Impassioned

by Darcy Burke

  She curled her hand around his. “Sometimes it’s nice to just touch someone like this. No expectations, only an intimate moment shared between two people. Perhaps you could hold your wife’s hand.”

  Her flesh against his teased his senses, making the darkness even more profound as everything else worked to compensate. He didn’t want this intimacy—not with her. He imagined his wife instead and immediately felt calmer.

  “You could also stroke her arm as you sit together—in your coach, perhaps, as you ride somewhere. Your touch outside the bedchamber might ease her anxiety. Then, when you are alone together, you can caress her neck, her back…”

  With the inability to see anything, Constantine’s mind filled in the void. He recalled the alluring expanse of Lady Aldington’s back. Lady Aldington? Her name was Sabrina. If he first-named her, that would certainly break down some of the wall, wouldn’t it?

  His hand lifted, without direction from him, and he imagined trailing his fingertip down Sabrina’s spine. His finger met flesh, and the woman’s soft gasp cloaked him, drawing him closer in thought, if not in actuality.

  He pulled his hand back, realizing somewhat stupidly that this wasn’t his wife. “I didn’t mean to touch you. I didn’t realize you were so close.” He wondered what he’d touched. “Where did I—?” He cut himself off, thinking it best if they didn’t discuss that. “Never mind.”

  “You touched me just above the bodice of my gown. If you’d been an inch lower, you would have found my breast.”

  He swallowed. This was becoming dangerous. He wished he had touched her breast. No, not hers, Sabrina’s. “I tried to do that to my wife the other night. She didn’t seem to like it.”

  “Perhaps she was merely startled. Try telling her what you’re going to do—that you want to caress and fondle her, to put your mouth on her there.”

  Lust pooled in his loins, a great thirst he feared couldn’t be slaked. Not tonight anyway. He hadn’t wanted to frighten Sabrina, so he’d taken things incredibly slowly. But he could have communicated to her what would happen, prepared her so as to alleviate her fear.

  Regret cascaded through him in a torrent. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before realizing, again, that this wasn’t Sabrina. He was struggling to distinguish this woman before him from the one in his head.

  “Don’t be. Do you want to touch me? Show me how you would touch your wife. If you like.”

  He was almost desperate with wanting to touch her, but not her. He wanted Sabrina. He wanted to do as the tutor suggested—caress her neck, her back, her breasts. His cock, fully aroused now, strained in his smallclothes.

  Would it be terrible if he took this woman to bed? Most other men in his position would do it without thought. Furthermore, if Sabrina didn’t want him for more than having a child, would she even care?

  “Fuck.”

  “Excuse me?” She sounded shocked, which meant he’d said that aloud.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to say that. Outside of my head anyway. My wife only wants a child,” he blurted as it seemed all his thoughts wanted to break free. “She’s been very clear. Demanding, even. It was quite shocking,” he added in a murmur. But maybe a little arousing too. A commanding woman, especially one’s wife, was a heady thing.

  “Then perhaps you should be demanding about what you want. Tell her what you desire.”

  The blindfold was suddenly constricting. He wanted to throw it off and see this woman, to differentiate her from Sabrina. “What color is your hair?”

  “Dark brown.”

  He relaxed slightly. “Your eyes?”

  “Er, blue.”

  Damn. He’d hoped they would be brown instead of the same color as Sabrina’s.

  “If you’re trying to conjure an image of how I look, why not touch me and let your hands inform you?”

  The temptation was so great. He clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides lest he reach for her.

  She exhaled softly, a sigh of disappointment. “I shall hope you touch your wife instead then. Stroke her and perhaps kiss her skin. Have you done that?” She hesitated a bare moment before adding, “Have you put your mouth on her?” This last question climbed, as if she were also aroused.

  “No,” he croaked.

  “Then you should. She will likely enjoy your mouth on her breasts, at her sex—”

  “Stop.” He couldn’t endure another moment. “You need to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you should.” His voice was tight, thin, as if he were being relentlessly squeezed.

