No Regrets (26 page)

   Lucas inclined his head and waved a languid hand. "Indeed, monsieur le marquis, I concede to your earlier claim. Perhaps Mademoiselle Torrington will join me another day?"

   The marquis's jaw and corded neck visibly eased, and Caro let her breath go. How unlike Lucas to play the diplomat. She smiled her approval.

   The marquis narrowed his eyes. "Now I see how it is." He bowed. "Mademoiselle, if it pleases you to drive with your countryman, who am I to stand in the way of your pleasure?"

   Had it been that obvious? She opened her mouth to protest.

   The marquis gave his moustache a twirl. "After all,
mon ange
, it is I who have secured your last waltz tonight." He bowed and sauntered away.

   "What a pleasant fellow," Lucas said, surprising her. "He is a lucky man to win a waltz. If it is truly your last one, I am
desolé
." His smile was so sweet, she tasted sugar.

   She swallowed. She'd never been a recipient of his famous charm, and her heart raced at double time. No wonder ladies fell like ripe plums at his feet. "I didn't know you were in Paris." It sounded like an accusation.

   He cocked his eyebrow at her, and his voice contained lazy amusement. "If you had, would you have saved me a waltz?"

   Was he really flirting with her? Replying to the marquis's nonsense had been easy. Now her mind and her tongue felt clumsy. "Well, I didn't know, so the answer is moot."

   "Indeed." His dark eyes warmed with gentle laughter. She had an overwhelming desire to rest her head on his shoulder and ask him to take her home.

   His lingering gaze swept her length. Her skin shimmered as if his glance had substance. "I meant what I said, just now. You look wonderful," he purred. "Paris suits you."

   The sincerity in his voice and expression pulled at her heartstrings. This was not the Lucas she knew, her friend or her absentee husband. This was the gallant knight of her dreams. If only he meant it. "You look different also," she said, hating how breathless she sounded. "You cut your hair. I almost didn't recognize you."

   His gaze dropped to her neckline. "I would recognize you anywhere."

   Heat raced to her cheeks, again. Her stomach flopped over. Did he have to remind her so obviously of the last time they met?

   Dash it all, she wouldn't let him put her out of countenance. She'd learned the art of repartee from the best Paris had to offer. She arched a brow. "Your eyesight always was better than mine."

   "You will drive with me tomorrow, won't you, Caro?" he asked in an intimate growl.

   A pulse of excitement fluttered deep in her core. Only Lucas ever sparked such a visceral response. And that was the problem. Clearly, the sooner they resolved things between them, the better. "I will drive with you, if my aunt grants permission."

   He gaze flicked to the chaise. "Of course. Audley introduced me when we came in. I will speak to her immediately."

   His apparent eagerness sent a tiny thrill through her, cracking her hard-won armor. Would she never learn? If he was here because of her, then it was because he wanted something.

   She schooled her face into a cool smile. "Please do."

   His practiced smile changed to a boyish grin. "Until tomorrow, then, mademoiselle."

   He didn't have the slightest doubt about his powers of persuasion, and with her as an example, why would he?

   "I will count the moments," he said, with a bow so elegant that she feared she had to escape his presence before she lost what little remained of her defenses.

   She inclined her head. "If my aunt agrees, then yes, until tomorrow." She strolled away to the sound of her pounding heart and joined a group of intense young ladies and a brown-coated Prussian officer discussing the future of France.

   From the corner of her eye, she watched Lucas stride purposefully to her aunt's chaise. The old lady smiled. She liked handsome young men who took the trouble to charm her. And Lucas would certainly manage that. Caro breathed a sigh of relief as her aunt nodded.

   Inwardly, she wagged a finger at herself much as Lizzie would. This meeting was to discover Lucas's intentions in coming to Paris. Nothing more.

"How do I look?" Lady Foxhaven said.

