No Regrets (10 page)

   Louisa tugged on his arm, her slash of a mouth in full pout. "Why don't you want to talk to me?"

   He glanced pointedly at her necklace. "I think we finished our conversation a few weeks ago." It had cost him a king's ransom to get out of her clutches—another reason he needed his inheritance.

   "How cruel you are, Foxy." She narrowed her eyes. "Shouldn't you be dancing attendance on your . . . buxom bride? Take care or you'll find Cedric Rivers poaching on your manor."

   The venom in her tone reminded him of another reason he had tired of the boney witch. "My cousin doesn't poach, unlike you."

   Her lips twisted. They both knew he referred to the reason she'd received her congé.

   "Damn you," she muttered.

   At last, the elderly macaroni relinquished his seat with a bow and an alarming creak of the stays holding his portly bulk in check. Lady Bestborough raised an inviting brow at Lucas. He closed in on his quarry, tension tightening his jaw.

   "If you want to talk to me, Foxhaven"—Lady Bestborough patted the vacant seat—"you will have to sit down. I'm too old to tolerate a crick in my neck from talking to a beanpole."

   Lucas laughed, kissed her outstretched, gloved hand, and dropped into the chair beside her. "I hope I find you well?"

   "Don't play the gallant, Foxhaven. Say what you have to say and be done."

   He grinned. "I want to make you an offer for Wooten Park."

   Her eyebrows shot up. "I thought you didn't have the money?"

   "I do now."

   A pair of wise, dark eyes searched his face. "Setting up your nursery?"

   Involuntarily, he glanced over at Caro, but she had disappeared into the shadows.

   "Well?"

   He started at Lady Bestborough's sharp tone. She'd asked if he was planning a family, and he hadn't even blinked. It would never happen. That would play right into his father's hands. He shook his head. "It's a private matter. Will you sell it to me?"

   "Not if you can't meet my price." She'd been playing catch-as-catch-can ever since he had broached the sale with her, making out that she had no wish to sell even though it had been on the market for months.

   "I am prepared to pay what is fair."

   "Lucky at the tables, were you? I'm asking ten thousand."

   "It needs a great deal of work. I'll give you five."

   "Six."

   He repressed a smile. He had been prepared to go to at least seven. This meant his lads could leave London before Stockbridge learned of their existence. "Done." He shook her papery hand.

   Lady Bestborough tapped his shoulder with her fan. "You drive a hard bargain, young man." She grunted. "Just like your father."

   Lucas shuddered inside. "I would never reach so high," he replied smoothly.

* * *

   The hot chocolate scalded Caro's tongue the next morning as much as the vision of Lucas and that woman had burnt her heart.

   An iota of commonsense would have told her he wouldn't change, not for her. But she'd let her hopes get in the way of good sense. She just hadn't admitted to having hopes before last night.

   She sighed. She never had a scrap of sense where Lucas was concerned. How would she be able to stand seeing him with other women? Especially if they were as beautiful as that one and as thin as a fashion plate in La Belle Assemblée. Mr. Rivers must have seen her distress, as much as she had tried to hide it. He had been so kind in suggesting they leave before the end of the farce. What if she had bumped into Lucas and his inamorata on the way out of the theater? Her blood ran cold at the thought. She put the empty cup to one side and reached around the rosecolored bed hangings to ring for Lizzie. Whatever happened, no one else must know how she felt and look on her with pity.

   She slipped on her dressing gown and went to the mirror. The remains of the tangles and teasing had the look of a bird's nest after a high wind.

   The door opened to admit Lizzie.

   Caro did a pretty good job of smiling. "There you are. Help me with this dreadful mess. I want to go to Hookham's this morning and borrow a book."

   Lizzie took the brush from her hand. "You'll wear your poor eyes out, my lady. It's not right— you sitting here day after day, reading, and his lordship gallivanting who knows where. Why, Mr. Beckwith said he didn't come home last night and—"

   To hear about Lucas and his debauchery in her own bedroom hurt more than she could bear. Smoldering disappointment flared out of control. In an instant, she leaped to her feet and snatched the brush from Lizzie's hand. She pointed it at the maid's chest. "How can you repeat servants' gossip to me?"

