No Regrets (37 page)

   The key turned. The door swung open.

   Steady. Wait for it.

   "Milor'?" a soft voice whispered.

   Lucas's mouth dropped open. "Henri?"

   A grinning face popped around the edge of the door.

   "By God, man, you are a welcome sight," Lucas said, releasing his breath. He drew his sleeve across his sweating brow.

   "I followed the man with the tray from the kitchen. I took the key and his weapons when he passed me on the way back.

   Henri pulled Beefy's knife from his belt and sawed through Lucas's ropes. "You are hurt?"

   "Never mind me. Where's the man who brought the tray?"

   "On the stairs. He won't wake up soon."

   "You are a bloody wonder, my lad. Can you get him in here? We can't risk him raising the hue and cry."

   Moments later, he helped Henri drag Beefy's limp form over the threshold.

   "With a bit of luck, they won't discover him before tonight," Lucas said, breathing harder than he cared to acknowledge. "You have my undying gratitude, my friend."

   Henri grimaced. "I had no choice, milor'. Miss Lizzie said she will cut out my heart if I come back without you."

   His morose tone forced a painful chuckle out of Lucas. "Quick then. We have a wedding to attend."

* * *

   "Try to look happy, Carolyn. After all, it is your wedding day," Cedric murmured in her ear. Just a whisper of his breath on her skin sent shudders down her spine. Of the two of them, he scared her most. The avariciousness in his gaze sucked the strength from her bones.

   Having agreed to their demands, why should she to pretend to like it? Because she'd given her word. For Lucas's sake.

   A pang of sorrow pierced the numbness she'd drawn around her. He'd never forgive her. Or perhaps he'd be only too happy to wish her well.

   She forced a halfhearted smile and almost choked on a breath of incense-perfumed air. She'd get through today, but she never wanted to set eyes on either one of them again.

   Heavenly music soared to the rafters, and the congregation, a sea of faces and waving feathers, rose in unison.

   "Walk," Cedric muttered.

   "I can't see without my spectacles." They'd taken them in case she tried to run away again.

   "Just follow my lead, and all will be well." He hooked his arm in hers and started walking

   By all, he meant Lucas. She clung to that hope, but niggling doubt slid around in the pit of her stomach. She didn't trust them an inch, but nor could she think of any other course of action. Smiling faces emerged from the mist on both sides as they traveled down the aisle. She didn't recognize a single soul, not one person she could ask for aid. A figure in front of the altar moved forward to greet her.

   She squinted. François, her groom, with a gargoyle grin. Had she really thought him handsome and charming? More proof she should have stayed in Norwich. She bit her lip to still its tremble and curled her fingers around her bouquet. She must do this right, or Lucas would suffer.

   The organ crashed out a crescendo loud enough to shake the roof, and absolute silence followed. The sound of her own rushing blood filled her head.

   The priest flowed down from the altar in a white surplice. She knelt beside François on the cassock, and Cedric hovered at her back. The priest spoke in Latin. She tried to follow his words, waiting for her turn to answer. Vibrant colors from the stained-glass rose splashed across his pristine robe. It reminded her of Ashbourne village church and long-ago Sundays listening to her father's sermons.

   The priest asked a question. She opened her mouth. François shook his head. Of course. The impediment question. With the faintest of hopes, she glanced over her shoulder.

   Cedric glowered. She flinched and faced forward.

   "I know a reason." Lucas's deep tones rang out from the shadows. "This woman is my legally wedded wife."

   A sharp gasp escaped François. The priest's jaw dropped. Caro swung around. Somehow Lucas had set himself free! Relief flooded through her. She didn't have to go through with this. She smiled a welcome.

   A little scream issued from Tante Honoré. Her tall feathers bobbed dismay on their snowy mountain of hair.

   Cedric muttered an oath. "Ignore him. He is mad."

   Lucas fixed his gaze on the wedding party bathed in light, on Caro's welcoming smile. Aware of shocked stares and not giving a damn, he strode out of the shadows and down the center aisle. "I'm mad—I'm furious," he called out. "There isn't an annulment, is there, Valeron?"

