No Regrets (7 page)

   "No. I can't get you vouchers." He grimaced. "To be honest, I would just as soon not set foot in the place. They serve nothing but tea, and the men are required to wear knee-breeches."

   Unexplainable disappointment filled him as the light faded from her face.

   "Then I will accept your aunt's offer of assistance." She rose and strolled to the window, her hip-skimming skirts swaying to each step. A low pulse thrummed in his blood. Had he lost his reason along with his bachelorhood? No one could mistake Caro for anything but a vicar's daughter in her old-fashioned round gown and plainly dressed hair. The spiteful ladies of the ton would tear her to shreds if she went about looking dowdy.

   "I assume Madame Charis will have something ready for you to wear to the theater on Friday?" he asked.

   "If not, I'll wear the gown I wore to leave home."

   "Lord, no." The words were out of his mouth before they hit his brain.

   She swung around to face him, twin spots of color on her cheekbones. "My father loved that gown."

   Her spark of anger always caught him by surprise. Like a skittish mare, she balked at trifles. He put up a pacifying hand. "I liked your gown, Caro, but it is not fashionable enough."

   Her expression eased. "I know."

   "And you really should hire a proper lady's maid to do something with your hair."

   "I don't need a lady's maid. I have Lizzie."

   His patience slipped from his grasp. "Do you want people to laugh at you behind your back?"

   She winced and pressed her lips firmly together. He wished she'd just speak her mind. This was all so new to her, and she had no one else to advise her. Lord knew he was hardly the best candidate for the job. "Caro, if you want to be accepted by polite society, you have to look up to snuff."

   A gentle sigh relaxed her shoulders. "You are right, of course, but I will do nothing to hurt Lizzie's feelings."

   Caro was a tiger when it came to loyalty to those she considered her friends.

   
"Someone left the gate open between the stallion
and the mares this afternoon," his father said in
unusually grim accents with his dark eyes locked on
Lucas's face. "I lost ten years of careful breeding in
an afternoon."

   
At Lucas's side, Caro seemed to shrink into her
riding habit. Lucas's father always had that effect
on her.

   
"That's awful, Father." The stud had cost a for
tune these past few years.

   
"Is that all you have to say, son?" Father asked.

   
For a moment, Lucas didn't quite understand the
question. "You don't think we left it open?"

   
His father's expression chilled further. "Cedric
saw the pair of you galloping across the stallion's field
after I expressly forbade it." His sharp tone cut into
Lucas like a whip. "Why bother to lie?"

   
Caro gave a little moan.

   
Dumbfounded by the accusation, Lucas swal
lowed. "I do not lie, Father, ever. The gate was prop
erly closed." They hadn't opened it. They'd jumped
the damned thing. Also against orders.

   
Caro straightened her shoulders. "I did it," she
announced in quavering tones.

   
Lucas's mouth dropped open.

   
Father turned his frosty gaze on her. "You?"

   
At the risk of arousing his father's suspicions,
Lucas tapped the side of his nose to remind her to
follow his lead.

   
"The latch must not have caught when I closed it.
I am sorry, my lord," Caro whispered.

   
Either she was in such a panic that she didn't
see the signal, or she was deliberately ignoring him.
Lucas shook his head at her. She lifted her chin.

   
"I see, young lady," Father said softly. "Then I
will have to have words with your father when next
we meet. Good day to you."

   
"Yes, my lord." Caro fled for the door.

   
Father's disappointed gaze returned to Lucas. He
narrowed his eyes. "Have you anything to add, son?"
The pain in his voice hurt Lucas more than the dis
belief in his eyes.

   
He couldn't give Caro the lie. Father would think
he had tried to hide behind her skirts. "I am very
sorry we went by way of the paddock."

   
"As am I, Foxhaven." Father stared at him for
one very long moment, looking both sad and deeply
angry. "That is all."

   
"Yes, Father." Chilled to the bone, he bowed and
hurried out.

   
He caught Caro up at the front door. "What the
devil made you tell such a bouncer? Didn't you see
my signal?"

   
She stared up at him, her eyes huge in her full
face. "He didn't believe you."

   
"I would have changed his mind, eventually. He
knows I do not lie." He just wished he felt more cer
tain. "Someone must have come along after we left,
someone Cedric didn't see. I wish we had never gone
that way in the first place."

   
"Me too." She blinked behind her glasses. "Lucas .
. . I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing in there."

   
At twelve, she was still a baby in comparison with
him at fourteen. She had no idea about a man's
honor. He couldn't let her shoulder the blame for
something that was his responsibility, even if neither
of them had touched the gate. He heaved a sigh. "Do
not worry. Father will come around." He hoped.

   
She looked decidedly relieved. "Shall I see you
tomorrow?"

   
He stuck his hands in his pockets. His careless
shrug felt forced as he thought of the unpleasant
interview with Father in the offing. "Not for a few
days I should think. Wait for the fuss to die down."
If Father thought he'd caught Lucas in a lie, the
punishment would no doubt be harsh. "I will call for
you later in the week."

   Oh, yes, even at twelve, Caro had been unstintingly loyal to her friends—even if the loyalty was of the two-edged-sword variety that made you want to hug her and shake her. It was the reason he had trusted her enough to propose this ridiculous marriage.

   "Keep Lizzie, if you wish, but please, think about employing a hairdresser."

   A quick grateful smile acknowledged his defeat. "Do you know of one?"

