Neatly avoiding another couple, he raised a brow. "Do my buttons meet with your approval?"
As usual, her heart tumbled over at his closeness, but she managed the cool smile of the jaded fashionable lady. "Indeed."
"You dance divinely," he murmured close to her ear.
A frisson of awareness rippled over her skin, and her unruly pulse picked up speed. "I didn't suspect you could dance," she shot back bravely. "I thought Corinthians despised such dull entertainments."
She'd watched him dance at the Norwich Assembly from behind her favorite plant. Elegant and thoroughly bored, he'd left after a row with his father because he'd danced three times with a female of suspicious morals.
It was as if he had deliberately set out to annoy his father.
"I'll tell you a secret," he whispered, drawing her far closer than regulations allowed. "I only dance with special ladies."
Caro heard emphasis on the plural. "Then, I suppose I must consider myself honored, my lord."
He swirled her around the end of the dance floor to the dying notes of the music and then escorted her back to their friends. Bascombe greeted her with a glass of champagne.
Lucas laughed when she wrinkled her nose.
"The bubbles make my face wet," she explained. She glanced around the room. "You know we really should go and greet your Aunt Rivers."
"You go." He flashed a wicked smile. "I'm promised to Tisha for this next dance."
He wasn't, but Tisha cast him a roguish smile and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Pride and a small ache pulled at Caro's heart. No woman could resist Lucas when he smiled like that.
A passing footman took her empty glass and handed her a new one. Sipping it, she wove among the chatting groups of ladies and gentlemen. Glittering jewels and rich colors of silks and satins blended together in an artist's palette of swirling colors. Solid shapes jumped out from the mix as she passed through them. She pulled out her spectacles and made a concentrated search for Lucas's aunt.
Seated against a wall at the back of the room with a stiff, formal Cedric at her side, the elderly lady held out her hand. Caro took it and curtseyed. This was how she imagined an audience with the Queen, something she would have to endure later in the season.
Aunt Rivers directed a glare behind Caro. "Where is that good-for-nothing husband of yours?"
Cedric tutted.
A sudden urge to stuff her handkerchief in her blunt aunt's mouth, or to rush to Lucas's defense, parted Caro's lips.
"Close your mouth, Carolyn," Aunt Rivers rapped out. "I see him now, tripping around the dance floor with that flighty Lady Audley when he ought to be here paying his respects."
Aunt Rivers might be right, but Caro's sympathy went out to Lucas. His aunt gave no quarter. "I'm sure he will come to see you as soon as he is able."
"Cousin Carolyn," a silky voice murmured behind her.
The arrival of François brought relief to the uncomfortable silence. Caro held out her hand, resting her fingertips on his glove as he bowed. Amusement glimmered in his brown eyes. "I hope you have saved a waltz for me as you promised?" he asked.
"I always keep my promises, sir."
"Waltzing? It is shocking," Aunt Rivers pronounced. "A peasant dance. It was not allowed in my day."
"No, indeed, Mother," Cedric said in soothing tones. He smiled at Caro. "I too would like to dance with you. A cotillion, if you please."
Caro liked the way he respected his mother's feelings. "I will be delighted."
"I do hope to be introduced to your so very fortunate husband this evening," François said. "I understand he likes the sports. How do you say it? He is a sportsman, non? He likes to gamble?"
"He's a rake," Aunt Rivers muttered.
Prickles danced down Caro's spine as another defense of Lucas hovered on her tongue. If only she had the courage to voice them. Only with Lucas did her words tumble forth—and always with disastrous consequences.
"You would be better to steer clear of him, young man," Aunt Rivers continued. She frowned. "No need to blush, girl. I am not saying anything that is not common knowledge."
Caro's tongue remained firmly stuck to the roof of her mouth. She hadn't missed how every woman in the room regarded Lucas with the halffearful, half-fascinated expression of a lamb before a wolf. They must all know his reputation.
His voice kind, Cedric put a hand on his mother's shoulder. "He's young yet, still finding his way."
"Nonsense," his mother uttered with the arrogance of age. Her pointed nose rose a disdainful notch. "He's a married man and should be thinking about settling down and starting a family."
Mortification heated Caro's cheeks. They would never have children.
"Don't worry, Mother," Cedric said in soothing tones. "After all, he did purchase Lady Bestborough's house."
"A house?" Caro said.
Cedric's gaze slid away.
Aunt Rivers pursed her corrugated lips. "I, for one, am not surprised you know nothing about it. I expect he bought it for something other than setting up his nursery."
Caro's stomach plunged to the soles of her golden slippers while her mind scrabbled for some reasonable explanation for this latest surprise.
François leaned close. "I believe this is our waltz."
Blessed escape. She clung to his arm as he drew her onto the floor.
He cast her a teasing smile. "You are charming when you blush, cousin, but I must say your aunt has a tongue like an asp, n'est ce pas? Right now you feel like Cleopatra, non?"
