No Regrets (27 page)

   The boy nodded.

   Lucas handed Cecelia a fistful of coins. "Be back in one hour." The moment her feet touched the cobbles, Cecelia trotted off without a backward glance.

   Lucas reached up and caught Caro by the waist. She grasped his shoulders for support. Sinews moved beneath her fingers, and his strong hands filled the hollow beneath her ribs and scorched through her gown. Sandalwood and heat swirled around her as he held her close. She slid down his length, his coat buttons grazing her breasts, until her eyes were on a level with the diamond in his cravat. Awareness shimmered across her skin in delicious waves.

   "Lucas," she gasped.

   He raised a brow. "What?"

She swallowed. "Put me down."

   A laugh rumbled through his chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize your feet weren't on the ground." He lowered her to the cobbles.

   Of course he knew, and his knowing quickened her heartbeat. "Thank you." The tremor in her voice annoyed her, and she straightened her spine.

   He bowed. She tucked her spectacles in her reticule and placed her hand on his outstretched arm, and together they sauntered into the fashionable establishment.

   Signore Tortini, a black-haired jolly Neapolitan brought to France by Bonaparte, greeted them with a flourish and led them to a round table in the corner by the window. The bright suite of rooms burst with the haute-monde talking and laughing to the musical chink of spoons on glass dishes.

   A waiter in a pristine white apron arrived instantly to take their order. Caro requested a lemon water ice, and Lucas asked for ice cream.

   While they waited, fashionable ladies at the nearby tables glanced sideways at them. Well, really at Lucas. They probably wondered how she had managed to attract the attention of such a handsome man.

   She felt a little spurt of pride. He was hers. But not for much longer. Was that sorrow she felt in the pit of her stomach, or the need for food? As usual, anxiety sharpened her appetite.

   The treats arrived accompanied by wafers and an ice-lined carafe of water.

   Caro spooned up a mouthful. A small pain stabbed her forehead. "Ooh. Cold."

   He grinned in sympathy and scooped up his ice cream. He turned his spoon the wrong way round and licked it, his eyes cast heavenward. "Food for the gods."

   Caro giggled and savored the tart burst of lemon on her tongue. "Ambrosia. I didn't realize you knew Paris so well."

   "I come here occasionally on business. The French stock market is a profitable proposition at the moment."

   Business. A shadow seemed to dim the room. A horrid rushy breath filled her throat, and she forced her words past it. "Is that why you are here?"

   He nodded. "There are matters which require my attention, certainly."

   No doubt she was one of those matters. Enough to bed the most unattractive female. She stirred the watery yellow remains with her spoon, her ice melting along with her hopes.

   He reached out to capture her hand, his large and warm and hers chilled from the dessert. She tried to pull back, but he held it fast.

   "I had another, more important reason," he said.

   The intensity in his eyes held her transfixed. They weren't black, but shades of dark brown all swirled together like hot chocolate and cream. He brought her hand to his mouth. At the last moment, he turned it and brushed his lips against the inside of her wrist.

   Treacherous desire blossomed low in her stomach. Memories of what those wonderful hands could do to her body jolted her femininity to pulsing life. She glowed.

   "Come back to London, Caro," he said.

   Yes, her heart said. "Why?"

   For a moment, he appeared to be stunned, but then he raised a questioning brow. "I thought we had an agreement?"

   The pain she'd felt all those weeks ago in London came back raw and fresh. She tugged her hand free. "You made a new agreement with your father. You agreed to get me with child to inherit my aunt's money."

   Guilt and embarrassment flashed across his face. "Damn it, Caro, where did you get such an idea?" Several heads turned their way. He glared back, and their glances dropped away. "Who told you such a thing?"

   "I heard you talking in the library."

   His eyes narrowed, and his head tilted to one side, considering. More deceit hatching in his fertile brain, no doubt. "I admit to the conversation. But not to agreeing."

   "Then your coming here is not about getting me with child to get your hands on my aunt's money?"

   Horror filled his expression. "Absolutely not."

   Heat flamed in her face. "You couldn't do it, could you? After the race." He couldn't bring himself to bed his dumpling of a wife.

   His gaze lowered to her bosom for a second, and color stained his cheekbones. "I made a mistake. I apologized then, and I apologize now. I promise it won't happen again."

   That was supposed to make her feel better? A tiny seed of hope shriveled and died, leaving a lump in her throat. She traced her spoon around the edge of the little glass dish. "There won't be another opportunity."

   A strained expression passed over his face. "You mean you won't give me a chance to make things right?"

   "Cedric says our marriage is a fraud."

   "You told Cedric? How could you? It's private. Between us."

   "He said you wasted your grandmother's money to buy a house in the country. A house I've never even seen." A house for your mistress. The thought sent a river of ice through her blood.

   His voice lowered to a growl. "Is the whole world a party to my affairs?"

   He was acting as if it was all her fault. How dare he try to make her feel guilty? She retorted, "You made me look like some kind of fool, and I discovered I didn't like it. Then one of your bitsof-muslin decided to use me for revenge."

   He cracked a laugh. His lip curled in disdain. "One of my bits-of-muslin? Such language from a vicar's daughter. What do you take me for?"

   "A rake and libertine." She sat back in her chair waiting for him to deny it, wanting with every fiber in her being for him to say it wasn't true.

   He stared at her, silent, his eyes hard and bright and totally unreadable.

   His hand clenched on his spoon, the haft began to bend. He dropped it as if it was hot. "All right. I admit it was all my fault. I should have made sure you knew the rules."

