obvious attempt at a jest. "Wouldn't that set the old biddies' tongues wagging? Truth to tell, it never entered my mind that my father would ask her to take a hand in your introduction."
"Well, I for one find it a kindness." She made a small gesture of appeal with her hand. "I'm sorry—I will not let it happen again, but I cannot be so rude as to cry off now."
Bloody hell. This arrangement of his was fast turning into a nightmare of surprises. He certainly didn't need someone to serve as his conscience with regard to his father. Nor did he appreciate the distress in her expression or the hope in her gaze.
"Dash it. Yes, I'll go. In future, don't accept any invitations without speaking to me first." The watery smile that greeted his capitulation eased the tension in his neck.
"Thank you," she said. "I am sorry I made a mess of it. I'm sure I will do better next time."
Now her gratitude had him feeling like an ogre. "No harm done, I am sure."
"Your aunt promised to introduce me to all the hostesses and arrange for vouchers for Almack's. I thought it was a good idea. Is that something you prefer to do?"
The black pit of matrimony yawned at his feet. A sudden gleam of mischief danced in her eyes. Was she playing some sort of game for control? He'd beaten a far better player than she would ever be.
"No. I can't get you vouchers." He grimaced. "To be honest, I would just as soon not set foot in the place. They serve nothing but tea, and the men are required to wear knee-breeches."
Unexplainable disappointment filled him as the light faded from her face.
"Then I will accept your aunt's offer of assistance." She rose and strolled to the window, her hip-skimming skirts swaying to each step. A low pulse thrummed in his blood. Had he lost his reason along with his bachelorhood? No one could mistake Caro for anything but a vicar's daughter in her old-fashioned round gown and plainly dressed hair. The spiteful ladies of the ton would tear her to shreds if she went about looking dowdy.
"I assume Madame Charis will have something ready for you to wear to the theater on Friday?" he asked.
"If not, I'll wear the gown I wore to leave home."
"Lord, no." The words were out of his mouth before they hit his brain.
She swung around to face him, twin spots of color on her cheekbones. "My father loved that gown."
Her spark of anger always caught him by surprise. Like a skittish mare, she balked at trifles. He put up a pacifying hand. "I liked your gown, Caro, but it is not fashionable enough."
Her expression eased. "I know."
"And you really should hire a proper lady's maid to do something with your hair."
"I don't need a lady's maid. I have Lizzie."
His patience slipped from his grasp. "Do you want people to laugh at you behind your back?"
She winced and pressed her lips firmly together. He wished she'd just speak her mind. This was all so new to her, and she had no one else to advise her. Lord knew he was hardly the best candidate for the job. "Caro, if you want to be accepted by polite society, you have to look up to snuff."
A gentle sigh relaxed her shoulders. "You are right, of course, but I will do nothing to hurt Lizzie's feelings."
Caro was a tiger when it came to loyalty to those she considered her friends.
The weak spring sun cast elongated diamond pat terns on Stockbridge's gleaming oak desk. The famil iar friendly scent of Father's study, beeswax, leather, and old cigars filled Lucas's nose.
"Someone left the gate open between the stallion and the mares this afternoon," his father said in unusually grim accents with his dark eyes locked on Lucas's face. "I lost ten years of careful breeding in an afternoon."
At Lucas's side, Caro seemed to shrink into her riding habit. Lucas's father always had that effect on her.
"That's awful, Father." The stud had cost a for
"Well, I for one find it a kindness." She made a small gesture of appeal with her hand. "I'm sorry—I will not let it happen again, but I cannot be so rude as to cry off now."
Bloody hell. This arrangement of his was fast turning into a nightmare of surprises. He certainly didn't need someone to serve as his conscience with regard to his father. Nor did he appreciate the distress in her expression or the hope in her gaze.
"Dash it. Yes, I'll go. In future, don't accept any invitations without speaking to me first." The watery smile that greeted his capitulation eased the tension in his neck.
"Thank you," she said. "I am sorry I made a mess of it. I'm sure I will do better next time."
Now her gratitude had him feeling like an ogre. "No harm done, I am sure."
"Your aunt promised to introduce me to all the hostesses and arrange for vouchers for Almack's. I thought it was a good idea. Is that something you prefer to do?"
The black pit of matrimony yawned at his feet. A sudden gleam of mischief danced in her eyes. Was she playing some sort of game for control? He'd beaten a far better player than she would ever be.
"No. I can't get you vouchers." He grimaced. "To be honest, I would just as soon not set foot in the place. They serve nothing but tea, and the men are required to wear knee-breeches."
Unexplainable disappointment filled him as the light faded from her face.
"Then I will accept your aunt's offer of assistance." She rose and strolled to the window, her hip-skimming skirts swaying to each step. A low pulse thrummed in his blood. Had he lost his reason along with his bachelorhood? No one could mistake Caro for anything but a vicar's daughter in her old-fashioned round gown and plainly dressed hair. The spiteful ladies of the ton would tear her to shreds if she went about looking dowdy.
"I assume Madame Charis will have something ready for you to wear to the theater on Friday?" he asked.
"If not, I'll wear the gown I wore to leave home."
"Lord, no." The words were out of his mouth before they hit his brain.
She swung around to face him, twin spots of color on her cheekbones. "My father loved that gown."
Her spark of anger always caught him by surprise. Like a skittish mare, she balked at trifles. He put up a pacifying hand. "I liked your gown, Caro, but it is not fashionable enough."
Her expression eased. "I know."
"And you really should hire a proper lady's maid to do something with your hair."
"I don't need a lady's maid. I have Lizzie."
His patience slipped from his grasp. "Do you want people to laugh at you behind your back?"
She winced and pressed her lips firmly together. He wished she'd just speak her mind. This was all so new to her, and she had no one else to advise her. Lord knew he was hardly the best candidate for the job. "Caro, if you want to be accepted by polite society, you have to look up to snuff."
A gentle sigh relaxed her shoulders. "You are right, of course, but I will do nothing to hurt Lizzie's feelings."
Caro was a tiger when it came to loyalty to those she considered her friends.
The weak spring sun cast elongated diamond pat terns on Stockbridge's gleaming oak desk. The famil iar friendly scent of Father's study, beeswax, leather, and old cigars filled Lucas's nose.
"Someone left the gate open between the stallion and the mares this afternoon," his father said in unusually grim accents with his dark eyes locked on Lucas's face. "I lost ten years of careful breeding in an afternoon."
At Lucas's side, Caro seemed to shrink into her riding habit. Lucas's father always had that effect on her.
"That's awful, Father." The stud had cost a for
Similar Books
