Desiring Lady Caro (5 page)

Horatia straightened and gave his hand a pat. “It’s too soon to make any permanent decisions.”

Church bells struck the hour. Huntley wished she was coming with them. “We must go.”

“Yes, dear, send me letters to the hotel in Nancy with your progress, and I shall do the same. Though I expect I’ll arrive before you.”

Caro entered wearing a dark blue traveling cloak and a hat that covered her fair curls. She held out her hands. “Godmamma.”

Horatia went to her. “How many times have I told you to call me Horatia?” She dabbed Caro’s eyes with her lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Silly child. We shall all be fine. Think of this as an adventure.”

Caro nodded several times as she blinked back her tears and hugged Horatia. “I’ll try.”

Horatia patted her cheek. “Trust Huntley, my love. He won’t hurt you.”

He stopped a frown. Not just a bad experience then. Someone had hurt Caro before, but what had happened?

A tall, thin woman who he could only guess was Caro’s dresser, Nugent, stood in the door. “Come, my lady. We need to be off.”

Horatia and Caro gave each other one last embrace before Caro turned to leave.

Huntley closed his arms around Horatia. His throat was tighter than he’d wished. “We’ll see you in Nancy.”

“Godspeed.”

“To you as well.” Huntley strode quickly out of the room and down the corridor to the stairs leading to the gondola dock.

La Valle had sent servants to act as lookouts in the event the house was being watched. So far, they’d seen nothing out of the ordinary. Still, rather than riding in the small cabin called a
felze
, where a lady would normally sit, Caro and her maid sat on the wood benches.

Because sound carries on the water, and none of them wanted their English voices to be heard, the trip to the coach waiting on the mainland was quiet. Caro kept the hood of her cloak up to disguise herself even more as the boat sailed through the canals to the dock, where Huntley’s coach stood waiting on what the Venetians called
terraferma
.

Once they arrived, Horatia’s groom, Dalle, grinned as he lifted a large basket from the seat next to him. “Provisions. Her ladyship thought we might need them.”

Huntley smiled. His aunt really did know how to keep men fed. “We might indeed.”

He glanced around and grimly wondered how long it would be before they were pursued. Di Venier was not the type of man to allow Caro to easily slip through his fingers.

Dalle took a place on the box next to the coachman, Raphael, and the horses were put to, leaving Venice and, he hoped, the marchese behind.

Huntley gazed out as they sped along the road toward Padua. Trees rose like specters against the inky night sky. Fields and the occasional house were depicted in varying shades of black. The last time he’d come this way it had been light.

His little coterie were all so still, so quiet. Almost as if they were afraid to make a noise.

Finally Caro broke the silence. “I know the inn where we’ll spend the night. The couple who own it are very good people.”

His stomach gave a loud grumble.

“After all, you ate earlier.” Caro chuckled. “How can you be hungry?”

He shrugged. “Will they feed us, do you suppose?”

The coach lantern limned her face as she smiled. “We’ll have to see what arrangements your valet made.”

“I might have done a better job,” he said ruefully, “to ask you to accompany my valet. Maufe’s Italian is good but not colloquial.”

“Yet he has such presence, it may not matter.”

The banter seemed to lighten her mood. Maybe this would work in his favor after all. Huntley grinned. “Indeed, he does have that. Maufe should be in service to a duke.”

“Well, the heir to a marquisate is not far off.”

“Don’t”—he gave a mock gasp of horror—“let a duke hear you say that.”

Finally she laughed. “Oh dear. I suppose you are right.”

Four hours later, they arrived at the inn to find the landlord and his wife waiting for them. Huntley followed Lady Caroline Martindale up the narrow stairs of the inn. Unable to resist, he struggled to keep a smile off his face as he enjoyed the view of her lush derrière and reflected on how nicely it would fit in his hands.

She glanced back over her shoulder and glared. He widened his eyes, giving her the most innocent look he possessed. The stairs were narrow and steep. She stopped, causing him to almost, but not quite, make contact with the object in question. So close.