   He opened his mouth to say yes. Admitting that kind of knowledge might raise more questions than he cared to answer. "Ask Beckwith, or the housekeeper; they are sure to know someone." He grinned. "By the way, I am expecting Bascombe at any moment. We are going riding."

   "I wish I could come with you." She sent him a questioning glance. "Do you think it might be possible to hire a horse for me? I should like to ride in Hyde Park."

   This was something he would be delighted to take a hand in. The thought lifted his spirits. She was an excellent horsewoman. The best he'd ever met. "Of course. But not a hired hack. I will buy one at Tatt's and a carriage and pair too, if you like."

   Her face lit up like the sun emerging from a cloud. Her obvious pleasure gratified him a great deal, more than he cared to admit.

   "Are you sure it is not too extravagant?" she asked. "I wouldn't want your papa to think I'm bringing you to ruin."

   The warmth dissipated on a cold breeze. "What we do has nothing to do with my father, and it certainly will not do for people to think I'm too nipcheese to spring for a decent mount for my wife."

   My wife. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. "By the way, I won't be dining at home. There is a cockfight at the Royale tonight."

   She opened her mouth.

   "No. You cannot come. Ladies don't attend sporting events. Not good ton."

   "Not even with their husbands?"

   There it was again. Husband. A fine web of restraint tying him down. "No."

   The droop of her expressive mouth made him want to offer to come home for dinner. He must be losing his mind. If he pandered to her now, she'd be running his life before season's end. "Surely, you do not mind eating alone?"

   Despite the doubt in her expression, she shook her head. "No."

   "Then why the sad face?"

   Her smile seemed forced. "Men seem to do more interesting things than we ladies do. I wondered if the rules were more relaxed for married women."

   He considered the matter. Certainly several married women of his acquaintance broke society's mores. "It all depends on who you are and how you carry it off. Lady Louisa Caradin raced a friend in along Rotten Row and got off pretty light." On the other hand, Selina Watson, the daring widow who had introduced Lucas to the delights of the flesh when he first came to Town, had entered White's dressed as a man. Since then, all the doors of the toplofty hostesses had closed firmly in her face. "You do not want to be thought fast, do you?"

   Shock widened her eyes. "Heavens, no."

   "A lady attending a cockfight is definitely beyond the pale." Damn it. He was beginning to feel like the strict parent of a wayward child, and judging from her out-thrust chin, she thought so too.

   Staring at Lucas's grim expression, Caro wondered if she'd ever learn how to go on in London. Her first visitor and she'd made a mess of it. Now Lucas thought her foolish.

   "Very well, I will cross that off my list of things to do in London," she said primly.

   He chuckled and looked horrified at the same time. "You have a list?"

   Returning to the sofa, she sat down with a smile. "I have an excellent guide book. Miss Salter gave it to me. It contains a list of all the most edifying sights. I will ask Lizzie to search the luggage for it."

   They glanced up at a knock at the door. Beckwith announced, "Sir Charles Bascombe to see you, my lord."

   "Show him in, please."

   The stocky young man who strolled in had short, neatly styled fair hair, bright blue eyes, and an open, friendly expression. Caro had met him the day after she arrived in London. He had been at Eton with Lucas, and she had liked him on sight.

   Lucas derisively called him a dandy. Today, he was certainly dressed to a shade. In a brown coat of superfine, biscuit-colored breeches and a lemon waistcoat with silver embroidery, he looked a veritable pink of the ton. His shirt collar grazed his jaw, and his cravat was a wonder of complexity.

   Beside the languorous Mr. Bascombe, the lean and athletic Lucas appeared careless to the extreme. Only his shiny Hessian boots showed the least attention. With his cravat tied in a simple knot and his unadorned waistcoat, he had an air of comfort, not fashion. And yet his long hair and the hint of danger lurking beneath a thin cloak of civility made him fascinatingly attractive.

   Caro's blood thrummed at the illicit thought. As her gaze reached Lucas's face, she became aware of his quizzical gaze and knowing smile. Dear heaven, he must have seen her slow perusal. And from the look in his eye, it seemed he had guessed the direction of her thoughts.

   Heat burned her cheeks. She glanced quickly away, focusing on the gently smiling Mr. Bascombe.

   "Pleased to see you again, Lady Foxhaven," Bascombe drawled. He nodded to Lucas. "Are you ready, Luc?"

   Lucas made for the door. "Almost. I'll tell them to bring Maestro around." The eagerness in the set of his broad, black-clad shoulders indicated his desire to be gone. How boring he must find her.

   As Caro gestured for him to be seated, Bascombe carefully lifted the tails of his coat and took the chair vacated by Lucas. "How are you enjoying London, Lady Foxhaven?"

   His friendly smile soothed her flayed nerves. She managed a chuckle. "I haven't seen much at all, apart from the inside of Madame Charis's."

   He nodded wisely. "You can't do better than put yourself in the hands of the great Madame Charis." He gazed at the door.

   More heat flooded her cheeks and throat. Would she ever get all this right? He wasn't here to discuss fashion. "Lucas tells me you are going to Hyde Park?"

   He grinned and glanced at the clock. "That was certainly the plan."

   Guilt slumped her shoulders. Her inability to handle Aunt Rivers had made Lucas late. "I'm sure he'll only be a moment."

   "Good book?" he asked, nodding at the volume on the table beside the sofa.

   "Miss Austen."

   "Ah. My youngest sister likes her work."

   "You have a sister?"

   He grimaced. "Three."

   A wave of longing to see the girls washed over her. "I also have three sisters."