“What brings you here?” he asked once she’d seated herself on a chair near the fire. “Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you, but I thought I said I’d call on your father today.”
“We need to go question Lord Tate,” Caro said in exasperation. “Just because we became betrothed last night doesn’t mean we’re abandoning the search for Effie.”
“I didn’t suggest that we were,” Val said calmly. He eyed the whip in her hand again. Crossing to the window, he saw a gorgeous blue cabriolet with brass fittings and yellow painted wheels parked before his door. He must have been so focused on Caro he’d failed to notice it.
“Is that yours?” he asked, looking from the eye-catching vehicle to Caro and back.
“It is,” she said. “And much as I hate to disappoint Mr. Foyle again, I don’t wish to take tea with you. I want to go see what Tate has to say for himself.”
Val did, too. “All right. Let’s go.”
He held out his hand to her and she allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“May I drive your carriage, Caro?” he asked as they walked back out into the hallway.
“Maybe after I’ve seen you handle the ribbons.” Caro gave him a sidelong glance.
“You truly enjoy turning the tables, don’t you?” He laughed softly.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said primly as they reached the entrance hall.
He waited impatiently for Foyle to fetch their hats and coats, not wishing to air this particular quibble in front of his servants.
Once they were safely outside in the brisk morning air with the door firmly closed behind them, he continued, “You know precisely what I mean. First you propose to me, then you kiss me first—”
“I didn’t propose to you,” Caro corrected. “I announced our betrothal. There’s a difference.”
“Regardless,” Val said, handing her into the carriage, “we’ve done everything backward.”
“Perhaps,” Caro said, taking the reins from her groom, “it was never meant to be one way or the other. Perhaps we’re finally getting it right.”
Before he could reply, Caro urged the horses into the empty street, and he was forced to hold on to his hat to keep it from flying off.
One thing was certain, he thought as a bubble of laughter rose in his chest: Life with Caro would never be dull.
* * *
Lord Tate’s magnificent townhouse in St. James’s Square was showing signs of age and wear.
The entry hall, with its marble floors and expensively papered walls, gave a first impression of wealth, but the sitting room into which Caro and Val had been shown might almost be called shabby. The furniture had gone out of style several decades ago by Caro’s estimation, and though the room was free from dust and the carpets clean, what bric-a-brac there was could be cheaply had in any shop around the city.
“Either this is the chamber where our hosts place unwanted guests,” Val said, examining a nick in the ear of a chinoiserie statue of a cat on the mantel, “or the fortunes of the house of Tate have not exactly been flourishing.” Caro agreed with his assessment, though she wondered if both of their families’ wealth was coloring their perception of Tate’s apparent lack thereof.
“I suppose we should reserve judgment since we haven’t been given a tour of the entire house.” Caro came to his side to look at the cat, which to her eye favored Ludwig. She must ask Tate where the piece had come from.
“An unlikely occurrence once we begin our questions,” Val commented wryly. Then, he asked, “Was your Ludwig perhaps animated from such an effigy? It would explain his sour disposition.”
“Ludwig is an angel.” Caro glanced up at him with a raised brow. “And you’d best learn to get along with him if we are to marry. Where I go, he goes.”
“There is no if.” Val dipped his head, the vibration of his voice against her ear giving her shivers. “Only when.”
“If you say so.” Caro tried to keep her voice light. She was reluctant to tell him, but she enjoyed their banter. There were few men of her acquaintance who could keep up with the rapid pace of her thoughts. That Val could both do so and share her appreciation for brisk conversation made her optimistic for their future. They were good together.
She could fall back in love with him all too easily.
But part of her was reluctant to fully succumb to his charms just yet. She was impulsive. She knew this about herself. And her whims had gotten her into trouble in the past. The betrothal might be real, but she would not allow herself to feel too deeply until she could be convinced her faith in him was not again misplaced.
“The papers will say so tomorrow, Miss Insolence.” He reached down to touch her lightly on the hand. “You’d better make your objection known now if you do intend to make any.”
When she looked up, the question in his eyes forced her to acknowledge he was perhaps not as bold and confident as she’d always thought. He’d told her he was no longer the same man as when they’d been together before. Could he also be less arrogant than she’d supposed him to be when she’d first seen him again yesterday? The idea filled her with hope.
“No,” she repeated softly. “There is no if. Only when.”
He gave her a crooked smile, his eyes darting to her mouth in what she hoped was an indication of a kiss. Before he could do so, however, Lord Tate stepped into the room, and they jumped apart.
He was a handsome man of middle years, with blond hair liberally threaded with silver. Caro was relieved to see he appeared to be in a much better mood than he’d been in last evening.
His expression was open and welcoming until he saw Caro. “You!” he scowled. “You were at the Lyceum last night.”
Of course, he made no mention of the fact that he’d seen Thomas Harrison accost her and done nothing to aid her, she thought. A gentleman, indeed.
Val, perhaps recalling the same incident, stepped forward to stand in front of her, shielding her from the other man.
“Tate,” he said with a deceptively friendly tone, “this is Miss Caroline Hardcastle. I don’t believe you bothered to wait for an introduction before you fled the greenroom.”
The earl reddened at the reminder of his hasty retreat. When Caro stepped out from behind Val, Tate bowed slightly, then pulled back. “Miss Hardcastle, Wrackham. I’m quite busy today. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Since you were so kind to remember me from last night,” Caro said before Val could stop her, “it will perhaps come as no surprise that we are here to speak with you regarding Miss Effie Warrington. The flowers you brought indicate you have some relationship with her. Is that true?”
She might have been more deferential to his rank, but she hoped her harsh tone would throw him off balance so that he would be more forthcoming.
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘relationship,’ Miss Hardcastle,” Tate said primly, as if he were a maiden aunt she’d accused of a lurid affair. “I am merely an admirer of Miss Warrington’s work. Surely there is nothing untoward in that.”
“You were quite overset by her absence,” Caro pressed. “What would your wife have made of that, I wonder?”