Caro sighed. "I suppose I must learn not to pay attention to gossip."
With gentle pressure, he twirled her around, and she relaxed. Almost as smooth in his steps as Lucas, he brought her a little closer than she thought proper. Clearly, the French danced a more risqué form of the waltz.
She sought a safer topic of conversation. "How did you meet Cousin Cedric?"
"We have mutual business acquaintances in Paris. Lord Stockbridge places more trust in him than in his son, I hear."
Caro stiffened. More brickbats tossed at Lucas.
François grimaced. "Pardonnez moi! Now it is I who have the tongue like the snake. Forgive me."
The sincerity beaming in his eyes diluted her anger. She inclined her head with a brief smile. "This time."
"You are trés gentil. I meant his lordship has investments in the Champagne district and my family—your family too, I remind you—also has business interests there. You must come and see."
"Mother always hoped to return to Paris one day. She spoke of it often when I was a child. I would love to meet the rest of my family."
"It would be my pleasure to introduce them to you."
Although he was not as tall as Lucas, or as broad in the shoulders, François's charm of manner and Mediterranean good looks blended in a devastating mix. A lock of brown hair curled on his brow, and his mouth smiled all the time. If all Frenchmen were like him, she looked forward to meeting more of them.
In a sudden rush of steps, he swirled her in a tight circle. Her head seemed to have trouble catching up to her feet. She clung to his coat sleeve as the music died away, trying to regain her balance and feeling rather hot.
With a touch on her elbow, François indicated a door. "Would you care for some fresh air? I believe there is a balcony through those glass doors, which for some reason the English call French windows."
Breathless, Caro laughed at his quizzical expression. "I think fresh air is a good idea."
The doors opened to a balcony lit by cleverly placed lanterns and a fortuitously full moon. With her arm looped under his, he walked her to the far end.
His teeth flashed white in the dim light. "There is a garden you can view from here. I think you will find it charming."
More lanterns hung in tree branches. The garden presented intriguing glimpses of stone cherubs, elves, and winged animals among the shadows. Caro leaned over the parapet. "How pretty."
The breeze cooled her cheeks. S
he stared into the night, waiting for her head to stop spinning or the ground to still.
"I would so like you to meet your aunt, Carolyn." His French accent caressed her in the cool dark night. "Tante Honoré, she grows old. I know she desires to meet you too. Do you think you can visit soon?"
One arm resting on the wall, his body angled toward her, he seemed more interested in her profile than the view. Interested in her as a woman.
A little pulse shot through her veins. She felt deliciously wicked, but safe. "I don't know. I would dearly love my sisters to see my mother's birthplace." She turned to face him. "I'm not sure Lucas would wish to go."
"Your French is impeccable, much better than my English. Paris would adore you."
"We used to converse in French all the time when Maman was alive. I fear I have forgotten much."
"I would be happy to, hmmmm . . ."
Entranced by his hesitation as he searched for a word, her gaze traveled over his face. He had none of Lucas's stark angled beauty; his face was fuller, more florid, but very pleasant to look at.
"I think of teach," he said with a small frown. "But it is not right. Perhaps tutor is better?"
"Mais oui," Caro replied. "Your English is excellent."
He continued speaking in French. "Forgive me for asking, my dear, but you do not seem so very happy for such a new bride." Concern and curiosity lurked in his eyes.
It was obvious then. Her chest swelled with emotion at his gentle understanding and the caring she'd missed since her father died. She shook her head, unable to speak for the sudden tightening of her throat.
The cool breeze carried his floral cologne as he moved closer. A gloved fist ran down her jaw. "Not tears in those beautiful golden eyes?" he asked in a low whisper.
Her laugh sounded shaky. "Of course not."
One finger gently tipped up her chin. "Let me see."
* * *
"Who is dancing with Caro?" Lucas asked Bas.
"A Frog. Chevalier Valeron. I met him at White's the other day, with your cousin. Seems a decent enough sort for a Frenchman. Plays deep, but pays promptly."
"Valeron? The name sounds familiar. Friend of Cedric's, is he?"
Beneath the central chandelier, Caro laughed at something the Frenchman said. Tawny flames danced in her hair and eyes. The restlessness that had consumed him when she danced with Charlie returned with a vengeance.
She had never looked so gorgeous, even if the modest cut of her dress hid most of her curves, the curves he'd felt yielding under his hands last night. Unwelcome heat rushed to his loins.
Tisha rapped his forearm with her fan. "I just left Julia Fairweather. You will never guess who is here."
"No, Tisha, I never will. I do not care for guessing games." And besides, he wanted to keep an eye on Caro and the good-looking Frenchman holding her undivided attention.
Tisha plucked at his sleeve, and he glanced into her face, which was brimming with mischief. "Your father arrived a half hour ago."
