The Seduction of Lord Stone (2 page)

“What about you, Caro?” Helena asked. “This gray day has us stripping our souls bare. We’ve started telling the truth. We may as well continue. What frightens you?”

Gathering her dark, confused thoughts, Caroline stared blindly into the fire. Pictures from the barren past filled her mind. Her austere girlhood, the only child of elderly parents with rigid ideas of behavior. Her seventeen-year-old self marrying stodgy, tongue-tied Freddie Beaumont with not a shred of romance to brighten the occasion. Ten dreary years as a farming baronet’s wife in wet, windy Lincolnshire, with no company but the equally dreary neighbors and a prize dairy herd. This last uneventful year in London as she waited out her period of mourning for a man who had left little impression on her, however much she might pity his untimely death.

“Caro?” Fenella prompted gently. “Helena’s right. If we can’t be candid with one another, who can we be candid with?”

Caroline swallowed to shift the boulder of emotion jamming her throat. Guilt at not grieving for Freddie as a wife should. Lifelong dissatisfaction. A burning need to forge her own path. She loathed the restrictions of mourning. To use Helena’s terminology, she’d kicked against convention like a half-broken horse in a narrow stall.

But her festering restlessness had a deeper cause. She was no different to Fenella and Helena. She too was terrified. And the admission nearly choked her.

She straightened until her back was stiff as a ruler, the way she’d been trained to sit as a girl groomed to marry her father’s wealthy godson Frederick Beaumont. “I dread that what’s to come will be as dull as what’s past. I dread that I’ll die without ever having lived.” She met her friends’ eyes. “And I have a raging hunger for life.”

“Oh, Caro.” Fenella placed one arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “It’s not too late.”

“We all deserve some excitement,” she said huskily, finding comfort in Fen’s hug. “I feel like I’ve been locked away in the dark all my life. I’ve spent twenty-eight years waiting. I’ve never had a chance to laugh and dance and carry on romantic intrigues.”

“What’s stopping you now?” Helena asked. “You’re beautiful and rich and ripe for adventure.”

As her fretfulness drained away, Caroline dredged up a smile for her friend. Then the smile widened as she considered what Helena had said. Truly what was stopping her now? Nothing but cowardice. The fear of the unknown, even if what she’d known had made her feel buried alive.

Well, no longer. Her parents had gone. Freddie had gone. She remained, and it was up to her to seize her liberty with both hands. If she didn’t, the only person she’d have to blame was herself.

She sucked in another breath, and for the first time in over a decade felt her lungs expand without restriction. On a sudden, intoxicating surge of hope, she rose from the spindly chair. “I’m definitely rich and ripe for adventure.”

“Once you’re out of mourning, you’ll be the most dashing widow in London,” Fenella said.

“I shall indeed.”

Fenella smiled at her. “When you set your mind to something, you make sure you achieve it. I so admire your strength.”

“My father called it blind stubbornness,” she admitted. “He tried to beat it out of me, but he never did.”

“Thank goodness,” Helena said. “You wouldn’t be nearly so interesting if you just accepted your fate. In fact, you’d still be wiping the mud off your shoes in Lincolnshire.”

“I am determined to make a new life, one where the decisions are mine.” Caroline shifted until she could see both women. “In fact, why don’t we all leave our old, sad days behind? Why don’t we all become dashing widows?”

Helena’s dark eyes flared with excitement. Predictably Fenella looked less enamored with the idea. “I can see you both dazzling the ton. I’m not like that.”

Refusing to let Fen shrink back into her seclusion, Caroline caught her hands and hauled her to her feet. “You’re the prettiest girl I know, Fenella Deerham. You’ll dazzle the ton purely by turning up.”

“I’m not sure,” Fenella murmured.

Less impetuously, Helena stood and crossed the room to join them. “Don’t you want to dance the night away and drink champagne and flirt with handsome gentlemen?”

Fenella still resisted the rising mood. “I don’t want to marry again.”

Caroline laughed, caught up in the idea of breaking free of stifling limitations. “Dashing widows don’t have to marry. They’ve done their duty. Dashing widows have fun.”

A reluctant smile tugged at Fenella’s lips. “I can’t remember the last time I had fun.”