   Lizzie glowered at the laces running down the back of the green muslin walking gown. Not Lady Foxhaven. Miss Caro Torrington again. She couldn't keep up with it all. "Stop fidgeting." She tied a bow. "You're as nervous as a hearth-cat with a singed tail."

   "I want to look my best, that is all."

   The brittle smile in the mirror didn't match her mistress's brave words, nor did the twisting fingers.

   Lizzie frowned. "You look as if you barely slept a wink, and that gown could do with a bit more fabric." She handed over the chip straw hat.

   Her mistress popped the hat on her head as if it hadn't taken an hour for her aunt's dresser to arrange her hair. She tied the green ribbon below her left ear. "Do you really think it's too revealing? I am almost falling out of it."

   Faced with the anxious stare, Lizzie eyed the bosom emerging from the straw-colored silk. The golden skin had not a blemish in sight, but the snug fit and the plunging neckline revealed far more than anything her mistress had ever worn before. Her father would never have approved. Best not to mention that. "It's not as bad as that there ball gown what arrived yesterday." She nodded toward the dressing room. "Why not wear that nice lemon cashmere shawl you bought the other day?"

   Caro tugged up on the neck of the gown to no avail. "It is rather low." She bit her lip. "I must have been mad to let my aunt talk me into a gown like this, or the others. I swear there's more of me than ever."

   Caro sighed, and it cut Lizzie's heart to ribbons.

   Lizzie tipped the tiny hat forward. "Not an inch have I had to let out of your gowns. But if they are a smidgen tight here or there, eating all this strange food has done it. Too rich by half."

   Caro's glance darted to the mirror and she pressed her palms against her hips. "Mademoiselle Jeunesse eats it, and I could swear I'm twice the size of her."

   Lizzie snorted. "She's a Frog. She's used to it. What you need is some good plain English food. A nice jam pudding or a steak and kidney pie." Her mouth watered at the thought of apples in steamed suet. "That's the kind of food the vicar liked. Your ma never ate all this French rubbish neither, even though she came from here."

   Caro's lips pursed as if she had sucked a lemon. "I know you don't like France, Lizzie. Why not go back to Norwich? The girls would love to see you."

   The hairs on the back of Lizzie's neck stirred. It wasn't the first time she'd heard those words since they'd got on that dreadful boat across the channel. "And leave you with this bag of Captain Sharps? And not one of them speaking the King's good English? No, my lady, not while there's breath in my body."

   "Then please don't complain."

   There was hurt in the soft voice, an underlying anguish Lizzie couldn't fathom. Something had happened before they left England to wound her mistress, something like when she'd turned his lordship down the first time. She'd sobbed in her pillow then too. Bloomin' rakehell. Who would have thought that angelic little boy she used to see in church would turn out so bad.

   Still, it wasn't her place to pry. She lay the cashmere shawl over Caro's stiff shoulders with a pat. "Keep that 'round you. The wind can be sharp this time of year."

   Her ladyship swung around, a hectic color in her cheeks and gold sparks in her eyes. "Lord Foxhaven is taking me driving this morning." The words seemed to burst out of her.

   "Land's sake. So that's what this is about." Lizzie put her hands on her hips. "Has he come to fetch you home?"

   "I am not sure. I don't think so." With one last glance in the mirror, Caro snatched up her parasol and whisked out of the door.

   Lizzie picked up the dressing gown from the floor and draped it over the foot of the bed.

   Whatever next?

   Half way down the stairs, Caro caught sight of Lucas waiting in the entrance hall. On time for once. Her heart swelled out of all proportion to the event. Would she never learn?

   Hands holding his hat and gloves behind his back, he stared at a Valeron family portrait. Darkly handsome in a navy driving coat with several capes and his buff unmentionables tucked into shining black Hessians, he seemed completely engrossed. The fanlight cast his face into the strong planes and angles of a marble statue—except that mere stone could not capture his restrained vitality or raw masculinity.

   She missed her step and clutched at the balustrade with a gasp.