Inwardly, Lucas groaned, but he wasn't surprised. Not when his father had practically ordered him to attend this damnably boring function. Bloody hell. The evening had just become a whole lot less pleasant.
"You really should pay your respects, Luc," Bascombe said.
To hell with that. He didn't owe his father anything. He glanced at the dance floor. The waltz had ended, and Caro had disappeared.
Bascombe coughed behind his hand. "Went out on the balcony with the Frog. Better fetch her back before anyone notices."
With a curse, Lucas strolled around the edge of the dance floor, greeting acquaintances with as much calm as he could muster in his impatience. Any sign of a hurried exit, and he would raise the scent of scandal—something the ton adored.
Once outside, he glanced along the balcony's length. The couple murmuring in the shadows seemed unaware of his presence. They were much too engrossed in each other.
"Another conquest, Caro?" Sarcasm edged his words like a knife. A knife in the Chevalier's guts would have felt more satisfactory.
Caro jumped and stepped back.
The Frog merely smiled and turned to face him. "Lord Foxhaven, I presume." He bowed with an airy flourish.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," Lucas grated out, unable to take his gaze off a flushed and lip-nibbling Caro. She had every reason to feel nervous.
"Indeed, I believe it is so," the smooth French voice uttered mildly.
Lucas absorbed the double meaning. Heat burned his face, and he curled his fingers into his palms instead of around the Frenchman's neck.
Once more, the Chevalier made a leg fit for a king. "The Chevalier François Valeron, à votre service, milor'. I am cousin to your so charming wife. We were catching up on some family news." Turning to Caro, he switched to French. "Is that not so, cousin?"
"Well, Chevalier," said Lucas, in equally faultless French and clipped accents, "if catching up on news requires your hands on my wife, I will find it my pleasurable duty to teach you a lesson in English manners. I trust I make myself perfectly clear, you little worm."
Caro clapped her hands to her ears. "Lucas, how could you?"
"Indeed, my lord," François said, reverting to English, "you make yourself very clear, and with . . . eloquence. Since I find myself de trop, I will bid you both good evening. I look forward to our next meeting with much anticipation." Menace seethed below the Frenchman's suave, smiling surface.
Lucas watched the Frenchman's languid departure, his jaw tight enough to break his teeth. A pistol or a sword would be a handy thing to have right now, and to hell with polite society. He turned to glare at Caro.
Rosy-cheeked and with anger glistening in her eyes, she glared back and waved her arm in a dramatic sweep toward the garden. "How dare you speak that way to my cousin?"
She'd unsheathed her claws on the wrong man. "I dare because you are my wife, Caro, and your behavior in this leaves much to be desired. I heard about your little escapade in Bond Street, and now this. Are you so careless of your reputation? Even someone as easy-going as Tisha Audley will not tolerate such conduct."
"Who told you about Bond Street?" Her belligerent tone startled him.
The urge to fold her in his arms and stem her temper with a kiss on her full soft lips roared in his blood. But by God, he'd promised her a marriage in name only, and he would not go back on his word. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. "A friend saw you."
Her eyes narrowed. "What friend?"
Their earlier camaraderie became a distant memory. How dare she question him? He suffered enough of that from his father. Nor would he lie. "Lady Caradin, if you must know."
Caro snorted and swung her arm in a wide semicircle. "What was Lady Caradin doing in Bond Street in the afternoon, answer me that?"
Lucas backed up a step and stared at her. He'd never seen her behave so oddly or her color quite so hectic. "How many glasses of champagne have you drunk?"
She put a steadying hand on the railing. Her voice increased in volume. "What has that got to do with Bond Street?"
Hell and damnation. At any moment, more people might wander out here. He tried to sound calm. "Nothing. I'm sorry, Caro. I was worried about you. I should not have said what I did to your cousin."
She pouted. "Hmph. You shouldn't have your mistress spying on me either."
His mistress? She thought Louisa Caradin was his mistress, and she didn't give a damn? Well, hell.
He kept his voice low. "This is not the time or place for such a discussion. Let us go back inside and enjoy the rest of the evening as if nothing untoward occurred."
"Nothing untoward did occur," she muttered, her eyes suddenly glassy with unshed tears. Her expression filled with a sadness he didn't understand. It was as if he'd crushed something she treasured beneath a careless boot heel. Guilt rocked him, and there was something else, something that hurt deep in his chest. Had she fallen for this fellow she'd met only twice?
He took her hand, relieved when she
didn't pull away. "Then there is no more to be said. Let us continue with our truce as we agreed."
Her full bottom lip pushed out. "You should not have said—"
"You have had more than one glass of champagne, have you not?"
"Yes, I had two." She wrinkled her nose. "Or three. What has that to do with anything?"
If he didn't feel so off balance, he might have laughed. "I think it went to your head. Come, let us go back inside before we are missed."
No Regrets Page 13
