No Regrets (28 page)

   A hint of suspicion clouded her brandy-colored eyes. "What?"

   The bitter taste of disappointment dried his mouth. He had so little time to win back her trust. He kept his smile in place. "Promise you will shop for books only with me?"

   She tipped her chin as she considered his request, and an overwhelming urge to pull her close fired his blood. He needed to feel her dissolve against him, into him, the way he knew she would if he kissed her. If she so much as brushed against him, he'd lose all control. He didn't dare risk all for fleeting pleasure.

   "Very well," she said.

   "What?" He shook his head to clear his mind. She meant shopping for books. "I mean, that's good." He paid for the purchase. "Are you ready?"

   Bidding farewell to Monsieur Galagnini, Lucas ushered her out. Her perfume enveloped him as she swept past. He inhaled vanilla and roses, fresh and sweet. He'd missed her perfume these past few weeks, missed her voice, missed her like the very devil. He wanted her back where she belonged.

   The thought shook him to the core. If he revealed this weakness she evoked in him, she'd try to run his life the way his father had. He would not give up control in exchange for passion.

   He handed her up into the phaeton. Cecelia squeezed hard against the edge to make room. Lucas vaulted up beside Caro. "What book did you buy?" he asked, easing into the traffic.

   She ducked her head as if ashamed. "Byron."

   "Ah, romance."

   "Foolish, I know," she said. A breathy sigh escaped her. His groin tightened at the memory of that sigh against his skin. Involuntarily, he tightened his grip on the reins. His leader faltered, and the carriage lurched.

   Caro gasped as Cecelia squeaked.

   Hell, Lucas thought. "I beg your pardon, ladies." Anyone would think he was a cow-handed farmer, not a nonesuch. "There is nothing foolish about Lord Byron. He is an accomplished writer."

   "Are you teasing me?"

   The questioning sideways glance from beneath her lashes revealed an unexpected warmth and laughter in the depths of her eyes.

   He grinned. "I admit Lord Byron is not my favorite author, but I can appreciate his talent." He certainly knew women. "If I wrote only half as well, I might have the right to criticize his work."

   A curve to her full luscious mouth rewarded his words. The warmth of her approval seemed to penetrate his chest. Burgeoning hope welled up inside him. He seemed to have won this hand, but would two days be enough time to press home his advantage?

* * *

   "It seems Lord Foxhaven is on everyone's guest list." Seated to Caro's right, the Marquis du Bouvoir sounded far from pleased as he leaned forward to inspect the new arrivals in Madame Mougeon's pretty blue drawing room.

   Across the aisle, Lord Audley directed his party, consisting of Lucas and the two Jeunesse ladies, to their gilded chairs. Caro again felt in her stomach the sensation of a flock of starlings taking wing. When Lucas sat down next to Belle, the starlings landed with a bump. Clearly, another beautiful and petite female had captured his roving glance. So much for new beginnings.

   She shifted her gaze to the front of the room where a vivacious dark-haired Italian soprano and her violin accompanist waited for the guests to settle.

   "Did you drive out with the viscount yesterday?" the marquis asked.

   Fortunately for Caro, the violinist tapped the side of his instrument with his bow for silence and precluded the necessity of an answer.

   The singer poured her heart into an aria from Rossini's L'Italiana in Algeri. Caro tried to ignore Lucas's presence, but she sensed his gaze on her face as surely as if his fingers were touching her skin. Couldn't he be satisfied with the woman at his side?

   At the intermission, the marquis offered to fetch coffee from an adjoining salon, and while Aunt Honoré gossiped with a widowed friend, Caro wandered the perimeter of the room, inspecting the portraits and country scenes hung tastefully on the walls.

   "How are you enjoying it so far?" Lucas's deep voice asked.

   Caro started. She hadn't heard him approach. "Do you have to sneak up on me like that?"

   "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you." He gestured to the portrait of a Mougeon ancestor in a Roman toga. "It seems you are interested in all the arts." His breath stirred the curls on her cheek.

   She darted a glance at Mademoiselle Jeunesse, who was talking to their hostess by the piano set in the window. "I might say the same about you."

   His expression turned serious. "I only have two days, Caro, and since you were already engaged to come here with the marquis, I needed an invitation. I persuaded Audley to add me to his party. I'd far rather take you shopping for books."

   A wicked flick of his brow sent a shimmer of awareness over her skin. She returned her gaze to the portrait. "Perhaps some other time." There, that sounded calm enough.

   "Your profile is enchanting, but I prefer to see both your beautiful eyes."

   The words turned her insides to porridge. She fought for control. "Do not practice your wiles on me, sir. It will not wash." Or so she hoped. She searched for a neutral topic. "The opera singer has talent, does she not?"

   "She is as good as everything I have heard about her. I'm going to invite her to perform at King's Theater."

   Caro blinked.

   "I thought you knew—I am one of their patrons."

   "It seems there are many things I do not know about you."

   "As yet," he murmured.

   The lascivious undertones sent trickles of heat coursing through her blood. She inhaled a steadying breath and tried to look calm.

   The marquis joined them and handed Caro her coffee. "Lord Foxhaven, we meet again. What a coincidence."

   Lucas's easy manner of moments ago sharpened to a dangerous edge. "Isn't it?" Although his face held nothing but friendly politeness, his words might have been sword blades. He must have sensed her her growing anxiety, because the moment she opened her mouth to say something to ease the tension between the two men, he offered a reluctant smile. "If you will excuse me, I must return to my friends."