“There you are, then,” Helena said. “We’ll all be dashing widows.”

With a giddy laugh, Caroline stepped across to ring for a servant. “We’ll be the most dashing widows the ton has ever seen.”

“Count me in,” Helena said, and for once her expression held no trace of irony.

“Fen, you can’t turn the terrible trio into a desperate duo,” Caroline urged.

Fenella still looked unconvinced. “It’s so long since I was out in society.”

“I’ve never been out in society. My father wouldn’t pay for a season when the match with Freddie was already arranged,” Caroline said. “Helena will have to be our guide.”

Helena’s lips twitched. “Heaven help us, then.” Earnestness deepened her voice. “Come and join us, Fen. We’re not asking you to run a steeplechase in your petticoat. We’re just inviting you to chance a step out of your safe little cave. You commit to nothing more than wearing colors and attending a party or two.”

Something new sparked in Fenella’s eyes, banishing her customary melancholy. She raised her chin with un-Fenella-like brio. “Very well. I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful,” Helena said, hugging her with un-Helena-like exuberance.

The butler entered the room. Caroline greeted him with a smile and caught his surprise at the festive atmosphere. Another signal, should she need one, that it was time she crawled out of her slough of self-pity and made plans for her independence.

“Hunter, champagne.”

“Caro, at five o’clock in the afternoon?” Fenella asked, shocked.

Hunter bowed, his imperturbability back in place. “Very good, my lady.”

Caroline beamed, the pall of boredom and frustration shifting from her shoulders. She felt light enough to float up into the cloudy winter sky. From what she saw of her friends, they too had found fresh purpose on this February afternoon.

“Why not? Dashing widows drink champagne whenever they feel like it. What better excuse than a toast to our glittering success?”

May 1820

T
he Grosvenor Square house stood transformed. Spring had arrived and with it a release from the pall of mourning. Caroline had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the season, and tonight’s ball was the culmination of her campaign to win society’s acclaim.

She halted in the doorway to her crowded, noisy ballroom, at last able to catch a breath. Holding what turned out to be a brilliant success of a party required diligent attention. But finally, everything was in place and she was ready to have fun. The orchestra played a lively quadrille; a lavish supper was ready and under Hunter’s capable supervision; she’d greeted all her guests, delighted at how many people had accepted her invitation. Of course society was curious about rich Lady Beaumont, so recently out of mourning. But she could see already that tonight curiosity veered toward approval.

Helena was dancing with a red-haired fellow whose name escaped her. Fenella danced, too, her pale prettiness flushed to vivacity. She wore a sky blue dress in the first stare of fashion—it was so pleasing to see her in something other than gray. Both friends had worked like Trojans with Caroline to ensure that the launch of the dashing widows was a triumph.

“You’re looking revoltingly pleased with yourself, Caro,” a deep voice murmured in her ear.

Pleasure warmed her and extending her hand, she turned with a smile. “Silas, I wasn’t sure you’d tear yourself away from your greenhouses long enough to come.”

Silas Nash, Viscount Stone, was Helena’s older brother, the cleverest member of a notoriously clever family. Soon after coming to London, Caroline had met the noted botanist at Helena’s house. She’d immediately liked his humor and kindness. And his handsomeness had offered a welcome distraction during the dull days of her seclusion. A handsomeness of which he remained refreshingly unaware.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’ve arrived with fireworks.” He bowed over her gloved hand, hazel eyes glinting up at her as he bent.

He always treated her as if they shared a joke that the rest of the world had missed. It made her feel special.
He
made her feel special. When she came to London, unhappy and uncertain, she’d been deeply grateful for his support. Tonight, happy and confident, she remained deeply grateful. “Helena has been talking.”

He straightened and released her hand. “Perhaps she dropped a hint here and there about the evening’s finale.”

She couldn’t contain a smug smile. “My party is a great success, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed.” He regarded her from under tawny eyebrows, his gaze sharp. “I congratulate you on your victory over society.”

She flicked her fan open and cast him a flirtatious glance as she fell into their familiar bantering. “I intend to enjoy myself.”