  “I’m not sure I’ve made any progress. You haven’t touched me, and you haven’t said how you plan to seduce your wife. Might I suggest you strip her clothing from her and ply your tongue along her breast—”

  “Bloody hell, woman, if you don’t go now, you’re going to have to watch me frig myself.” His hands were already on the buttons of his fall.

  “I would like to.” Now, her voice had dropped to an almost guttural level. The sound was as intoxicating as the notion that she would watch him.

  “No.” Though he refused her, his body yearned for him to say yes. He hesitated, his fall half open.

  “Please, may I stay?”

  He surrendered to his basest needs, barely whispering, “Yes.”

  “Show me what you want your wife to do.” It was a soft but devastating command.

  Mindless, he freed the last buttons and slid his cock from his smallclothes. Grasping the base, he let his head fall back as blood rushed straight to his prick.

  He moved his hand up, slowly at first. Delicious sensation rocketed through him. His muscles tightened as pleasure ignited and built.

  Her breathing rasped in the quiet of the room, the sound deepening his arousal. He could imagine her touching herself. Was she? He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

  His legs wobbled, and he reached out with his left hand for the bedpost for stability. Otherwise, he feared he might collapse, especially when he came.

  “How tightly do you hold yourself?” The question jarred him, and his hand slipped.

  He struggled to speak. “Not too tight, but not too loose either.” He was tempted to show her, to ask her to finish him. But he’d already gone too far—doing this in front of her.

  “Tell me how it feels. Practice so that you can tell your wife how it feels when she does this to you.”

  The thought of Sabrina holding his cock, of her driving him to rapture sent a new surge of lust into his cock. He stroked his hand faster, and the tutor’s rapid, shallow breathing joined his in a reckless, sensual symphony. He imagined it was Sabrina, her sweet, soft hand cradling him, and he came undone.

  Every muscle in his body clenched just before his release tore through him. He cried out, a low, awful sound he didn’t think he’d ever made before. But then he didn’t think he’d ever come that hard before either.

  He cast his head back and gripped the bedpost as though his very life depended on him not letting go. It wasn’t that dire, of course, but he was certain he’d collapse if not for the post.

  At last, his orgasm subsided, and he fought to regain control over his body, taking deep breaths, as he tucked his slackening cock into his smallclothes. With shaking fingers, he rebuttoned his fall.

  “My apologies,” he said when his breeches were closed once more. “I should not have allowed you to watch.”

  “I enjoyed it,” she said in a rather sunny tone. “I think your wife will too, especially if you let her touch you. Although, just watching is incredibly arousing.”

  He wasn’t sure he agreed with her as to Sabrina enjoying it. “Did you…touch yourself?”

  “No, but I should have. And I will. Next time, we can do that together.”

  “There will not be a next time.” He shouldn’t have allowed a first time, even if he thought it would help.

  “If you change your mind, I’d be happy to see you again. In the meantime, I wish you luck with your wife.”

/>   “Thank you.” He would take all the luck he could get.

  “I hope this helped. I’m leaving now. Good night.” The door clicked shut, indicating she’d gone. Constantine realized he was still clutching the bloody bedpost.

  He released the post and shook out his hand, the muscles tight from clenching so hard. Swiping his hand over his face, he’d forgotten about the bloody blindfold. He untied it at the back of his head and pulled it away. Blinking, he stared into the near darkness, as if he could discern the woman’s imprint before him. He could still smell her decadent tropical scent and would forever equate that with toe-curling bliss.

  Trudging to the chair, he pulled his boots on. Could he seduce Sabrina as he must?

  He thought of how she was trying to change and wondered if he should be doing the same. Perhaps he’d find the real Constantine buried somewhere beneath duty and expectation.

  Was there a real Constantine other than who he was? When had his wife’s arrival provoked some sort of existential dilemma?

