No Regrets (5 page)

   A wedding didn't give her the right to dictate what he wore. "I never wear cravats. Not unless I absolutely have to."

   Huge in her oval face, her fawn eyes stared back at him. "It is the correct attire for a gentleman, surely."

   The belcher knotted around his throat tightened as if he'd made a noose and volunteered to put his neck in it. "How I choose to dress isn't really your concern."

   She recoiled, pressing her lips together as if to swallow another admonition. After a moment's hesitation, she rested a hand on his proffered arm and stepped up into the carriage.

   He regretted his harsh tone, if not the words. Bloody hell. He hadn't expected her to take her wifely role to heart. "Spring 'em," he growled at Tigs, and dove in after her.

   "Good-bye," the girls chorused as Caro leaned forward and waved from the window.

   He pressed his head against the squabs and closed his eyes against the hammers of hell. Damn his father for leaving him no choice.

* * *

   Rain dripped from the footman's tricorn hat onto his shoulders as he held open the carriage door for Caro to alight into a dull grey afternoon.

   "Surely we haven't arrived already?" Caro said, glancing at Lizzie on the opposite seat.

   Lizzie shrugged. "It's only been two hours since we stopped for lunch."

   Peering through the steady downpour, Caro made out the shape of a low building beyond the footman's shoulder. "Is this the Red Lion?"

   The servant shook his head. "His lordship's orders, my lady. We were to stop at the next inn."

   Unwilling to argue with a footman, Caro allowed him to help her down. A gust of wind swept across the field, driving icy rain into her face. She shivered.

   Lucas had elected to follow on Maestro, rather than join Caro and Lizzie in the coach, citing his need for fresh air. He must be soaked to the skin by now.

   She gazed at the empty road behind them. "Where is Lord Foxhaven?"

   "The Guv'ner stopped to blab with a squarerigged cove on the toper," Tigs said, on tiptoes at the bridles.

   Caro frowned. "A cove?"

   "A regular chaw bacon," Tigs said.

   Jumping down from the step, Lizzie fixed Tigs with a baleful stare. "Enough of your cant, you worthless lump o' lard."

   Over the past two days, Caro had learned there was no respect between these two. She stifled her exasperation. "Will one of you please explain?"

   "His lordship stopped to speak to a country gentleman. There's a mill he wants to see," the footman offered.

   Lucas had never expressed any interest in farming. "Why would he want to see a mill?"

   "'Tweren't a mill," Tigs muttered. "'Twere a setting-to. Cocks."

   "Cockfighting, my lady," Lizzie whispered in Caro's damp ear.

   Her heart sank. How like Lucas to go off when something more interesting presented itself. She retrieved her spectacles from her reticule and put them on. The full impact of the shabby hostelry struck her like the sting of the rain on her face.

   "The Bell and Cat?" Scorn dripped from Lizzie's tongue. "We can't stay here."

   "His lordship's orders," the footman said, shutting the carriage door. "He said he would meet us at the next inn. This is it."

   They certainly couldn't stand outside waiting for Lucas. With anger stiffening her spine, Caro lifted her sodden skirts clear of the puddles and horse manure dotting the courtyard and marched through the front door into a dingy, low-ceilinged room. The smell of stale ale and smoke stopped her short. A taproom. This inn didn't even boast a parlor.

   The innkeeper's jaw dropped open in his graywhiskered face as he looked up from behind the bar. "'Ere, who are you?"

   If that was his usual greeting to his customers, it was no wonder the place was deserted. On the other hand, farm laborers would be unlikely to be idling the afternoon away even in such a downpour.

   Caro forced a smile, despite her desire to strangle Lucas right at that moment. "I am Lady Foxhaven, and I need two rooms for the night and accommodation for my servants. And a pot of tea."

   Brushing past trestle tables scattered around the room, she made her way to the hearth. She drew off her gloves and held her numb fingers to the meager warmth of the fire.

