The Seduction of Lord Stone (11 page)

West shook his dark head. “Not an inkling, my dear man. And if all you intend to do is play riddles, I must send you on your way. I’m hosting that outing to Richmond tomorrow and I want my wits about me.”

Silas straightened and stared West down. “Act innocent as much as you like. I intend to fight you for Caro.”

West frowned again and took a leisurely sip of his brandy. That insouciant air had annoyed Silas for months. Right now, it made him want to crown his lordship with the gilt celestial globe set on the table at his elbow.

“I’m always ready to play fisticuffs with you, Stone, even if we haven’t sparred since our teens. From memory, the honors then were fairly equal.”

West was one of the few men who could best Silas in a physical contest—at least until Silas had decided brawling ill befitted a man of science. “Then stand up, you bastard,” Silas said belligerently.

West didn’t budge. “By all means, old man. But please put me out of this agony of suspense—why have you chosen me as your punching bag, out of all the men in London?”

Silas paused in the act of raising his fists. “Caro has decided to take you as her lover.”

At last, genuine emotion flashed in West’s eyes. “Good Lord above, really? I had no idea.”

His friend—former friend—sounded sincerely surprised. And much as Silas wanted to think West an unregenerate liar, thirty years of acquaintance told him the man was caught unawares. “You’ve flirted with her all season.”

West shrugged and drank some more brandy. “She’s a lovely creature. And entertaining besides. Of course I’ve flirted with her. I never sensed any genuine interest.”

Silas scowled. “She wants you in her bed.”

West looked more cheerful. “Well, that’s remarkably interesting.”

“If you lay a finger on her, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

“You’ll need an army. I’ve kept up with my sporting pursuits. You, my boy, have wasted your youth and vigor digging neat little holes in teeny weeny flowerpots.”

“I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back,” Silas scoffed, while his dull, obsessed masculine brain battled to come to terms with the astounding fact that West was no rival at all.

“Only if someone cuts off my arms and legs.” West rose and returned to the sideboard. He refilled his brandy, then lifted the other glass and extended it toward Silas. “Take down your fighting colors, Stone. Your lady is a prize, but she’s not for me.”

Without accepting the brandy, Silas surveyed West as the truth finally bashed him over the head. He’d been a blasted fool. What the hell was wrong with him? If Caro and West had shared any true attraction, they would have acted on it before this. Still, after all this time, he couldn’t quite relinquish his suspicions. “You and Caro have been dancing around each other for months.”

“Dancing with, not around. She’s society’s new darling. Naturally I made a show of chasing her. You know the game.”

He did indeed. If he hadn’t been crazed by unrequited love, he’d have noted that West was too circumspect with Caro to be on the hunt.

With a growling exhalation, he let go of months of anger. “Oh, confound you, West,” he said, aggression seeping away. He took the glass of brandy. “It’s antics like this that get you into strife. If you could just say one word and mean it, there would be a deal less trouble in the world.”

“And where would be the fun in that?”

Silas swallowed a mouthful of liquor, aware that he’d acted like an ass and grateful that West wasn’t making an issue of it. The idea that he could appreciate anything West did was shocking enough to kick his brain back into action, after months of blundering around on blind instinct.

“Sit down and stop looming.” West gestured to the matching leather chair as he ambled back to where he’d been sitting.

“I suppose I ought to apologize for bursting in on you.” Silas took the chair and drained his glass.

West shrugged. “We all do silly things when we’re in love.”

Silas didn’t bother arguing. It would only confirm West’s opinion about the state of his emotions. “How would you know?”

A faint smile hovered around West’s lips. “You’d be surprised, old chap.” Then before Silas could question that unexpected response, he went on. “Damned fine woman, Caro Beaumont. I commend your taste.”

“She’s damned elusive,” Silas said on a sigh, tilting his head back on the chair and studying his friend from under lowered lids. “I’m devilish glad I don’t need to kill you.”

West gave a grunt of laughter. “Not as glad as I am.” His deep voice turned thoughtful. “You know, if I was to wager on the man who’s caught the delectable Lady Beaumont’s interest, I’d pick you.”