  I am who I am supposed to be.

  But was that the husband he wanted to be?

  Chapter 11

  Sabrina pushed the emerald through her earlobe and turned her head to watch the jewel sparkle in the candlelight. The matching necklace was heavy against her throat. She brushed her hand over the brilliant green gems. She certainly looked like a countess, even if she didn’t completely feel like one yet.

  Rising from the stool at the dressing table, she moved in front of the long glass and held still while Charity drew the green and gold ball gown over her head. Sabrina smoothed the garment over her waist and hips before Charity fastened the small row of buttons at the back.

  “Beautiful, my lady,” Charity said with a smile as she fetched the gloves.

  “Only because of what you accomplished with my hair.” Sabrina touched the back of her head, marveling at how sophisticated she looked with the jewels gleaming among the red-gold curls.

  “I’ve so enjoyed learning how to dress hair. I believe it’s my favorite part of becoming a lady’s maid.”

  “You have a natural skill.” Sabrina pulled on the gloves and took a final look in the mirror before pivoting.

  “Your reticule.” Charity went back to the dressing table to retrieve it and handed it to Sabrina.

  “Thank you, Charity. I shall see you later. Enjoy your evening.”

  As Sabrina made her way downstairs, she wondered if she would encounter her husband. He’d been ever-present in her mind since last night. How could he not be? She’d been forever changed by their encounter, and he hadn’t even known she was there.

  That deception stuck in the back of her mind, as did everything she’d learned about what was wrong with their past attempts at coupling. Hearing his perspective about how the other night had gone between them, when they’d finally shared a bed, was eye-opening. She needed to learn to relax, to be comfortable with his touch. Last night had been a step in that direction, and for that reason alone, she couldn’t regret it.

  She’d made it to the bottom of the stairs, and there Aldington was standing in the threshold to the foyer. Aldington? She ought to think of him as Constantine, especially after last night.

  His eyes locked on her, his lips parting as he slowly perused her. Sabrina couldn’t move. It was as if he held her captive. Her breath snagged while she waited for him to speak.

  At last he said, “You’re going to the assembly?”

  She hadn’t realized she’d been hoping for a compliment until he didn’t give her one. “Yes. I wish you were coming with me.” She moved toward him across the marble floor of the stair hall. “Will you be up when I return?”

  “I imagine you’ll be late. These assemblies go on well past midnight. Indeed, I may be out late myself, so you shouldn’t expect me.”

  Sabrina closed the distance between them. Had she imagined the progress they’d been making? Perhaps she was giving too much credit to last night, which didn’t even count since he hadn’t known it was her. “You said you would fulfill my desire.”

  His nostrils flared as she whispered the last word.

  “A child,” she clarified.

  His eyes darkened. “Why didn’t you want to marry me?”

  She blinked, surprised by his question. He’d known and married her anyway? Of course he had. He was nothing if not the embodiment of duty and responsibility. “I didn’t realize you knew,” she answered softly.

  “My father informed me the day before the wedding. He said you’d wanted to cry off, but he refused to endure a scandal.”

  She was having trouble drawing a deep enough breath. “Would you have preferred the scandal of calling it off to marrying me?”

  His brow furrowed into deep grooves. “Of course not.”

  That would have been unconscionable. Sabrina wrung her hands together, her palms moist inside her gloves. “I didn’t want to marry anyone. I was so…anxious. About everything. Just the thought of having a Season, of going out in crowds, was nearly devastating to me.” By the time she finished, she could barely hear her own words. Perhaps that was due to the blood rushing in her ears.

  “Yet, you are going out into a very crowded assembly tonight,” he noted.

  “Yes, because I am working on overcoming my fears. I must. I am a countess, and I mean to behave like one. I didn’t before now—certainly not when we wed, and not last Season either.” She hadn’t finished trying to explain herself to him. But would he understand? Would he even try? “I’ve always struggled in large groups of people. I’m nervous and shy, and I want to stand in the shadows so no one will talk to me. No one will see my mistakes if they aren’t paying attention.”

