Page 69 of The Hired Hero
Caroline made a strangled sound at the back of her throat.
“Forgive me if I overstep myself.” Jeremy dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “It’s just that I wish to see two people I care about…”
She was saved from having to make a reply by the sudden appearance of her cousin.
His boots rapped out a staccato measure of impatience as he crossed the polished marble floor. “Have you two lost all track of time?” he called. “I have been walking my grays outside for more than a quarter hour!” He made a show of consulting his pocket watch. “We shall barely have time to return home and dress for the opening.”
“Perhaps I shall leave the two of you to attend it. You can tell me all about it later,” said Jeremy faintly.
“Ha!” Lucien took his friend firmly by the arm and began marching him toward the door.
Caroline followed close behind, grateful for the chance to elude the sharp gaze of her cousin for a moment—and to mask her utter confusion caused by Jeremy’s words.
“Buck up your courage,” continued Lucien. “It can’t be as bad as you think.”
Jeremy cast him a baleful look.
“You will have your good friends to lend moral support,” added Lucien.
“I—wonder if Julian will be able to attend…” wondered Jeremy.
“Count on it, he will be here,” assured the viscount. “I sent my own carriage to fetch him, along with two of our largest footmen, who had orders to see he arrived today, even if they had to truss him up like a sow to accomplish the feat. He’ll be staying with us, of course. Uncle wouldn’t hear of anything else.”
Caroline’s stomach gave a little lurch. She hurriedly stuffed the miniature into her reticule as Lucien turned to hand her into the waiting coach.
Jeremy had every reason to feel weak in the knees.
So what was her excuse?
* * *
Davenport staredout at the increasing number of vehicles that were clogging the road. The carriage in which he was riding had finally been forced to slacken its breakneck pace on reaching the outskirts of London. Still, they would arrive at their destination in more than enough time. He shifted against the soft leather squabs, his scowl only deepening on taking in the sights and sounds that signaled the change from country to city. He was in a sour mood, and the long hours alone with his thoughts during the journey had merely served to exacerbate it.
It had been damnably unfair of Lucien to force him into this, he fumed as he stared down at his boots, though a slight prick of conscience made him admit that he wouldn’t have missed the opening of Jeremy’s art exhibit for any reason. The sight of the worn and cracked leather made his mood turn even darker.
As if he needed any reminder of his financial straits. At least he had a halfway decent set of evening clothes, so he wouldn’t be totally humiliated at the reception—or the duke’s ball.
In truth, it was the contemplation of the upcoming evening, not the opening of Jeremy’s exhibition, that had him so out of sorts, admitted Davenport. Given his druthers, it was an event he would have avoided like the plague, but the viscount had given him little choice in the matter.
Short of punching the deadlights out of the two burly footmen sent to fetch him—a task he was by no means sure that he could accomplish in his present condition—he was now in thrall to the duke’s hospitality. And that meant dutifully taking part in the gala festivities, regardless of his feelings on the matter.
His fingers drummed on his frayed breeches. He had no choice but to make an appearance…
But nobody could force him to like it.
And nobody could force him to pay any attention to a certain other person who was sure to be in attendance.
A vision of Caroline’s willowy form gowned in the height of fashion, hair dressed becomingly in a soft, feminine style, danced unbidden into his head. With an audible growl, he tried to banish it from his thoughts. However, he had learned over the course of more than a few long, empty nights that mere words had little effect—it took at least a bottle or two of brandy to chase away the memory of the exact tilt of her head, the curves of her body, the radiance of her smile.
An oath escaped his lips. Then he chuffed an ironic laugh. The lady had him literally talking to himself. Next, they would soon be hauling him off to Bedlam, which would no doubt be an appropriate fate if this torment continued.
At Highwood, he had been able to use physical exhaustion stirred with a liberal dose of spirits to keep his mind occupied. But as the carriage rolled closer to its final destination, Davenport realized that he could no longer avoid facing his real feelings.
He had fought hard against admitting it, but it now seemed futile to deny that his heart was lost. And that frightened him more than words could express. His mouth went dry at the very thought of how much Caroline meant to him, and his limbs felt as weak as jellied eel.
He had been rejected once by someone he cared for. He wasn’t sure he could endure such pain again. So it had seemed better to make sure the choice would never have to be made.
Indeed, he had madequitesure of that.