Caro closed her eyes briefly, clenching her jaw. “My lord, perhaps I should follow
you
up the stairs.”

He started to bow, then realized that if he did, he’d be so close his lips could brush against her bottom. She must have had the same thought as she hastily backed against the wall, thus removing the tempting sight.

He stifled a sigh and climbed past her. “Thank you, my lady.”

She inclined her head stiffly. “My lord.”

 

Caro wondered what, if anything, Huntley had been up to on the stairs. She gave herself a little shake. It was probably only her imagination. He’d been nice to her, but nothing more. She had to keep in mind he was just as trapped as she. Neither of them wanted marriage.

Caro’s chamber was already warm, and a pitcher of hot water sat by a basin containing a few sprigs of lavender. She glanced around again. There was a homely feel to the room, but she was unable to put her finger on anything specific.

She raised a brow and glanced at Nugent. “Quite comfortable.”

“Yes, my lady. Mr. Maufe has done an excellent job. You’d think we were staying here more than just a night. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

She poured water into the basin and waited with a linen towel until Caro had refreshed herself.

“Mr. Maufe had your gown for this evening out and ready as well. Very good of him, it was, to have done all this. I won’t at all mind following in his wake.”

“No indeed.” Caro changed for dinner into a gray silk evening gown with long fitted sleeves and point lace at the bodice. Taking the Norwich shawl from her dresser, she wrapped it around her shoulders. “I won’t be late. I’m quite sure we will want to leave as early in the morning as possible.”

When she entered the private parlor, Huntley was standing hunched over a table upon which a large map was anchored down on the corners by glasses and bottles.

He straightened. “Good evening. Do you want to take a look at this?”

“Yes, I would. Thank you.” At least he was making a show of involving her. Yet Caro wondered how much he would actually take her opinions into consideration.

He placed a long, tanned finger on Verona. “I’ve been informed I can hire a good horse at the posting house on the main road to Milan, not far from the town center. We’ve been assuming di Venier won’t know we’ve gone for another day or so.” He glanced at her, lines bracketing his mouth. “We’d be less than clever if we depended on it. I’d like to travel as quickly as we are able.”

Caro nodded tightly. Why the marchese would follow after having been told she was betrothed, she didn’t know. Unfortunately, she’d never been good at judging the male of the species. “May I suggest you allow my coachman to make the arrangements, thus there will be no trace of an Englishman hiring a horse to go north?”

“That’s a good idea. If possible, I’d like to make Verona tomorrow evening.” He considered her for a moment. “It will be a long day.”

That far. She needn’t have worried that he would travel slowly. “It will be a hard day, at least nine or ten hours in the coach.”

His gaze was steady on her face, as if he expected an argument. “We’ll stop only to change the horses.”

The faster the better.
“Very well. Let’s do it.”

A knock sounded on the door.

“We should keep this among ourselves,” he said. “Let the innkeeper, his wife, and their servants think we’re going to Lake Garda as Maufe told them.”

Of course, they owed it to the innkeeper to not put him and his family in a position of trying to protect her little group from any of the duke’s men. She glanced at Huntley. He really was thinking of everything. “You’re right. If we’re followed early, they can’t reveal what they don’t know.”

The knock came again as Huntley rolled up the map. “Pinch your cheeks and lips.”

Caro’s jaw dropped and she quickly shut it. “Whatever for?”

“We’re supposed to be betrothed.” Smiling slowly, a twinkle entered his eyes. “And we are taking a long time answering the door.”

Heat infused her face, but she did as he asked while he strode to the door and opened it.

“Ah, milord.” The innkeeper glanced at her with an interested stare.

Oh my. Huntley was right.
Her neck and face grew hot.

Once the table was set, the dishes placed on small side tables, and the wine poured, the innkeeper and his son left.

Huntley held her chair. After taking his own seat, he inspected the offerings with his quizzing glass. “This appears to be risotto with mushrooms. Would you like to try it?”

She picked up the glass of wine and took a sip. “Yes, thank you. It is one of my favorites.”

