Here in Paris, he seemed so sincere, so changed, so determined to behave the gentleman. If he continued this way, their long-standing friendship would allow them a comfortable existence. Friends and companions for life. The thought settled on her heart like a cold rock.
No matter how charming his smile, how sweet his touch on her skin, he deserved better than a forced marriage to a chubby woman derided by his friends. Even a rake deserved true love.
The room disappeared in a blurry fog. She wished she hadn't hoped for more. It wouldn't hurt so much.
She dashed her hand across her eyes and yanked on the bell pull.
And another thing. She should never have come to Paris with Cedric and François. It had been wonderful meeting her aunt, and she hoped the friends she had made would continue to think kindly of her after she left, but her flight to Paris now seemed utter madness.
Apart from her own feelings, she ought to consider her sisters. A divorce or an annulment would have scandalous repercussions.
The door opened, and François hesitated on the threshold.
She stared. "François." Her stomach plummeted to the floor. She didn't want to talk to him now. Not until she had seen Lucas and given him her decision.
A quizzical smile lit his handsome face as he sauntered into the room. "I understand you are unwell?"
"A headache." It wasn't a lie. Her head started to thump the moment she saw him. She pressed her fingers against her temple. "It is nothing a night's rest will not cure."
He took her hand and kissed it, lingering just a little too long. She resisted the urge to snatch it away. He must have felt her tension because he glanced up and regarded her intently. "Your appearance concerns me. Beautiful as always, but you are far too pale."
"You flatter me. I wish you would not."
"Please, sit down. May I ring for some brandy?"
"No, thank you. I am on my way to bed."
He emanated palpable tension. "I have news."
A premonition shivered down her spine. She wished for a way to hold back his words, but nothing came to mind. "Oh?"
He grinned. "Do not look so afraid. It is good news, ma chére. The Bishop of Bordeaux is a distant relative and has agreed to annul your marriage, provided your husband does not contest the validity of your claim. Your word along with the agreement will suffice."
She had been wrong to show Cedric the agreement. He had insisted it was his duty to inform François, her closest male relative, and between them, they had decided to take a hand in the matter before she had time to think it through. She couldn't entirely blame them. At the time, she'd been furious with Lucas and wanted nothing more than to make an end of the farce.
"Carolyn, is something wrong?"
She stared at the floor, at the toe of her gold satin slipper. She couldn't keep François dangling on a string. It was wrong and cruel. She lifted her gaze to his intent brown eyes. "I have changed my mind. I have decided to return to my husband."
His expression hardened, eyes flattening to the color of dead leaves. "You think he will take you back?"
With his icy tones, a chill blanketed the room. She shivered. "He is here, in Paris. He asked me to go home with him."
Lines deepened around his mouth.
"I am sorry, François. I was wrong to leave for Paris without discussing it with him first."
Red stained his cheeks. Muscles in his jaw worked on words unspoken as his gaze slid away, and he stared over her shoulder. "Ma pauvre petite. You will have to share him with every female who crosses his path."
Even her cousin, who seemed to admire her, agreed she wasn't attractive enough for a man like Lucas. She hid her hurt with a shrug. "We understand each other." Her voice tremored, and she took a deep breath.
"Bah." His hand clenched into a fist. Anger held under tight control swirled in his eyes. "It pains my heart to hear you throw your life away on a man who does not appreciate you."
She'd wounded him. "Please, François, I am sorry."
He slammed his fist into his palm. "I thought . . . I was going to ask you . . ."
Although she understood her aunt's wishes, she had made no promise to François. He had no right to press a married woman. She stood up and paced to the window. The flambeaux at the arched entrances to the mansions along the street pierced the darkness.
Guilt choked her throat. Although she had said nothing to make him believe she had feelings for him, she had lived in his pocket since her arrival here, had relied on him to ease her way into Paris society. In return, she had wounded him—if not his heart, then his pride. Sadly, she understood how he felt only too well and would not compound her crime by lying to him. "François, I like you very well as a cousin. That is all."
He crossed the room to her side. He tipped her chin with a knuckle and gazed into her face, his voice thick with emotion. "He will never deserve you, ma chère."
Hot tears escaped and rolled down her cheek. "Please don't hate me. I don't want to lose you again."
His expression softened. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks. "I cannot hate any member of my adopted family. Without them, where would I be?"
Overcome with relief at his generosity when she had been nothing but foolish, she leaned against his shoulder. "Thank you."
He encircled her in comforting arms.
"Very touching." Lucas's biting words jolted through her.
She pulled away from François.
With an expression bordering on murderous, Lucas glowered at her from the open doorway. "Your aunt said you were ill."