   "I don't cater to overnight guests, and if I had rooms, I wouldn't let them to the likes of you," the landlord pronounced.

   Speechless at his rudeness, Caro swung around to face him.

   "How dare you speak to her ladyship like that," Lizzie said from the doorway. As terrifying as a full-rigged warship, she sailed toward him. "His lordship'll have your hide, he will, when he arrives."

   Leaning back to avoid Lizzie's wagging finger, the landlord shook his head. "You ain't quality. Not stopping here, you ain't. And I don't got no rooms. Travelers sleep in the commons. Always has." He gestured to the room around him.

   Sleep in here? Bubbles of anger simmered in Caro's blood. If she could get her hands on Lucas right now . . . She took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm. "Do you have any private rooms?"

   The landlord stared at her with weighing eyes.

   "I'll pay you well," she said, knowing full well that if Lucas didn't arrive, she would be in dire straits.

   "Aye," the landlord mumbled. "There's a room in the attic ye can have. It's small. I can take a cot up for your wench, there."

   Lizzie bristled, but Caro sent her a quelling glance, and for once, Lizzie held her tongue.

   Glancing past Caro through the grimy window, the innkeeper said, "Rest of servants has to sleep with them nags of yourn in the barn."

   It was the best she could do without Lucas. "We'll eat supper in our room."

   "All I got is the rest of the stew me cooking wench made for me dinner. She's gone home now. I can heat it up."

   Dinner in the country came at noon. Well, they would eat either the leftover stew or the bread and cheese they'd brought for the journey. After the chill of the carriage ride, the thought of cold food made her shiver. "That will be fine."

   "This way then, your bloody highness." Mumbling under his breath, he led the way upstairs.

* * *

   The creak of the rickety door jolted Caro fully awake. A tattoo beat in her chest. "Who is it?"

   "Caro?" The timbre of Lucas's deep voice cut through the sound of Lizzie's snores. "Why are you in here?"

   He raised a candlestick. Outlined in the doorway, with his hair loose around his shoulders and his shirt open at the neck, he looked thoroughly disheveled and rakishly handsome.

   A strange little pulse stirred in her stomach. She clutched the blanket they'd brought in from the carriage up to her chin. Now didn't seem the right moment for the choice words she'd rehearsed in the hours before sleep finally claimed her. "Go away."

   "Why are you here?" He stumbled further into the room. "Ouch." He rubbed his shin and stared down at Lizzie on the cot beside the bed. "What is Lizzie doing in my room?"

   "It is not your room, Lucas. It is mine."

   He swayed and slapped one hand against the sloping ceiling for support. "The landlord said . . ."

   Pent-up resentment sprang to life. "I don't care what the landlord said. Go away."

   "Where am I to sleep?"

   "Right at this moment, I really don't care. Try the barn."

   He rocked on his heels, pointing to the bundle of sheets and blankets on the floor in the corner. "I could use that."

   Caro repressed a shudder. "If you want to wake up lousy, feel free to take them with you." The bedding in the room wasn't fit for animals, let alone humans. If they'd been able to open the window, she would have thrown it all out, including the mattress she'd stuffed under the bed.

   Swaying, he gazed down at her, his glittering onyx eyes holding an expression different from anything she'd ever seen there before. Hot flames danced between them, and heat tingled from her head to her heels as he stared at her bosom. To her horror, her breasts felt fuller and larger than ever.

   He raised his gaze to her face. "Your hair is very long," he mumbled as if his tongue didn't work properly. "It has streaks of gold." He cast her his familiar, lopsided smile. "I'd love to see it unbound."

   The pulse in her abdomen jolted. A frisson of awareness ran down her spine. She recognized it for what it was. Attraction. If only they had more than an artificial marriage.

   He leaned forward, his lips teasing, yet inviting. He was going to kiss her. Her heart beat twice as fast as normal, choked her throat, emptied her mind. An urgent desire to touch the skin at his throat, to run her fingers through his hair, overwhelmed her. She raised her face, closed her eyes on a sigh.

