No Regrets (16 page)

   Too handsome for a pudgy female, she thought. She could almost hear the ton whisper, "No wonder he keeps a mistress."

   He rose, bowed with stiff formality, and indicated the tray of drinks set on the inlaid sideboard between the windows. "May I offer you a glass of wine, my lady?"

   She forced a cool smile around the shake in her breathing. "No, thank you."

   "You do not mind if I do? These types of affairs always make me nervous."

   Nervous? Lucas? She couldn't imagine it. She sank onto the sofa. "Please do, if it helps."

   He poured himself a drink and turned to face her. "You look charming in that color, Caro."

   A swift glance at his polite expression assured her of his lack of sarcasm. "Thank you. You also look quite splendid."

   The silence dragged on. Then they both spoke at the same time.

   "I beg your pardon," Lucas said. "What did you say?"

   "Nothing. The merest commonplace." Caro lifted her hand. "Please continue."

   He strolled over to the chair opposite her and dropped into it.

   A ball of wool knotted up somewhere in her hollow stomach.

   "I'm sorry about the other night," he said, the words bitten out as if they cut his tongue. "According to our agreement, you have the right to dance with whomsoever you wish. I just want you to take care of your reputation. Tisha Audley is not necessarily a good role model, and Bas has a reputation as a ladies' man."

   Talk about the pot slandering the kettle.

   "You would do better to put yourself in Cedric's hands," he said.

   For a moment, Caro longed to accede to the appeal in his dark eyes. "I like your cousin and will certainly be guided by your aunt, but Tisha and Mr. Bascombe have been nothing but kind. They are good friends."

   The faint lines around his mouth seemed to deepen. "Then I will say nothing more."

   Her heart stumbled, her resolve faltering as it always had when he had had that hurt puppy-dog look as a boy. It rarely appeared any more; he seemed so sure of himself these days. She drew in a breath, ready to recant.

   Before she could speak, he reached into his pocket. "I noticed how little jewelry you have, and since I have not given you a bride gift, I thought you might like this." He drew forth a velvet pouch and emptied a shimmering strand of diamonds into his palm.

   She gasped. "Oh, Lucas. It's beautiful, but I really cannot accept such an expensive gift."

   "Why not?" His voice sounded harsh. "Because it's from me?"

   "Of course not. I could never wear anything so expensive . . . so exotic."

   "Nonsense. With your long neck and beautiful shoulders, it will look lovely with that gown."

   Beautiful? Her. She almost melted. His eyes gleamed as bright as the diamonds in his long fingers. Was this more of his careless flirting? "I might lose it," she murmured.

   He shrugged. "Then I will buy you another. You are the future Countess of Stockbridge. How does it look if you have naught but a string of pearls to your name?" As he spoke, he came around behind her. "Hold still."

   Quite enchanted by its delicacy, she let him fasten the choker around her neck. If he wanted to use this to make up for their quarrel, she ought to be gracious. She did so hate being at odds with him. She always had.

   Taking her hand, he brought her to her feet and led her to the mirror beside the window. As fine as a bedewed spider's web, the necklace lay against her throat as if designed for her alone. He traced the edge of it with a fingertip. The knot in her stomach unraveled so fast her head swam.

   "It is glorious," she gasped. "Thank you."

   "It has been in the Rivers family for generations, but I believe it looks better on you than any of the former countesses."

   "How would you know?"

   "From their portraits, of course." His smile in the glass faltered. "Do you think we can call a truce tonight? It will be dashed awkward otherwise."

   She'd like nothing better. They had never argued before, and it hurt. The smile on her lips trembled with effort. "Very well."

   His gaze dropped to her mouth. The air between them picked up the fire of the diamonds, glittering back and forth in jagged points of heat. Her breathing shallowed to small sips of air in time with her heartbeat.

   The light graze of his fingers on her throat burned a fiery trail. It drifted lower. He leaned close. He was going to kiss her again. Her heart pounded with a mixture of excited fear and terrified anticipation.

   A knock sounded on the door. They jumped apart like children caught in mischief. Lucas turned away, but not before she saw what looked like disappointment on his face. A spurt of something dangerous coursed through her veins. Clearly there was more than friendship between them, now. She just wished she understood what it was.

   Beckwith cleared his throat. "Dinner is served, my lord."

   How could she now risk spoiling their new accord by telling him about her cousin?

   The line of carriages waiting to disgorge their passengers started almost two streets from the Cardross townhouse.

   Lucas passed the time telling wicked gossip about the people they were likely to meet. By the time the coach drew up, he had her in fits of giggles.

   "At last," he said helping her to alight. He shot her a lopsided grin. "Ready to face the beau monde? Don't worry, I'll be right behind you."

   "I would prefer to be behind you. Not that it would do me much good." It would be like trying to hide an elephant behind a gazelle.

   He chuckled, resting his hand gently on the small of her back, guiding, supporting, assuring her she wasn't alone.

   A sense of indescribable happiness swept over her. Things were back to normal. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. A strange little smile caught at her lips. That might prove risky in public if their response to each other flamed out of control, the way it had the last time they kissed.

   Arm in arm, they strolled up the steps of the magnificent portico and past the waiting servants. A butler took Lucas's card at the entrance to the ballroom and bellowed, "Viscount and Lady Foxhaven."

   Caro snickered.

   "Behave," Lucas muttered and gave her arm a friendly squeeze. His eyes gleamed amusement. "You're not supposed to look as if you are enjoying this. Ennui is the thing."

   Why couldn't it always be like this? The way they were before he left Norwich for London.

   "There are Bas and Lady Audley," he said.

   In an overflowing ballroom, Lucas had managed to see their friends over the heads of the crowd. He guided her through the crush of the crowd, and they joined a merry group of young people.