For a few minutes, they ate in companionable silence as she searched for something to say. “It’s a good thing Godmamma thought to provide us with food and drink for to-morrow.”

Huntley glanced up from his plate. “Yes, and that her baggage carriage isn’t marked in any way.”

This was not working. Why was she even trying to talk to him? She huffed. “I suppose we can go through a list of the obvious, looking for conversation, but I’m really rather tired.”

“Don’t feel as if you must talk. Let’s finish our dinner and retire. I’d like to start by six in the morning, if you agree.”

What a relief. She was in no mood to entertain a gentleman. “Very well. Have you ordered breakfast?”

He took a large sip of wine. “No. I wanted to consult with you first.”

His expression was uninformative, and, not for the first time, she didn’t know quite what to make of him. “Thank you. I’ll order it.”

He dabbed his mouth with the serviette. “Or you can leave it to Maufe. He’ll be on the road at least an hour before we are.”

Caro placed her knife and fork on the plate to indicate she was finished eating. “He’s very capable. Nugent is impressed.”

“I’ll tell him you said so. Shall we finish our wine and seek our chambers?”

Huntley escorted Caro to her room. When she would have opened the door, he took her hand. He’d never done that before. She looked at their fingers and couldn’t decide whether to pull back or not. In the end, she left her hand in his much larger one.

“You did well to-night with the innkeeper.” He grinned. “The next time you won’t have to pinch your cheeks. You blush charmingly.”

Caro bit her lip and felt the warmth rise in her face. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“Something like that. You did well.”

“Then I suppose I should thank you, my lord.”

He bowed. “My lady, sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He left her, walked to his chamber down the corridor, and waited until she entered her room. Caro closed the door and leaned against it, frowning.

She would have stayed where she was, but Nugent hustled her to the dressing table and took her hair down to comb it. “I’ve had a nice cup of herb tea made for you. Drink it before you go to sleep. We’ve an early morning ahead of us.”

“Lord Huntley and I agreed to a six o’clock start.”

“So I’ve been told. Up you go.”

Caro stood while her maid unfastened her gown and stays. She had her arms through her nightgown and stopped. “When were you told?”

Her maid pulled the soft muslin down. “Before I went to dinner. Mr. Maufe didn’t want to discuss our arrangements in front of the innkeeper.”

Caro’s jaw dropped then snapped shut again.
That—that sneak
. He’d already made all the arrangements before he spoke to her. He hadn’t listened to her at all. It was pure fortune that made her agree to six o’clock. He had already made the arrangements. Well, he’d soon learn she was not to be trifled with. “Please send a message to his lordship that I would like to leave at six thirty.”

Nugent put Caro in bed and made her drink the tisane. “If you want to tell him that, you may dress yourself and walk to his bedchamber. I’ll not be a part of such foolishness.”

“Are you disobeying my order?” Caro asked in an imperious tone.

“I don’t know what’s got into you.” Nugent snorted. “I’ve never known you to be pettish, and I don’t mean to let you start now.”

“I’m not in the schoolroom any more.”

“Then don’t act like it.” Taking the cup, Nugent pulled the bed-hangings closed. “Of all people, you should know how important it is to leave early.”

“You’re right.” Caro sighed. “I don’t know why I’m acting this way either.”

Nugent huffed. “Go to sleep now, my little lady. You’ve a long day come morning.”

“Good night, Nugent.” Caro pushed her pillow around. She had every intention of confronting Lord Huntley over his high-handed behavior. She would not be bullied or have her opinion ignored.

A
summons from his grandfather awaited Antonio, Marchese di Venier, when he arrived home. A few minutes later, when he entered his grandfather’s salon, Nonno stood staring out over the lagoon. Past eighty years old and shrunken in the manner of an old man, he appeared frail, yet he still wielded enormous power in Venice and beyond.