Silas’s lips tightened. After today’s kisses, and with West out of the race, so would he. “She’s running scared.”

Caro had looked absolutely petrified when he’d told her he loved her. One would think he’d threatened to cut her throat instead of adore her forever. If only he could convince her that love meant a richer version of freedom, not its end.

“If I’d been married to Freddie Beaumont, I’d run scared, too. Man was a witless nonentity and it would have taken a cannon to shift him from that muddy hollow they call the family estate. Good farming country, excellent hunting, but a suffocating backwater for a lively creature like Caro.”

Curiosity roused Silas from his torpor. Now that he wasn’t angry with West anymore, he realized how tired he was. It had been a difficult week. Hell, it had been a difficult three months. “You knew him well?”

“We were at Harrow together. Dull as a wet week even then. Sort of blockhead who turns middle-aged before he hits twenty. Whoever put that match together was more of a blockhead than Freddie. Can’t imagine the girl went after him. Freddie was never a cove to set feminine hearts aflutter.”

“Her father.”

“There you have it, then,” West said with satisfaction.

Puzzled, Silas studied him. “There I have what exactly?”

West’s sigh was tolerant. “Girl’s only known blockheads when it comes to the men in her life. It’s up to you to convince her not every chap is a nincompoop.”

Silas turned to stare into the fire. Actually he had a horrible feeling that over the last few months, he’d been a bigger nincompoop than even the late Freddie Beaumont. “Easier said than done.”

“I have every faith in you.” West stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Even if you did force your way in here, talking absolute balderdash.”

T
he morning of Lord West’s picnic, Caroline crawled out of bed after a sleepless night. She felt old and tired and empty. Whenever she’d closed her eyes, she’d relived those torrid moments in Silas’s arms. Staring wakeful into the darkness, she’d revisited the agony of hearing him say he loved her.

Impossible to say which was worse.

Now she jammed her turbulent misery deep down inside her, sealed tight into a corner of her soul that she never intended to visit again. She had to be ruthless and determined, or admit that the life she longed for was forever out of reach.

The first step to erase her yen for Silas Nash was consummating her affair with West, even if she felt more like a martyr facing the stake than a woman rushing into the arms of a much-desired lover. Once West shared her bed, this ridiculous second guessing must surely stop. From the first, she’d recognized Vernon Grange as what she wanted. The only thing that had changed since was her troublesome love for Silas. A love she intended to ignore until it wilted away from neglect.

If her cowardly self secretly hoped that West would decline her offer or claim a prior engagement, that hope shriveled with the arrival of the morning’s letters. They included an unsealed sheet of cream paper with “tonight” scrawled across it in a slashing masculine hand.

Stubbornness alone had Caroline making a special effort with her appearance and setting out for Richmond in her neat little curricle. Without noticeable effect, she told herself to buck up. She’d devoted more than a year to these plans. She wouldn’t shirk her purpose just because she’d gone and fallen in love like a sentimental nitwit.

Oh, dear, she still sounded like she faced a hanging. Without great optimism, she hoped West’s sensual skills would defeat her misgivings. He’d need to show spectacular prowess indeed to eclipse the memory of Silas’s searing kisses. Who would have thought her kind, undemanding companion could set the world ablaze with a single touch?

Who would have thought such a notorious rake could fall in love?

“Oi! Watcha!”

She blinked to clear misty eyes and realized with horror that her horses wandered all over the road and had nearly run down a thickset tradesman. Thank goodness, she was nearly at Fenella’s door. Otherwise she feared for London’s pedestrians.

“Caro, isn’t it a lovely morning?” Fenella came tripping down the stairs of the Curzon Street house, unrecognizable as the subdued creature who had reluctantly joined their pact last February. Caroline might be an arrant failure as a dashing widow, but she was delighted to see Fenella looking so happy. Odd when not long ago, she’d wanted to scratch out Fen’s bright blue eyes. Today she was just grateful that her companion on the road wasn’t Helena, who knew far too much about the confusion ripping apart Caro Beaumont’s heart.

“Good morning, Fen,” she said, struggling to sound equally jolly.

Her friend cast her a curious look from under the brim of her stylish bonnet with its pink silk trimming. “Perfect weather for a picnic,” Fenella said after a pause, living up to her reputation for tact.