   He brushed the spoon away with a careless flick of his hand. It struck the glass dish with a loud chink. "As for the house, it isn't important. I'll get rid of it. Believe me when I say I never meant anything to harm you. Nothing like that will happen again."

   She stared at him, biting her lip. He seemed genuinely sorry, and she desperately wanted to believe.

   "Caro, I swear I will stand by our agreement." He shook his head, hesitating as if he would say more.

   She didn't want their old agreement. She wanted more.

   "You really mean you will give up your other . . . pursuits?"

   Disappointment reflected in his eyes and the set of his sensual mouth. It was too great a sacrifice, she realized. But he squared his shoulders. "Yes."

   Her mouth dropped open. "How can I know you will keep your word?" She wanted to bite out her tongue as bleakness filled his gaze. "I should not have asked that."

   He held up his hand and shook his head. "I made a mess of things. Give me some time to live up to my side of the bargain. Give me a month. If you aren't satisfied then, I'll arrange the divorce and no arguments."

   She didn't have a month. "Cedric is due back in two days. He went to Bordeaux to see a protestant bishop about an annulment."

   A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Do you have any idea what kind of scandal that will create?"

   "I'm ruined already. What difference would it make?"

   He shook his head. "Not so. Tisha has all but the highest of sticklers convinced you made a genuine mistake. If you had stayed, the whole thing would have blown over."

   A rush of tears misted her vision. If they hadn't had that dreadful argument after the race, then he wouldn't have kissed her to such utter distraction that she allowed him the liberty of her person. Perhaps then she could have retained her stupid dream that one day he might grow to love her. "It's too bad you didn't think of that before you packed me off to Norwich."

   The lines around his mouth deepened. "I'm sorry. What more can I say?"

   He caught her hand across the table, and for once, she saw more than a charming rake in his gaze. She saw hope, shadowed by something else. Fear. Yearning. She couldn't be sure.

   It would never work. She could never keep him at her side with so many other more beautiful women waiting to catch his roving eye. It all seemed so hopeless. And yet she longed to try. "You have two days, before Cedric comes back."

   He blinded her with a lopsided smile. "Two days it is. You won't regret it, I promise."

   Her laugh shook. "I think I've heard that somewhere before."

   He raised a brow. "This time it's true. You will see. Now, let's find that maid. I have a surprise."

Lucas turned down the rue Vivienne toward the Palais Royale.

   Although Caro had never approached the center of Paris life from this direction, its risqué reputation and wonderful shops and restaurants were legendary. Everyone visited the Palais Royale. She frowned when he brought the carriage to a stop outside a bow-fronted shop.

   He grinned.

   "What is this?" she asked.

   "You'll see." The deep timbre of his voice sounded smug as he handed her down.

   An excited buzz hummed through her veins. Lucas had never thought to surprise her before. A waiting lackey took charge of his horses. They left Cecelia in the carriage with a smile on her face and a large package clutched between her knees.

   A bell tinkled as the doorman bowed them in.

   A bookshop.

   Entranced, Caro dragged out her spectacles and perched them on her nose.

   English newspapers lay over a stand by the counter. Shelves with English titles lined the walls and ran down the center of the narrow room. An English bookshop in Paris. Why had no one told her?

   "Lucas," she squeaked.

   He shot her a warning glance.

   A smile tugged at her lips at his concern about appearances. "I mean, Lord Foxhaven."

   A gangly, monkey-faced proprietor came forward to greet them. "Welcome to my establishment. I am Monsieur Galignani." He bowed.

   "Oh," Caro said. "Someone gave me a copy of Galignani's Paris Guide. Is it yours? It is so very informative."

   The Frenchman's thin chest swelled, and the creases in his face organized themselves into a smile. "Mine indeed. Do you seek anything in particular today?"

   A banquet could not have produced more confusion in a starving peasant than that which whirled in her brain. She shook her head.

   "Browse around," Lucas drawled, settling into a leather sofa with its back to the bow window. "However, if you want to get back to your aunt's house at a reasonable hour, you ought to get busy." He picked up a newspaper from the table and disappeared behind it.

   A rush of tenderness swelled her heart and cut off her breath. He looked so handsome, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the hard planes of his face softened by the spring sunlight shining through the square windowpanes. Did she dare believe his intentions were honorable?

   She stared around the shop. This gift demonstrated a sensitivity she never suspected. It meant more than diamonds. And yet he offered only friendship, someone on whom she could rely. She wanted so much more. But the ache in her heart had nothing to do with the blur in her eyes. Bookshops always attracted dust. Determined not to spoil the moment, she smiled and turned her attention to the feast laid out for her delectation.

   A half hour later, Lucas folded the English Messenger published by Monsieur Galagnini for the Englishman in Europe and tossed it on the table. News from home paled beside Caro's eager investigations, and after all this time, she seemed no closer to selecting a book than when they had arrived.

   An adoring captive in her wake, the wizened proprietor pulled out books, pointed to volumes, and climbed the ladder each time she expressed the faintest interest in something high on a shelf. He gathered books under his spidery arm as they went.

   Lucas could watch her lush form and delighted expression all day long. Knowing he had put the smile on her face gave him a rare sense of contentment. If only life were this simple.

   As if to thwart his pleasure, she made her final selection, and Monsieur Galignani took it to the counter to wrap.

   Eyes glowing, she returned to the sitting area. Lucas rose from his chair. He gazed into her lovely oval face with its enchanting smile on rose-colored lips. All he wanted to do was kiss them. He wanted to cup her golden cheeks flushed with pleasure in his palms, to lose himself in her honeyed sweetness. He let her see some of his consuming heat and delighted in the parting of her lips and shortened breath. "Promise me something?" he said.