Kneeling, Antonio took the old man’s hand and kissed it. He hoped his grandfather was successful in arranging his marriage to Lady Caroline. He’d wanted her ever since he’d first seen her. She was so different from any other lady of his acquaintance, so reserved, so beautiful. A treasure that should, by right, belong to him. Just like this house, which would one day be his, along with his grandfather’s wealth. In his haste to add Lady Caroline to his collection, he’d gone about it the wrong way, but his grandfather would have smoothed everything over.

She would be his wife, and he would be the envy of every gentleman in Venice. No one refused the powerful Duca di Venier. His grandfather remained silent for a few minutes. Finally Antonio could wait no longer. “You sent for me, Nonno?”

A frown formed on his grandfather’s normally calm face. “Antonio, I have bad news. Lady Horatia informed me that Lady Caroline is to marry the Earl of Huntley. According to Lady Horatia, they have had an understanding for quite a while. However, Lord Huntley has only recently proposed.”

Antonio stared at his grandfather for a moment, unable to believe what he’d said. How could that be? He’d been refused? Antonio clenched his fists and tried not to growl. “It is impossible. There is nothing in his actions toward her to show he has claimed her. He does not even stay by her side or dance with her. I refuse to believe it.”

The
duca
raised a brow. “Would you have had me call Lady Horatia a liar?”

Antonio snorted. “I shall see for myself. I will go to the
palazzo
to-morrow. Lady Caroline will listen to me. This Huntley, he shall not have her.”

His grandfather smiled slowly, his old eyes flickering with excitement. “A di Venier takes what he wants. She would provide a welcome connection to a wealthy and powerful English family, as well as an elegant wife for you. As she is only betrothed, I see no problem in you
convincing
her to have you for a husband rather than the Englishman. I am sure Lady Caroline would appreciate the opportunity to become a duchess and acquire a more robust lover. The English gentlemen do not have the reputations that we Venetians have.”

“I shall approach her to-morrow.” Antonio bowed. “
Con permesso, Nonno?
”

His grandfather waived a hand in dismissal.

Rising early the next morning, Antonio fussed over his dress, wanting it to be perfect for his interview with Lady Caroline. He wore a dark blue jacket with bright gold buttons, breeches that matched his jacket, and the orders he received upon his birth and his father’s death, so that his future wife would understand how powerful he was.

Small feet pattered down the corridor and stopped outside his door. Antonio smiled and hid against the wall as a small boy peeked inside. “Papa?”

He swooped his son up in his arms and turned him upside down.

“
Papa!
” Geno shrieked, laughing.

Antonio turned his son right side up and planted a kiss on his dark curly hair. “What have you been doing this morning? Where is your tutor?”

His son clasped his hands behind Antonio’s neck. “One of the servants said you were awake, and I wanted to see you.” Geno focused on Antonio’s neckcloth. “You’re going somewhere. You’re not leaving me, are you?”

If only the child’s mother had been as faithful. He breathed in the sweet, milky scent of his son. “No, Geno. I would never leave you. I am going to bring you a new mother. One who will never go away.”

After playing with his son and breaking his fast, Antonio waited until the tall gilded clock against the wall struck nine. He wished he could go earlier, but under the circumstances, he dare not anger Lady Caroline by arriving too early. By the time he departed, he’d gone over all the reasons she should marry him rather than Lord Huntley, chief of which was the power his family wielded, despite the Austrians, and her opportunity to become a duchess. Calling for his gondola, he descended to the dock.

As he traveled from the lagoon and up the Grand Canal, he was convinced he would be met with acceptance on her part. He’d rather have her come to him willingly, but if she didn’t, there was always the abduction he had ready to set in motion. One way or the other, she would be his.

When Antonio presented himself at Lady Horatia’s
palazzo
and asked to speak to Lady Caroline, he was ushered into her godmother’s drawing room.

Lady Horatia smiled graciously and curtseyed. “Good morning, my lord.”

As he thought, her ladyship was happy to see him. She would be pleased that he was not giving up so easily. He bowed. “Good morning, my lady.”

“Please.” She motioned him to join her at the table on the balcony.