Surprised, Caroline took in her surroundings. Since she’d left Helena’s yesterday, she felt like a gray cloud had followed her around. But the weather was in fact glorious. During the night, she’d been craven enough to pray for heavy rain and the picnic’s postponement. Or better, its complete cancellation. And not only because of her tryst with West. She dreaded discovering that her cavortings in the greenhouse had become common knowledge.

Fenella was staring with open longing at the horses instead of paying attention to her. “What high steppers.”

Caroline looked at her matched chestnuts, then at her friend. “Would you like to drive?”

Pure pleasure transformed Fenella’s blond prettiness to flashing beauty. “Could I?”

“As long as you promise not to land us in the ditch.” She didn’t mention how close she’d come to doing someone serious injury on the way.

A bit of rearranging and Fenella sat beside her, holding the ribbons with an easy competence that pierced Caroline’s self-absorbed dejection. She regarded her friend with astonishment. “Good heavens, you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel. You’re an expert.”

Fenella smiled as she set the chestnuts moving. They obeyed with a smooth swiftness Caroline had never achieved. “I used to love driving. I haven’t done it in years. I wasn’t sure I still had the knack.”

With unconcealed admiration, Caroline observed her friend as the curricle bowled along the street toward Richmond. “You certainly do.”

Flicking the reins, Fenella took a sharp corner with a skill that left Caroline breathless. Who would have guessed her shy friend possessed such a talent?

“You’ll be the toast of the Four-in-Hand Club.” Caroline winced to recall her ham-fisted steering earlier. “Why on earth don’t you own a carriage?”

With a deftness so ingrained, she hardly noticed what she did, Fen rounded a loaded dray and steered the horses west. “I haven’t taken the ribbons since Waterloo.” Her voice lowered, making Caroline lean closer to hear over the traffic. “It seemed wrong to enjoy myself after Henry was gone.”

Caroline sat up and looked aghast at Fen. “Henry would have hated you to give up on life.”

“I wanted to. God forgive me, I wanted to. If I hadn’t had Brandon, Lord knows what I’d have done. I’ve got you and Helena to thank for bringing me back to myself. I owe it to Brandon—and to Henry—to be more than a gray little shadow.”

“You’re not a gray little shadow,” Caroline said, regretting how she’d dismissed Fenella as just that when they met.

“Not anymore, by heaven.” With the way clear, Fenella urged the horses to a snapping pace.

Caroline looked at the lovely woman in charge of this carriage—and in charge of her life—and saw a new confidence. She’d noticed the confidence before, of course. But then she’d attributed it to Silas’s love. The bitter misery trussed inside her stirred and strained against its bonds.

She bit her lip and stared hard at the road, telling herself under no circumstances would she cry. The command failed, as it had failed all through the desolate night. Luckily the fresh wind in her face whipped away any stray tear that dared to escape her iron control.

Silas arrived ahead of Caroline at West’s lavish picnic beside the Thames, but not ahead of Helena. His sister must have been watching out for him, because she marched up to where he dismounted, clearly spoiling for a row. Only the presence of the groom leading his horse away delayed her attack.

“You can’t run away from me forever, brother dear,” Helena said, once they were alone.

If only he could. So far, he’d done an excellent job of avoiding her. Yesterday, too heartsick to face an inquisition, he’d escaped through the back gate before she could corner him. When she’d called at his rooms in the afternoon, he’d told Dobbs to say he was out. This morning, he’d chosen to ride instead of joining her in the carriage as they’d originally arranged.

He knew she was worried about him, but right now she wasn’t the focus of his interest. His fight to win a certain troublesome widow was. He needed every ounce of cunning and resourcefulness to ensure his victory, and Helena’s interference was an unwelcome distraction. He felt brittle and alert like a man on the eve of battle, the way he did when his experiments verged on a breakthrough.

Caroline Beaumont didn’t know it yet, but her dashing days were about to end.

“Good morning to you, Hel.” He shifted his gaze from where Caroline’s curricle turned off the road onto the grass. “Perhaps if you looked less set on a scolding, I might be less eager to take to my heels.”