“You deserve to kick up your heels a little.” The fondness in his expression made her heart swell. She wondered if he knew quite how much his friendship meant to her. His immediate approbation had done wonders for her self-assurance when she’d been new in Town. Without it, she doubted she’d have had the nerve to claim a prominent place in the ton.

“Oh, I plan on doing more than a little,” she said on a laugh. “I’ve spent my life as someone’s dutiful daughter or someone’s obedient wife. Now I seek amusement on my own account—and nobody can say me nay.”

“Until you find another husband.”

All the color and music and movement around her jangled into cacophony in her head. Her throat clogged with horror. Another husband? She’d rather die.

“Caro?”

Silas’s voice brought her back, reminded her that she need never enter the smothering hell of married life again. Instead, here she was with handsome Silas Nash and she was free to enjoy herself precisely how she wished.

She took in the tall, rangy build set off to perfection in evening clothes, the thick honey-brown hair, his intense, intelligent face with its Roman nose so like Helena’s. It all made for a man of more than average appeal. His title was singularly inappropriate—anyone less like a stone was impossible to imagine. He was the most alive person she’d ever met.

She waved her fan slowly in front of her face, chasing off all her dark memories. Tonight was hers, and she didn’t intend to waste it on unhappy thoughts. “I don’t want another husband.”

He frowned. “Of course you do.”

“Of course I don’t.” She tilted her chin and took advantage of the small island of privacy surrounding them to confide her wicked intentions. “I am, however, in the market for a lover.”

As she’d expected, her pronouncement didn’t shock Silas. His tolerant attitude was among the many things she liked about him. He regarded her thoughtfully. “Is that an invitation, Caro?”

She stared into his unwavering hazel eyes. Around her, the crowded ballroom receded strangely until she and Silas seemed alone together.

Caroline hadn’t blushed since before she’d married Freddie. But something in Silas’s expression brought color to her cheeks and a disconcerting stumble to her heart. Which was absurd. Even without Helena’s warnings—and her friend had early dampened any thought of setting her cap at Silas—she’d soon recognized that he never took his conquests seriously. While for all their shared jokes, she did take this friendship seriously.

When she’d mentally listed the men she’d consider inviting to her bed, she hadn’t included Silas. She couldn’t bear for him to dismiss her the way he dismissed all his flirts beyond the immediate seduction.

And if he didn’t dismiss her, what then? She didn’t want anything that required a commitment. As she’d told Silas, she was never going to marry again. Tiptoeing around Freddie’s feelings had been hard enough. Catering to a man who loved her, a man she wanted to please, was signing up for another life sentence.

Far better Silas remained her dear friend and she sought physical pleasure elsewhere.

After a month in society, she’d seen enough to know that a dashing widow would easily find a lover. Replacing a true friend was an entirely different matter. Which meant she stalwartly ignored the unprecedented catch in her breath when Silas focused that green-gold stare on her. Even if he looked like he’d need little encouragement to sweep her off and prove his reputation as a devil with the ladies.

“I’m more than you can handle,” she said lightly with a flutter of her fan. “You like them silly and flighty. Neither word applies to me.”

His mouth firmed when she’d hoped to make him smile. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Startled, she looked at him properly. Their interactions were usually unshadowed, a blessing in a world that had varied between black and gray as long as hers had. She’d imagined, once she left her seclusion behind, that the easy camaraderie would continue. Perhaps she’d been naive.

He looked disgruntled. It took her so long to interpret the expression because she’d never seen it on his face before. Sulking sat surprisingly well on Silas’s vivid features. Which obscurely annoyed her more than it should.

No woman could miss how attractive Silas was, but so far, she’d admired his spectacular looks as one might admire a fine painting. A brooding Lord Stone became unacceptably compelling. She forced a laugh and wished she sounded more natural. She snapped her fan shut and tapped him on the arm. “You’re teasing.”

Still he didn’t smile. “Am I?”

A horrible thought arose, scattering her archness. “Good God, Silas, don’t say you disapprove of my plans? I never imagined you’d be mealy mouthed about a few adventures, not when you’ve been mad for the girls since you went to Cambridge.”

The grim expression didn’t lighten. She’d never seen him so stern. “Apparently Helena’s been spreading tales about more than this evening’s entertainments.”