No Regrets (42 page)

   "I see." He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed his breeches. He turned his back to put them on. She turned hers and watched him in the mirror from beneath her lashes, the rippling muscles on his broad back, the fabric sliding up to cover his firm flanks. He was built like a racehorse, all muscle and sinew and power, while she looked like a blancmange.

   It could never work.

   The gentlemen in Paris hadn't seemed to mind her larger proportions, her mind whispered. Quite the opposite. And Lucas had called her gorgeous. But only in the heat of passion.

   He glanced up and caught her gaze in the mirror. He shook his head.

   She looked away and closed two more buttons. This strange attraction of opposites had to be lust that only appeared when they were close. Today should end it. Then why did the thought of saying good-bye leave her feeling as empty as a casket of wine after a wedding?

   He hadn't once tried to change her mind, and he'd never spoken of love. She'd made her decision. She could not afford regrets.

   He came up behind her, brushed her hand aside. As he closed the last fastening he skimmed his lips against her nape, a touch so fleeting and light she would have believed she imagined it without the chill of cold air in its wake.

   "Come down when you are ready," he said. "I will have the carriage brought around."

   Only when the door closed behind him did she permit her tears to flow in silence. One single sound, one sob, would shatter her into a thousand shards.

   At the rear of the Granthams' sprawling redbrick Tudor mansion, Lucas handed off Maestro's reins to a groom. Beneath the stone archway, the door to the kitchen lay open. He sucked in a breath, fighting an oppressive tightness in his chest. Had it really been more than a year since he rode beneath that arch and carried her off? What a selfish fool he'd been.

   He recalled her initial disbelief and laughter when he lifted her up. Then he'd blackmailed her into a marriage. A deal with the devil. He wouldn't let it fall apart. He'd staked his claim on his woman, but this might be his only chance to win her heart and soul.

   Striding through the kitchen and into the baronial hall, he avoided a pair of footmen lugging a table across the floor. Neither bright banners nor medieval tapestries made the place anything less of a mausoleum—his mausoleum, if things didn't work out. At the far end, beneath the oriole, James waved a baton while the boys rehearsed their music. Lucas hoped to God they'd get a chance to play.

   A small figure leaped up from his seat and hurtled at Lucas. Lucas grabbed a pair of bony shoulders before the lad set him on his arse. "Whoa, young Jake."

   At least he'd won these fellows' trust. Satisfaction tinged with sadness caught him off guard. He tousled the lad's shock of blond hair. "Back you go. You need to practice."

   James strolled over to collect his pupil.

   Jake dodged him. "Is your missus here, then?"

   Lucas's moment of pleasure died. He clamped his jaw and shook his head. "Later," he bit out. Maybe.

   The boy winced, and Lucas cursed himself. He softened his tone. "Go and rehearse, lad. You want to be perfect, don't you?"

   On the dais, Fred lifted a hand in greeting, before fixing his surly gaze on Jake. "Bloody well get over here, you young varmint." Fred looked quite the gentleman in his new suit. If he learned to control what came out of his mouth, he'd go a long way.

   With a grin, Jake shot back to his companions.

   Lucas glanced into James's gentle brown eyes. "Are they ready?"

   "They were a bit unruly on the journey. Excited, you know," James said, his smile rueful. "Two days cramped up in a coach and a night at an inn has been an interesting experience."

   The boys had the kind of high spirits Lucas's father used to hate. Tension gripped his shoulders, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sure they will be fine."

   "And Lady Foxhaven?"

   Lucas had unburdened some of his anxiety to the calm and wise James before he came north. "I'm not sure. I've had to change my plan. If this fails, I am scuppered."

   James glanced around the room, which was filling with furniture and flowers. "It'll be a mite embarrassing if she doesna'—"

   "Embarrassment is the least of my concerns. Have you see Lady Audley?"

   "Aye. She were here earlier. Verra complimentary about the boys' playing, she was."