   Lizzie backed away.

   Caro advanced, waggling the brush. "How could you listen to such nonsense?"

   Lizzie edged around the end of the bed.

   Caro followed her. "I don't want to hear another word about the Viscount Foxhaven and what he does or does not do. Do you understand?"

   Out of breath, she halted. Lizzie, eyes wide, pressed flat against the wall, nodded.

   "Talking about me?"

   The indolent drawl sent a jab of pain to Caro's temples. She swung around to see Lucas in the doorway, his face full of laughter.

   Damn him for arriving right at this moment. "Why would I be discussing you?"

   His gaze ran over her in an insolent appraisal, and she snatched her dressing gown close. "Sorry," he said, spreading his hands wide. "I thought I heard my name."

   He stepped into the room dressed in last night's attire. His long hair had escaped its ribbon and fallen to his shoulders in ebony waves; his cravat hung limp around his neck. He had just arrived home after a night with that woman. He looked dissolute and dangerous. Dangerous to her peace of mind.

   A hard, hot lump threatened to choke her. Her grip tightened on the brush.

   His grin broadened. "Go ahead, throw it."

   "Don't tempt me."

   He laughed. "I'm doing my best."

   She opened her eyes wide. Was he flirting?

   The old urge to laugh back, to give in to his smile, softened her anger. No. One woman falling at his feet in a day was quite enough. How could that pirate smile set her pulse racing and her heart beating faster? She pulled herself up to her full height and gathered the remains of her dignity. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I am preparing to go out. I have rather a busy schedule planned." She glanced pointedly at the door, sat down at the dressing table, and offered the brush to Lizzie.

   Lucas remained in the doorway. "Caro?"

   Why couldn't he just go, before she burst into tears? She shot him an impatient glance. "Yes?"

   A hesitant expression crossed his face. He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes unsure. "I just wanted to tell you how lovely you looked last night."

   The words failed to register until he had closed the door quietly behind him. He thought she looked lovely? It was the second time he had said something nice about her appearance last night. Did he mean it? Or was it just a ploy to get back into her good graces? She wished she knew.

   She suddenly felt as limp as week-old cabbage. She slumped back against the chair. "I'm so sorry, Lizzie," she whispered. "Please forgive me."

   Lizzie, her lips pressed firmly together, attacked Caro's tumbled locks. "Aye, I'll forgive you." She drew the brush through a long strand. "There's others what don't deserve forgiveness. Never. Not nohow."

Cedric shifted his weight on his aching feet and leaned one shoulder against the jeweler's bow window frame. He stared over the heads of pedestrians and between Bond Street's steady flow of traffic. On the opposite side of the road, Bingo Bob in a gaudy blue coat touched his hat. Curbing his distaste for the fat, red-nosed, greasy member of London's underworld who had brought the news of Lady Foxhaven's unescorted foray to Bond Street, Cedric nodded his acknowledgement.

   Hookham's brown-painted front door opened. A couple of somber gentlemen emerged, shook hands, and strode off in opposite directions. Cedric groaned, pulled at his fob, and checked his watch. It must have been at least two hours since she had entered the bookshop.

   The door swung back again. He straightened, craning his neck around the fashionable couple who had paused to admire a display of rings.

   At last. Lady Foxhaven, in a dark-green spencer trimmed with black frogs and a matching silk bonnet, hesitated on the threshold. After a brief glance around her, she tucked a book under her arm, and with her reticule swinging from her wrist, she plunged into the eddying stream of shoppers, hawkers, and sauntering dandies.