He took a seat and waited impatiently for the formalities to be over.

Lady Horatia lifted a pot. “Coffee, my lord?”

“Thank you, my lady.” After she’d set the cup before him, he picked up the tongs and placed two lumps of sugar in the dark, fragrant brew, and forced himself to take a sip. It was time and more to turn to the subject of marriage. He did not wish to wait longer. “My lady, I wish to have a private speech with Lady Caroline.”

Lady Horatia’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “I’m terribly sorry, my lord,” she said in stricken accents. “Lady Caroline is on her way to Lake Garda with Lord Huntley.”

Antonio’s fists clenched. He took a deep breath and forced his hands to relax. It was most important to remain calm. The watchers he had placed on the house last night and early this morning had only seen two male servants leave and return. “And when was this, my lady? I did not know she planned to leave Venice.”

Lady Horatia took a sip of her coffee. “We had been awaiting my nephew’s arrival and had no opportunity to visit my villa this summer. Of course, with the weather being so much cooler, it was not a hardship to remain in Venice, but Lord Huntley wished to see the lake. He and Lady Caroline decided to travel ahead of me. I shall leave to-morrow to join them.”

Suppressed anger infused him. It was a lie, he knew it. “But why is she traveling with him? They are not yet married.”

“Oh, but, my lord”—her ladyship made an airy gesture with her hand—“they are betrothed, and she has her maid with her.”

The woman was so calm, he almost believed her. But, no, even
Englishmen
had some passion in them, and Huntley hadn’t even danced with Lady Caroline. Aside from warning Antonio off Lady Caro, Huntley had given no sign he was interested in her. For them to be betrothed . . . it was not possible. Unless it was arranged, but the English, Antonio had been told, favored love matches.

He was wasting his time here. He would find Lady Caroline and take her from Lord Huntley. He stood and bowed. “Thank you, my lady. I shall take my leave now.”

After descending the stairs to the dock, he strode to his gondola. “
Rapidamente!
We must return home.”

As his boat eased into the other traffic, his blood coursed faster through his veins. A hunt. It had been a long time since he’d had a worthy quarry.

He jumped onto the dock before the gondola was secured and called for his
maggiordomo
. “Send a message to the stables. I want ten men, horses, and a traveling coach readied immediately.”

Lord Huntley and Lady Caroline could not be that far, and, with the coach empty, Antonio could travel much faster than Lord Huntley. Not to mention, they were not expecting him to follow them. Yet wherever they were, he would find them and bring her back. If Huntley disagreed, well, he could go the way of others who had tried to deny Antonio.

He hoped the Englishman would fight. Antonio was an excellent swordsman and “crack shot,” as the English would say. He’d like to stick his sword in Huntley and watch the life ebb out of him. Besides, who would care what happened to him any way? The lady would be happy to have Antonio, and, if she wasn’t, there were ways to persuade her. His grandfather’s priest would marry him and Lady Caroline as soon as they returned to Venice. By then, she would be in no position to refuse.

 

Huntley awoke betimes and went over the plans for the day again with his valet.

Maufe shook his head. “I don’t like it, my lord. I’ll be too far ahead of you. What would you do if something were to occur?”

“I have done for myself before, you know.”

Maufe pursed his lips. A sure sign he was digging in his heels.

“I am well aware that, on occasion, you’ve looked after yourself.” He sniffed. “I shall not comment as to the state of your wardrobe when you returned. I shall say only that it is not fair to Lady Caroline. I’m quite sure she is not accustomed to your rough-and-ready mode of travel. And what if you—”

This would get them nowhere, and Maufe did have a point about Caro. Huntley shook his head. “Very well. Meet us in Verona.”

His valet bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”

Huntley was in the parlor discussing breakfast when Caro entered, dressed in a very fetching, pale lemon twill carriage gown. Even though her lips were pressed into a thin line, she took his breath away.

In his rush to stand and greet her, he almost tipped over the chair. “Good morning. You’re looking well to-day.”