Fire licked at her cheeks. "Lucas. I—"
François stepped forward. "Sir, this is my house. You are interrupting a private conversation."
Caro gasped. He was making things worse. "François, please."
Lucas stiffened, his gaze flicking from Caro to the Chevalier. "Both private and intimate, I see." He narrowed his dark, blazing eyes. "Apparently, on this occasion, I am de trop." He bowed with infinite politeness. "I must beg both of your pardons." He turned and left.
Caro stared at the empty space in the doorway and then whirled on François. A satisfied smirk curved his lips. Something hot and unreasonable buzzed in her head. "You had no right to speak as you did. This is my aunt's house too."
He recoiled. Anger rolled off him in waves before he let out a long ragged breath. "Excuse me, cousin. I did not like his tone. He was not polite."
"No, he was not. But you gave me no chance to explain."
Something flashed in his eyes. Something akin to triumph. But it was gone in a moment, and she decided she must have been mistaken when he gave her a rueful grin. "I'm sorry. Would you like me to go after him and set matters straight?"
Damping down her anger, she gave a terse shake of her head. "I don't think it would help." Slow to ignite, Lucas's temper burned hot and long. Anything said now, especially by François, would only fan the flames. "I will speak to him in the morning."
He nodded. "As you wish. If I cannot be of service, then I will take my leave."
She forced a smile. "I am truly sorry things turned out this way."
His eyes clouded. "As am I. No matter what happens, I hope you will understand I have only your best interests at heart."
She accepted his farewell salutation with a breath of relief.
What she really wanted was a nice warming pan in the middle of her bed to ease her aching back and a cool damp cloth on her forehead.
She would straighten it all out with Lucas tomorrow.
Fifteen
Lizzie frowned at the shadows beneath her mistress's eyes. "How tired you look this morning, my lady."
The wan smile Lizzie received in the mirror gave her a sinking sensation. It wasn't like Caro to be out of sorts.
"Not still feeling poorly, are you?" she asked. "How about a nice cup of tea and a nap? Not that the fancy chef down below would know a good cup of tea if he had it poured over his head."
Caro sigh
ed. "I have to see Lord Foxhaven this morning."
An odd flutter caught at Lizzie's throat when Caro avoided her gaze. There was something going on. Lizzie threaded a blue ribbon through her mistress's fine hair. "Monsooer this, mamselle that, chevron the other, 'tis no wonder you look so peaky. Your father would turn in his grave."
Her ladyship's back stiffened, and Lizzie wished she'd bitten her tongue.
"That's quite enough, Lizzie. These are my mother's family. I know you don't like it here, and quite honestly, I am hoping Lord Foxhaven will take us back to England, but there is no need for rudeness."
A rush of joy filled Lizzie's heart until she thought her stays would burst. Her grin stretched so wide she could swear her ears were waggin'. "We're going home?"
"Perhaps."
"Heaven be praised. I've had enough of these Frogs. Not one of them can understand a word I say, 'cept young 'Enri."
A small smile curved Lady Foxhaven's lips. "Did it never occur to you that you should speak French in France?"
"Lawks, my lady, me, learn that gabble? Not on my best bonnet. So, we're really going back to Norwich?"
"Don't get too hopeful." She heaved a sigh. "Lord Foxhaven was none too pleased to find the Chevalier alone with me last night."
Lizzie stared at her young mistress. "So that's the cause of the megrims this morning." She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "Mark my words, his lordship ain't one to reckon with no rival, I'll bet a pound. Dead jealous, he'd be of that there chevron." She nodded her head. "All gentlemen are like that. Why, I remember a time with young Ned . . ."
A rush of warmth heated Lizzie's cheeks as the rest of the saucy story popped into her head. "Never mind that. You tell him you're ready to go back with him, and he will be as happy as a grig."
Lady Foxhaven turned in her seat, openmouthed. "Jealous? Lucas?" Her laugh crackled like tissue paper.
Lizzie resisted the temptation to rap her stubborn mistress over the knuckles with the silverbacked hairbrush. "Lord love you. What else would it be?"
The shrug Lady Foxhaven gave as a reply seemed unsure. "Whatever it was, it is imperative I speak to him as soon as possible, so please hand me my bonnet and spencer."
* * *
Having sent a lackey to find her aunt's butler, Caro buttered one of the delicious sweet rolls served each morning in the small breakfast room on the second floor. Aunt Honoré never arose much before midday, and Caro quite often broke her fast alone. This morning she felt particularly in need of sustenance—something to fortify her for her coming meeting with Lucas.
Cedric, in his usual somber black, strolled in. "Cousin Carolyn. You arose early today."
She smiled and held out her hand. "I did not expect to see you back so soon. Did you return with the Chevalier?"