   Something for which to be grateful.

   Alex heaved her third sigh in a row. Caro jabbed her needle into her thumb. "Ouch! For goodness sake, Alex, if you are bored, go help Lizzie put Jacqueline and Lucy to bed."

   Alex lifted her head from the paper flower picture she was creating. "I still don't see why we couldn't go to the Granthams' musical evening tonight."

   Alex seemed determined to be annoying. "Because I said not." Caro pulled out the lazy daisy stitch. It had turned into a knot.

   "My word," Miss Salter said from the other side of the hearth, "it is past eight o'clock. It is time you were in bed, Miss Alex." She folded her tapestry and tucked it into the workbasket beside her chair.

   A knock echoed through the house. Alex leaned forward to peer out of the window. "There's a horse at the front door." She put a hand over her mouth and dashed out of the room and up the stairs.

   "Now what has got into her?" Caro said. She got up to look out of the window.

   The knock came again, louder and sharper. The heavy tread of their footman trundled up the passage. Caro pulled back the drapery.

   Good heavens. Whoever it was had brought his horse up the front path. Maestro. Her stomach pitched. Then the visitor must be Lucas. She ignored her pounding pulse. After yesterday, surely there was nothing more to say. Or was there?

   "Lord Foxhaven," the footman announced.

   Lucas, his black greatcoat buttoned to his chin, filled the doorway. He smiled calmly enough, but deep in his eyes swirled a dark glint of excitement. "Good evening, ladies."

   Caro raised a brow and moved away from the window. "What an unexpected pleasure, my lord."

   He bowed. "The pleasure is all mine."

   Miss Salter got to her feet and edged toward the door. She didn't look terribly surprised. Caro gestured for her to stay. "I am afraid we are not prepared for visitors this evening. You find us en famille."

   "I am hardly a visitor, Caro," he said, a faint edge of bitterness in his voice. "It is my house."

   Her heartbeat quickened. The wretch. She would not engage in a duel of words. "This is not the hour for calls."

   His gaze flicked to Miss Salter.

   "I will just see if the girls are all right," she said and scooted past him and out of the door.

   Traitor, Caro thought.

   A lopsided grin lit Lucas's face. Suddenly, he seemed extraordinarily smug about Miss Salter's retreat. Suspicion unfurled in Caro's mind along with a strange sensation in her belly, anxiety mixed with a flutter of anticipation, the kind she'd felt in his arms and in his bed.

   "Why are you here?" she said, aiming for calm and failing.

   He cocked a brow. "Why aren't you at the Granthams'?"

   "I declined the invitation."

   A couple of thumps and a shriek came from above their heads. The children were playing games again, or fighting.

   He took a step closer. "I came to change your mind."

   "What?" Her stomach tumbled over. Fool. He meant the party. "Do you want a worse scandal when the news of our divorce becomes common knowledge? We cannot impose on people we have known all our lives."

   "Do you care so much about what other people think?"

   "I care about my sisters and their reputations."

   "If you really cared about them, you'd do everything in your power to avoid the scandal of a divorce." His tone softened. "You still have a choice."

   Hadn't she done her best to make their marriage work in London, only to be rejected for his other affairs? The fact that his other affairs had been a music school made it easier to bear, but only a little. He had pushed her away at every opportunity— especially when their mutual lust flared out of control. Yesterday was hers to treasure.

   She folded her arms across her chest. "I have made my choice."

   "I claim the right of a husband to try to change your mind, not for your sisters' sake, but for yours and for mine."

   She stared at him, at his face, waiting for the charming smile to cajole her, his hot glance to fire her blood. She cloaked herself in chilly resentment. Not this time.

   He strode to face her and then catching her beneath her knees and around her shoulders, he swept her up into his arms. She gasped. "What are you doing?"

   "What I should have done the first time."

