Chapter Seven
The morning of Lord West’s picnic, Caroline crawled out of bed after a sleepless night. She felt old and tired and empty. Whenever she’d closed her eyes, she’d relived those torrid moments in Silas’s arms. Staring wakeful into the darkness, she’d revisited the agony of hearing him say he loved her.
Impossible to say which was worse.
Now she jammed her turbulent misery deep down inside her, sealed tight into a corner of her soul that she never intended to visit again. She had to be ruthless and determined, or admit that the life she longed for was forever out of reach.
The first step to erase her yen for Silas Nash was consummating her affair with West, even if she felt more like a martyr facing the stake than a woman rushing into the arms of a much-desired lover. Once West shared her bed, this ridiculous second guessing must surely stop. From the first, she’d recognized Vernon Grange as what she wanted. The only thing that had changed since was her troublesome love for Silas. A love she intended to ignore until it wilted away from neglect.
If her cowardly self secretly hoped that West would decline her offer or claim a prior engagement, that hope shriveled with the arrival of the morning’s letters. They included an unsealed sheet of cream paper with “tonight” scrawled across it in a slashing masculine hand.
Stubbornness alone had Caroline making a special effort with her appearance and setting out for Richmond in her neat little curricle. Without noticeable effect, she told herself to buck up. She’d devoted more than a year to these plans. She wouldn’t shirk her purpose just because she’d gone and fallen in love like a sentimental nitwit.
Oh, dear, she still sounded like she faced a hanging. Without great optimism, she hoped West’s sensual skills would defeat her misgivings. He’d need to show spectacular prowess indeed to eclipse the memory of Silas’s searing kisses. Who would have thought her kind, undemanding companion could set the world ablaze with a single touch?
Who would have thought such a notorious rake could fall in love?
“Oi! Watcha!”
She blinked to clear misty eyes and realized with horror that her horses wandered all over the road and had nearly run down a thickset tradesman. Thank goodness, she was nearly at Fenella’s door. Otherwise she feared for London’s pedestrians.
“Caro, isn’t it a lovely morning?” Fenella came tripping down the stairs of the Curzon Street house, unrecognizable as the subdued creature who had reluctantly joined their pact last February. Caroline might be an arrant failure as a dashing widow, but she was delighted to see Fenella looking so happy. Odd when not long ago, she’d wanted to scratch out Fen’s bright blue eyes. Today she was just grateful that her companion on the road wasn’t Helena, who knew far too much about the confusion ripping apart Caro Beaumont’s heart.
“Good morning, Fen,” she said, struggling to sound equally jolly.
Her friend cast her a curious look from under the brim of her stylish bonnet with its pink silk trimming. “Perfect weather for a picnic,” Fenella said after a pause, living up to her reputation for tact.
Surprised, Caroline took in her surroundings. Since she’d left Helena’s yesterday, she felt like a gray cloud had followed her around. But the weather was in fact glorious. During the night, she’d been craven enough to pray for heavy rain and the picnic’s postponement. Or better, its complete cancellation. And not only because of her tryst with West. She dreaded discovering that her cavortings in the greenhouse had become common knowledge.
Fenella was staring with open longing at the horses instead of paying attention to her. “What high steppers.”
Caroline looked at her matched chestnuts, then at her friend. “Would you like to drive?”
Pure pleasure transformed Fenella’s blond prettiness to flashing beauty. “Could I?”
“As long as you promise not to land us in the ditch.” She didn’t mention how close she’d come to doing someone serious injury on the way.
A bit of rearranging and Fenella sat beside her, holding the ribbons with an easy competence that pierced Caroline’s self-absorbed dejection. She regarded her friend with astonishment. “Good heavens, you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel. You’re an expert.”
Fenella smiled as she set the chestnuts moving. They obeyed with a smooth swiftness Caroline had never achieved. “I used to love driving. I haven’t done it in years. I wasn’t sure I still had the knack.”
With unconcealed admiration, Caroline observed her friend as the curricle bowled along the street toward Richmond. “You certainly do.”
Flicking the reins, Fenella took a sharp corner with a skill that left Caroline breathless. Who would have guessed her shy friend possessed such a talent?
“You’ll be the toast of the Four-in-Hand Club.” Caroline winced to recall her ham-fisted steering earlier. “Why on earth don’t you own a carriage?”
With a deftness so ingrained, she hardly noticed what she did, Fen rounded a loaded dray and steered the horses west. “I haven’t taken the ribbons since Waterloo.” Her voice lowered, making Caroline lean closer to hear over the traffic. “It seemed wrong to enjoy myself after Henry was gone.”
Caroline sat up and looked aghast at Fen. “Henry would have hated you to give up on life.”
“I wanted to. God forgive me, I wanted to. If I hadn’t had Brandon, Lord knows what I’d have done. I’ve got you and Helena to thank for bringing me back to myself. I owe it to Brandon—and to Henry—to be more than a gray little shadow.”
“You’re not a gray little shadow,” Caroline said, regretting how she’d dismissed Fenella as just that when they met.
“Not anymore, by heaven.” With the way clear, Fenella urged the horses to a snapping pace.
Caroline looked at the lovely woman in charge of this carriage—and in charge of her life—and saw a new confidence. She’d noticed the confidence before, of course. But then she’d attributed it to Silas’s love. The bitter misery trussed inside her stirred and strained against its bonds.
She bit her lip and stared hard at the road, telling herself under no circumstances would she cry. The command failed, as it had failed all through the desolate night. Luckily the fresh wind in her face whipped away any stray tear that dared to escape her iron control.
The Seduction of Lord Stone Page 14