She inclined her head frostily. If she were any colder, icicles would drip from her lips. “Good morning, my lord.”

What the hell had he done now? Why was it men were always the last to know?

Caro went to the sideboard to make her selection from the meats, cheeses, breads, and fruit, before taking a seat and relieving him of his ignorance.

“I discovered from my maid that before we spoke last evening, you’d already given orders we were to leave at six o’clock.” Caro’s hand shook, apparently with anger, as she took the tea-pot, then set it back down. “What would you have done had I disagreed?”

So that was it. He should have realized she’d find out. He picked up the pot and poured her a cup. “I would have tried to talk you around to my way of thinking, and if that didn’t work, I’d have tried to come to an agreement with you.”

Caro glanced down at the cup and added milk and sugar; when she looked up again, the lines around her mouth had softened. “Thank you for not lying to me.”

His brows shot up.
Lie?
“What reason would I have to lie to you?”

She took so much time spreading cheese on a piece of bread, he was uncertain if she would answer him.

Still attending to her bread, she replied, “In my experience, men lie.”

For at least the tenth time since they’d started on this journey, Huntley wished he knew what had happened to her. The only thing he was sure of was that a man was involved. She was two and twenty, and she’d been with his aunt for five years. She must have been just out when it happened.

“You’re welcome. I should’ve told you last night. But when you agreed with me, I didn’t think it necessary.” He peeled a boiled egg. “If you wish to leave later, I am happy to accommodate you. Though I would like to be as far away from Venice as possible when di Venier discovers we’ve gone.”

She nodded tightly. “No, we shall leave as soon as we may.”

Willing himself to remain in his seat and not go to her, he pretended not to notice how pale she’d become when he mentioned the marchese, and went back to the egg. “As soon as I finish this, I’ll ensure the coach is ready.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, he walked out to the inn’s yard to see the bags being strapped on to the coach. “Is that all of it?”

Caro’s groom, Dalle, an older, wiry man, pulled a strap. “That’s everythin’ going on the outside. Miss Nugent has her ladyship’s jewel box and another bag.”

“Very well, as soon as Lady Caro is ready, we’ll leave.”

Dalle closed one eye and stared at him. “Suits me jus’ fine. Sooner we get her away from here the better.”

Huntley nodded and turned back to the inn, then stopped. “What was your mistress like before she left England?”

The groom rubbed his chin, clearly thinking over how much about Caro he should tell Huntley. “Full of fun and gig she was.” The groom gave him a hard stare. “Wouldn’t like to see her hurt again. If you know what I mean.”

Huntley felt like grinding his teeth. He wished to hell he did know. “Then let’s get her out of here before anyone catches up with us.”

He’d not long to wait before Caro and her maid came down the stairs.

Nugent curtseyed. “My lord. We’re ready to go.”

Dalle came around to help Nugent into the coach and put the two bags she carried under the seat. Huntley handed Caro in. He climbed up after she’d settled her skirts. As soon as the door was closed, the coach lurched to a start, and the coachman kept the team well up to their bits.

 

Huntley lounged on the seat, with his back to the front, and watched Caro while she slept. She seemed so peaceful in repose, like an angel. His heart ached for her and maybe for himself as well. What a fix to be in, having to leave her home in the company of a man she could barely tolerate. Never mind the marchese, Huntley didn’t want to consider what would happen if they ran in to anyone they knew.

Nugent sat upright, holding what he assumed to be the jewel box. Occasionally her eyes closed and she jerked awake again. She’d have made a decent picket.

Two days later, Caro peeped out from beneath her lashes and found the source of the warmth that had awoken her. Huntley’s steady gaze was on her. His eyes changed from green to blue. Today, they were bluer. She wondered what the different colors meant. He’d deflected her anger quite easily yesterday morning, and had quelled her angst about all the problems they’d had yesterday with the horses and baggage coach, which surprised her. Most men wouldn’t have bothered explaining themselves to a mere woman. At least in her experience, most gentlemen wouldn’t find it necessary. Unfortunately they had still not made Verona.