   "Continue," Cedric shouted at the priest.

   "Monsieur, I cannot," the priest intoned. "God's law demands that I hear him."

   An usher grabbed Lucas's arm.

   People pressed forward, preventing his progress. A finger wagged in his face.

   He dodged around them. More crowded in, clucking like hens. "Blast you, get out of the way." He scattered them with a thrust of his arm. Just a few more feet, and he would put a stop to this nonsense.

   Cedric grabbed Caro around the waist.

   She shoved him aside. "It is Lucas."

   Lucas fixed his gaze on her face. At least she sounded pleased to see him.

   Cedric staggered back but recovered, pulling a pistol from his pocket.

   Lucas's heart thudded, sick and slow. No more was it a simple matter of stopping a wedding; this looked damned dangerous. "Cedric, give up. It is all over," he yelled and lunged forward.

   A hellish expression twisted Cedric's face. He cocked his weapon. "You cannot stop me. Not now."

   Caro grabbed his arm.

   Panic stirred in Lucas's chest. What the hell did she think she was doing? "Caro, stay back!" he shouted, pulling his pistol from his pocket.

   She planted herself in front of Cedric, hands on hips. "I will not let you shoot him."

   He pushed her.

   A thunderous roar filled the church. A woman screamed.

   Time slowed to a crawl. Scarlet bloomed on Caro's shoulder, a flower of blood on cream fabric, spilling down her back in a gory river. Her knees buckled.

   "No!" The word ripped Lucas's throat raw. He threw himself forward sliding on his knees, catching her to his chest before she hit the floor.

   "Someone get a doctor!" he yelled. He thought he yelled, but his throat seemed too dry to utter a sound.

   Shiny black shoes trampled Caro's gown at the corner of his vision.

   "Get away from her," Cedric said through his teeth.

   Hands shaking, his chest as tight as a noose, Lucas pulled his handkerchief from his coat pocket. "Don't be an idiot. Get a doctor."

   The noise from the congregation broke over them in disjointed waves. Shouts. Conversation. People trying to see.

   Lucas glared around. "Give her air."

   Her amber eyes huge, she gazed up at him. "Cedric hit me." She glanced down and frowned. "Oh."

   "Don't look," Lucas said. "It's nothing." God, he hoped so.

   Cedric crouched beside him and picked up Lucas's discarded weapon. He pointed it at Lucas's head. "Step back. The wedding goes on. François, get the damn priest over here."

   "It's too late," François said in a strangled voice. "The gendarmes will come."

   "And he's the one they'll blame," Cedric said. "Don't be a sniveling coward."

   Blood oozed dark and sticky through Lucas's fingers. He pressed the gaping wound harder. "Valeron, fetch a doctor. If she loses much more blood . . ." He choked on the words as her eyes widened with fear. He swallowed a groan. "You are going to be fine." The words were as much for him as for her.

   She placed her hand over his. "Lucas."

   "Hush. Everything will be all right. Cedric, give me your handkerchief and your neckcloth."

   "Lucas, please," she whispered. "Take care of my sisters."

   "Damn it, Caro. Don't." His hands shook. He tried to smile. "You'll be seeing them yourself soon enough."

   Cedric dropped the requested items at Lucas's side.

   Sweating, with short breaths tearing at his chest, Lucas wadded the handkerchief up and jammed it into the bloody rent in Caro's gown.

   She gasped and bit her lip.

   "I'm sorry. This is going to hurt some more. Scream all you want." Her smile shattered his soul.

   He raised her. She moaned and then closed her eyes. Her body went limp. She'd fainted, thank God.

   He bound the neckcloth tight around her chest. His heart pumped hard, and blood roared in his ears. Too much time was passing. "Where the hell is the doctor?" he yelled.

   Her eyes fluttered open. Her fingers plucked at his sleeve. "Lucas, listen," she whispered, so low he had to lean close to hear. "I want you to make amends with your father. Families are important."