"No, indeed. He and I had business in different directions. He has returned, then?"
"Last night." She smiled. "I hope your business prospered?"
A wry grimace twisted his thin lips. "It was satisfactory."
He wandered over to the buffet. "May I pour you a cup of coffee?"
"Yes, please."
The butler entered with a brief knock and a stiff bow. "You wanted me, mademoiselle."
"Yes, Philippe. I would like the carriage brought around at once. I have an errand to run."
The butler's eyebrows rose to crumple his usually bland forehead. "Now, mademoiselle?"
A flicker of anger rose in her breast. "Yes, now." This man treated Lizzie in a very ill manner, Caro gathered from the little Lizzie had let drop about life below stairs.
"I regret, it is not possible, mademoiselle. Madame Valeron never goes out before noon. Nothing is prepared."
"My carriage is at the door," Cedric announced. "I would be honored to take you to your destination."
"As always, you come to my rescue. What would I do without you?" She smiled. "If it is not too much trouble, I need to visit Lord Audley's residence."
Cedric nodded. "I am pleased to be of service." He poured coffee into two cups. "I hear Foxhaven is in Paris staying with Audley," he said over his shoulder.
"Yes," Caro said, aware of her heart's little leap at the sound of Lucas's name.
He handed her a cup and turned to the waiting butler. "That will be all."
"Yes, monsieur." The butler bowed himself out.
She sipped the coffee and made a face. Even with all the sugar and cream Cedric had added, it tasted burnt. She would never get used to the strength of French coffee.
"Is it your plan to return to London, Caro?" Cedric asked.
"I am not sure. At least, I think so. But I must speak with Lucas at once."
"I see. Well, drink your coffee, and then we can leave."
"I'm not sure I want it."
"Nonsense. I insist you drink it before we leave. It will put heart into you."
* * *
"Toot sweet," the stuck-up French butler said and snapped his fingers.
"What does the old goat want now?" Lizzie grumbled at Henri, the under-footman perched on a stool in the corner while he hunched over his daily task of cleaning the silver. The fair-haired, tall, young man was the only servant in the household who admitted to speaking English, and even he had trouble understanding her.
"Goat?"
"Philippe. The mater dee."
Henri huffed on the coffeepot clenched between his knees and gave it a hard rub. "He says the Chevalier demands your presence immediately."
"Demands?"
"He said demands, immediately."
After shooting him a sharp glance, Lizzie sniffed. Henri had a wicked sense of humor underneath a humble demeanor, but he never lied.
She rose to her feet and flicked her skirts straight. "Demands, does he? We'll see about demands when I'm having my first cup of tea of the morning." She followed the stiff-backed butler out of the kitchen.
The Chevalier met her in the entrance hall. "Ah, the good Lizzie, is it not?"
Lizzie bobbed a curtsey. "Yes, sir."
"Mademoiselle Torrington is leaving for London, and she asks you to pack her things."
They were going home. Her spirits soared. "Right away, Chevron Valeron."
"Bon. Philippe, send a footman up for mademoiselle's trunks in half an hour." He turned his gaze on Lizzie. "You will have them ready by then?"
His cold-eyed stare sent a shiver down her spine. Something about him always made her nervous. "Not a minute longer, your honor."
"Tiens, it is good. In one half hour, I shall return with the carriage."
Lizzie rubbed her hands together and whisked up the stairs. It was the best news she'd heard in weeks.
Before the half hour was up, Henri appeared to carry down the trunk, his mouth turned down in his pale, fine-boned face. "You leave us, Mademoiselle Lizzie?"
She swept a glance around the room. Nothing left behind. She nodded. "We're going 'ome, young 'Enri. 'Ome to civilization."
"I will miss you."
The wistful note in his voice dampened her joy. An orphaned noble without proof of his birth or any relatives to speak for him, he'd formed an alliance with her against the formidable butler these past few weeks.
She softened her tone. "Ah, love, you'll do fine. You'll get a position worthy of you one day."
He straightened his thin shoulders. "You are right. I do not lose hope." He hefted the trunk and staggered off.
With a light heart, Lizzie picked up the remaining portmanteau, closed the door behind her with a snap, and followed him down the stairs and out the front door.
Beside the shiny black carriage hitched to four impatient brown horses, the Chevalier watched the loading. He stepped between her and the carriage. "But no, Lizzie. You misunderstand. You are not going."
Her heart picked up speed. "Of course I am going."
"Mais non. There is not enough room."
Anger and fear churned in her belly. She understood the word non, right enough. "Now you listen here, Chevron Charmin'
, I go where my lady goes and no mistake about that."
He smiled, all nice and friendly like to a babe. "Just go inside, and I will explain."
She shook her head. "Explain it out here."
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