   He stormed into the hallway where Lizzie stood holding the front door open, Caro's cloak in her hand. "It's a wee bit nippy tonight." She threw the cloak over her.

   "Lizzie!" Caro squeaked.

   Before she could say more, Lucas pushed out of the door. "Hold tight, Caro," he warned with a frowning glance. He grabbed Maestro's reins and lifted his foot to the stirrup. "If I have to tie you up, you will come with me."

   How like Lucas. A laugh bubbled in her chest despite her resolve. She tamped it down, before he sensed his advantage. "You are mad. Where are we going?"

   He heaved them both into the saddle and settled her across his lap, pulling her cloak around her, tucking it between them.

   "You'll see." He wheeled the horse around and out into the lane. They galloped across the common and over the hill. Maestro's hooves beat out a steady rhythm, his breath harsh in the still night air. They were headed for the Granthams'.

   She bit her lip. It would be so easy to give in. If only he loved her.

   Short of jumping off the horse and breaking her neck, there was little to be done until they reached their destination. She relaxed into his strong onehanded embrace, feeling the warmth of his chest against her back, inhaling sandalwood cologne and crisp night air. The wind whipped her hair in her face and his. She relaxed. If there was anything she could trust, it was his horsemanship.

   It was no surprise when they rode up the curved beech-lined avenue to Grantham Hall. Flambeaux lit the courtyard, and lackeys stood at the ready, but no carriages lined the gravel drive.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

   "Perhaps they all declined," Lucas muttered. He sounded odd, uncertain, yet still full of repressed tension. The flickering torches cast light over his lean face, his eyes hidden in shadow. He was truly a darkly handsome man.

   And she was still a dumpling. She didn't care, she realized. He had said she was gorgeous in his eyes. He never lied.

   The door flew open as if they were expected. Tigs, looking smart in brand new livery, waved them in with a grin that seemed to reach his ears. Lucas kneed his mount forward.

   The horrible truth hit her. "No, Lucas. Not inside. Not again."

   Maestro shifted beneath them, his great hindquarters bunching, and then they leaped the front steps and clattered into the empty hall. The guests had indeed not yet arrived. Caro breathed a sigh of relief. Torches lit the walls, and candles and flowers carpeted the tables. Rows of chairs faced the dais, where a group of musicians practiced a rousing tune. Lady Audley floated toward them.

   Tisha? Caro glanced up at Lucas; his mouth had flattened to a thin line, and his eyes had darkened to onyx. His expression seemed grim.

   "Enough of this, Lucas," Caro said. "You will only anger Lord Grantham again."

   "If that was my only problem, I'd be a happy man," Lucas said, his voice a low growl in her ear. He brought Maestro to a prancing halt.

   Tisha's eyes twinkled with mirth. She seemed hard put not to laugh. Heat flared in Caro's cheeks. He was making a fool of her. He'd cooked up some kind of scheme with Tisha, just the way he had with the Grantham boys when they were children. "I want to go home."

   "Lord Foxhaven," Tisha said, "there are perfectly good stables at the back of the house."

   "I need to borrow a bedroom," Lucas said.

   Caro had played this scene before and didn't like it any more now than she had then. She opened her mouth to protest.

   "This way," Tisha said. She giggled and raced up the stairs ahead of them.

   The world had gone completely mad. Caro's mind whirled around the possibility that she was dreaming. She clung to the only solid thing available: Lucas. Her hands clutched his lean waist. She stared at his strong throat and a jaw already shadowed with stubble. An almost irresistible urge to kiss that hard jaw quickened her pulse and tightened a throat aching with tears.

   Yesterday's taste of the pleasure had been a fatal mistake, a breach of her carefully constructed resistance to his blatant allure.

   Tisha flung open the door of the chamber where they had made their ridiculous agreement more than a year ago.

   Lucas lowered Caro from Maestro's back, capturing her wrist the moment he dismounted. Did he think she would run away? This time, she would call his bluff.