   Not relatives like Cedric and his father.

   "Promise me," she urged.

   He gazed into her eyes and saw pain and worry—worry for him when he'd almost got her killed, when she needed all her strength just to survive. Oh, God, what if she didn't make it?

   "Please, Lucas."

   "Of course, pigeon. How can I refuse when you ask so sweetly?"

   Her eyes drifted closed.

   He looked up. A circle of horrified faces stared back at him. "Will no one get a doctor?" Damn them all. He'd find one himself.

   "Get back," he growled and stood up with her in his arms. He staggered at the surge of pain from his ribs. He shook his head to clear it of dizziness.

   Cedric blocked his path, his face a mask of rage, the pistol pointed at Caro.

   "Haven't you done enough?" Lucas roared. "Let me pass."

   "She's mine," Cedric said. "I will not let you have her."

   Devil take it. They weren't fighting over some trifle the way they had as boys. A life was at stake. "Please, Cedric," he whispered, so he wouldn't scream like a banshee. "Not now." He glanced into Caro's blanched face. "Let me get help."

   "Yes." Cedric licked his lips. "We will leave here, but you will obey me. I will not let you snatch her from under my nose."

   Winning didn't matter. "Get Caro to a doctor; then we will talk."

   Cedric scowled over Lucas's shoulder. "Valeron, make sure no one follows."

   Swinging his pistol in a threatening arc, Cedric glared around him. The onlookers gasped and muttered.

"Get out of the way," Lucas roared.

   The guests shuffled back, muttering and cursing. If only one of them would jump Cedric from behind.

   "Her English lover," someone muttered in French, and Lucas realized he'd been speaking English. Their faces turned ugly. They blamed him for this. As well they might.

   Lifeblood, warm and sticky, oozed between Lucas's fingers against Caro's back, while Cedric, with the eyes of a trapped and desperate animal, backed slowly toward the church door. One wrong move, and he'd send them all to hell.

   In Lucas's arms, Caro lay far too still. His heart twisted until it was squeezed so hard it hurt to breathe. She must live. He stared at her throat, at the fluttering pulse there beneath her skin. How much longer could she survive without help? Faster, he wanted to urge, but he kept his steps steady and smooth. A jolt might be fatal. His was the blame if she died. He would not let it happen.

   He increased his pace a fraction, pushing Cedric as hard as he dared.

   Nervous steps trotted behind him. Valeron, no doubt. To his right, in a parallel aisle, the shadowy figure of Henri kept pace with the strange procession.

   Cedric glanced around, his finger tightening on the trigger.

   "Easy, Cedric," Lucas murmured. "We are almost there."

   At last they reached the iron-studded doors. Lucas shifted his grip, cradling her cheek against his shoulder. "Hang on," he murmured in her ear. "We will find a doctor. We must."

   François scuttled around them and pulled open the great door.

   Cedric backed into brilliant sunlight. He jerked his chin. "Put her in my carriage."

   Lucas blinked and squinted into the dazzle. A sharp breath filled his lungs. He clamped his jaw to prevent its escape.

   The sound of fifteen muskets cocked in unison by a troop of England's finest broke the silence.

   Cedric spun around.

   "Drop your weapon," the infantry officer rapped out.

   Cedric's shoulders tensed. He swung back to face Lucas, his lips drawn back in a death's head grimace, his pupils blazing hatred. Lucas turned, curling his body around Caro, shoulders braced in anticipation of a bullet. He would not let Cedric hurt her again.

   A shot sundered the air.

   Lucas felt nothing.

   Cedric crumpled at his feet in a puff of dust, a neat hole in his temple.

   "Captain MacKay at your service, sir. Lord Audley thought you might need a hand," the officer said. He glanced up at the roof of a nearby house and back at Cedric's body. "Sharp-shooter. He should have dropped the pistol."

   "Thank you."

   One of the soldiers pointed a musket at François, who dropped his weapon and raised his hands.