   Some of them Caro recognized from Tisha's afternoon tea and others from Almack's. She joined the conversation as if she had known everyone all her life.

   Within minutes of her arrival, several gentlemen claimed dances. Lucas had insisted on two waltzes before they left home, and Charles asked for a quadrille.

   "Shall we?" Lucas asked as the orchestra struck up the first waltz.

   "I would love to," Caro replied, smiling up at him.

   Content that she looked her best, she held her chin up as Lucas swept her onto the dance floor. He danced with ease and grace, his body flowing with the music. Instead of feeling awkward and leaden, she floated beneath his gentle guidance.

   She glanced up at him.

   Neatly avoiding another couple, he raised a brow. "Do my buttons meet with your approval?"

   As usual, her heart tumbled over at his closeness, but she managed the cool smile of the jaded fashionable lady. "Indeed."

   "You dance divinely," he murmured close to her ear.

   A frisson of awareness rippled over her skin, and her unruly pulse picked up speed. "I didn't suspect you could dance," she shot back bravely. "I thought Corinthians despised such dull entertainments."

   She'd watched him dance at the Norwich Assembly from behind her favorite plant. Elegant and thoroughly bored, he'd left after a row with his father because he'd danced three times with a female of suspicious morals.

   It was as if he had deliberately set out to annoy his father.

   "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered, drawing her far closer than regulations allowed. "I only dance with special ladies."

   Caro heard emphasis on the plural. "Then, I suppose I must consider myself honored, my lord."

   He swirled her around the end of the dance floor to the dying notes of the music and then escorted her back to their friends. Bascombe greeted her with a glass of champagne.

   Lucas laughed when she wrinkled her nose.

   "The bubbles make my face wet," she explained. She glanced around the room. "You know we really should go and greet your Aunt Rivers."

   "You go." He flashed a wicked smile. "I'm promised to Tisha for this next dance."

   He wasn't, but Tisha cast him a roguish smile and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Pride and a small ache pulled at Caro's heart. No woman could resist Lucas when he smiled like that.

   A passing footman took her empty glass and handed her a new one. Sipping it, she wove among the chatting groups of ladies and gentlemen. Glittering jewels and rich colors of silks and satins blended together in an artist's palette of swirling colors. Solid shapes jumped out from the mix as she passed through them. She pulled out her spectacles and made a concentrated search for Lucas's aunt.

   Seated against a wall at the back of the room with a stiff, formal Cedric at her side, the elderly lady held out her hand. Caro took it and curtseyed. This was how she imagined an audience with the Queen, something she would have to endure later in the season.

   Aunt Rivers directed a glare behind Caro. "Where is that good-for-nothing husband of yours?"

   Cedric tutted.

   A sudden urge to stuff her handkerchief in her blunt aunt's mouth, or to rush to Lucas's defense, parted Caro's lips.

   "Close your mouth, Carolyn," Aunt Rivers rapped out. "I see him now, tripping around the dance floor with that flighty Lady Audley when he ought to be here paying his respects."

   Aunt Rivers might be right, but Caro's sympathy went out to Lucas. His aunt gave no quarter. "I'm sure he will come to see you as soon as he is able."

   "Cousin Carolyn," a silky voice murmured behind her.

   The arrival of François brought relief to the uncomfortable silence. Caro held out her hand, resting her fingertips on his glove as he bowed. Amusement glimmered in his brown eyes. "I hope you have saved a waltz for me as you promised?" he asked.

   "I always keep my promises, sir."

   "Waltzing? It is shocking," Aunt Rivers pronounced. "A peasant dance. It was not allowed in my day."

   "No, indeed, Mother," Cedric said in soothing tones. He smiled at Caro. "I too would like to dance with you. A cotillion, if you please."

   Caro liked the way he respected his mother's feelings. "I will be delighted."

   "I do hope to be introduced to your so very fortunate husband this evening," François said. "I understand he likes the sports. How do you say it? He is a sportsman,
non
? He likes to gamble?"

   "He's a rake," Aunt Rivers muttered.

   Prickles danced down Caro's spine as another defense of Lucas hovered on her tongue. If only she had the courage to voice them. Only with Lucas did her words tumble forth—and always with disastrous consequences.

   "You would be better to steer clear of him, young man," Aunt Rivers continued. She frowned. "No need to blush, girl. I am not saying anything that is not common knowledge."

   Caro's tongue remained firmly stuck to the roof of her mouth. She hadn't missed how every woman in the room regarded Lucas with the halffearful, half-fascinated expression of a lamb before a wolf. They must all know his reputation.

   His voice kind, Cedric put a hand on his mother's shoulder. "He's young yet, still finding his way."

   "Nonsense," his mother uttered with the arrogance of age. Her pointed nose rose a disdainful notch. "He's a married man and should be thinking about settling down and starting a family."

   Mortification heated Caro's cheeks. They would never have children.

   "Don't worry, Mother," Cedric said in soothing tones. "After all, he did purchase Lady Bestborough's house."

"A house?" Caro said.

Cedric's gaze slid away.

   Aunt Rivers pursed her corrugated lips. "I, for one, am not surprised you know nothing about it. I expect he bought it for something other than setting up his nursery."

   Caro's stomach plunged to the soles of her golden slippers while her mind scrabbled for some reasonable explanation for this latest surprise.

   François leaned close. "I believe this is our waltz."

   Blessed escape. She clung to his arm as he drew her onto the floor.

   He cast her a teasing smile. "You are charming when you blush, cousin, but I must say your aunt has a tongue like an asp,
n'est ce pas
? Right now you feel like Cleopatra,
non
?"