   Brandy fumes wafted over her. She opened her eyes and stared into his blurred, reddened eyes. He was foxed. If he wasn't, he wouldn't think of coming to her room. He'd mistaken her for one of his other women.

   And no matter how much she wanted to know the taste of his lips on hers, or what she felt deep inside, she would not take advantage of his error. It would be disastrous. For both of them.

   She forced calm words past her thundering heart. "Do go away, Lucas, before you wake Lizzie. I'll speak to you in the morning."

   "That sounds omni . . . onimus." He shook his head. "Ominous." He grinned and clutched at the beam in the ceiling as he lurched to one side.

   With a gasp, she scooted back against the wall. He looked as if he might fall on her.

   He shifted his weight, planting his feet firmly apart, and shoved a hand into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a heavy-looking purse with a look of triumph on his slack features. "I won."

   Tired, uncomfortable, and cold, she could no longer stem the tide of her temper. "Well, good for you." She grabbed up the book she'd tried to read when she couldn't sleep and threw it at his head.

   Instead of dodging, he just stood there. It glanced off his cheek. He dropped the candle.

   Caro dove to the floor, snatching it up before the room burst into flames.

   As if numb, he watched her regain her feet. "Nice wife you are," he mumbled. "Can't even congratulate a chap. Just like my father." He tore the candle from her grasp and stomped off down the stairs.

   Lizzie muttered and turned over. How on earth had she slept through such a commotion?

   Fumbling in the dark, the echo of the candle flame dancing in the back of her eyes, Caro crept shivering across the room and closed the door. Next time, she'd make sure the door had a lock and key. Oh, please, don't let there be a next time.

   Marriage had ruined his untrammeled life. Lucas stared into the brown sludge the innkeeper called coffee and gagged. He pushed the cup aside and cradled his head in his hands. Encountering a straw, he pulled it from his hair and tossed it into the fire.

   Damn it. Since when was it a crime to enjoy a bit of sport and a few drinks with some fellows?

   Since you married Caro, he told himself.

   Other chaps' wives didn't give them a beargarden jaw for their nightly entertainments. It must be her puritanical upbringing.

   His stomach rolled. If he was going to cast up his accounts, he ought to dash outside, except he didn't have the strength. He slouched lower in his seat, hoping his head would cease to spin.

   He'd endured the edge of her scathing tongue upon his arrival from the stables this morning, finding her fully clothed, with her foot tapping on the bare boards. She had reminded him of his promise to establish her in society, not among the dregs of the English countryside, and had left him to ponder his sins.

   Only he couldn't exactly remember what he'd done to make her so angry.

   A picture flashed through his sluggish brain. Caro, bathed in the golden light of a candle, staring at him with luminous eyes.

   "Anything else I can get you, your lordship?" The greasy landlord rubbed his hands together.

   "The shot."

   The gray beard split in a yellow-toothed grin, and the innkeeper slapped his accounting on the trestle table. "I expect that there trull was right glad to see you last night."

   Trull? Lucas frowned as he counted out a handful of coins. He'd been to a brothel? "What?"

   "Nice little armful up in the attic. Right cheeky she is, as plump and juicy as a piglet, and that wench of her'n. I charged you for her room, like she said."

   Lucas jerked his head up and thought it might fall off. Glorious full breasts outlined by candlelight, their twin peaks pressed again fine linen—it filled his mind like a vision. Bloody hell. He'd gone to her room by mistake. He touched the tender bruise on his cheekbone. Devil take it. What had he done?

   "I hope your lordship found everything up there to your liking." The innkeeper wheezed a laugh.

   Lucas leaped to his feet and grabbed the smirking man by the shirtfront. His stomach heaved. "Stop your mouth or I'll stop it for you. You are speaking about my wife."

   With his face turning red and his breathing labored, the landlord flapped his arms. "No offense, your worship," he gasped. "I just thought . . ."