   In line with his instructions, Bingo Bob lumbered into motion behind her. Cedric remained a few steps behind on his side of the street, joining the pursuit at a steady pace. All his senses heightened. Sweat cooled on his brow, one prickling drop at a time. Each in-drawn breath rasped in his ears and left the acrid taste of coal smoke on his tongue. The crimson of a passing lady's spencer seemed more vivid; the accoutrements on a carriage horse flashed and dazzled. The clang of a muffin man's bell added another distinct note to the music of London. A feral power pulsed in his veins.

   And all the while, the green bonnet bobbed through the forest of feathered plumes and jaunty beaver hats. His heartbeat quickened to fever pitch. His balls felt full and heavy in the confines of his tight pantaloons. Controlled and alert, he followed. A hunter on the prowl.

   A group of Bond Street beaux in deep conversation blocked the footpath and Carolyn stepped off the curb. A broken-down nag missed her by inches, the carter yelling an obscenity. She leaped back, a hand to her throat. In his mind, Cedric thought he could hear her gasp.

   She fumbled in her reticule, put on her spectacles, and once more picked her way through the fashionable jungle.

   For a woman of generous proportions, she seemed so very vulnerable.

   Bob closed in on her heels.

   Cedric curled his lip. Foxhaven was so damn careless with his property. Excitement as carnal as anything he'd known with a woman made his blood run hot. He curled his fingers around his walking cane. You are mine.

   He lunged across the road, reaching the curb a few feet behind Lady Foxhaven and the encroaching tub o' lard.

   Bob nudged at her with his protruding belly. Her head whipped around. She hesitated and tried to dodge. Bob edged her toward the alley beside the tobacconist's shop.

   Cedric sidestepped an idle rake ogling a curricle. He was too far back. Hell. He broke into a run.

   "You ought to be more careful of the road, sweet," Bob's fruity voice was murmuring as Cedric caught them up. Bob slipped an arm around her waist. "Yer needs a man to take care of ye."

   Panic blanched her face and widened her eyes. "Unhand me, sirrah." She twisted out of his reach.

   Out of breath, Cedric leaped forward. He swung the fat man around by the shoulder. "You heard the lady. Release her."

   Bob jerked back.

   Relief flooded Lady Foxhaven's face. "Mr. Rivers," she gasped.

   Cedric flicked the catch on the head of his walking cane with a lethal snick and slid a fraction of wicked steel from its polished-wood concealment. "How dare you importune this lady?"

   Bob spread his arms wide, licking loose lips. "Didn't mean no harm, yer 'onor." He backed away and trundled off.

   Cedric made to start after him but then halted. He turned back to Lady Foxhaven. The admiration in her large brown eyes sent an unexpected glow of warmth to the pit of his belly. He stilled, shocked by the unexpected pleasure pulse.

   He managed a stiff bow. "Are you all right, Lady Foxhaven?"

   She clasped her small gloved hands to her magnificent bosom. "Mr. Rivers, how can I thank you enough for your timely rescue?"

   A pang of guilt, a sensation long forgotten, disturbed his thoughts. He brushed the weak protest aside. Too much of his future rode on this scheme to let conscience interfere. He glanced around. "Where is your footman or your maid, my lady?"

   Hanging her head, she traced a crack in the pavement with the toe of her shoe. "I didn't think an escort necessary when I left home so early in the day, but time escaped me, I am afraid."

   He held out his arm, and she took it. "Come, I will escort you home. Surely my cousin warned you against lingering on Bond Street?"

   Shame-faced, she nodded. "He did. I know I should have been on my way home long before noon."

   "The time of day has nothing to do with it, Lady Foxhaven. No lady walks alone in London. I will have to speak with Foxhaven about this." While I watch the arrogant bugger squirm.

   An imploring glance peeped up from beneath the brim of her charmingly modest bonnet and lace cap. Her eyes reminded him of the color of sherry in candlelight. "Please, Mr. Rivers, do not mention this to Lord Foxhaven. I do not want to worry him. I assure you, it will not happen again."

   The appeal in her pale oval face gave him pause. Not only was she most anxious to keep this from Lucas, but the gentle creature trusted him already. How useful.