his lips to whistle to Henri.

   "Going somewhere, cousin?" The words were spoken in Cedric's unmistakable gentle tones. He stepped out of the shadows at the base of the tower.

   Lucas's gut rolled over as he stared at a silver pistol pointed at his head.

   "What the hell are you doing, Cedric?"

   "Stopping you from ruining my plans."

   "Your plans?"

   "Why, of course. You don't think the Chevalier could think this through on his own, do you?"

   His stomach churned. He had always thought of Cedric as a friend. "You can't mean that. Look at her—she's drugged, out of her mind, and still she knows she doesn't want to marry Valeron."

   "She will catch cold if we don't take her back inside and continue our discussion."

   Rage at his cousin's betrayal bubbled up. "Stand aside. I'm taking her home."

   Cedric smiled apologetically. "My dear boy, this is her home now."

   "Like hell it is," Lucas bit out, weighing his options.

   If he signaled to Henri, they might get away, or he might get them all killed. He groped for the pistol in his belt, silently cursing the hampering fabric of Caro's nightgown.

   The weapon in Cedric's hand glinted dully as he adjusted his aim. "Put her down and raise your hands."

   "You don't dare shoot with Caro in the way."

   Cedric's gentle but menacing smile widened. "Are you willing to take the risk? Whether she's dead or alive, I get what I want."

   A chill ran down Lucas's back. He could not take a chance with Caro's life. Gritting his teeth, he eased her gently to the ground, all the while measuring the distance to Cedric's pistol. He straightened. "You won't get away with this."

   The smile on his cousin's face transformed into a sneer. "Oh? And who is going to stop me? You? It is most obliging of you to come here. I thought I'd have to dispose of you in England."

   Tensed, ready to spring, Lucas curled his lip in disdain. "You are a lily-livered coward."

   Cedric cursed. The pistol wavered. Lucas snatched at it.

   An explosion rang in his ears, and a bullet buzzed past his head. The echo bounced off the chateau walls. Shock rolled through him. Cedric really did intend to kill him. He flung himself at his cousin's throat.

   The pistol slammed into Lucas's jaw. His head snapped back, and fog rolled in. Shaking his vision clear, he staggered back and yanked out his own weapon.

   Shouts and yells came from all around him. Half a dozen servants ran from the back of the house. A beefy thug, pistol in hand, stormed down the front steps.

   "Give it up, Lucas," Cedric said, his chest heaving. "Or I'll have my man shoot Caro as a reminder of you for the rest of her life. In a knee perhaps, or an elbow."

   The servants closed in on them.

   The thought of Caro crippled froze Lucas rigid. He fought a sudden burst of nausea as he realized that a man he thought he could trust with his life would carry out such a dastardly threat. "You miserable cur," he ground out. "What has she ever done to you?"

   Cedric's lips drew back in a feral snarl. "She married you."

   "Dear God, you mean it." Lucas flung the pistol aside and held his hands out at the sides. Henri, stay the hell where you are, he thought. "Leave her be if it's me you want."

   "I want it all," Cedric muttered. He reversed his weapon. "Turn around."

   Jaw clenched, Lucas obeyed. "Let her go, Cedric."

   A sharp pain at the back of his head, a flash of light, and black descended.

   A sour taste flowed into Cedric's gullet. He stared at his handsome, quixotic, honorable cousin slumped in a heap beside Caro's ample, enticing form, every curve revealed by her flimsy gown.

   He narrowed his eyes. Lucas always took everything Cedric wanted. The beast Cedric kept locked away in the deep dark place inside him slipped its chain.

   He lashed out a kick. The crunch of boot leather on ribs felt satisfying. He kicked again, aiming for the gut, reveling in the soft thud and the heat in his blood, the burgeoning excitement. But vicious blows wouldn't satiate unless his victim squirmed and cringed.

   He bent down, dragged the inert Lucas up by the shirtfront, and shook him. "Wake up, you dog."

   Beside him, Caro stirred. He flicked her a glance. Her eyes remained closed.

   Suspended by Cedric's fist, Lucas's head lolled back, his eyes closed. "You lose, Lucas," Cedric whispered.

   No response. Damn him. Cedric smashed his fist into the handsome face and let Lucas's head crash to the stones. He shook his hand to ease the pain of the blow.

   With a furtive glance at Caro, he reeled in his anger. He didn't want her to see him like this. Not yet.

   "Take him to the cellar," he said to Caro's guard. "If he gives you any trouble, you can teach him a lesson. But don't kill him. He's mine."

   The bully's brutal face split in a grin of anticipation. "Yes, sir." He hoisted Lucas across his shoulders.

   Cedric lifted the unconscious Caro. Her lovely face in repose called to him as no other woman's face ever had. Brushing a strand of fine fair hair off her cheek, he ran a fingertip over her soft skin. "My little one," he crooned. "I promise you will forget him." A thrill of anticipation trembled deep in his chest.

   He carried her into the house.

* * *

   "Mademoiselle looks lovely," the little maid said, pinning Caro's veil to her hair.

   Only once had Caro tried to gain the servant's aid. The girl had reported her to François.

   Caro bit her lip. The misty image in the mirror looked beautiful, but wavered in and out of focus. It must be the effects of the laudanum François had given her last night. She pressed her fingers to her head. This morning, he'd promised not to give her any more, provided she behaved.

   Behave? She had wanted to slap him. She didn't have the strength.

   She stared at the cream lace bodice decorated with seed pearls and the bronze silk skirt over a cream satin slip. Bronze slippers peeped out below the hem festooned with silk yellow roses. The gown she had worn at Gretna to marry Lucas had been her Sunday-best green muslin.

   Lucas. He had stood so straight and tall at her side that foggy Scottish morning. And last night, he had haunted her dreams. She had struggled to tell him that she wanted to go back to London with him, that she had made up her mind to honor their agreement even if he could never love her as she loved him. But he hadn't listened.

   She'd kissed him. Heat suffused her skin at the memory of the warm, moist touch of his lips on hers. The events of today seemed less real than that kiss.

   Today she would marry François.

   Hot tears burned her throat. How would she ever explain that to Lucas? She lifted her glasses and dabbed at her eyes.

   "Do not cry, mademoiselle. It is unlucky," the maid said.