   He swung around, and his gaze swept over her with barely concealed heat that seemed to coil around her and steal the air from her lungs. As usual, he was using his devastating charm to get what he wanted. If only she knew exactly what that was.

   She retreated behind a polite smile and continued on down with outward aplomb and a racing pulse. "Good morning, my lord."

   "Mademoiselle." Lucas briefly took her hand as she reached the bottom. "You look
enchantée
."

   Aware of the tingle in her fingers, she nodded. "Thank you."

   The dour Valeron butler appeared from nowhere, a saucy, red-haired woman in tow.

   Lucas raised an eyebrow.

   "Cecelia, Aunt Honoré's maid, is to accompany us," Caro explained.

   His dark brows drew together.

   Her heart sank. He wouldn't accept the insinuation of his lack of honor, and Aunt Honoré would not let her go without a suitable chaperone. She should have known better than to get her hopes up about this outing. "I'm sorry, Lucas." Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I mean, Lord Foxhaven."

   The butler sniffed.

   Caro glared at him. His steadfast refusal to speak English made Lizzie's life miserable below stairs, but he clearly understood it well enough.

   He gave a stiff bow and marched back to his kingly domain.

   Lucas's expression cleared. "I understand perfectly." He held out his arm. "Let us depart before the horses become restless or your aunt decides we should also take her pug."

   "She hasn't got a pug,"

   "Thanks be to providence."

   She laughed, delighted by his humorous acceptance of the situation. She placed her hand on his sleeve.

   In short order, Caro sat crushed between Lucas and the bony Cecilia in Lord Audley's midnight blue and gold phaeton with a pair of matched grays in the traces. After turning out of the portes cochères at the entrance to her Aunt's hôtel, they left the Faubourg Saint- Germain behind and rumbled over the River Seine at Ponte Louis XVI.

   "Where are we going?" Caro asked.

   A smile curved his sensual mouth. "You'll see." His voice had the texture of treacle, sweet and rich with undertones of something dark. A shiver of pure pleasure raced down her spine. She'd missed the sound of his voice.

   A long, lean thigh pressed against her soft one, and warmth slowly infused her. The sky suddenly seemed bluer and the streets of Paris more alive.

   The wide, tree-lined Boulevard des Italiens bustled with carriages, most of them English. A couple of hussars in busbies and jaunty blue furedged pelisses, strolled arm-in-arm with a pair of scantily dressed females. A Parisian country gentleman glared and shook his fist at being forced to wait while a company of Austrian soldiers dazzling in white marched across the road in front of them.

   "How do you think they stay clean in battle?" Caro said. "And all that embroidery—it would be such a shame to spoil it."

   "They probably wait in the rear until it's all over," Lucas said.

   She laughed.

   Pedestrians sauntered slowly along the wide sunlit street and mingled in outdoor cafés. Between the buildings, narrow dreary alleys writhed into the depths of ancient city. Filth coursed down their central kennels, overflowing into the boulevard and bringing the fetid stench of poverty into the open. For all Napoleon's improvements, it was easy to imagine a desperate mob pouring from the depths of such squalor to murder their aristocratic oppressors.

   She shivered. London had its poverty and its riots, but somehow England had avoided anything as vicious as the guillotine.

   As they drew up, she cast off her morbid reflections. "Tortoni's. I love their ices."

   "You have been here before?" he asked.

   "I have, with my cousin. It is one of my favorite places."

   He looked a trifle disappointed, but replied cheerfully enough. "Mine too. I thought we could spend a pleasant hour here while Cecelia goes shopping. Then I will show you my surprise."

   An avaricious little smile lit the maid's face. "The milor' has money?"

   Lucas grinned. "He does."

   A strange little jolt hit Caro's stomach. So he'd thought of a way for them to be alone. No wonder he had taken Cecelia's presence in such good part.

   He threw a sous to a loitering street urchin. "Take care of the horses?" he asked. "There will be another when we return."