  His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything, so she went on.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry you. I didn’t want to marry anyone. I wanted to stay at my father’s country estate and probably become a spinster.” Now she took a breath, her heart speeding.

  “That’s why you love Hampton Lodge so much.” He spoke with the measured words of someone who had just learned something. “You can hide there.”

  A lightness spread through her. Perhaps he was beginning to understand her. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, I can hide there. Only, I can’t hide anymore. I am a countess—your countess—and I have a duty. Someday, I will—hopefully—guide my own daughter through her Season. How can I do that if I don’t gain the confidence I need to be successful?” She took another breath, her pulse finally slowing. “Anyway, you didn’t want to marry me either.”

  His gaze turned sharp. “Why would you think that?”

  “My parents said you didn’t, that if I didn’t improve my behavior, you were going to cry off.”

  He stared at her. The gold flecks she’d only just noticed in his hazel irises seemed to burn with incredulity. “That simply isn’t true.”

  It shouldn’t be a surprise that her parents had lied to her. They would have done anything to ensure she married Aldington. Constantine.

  “Your parents sound incredibly cruel,” he added.

  “They are not kind. That is part of the reason I want to change. I don’t want to be manipulated or viewed as malleable. I want to sponsor your sister, attend Phoenix Club assemblies, and host a ball of my own.”

  He arched a brow. “Do you?”

  She’d been considering it, wondering if she had the courage. If she didn’t, she’d find it. She had to. Notching her chin up, she looked him in the eye. “Future duchesses host balls. And they don’t allow themselves to be handled.”

  “So, if I told you to stay home tonight, you wouldn’t listen to me?”

  Was he serious? She couldn’t tell. “No, I would not. I like how I’m changing. And I-I hope you do too. Tonight, I want to go to a ball with my friend and come home to see my husband. Will you be here?”

  “I guess you’ll find out later.” He brushed past her.

  “I hope you will be,” she called after him. If she kept pu
shing him off balance, he eventually had to fall in her direction, didn’t he?

  Sabrina watched him walk up the stairs and found herself appreciating the ripple of his shoulders as he moved, as well as the slope of his calf. She imagined his bare chest and hoped it wouldn’t be too long until he revealed himself to her again.

  Tonight, she’d talk to Lucien and plead with him to ensure Constantine received an invitation to join the club. Then, she intended to wait up for her husband.

  After quickly changing his clothes, Constantine arrived at his brother’s terraced house just as Lucien was stepping into the foyer from the stairs. The butler, Reynolds, was a terrifying figure—loomingly tall with a nasty red scar across his cheek. Despite his fearsome appearance, however, he was quite affable and always greeted Constantine warmly.

  “You’ve arrived at an inopportune time, Con,” Lucien said as he drew on his gloves. “I am just on my way to the club.”

  “The Phoenix Club. Of which my wife is a now a member, but I am not.”

  Lucien pressed his lips together and grimaced. “Indeed. Let us discuss the matter.” He gestured for Constantine to follow him back to the library. On the way, he removed his freshly donned gloves, then tossed them onto a table before turning to face his brother. “You’re angry.”

  “You’re damned right.” That had been Constantine’s initial reaction, but he’d convinced himself he’d overreacted, that he didn’t want to belong to Lucien’s club anyway. But seeing Sabrina tonight and knowing he couldn’t accompany her to the assembly had summoned his ire even more fiercely than when she’d told him about the invitation the other night. “How can my wife be a member while I’m not even invited?”

  “Simple. The membership committee extended her an invitation.” Lucien exhaled. “And not you. To be fair, your name has never been proposed for membership. To my knowledge,” he added hastily.

  Constantine rolled his eyes. “Spare me your rationale and your feeble attempts to make your position on the membership committee opaque. Everyone knows you sit at the top of the Star Chamber. It’s your bloody club.”