   The marquis nodded. " And I must return you to your aunt, my dear Mademoiselle Torrington."

   No matter how hard she tried, Caro could not prevent her gaze following Lucas's progress through the crowded room. Mademoiselle Jeunesse welcomed him to her side with a dazzling smile. If only the poor girl knew the truth about his married state. It was most unfair of him to encourage her to hope.

   "Be seated everyone, please," the lady of the house announced, shooing them back to their seats. "We have many more delights for you this afternoon." She bustled to the front of the room. "Our dear Mademoiselle Jeunesse has agreed to play a piece from Beethoven's Pathétique.

   She held out a welcoming hand.

   Blushing, the slim beauty in a gown seemingly made of gossamer made her way to the piano. She played the complex piece with verve and undeniable talent. Applause as loud as that for the singer greeted the end of her performance, and she curtseyed with obvious pleasure.

   On her way back to her seat, she stopped to whisper in Madame Mougeon's ear, all the while looking at Caro with a sly little smile. A tingle lifted the hairs on Caro's nape. She looked away. She must be imagining things.

   Madame Mougeon returned to the front of the room. "I understand we have another talented young lady in our midst." She stretched out a hand. "Mademoiselle Torrington, will you play for us?"

   Caro felt the blood drain from her face before rushing back in a hot tide. She shook her head. "No indeed. I don't have any music, and my skill is mediocre, I assure you."

   Twenty pairs of eyes stared at her, and the sight faded into the red haze of her embarrassment.

   "I brought another piece," Mademoiselle Jeunesse said with a simper and cold eyes. She held out a sheaf of paper.

   "There you go, mademoiselle," the marquis said, passing the sheets to Caro with a flourish. "I would adore to hear you."

   Caro stared at the paper, her fingers trembling. Semi-quavers and treble clefs skipped from bar to bar like raindrops on a roof.

   "I can't," she gasped. This was a nightmare. Everyone was staring. She glanced around wildly, saw Lucas frowning, and tapped her finger to her lips twice and winked. It had worked for him. Now it was his turn to help.

   "Really, I insist," Madame Mougeon was saying, tugging at her arm.

   Long, elegant fingers plucked the music from Caro's hand. "Miss Torrington," Lucas said, his smile the most charming she had ever seen. "I will play, if you will sing. As I recall, you have a lovely voice."

   That was not what she had in mind when she requested his help, but his confidence gave her the courage to nod in acquiescence. Warm and large and strong, his hand closed around her cold one and pulled her from the fog into the light.

   He placed her hand on a forearm that was rock steady under her shaking fingers and led her to the piano. He flashed her a grin, flicked his tails out from under him, and sat down on the bench. He arranged the music on the stand and ran his fingers over the keys in a soft chord.

   Caro took a deep breath. She could do this. She removed her spectacles. Better to see the music than all those curious faces.

   "Can you read enough of the music to turn the sheets at the right time?" he murmured under his breath.

   She smiled. "I think I might actually be able to tell from the words."

"
Touché
," he said with a small grin.

   She leaned closer and whispered, "I forgot you played."

   "It's been a long while. I am relying on you to hide my mistakes."

   He drew forth a chord and began the opening bars.

   
Somewhere inside the house, a door banged.

   
Caro winced, but Lucas must not have heard
because
the
thrilling
melody
continued
uninter
rupted.

   
All she could see through the window was his
beautiful profile, his expression one of total absorp
tion, as if his spirit existed in fingertips producing
sounds so sweet they were heartbreaking.

   
The door on the far side of the room swung back.
Before she ducked out of sight, Caro glimpsed Lord
Stockbridge, his face red and full of disgust.

   
"No longer will you waste your time on this nam
by-pamby nonsense, Foxhaven!" Stockbridge yelled.

   
"But Father," Lucas said. "I—"

   
Something must have struck the keyboard very
hard because a harsh chord rang out, followed by the
bang of the piano lid closing.

   
"I'm going to burn the damned thing," Stockbridge
said.

   
"It was Mother's," Lucas said. "She wanted me
to practice."

   
"And it's your mother's fault you turned out so
badly." Stockbridge's voice grew louder and deeper.
He appeared at the window and stretched up to grasp
the sash.

   
"Mother said I have a talent," Lucas pleaded.

   
"You, my boy, have a talent for trouble, and this
time, I have had enough." He slammed the window
shut.

   
The sound of a falling chair issued from inside
the room.

   
Caro recoiled. What on earth was wrong with
Lord Stockbridge? Poor Lucas. He loved his music.
Perhaps she should go and comfort him. She backed
away and tiptoed around the front of the house. In
the drive stood a carriage. Mrs. Rivers and perhaps
Cedric must have called in. She pressed her lips
together. If Lord Stockbridge had visitors, it might be
better to talk to Lucas tomorrow, when tempers were
cool. Feeling a little cowardly, she turned for home.

   Faultlessly, smoothly, he finished the introduction and Caro joined in at his nod. She liked to sing. Lucas must have remembered.

   At first, she kept her gaze on the music, but after a shaky beginning, the melody took hold, and she managed a glance or two at the misty audience. The expressions of her aunt and the marquis were full of pride, and did much to settle her nerves. Her voice did not have the depth or range of the opera singer, but she managed well enough.

   The warm applause as the notes died away lapped over her. She curtseyed to Lucas and smiled her thanks, shaking her head at the kind calls for more. Back in her seat, she resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at a rather sulkyfaced Mademoiselle Jeunesse. Caro had survived the worst form of torture without ridicule because Lucas had rescued her, just as he had when they were children.