by Kim Bowman
“Nonsense!” she said, determined to find out what game Burton played. “Percy came to my defense, when I needed help most, and I will not allow Burton to begrudge him happiness.”
Pushing her way past her weary cohort, Constance opened the door and managed a dignified, studied walk toward the staircase. The foyer was silent as she made her way to the bottom of the stairs. Settling her gaze on the parlor entrance and the etched doors with their artistry and flourish, she instantly caught sight of a cane tapping an unmistakably familiar and distinctly irritating rhythm. The owner preened in front of reflective glass in the liquor case. Constance hoped to catch him off guard, but to no avail. With the hearing of a skittish rodent, the dour man whirled, a whitened mask veiling judicious eyes that singed her with unrelenting force.
Maintaining civility, he bowed. “Lady Constance. Thank you for tearing yourself away from your — husband,” he coughed, “to see an old friend.”
“It’s Lady Stanton now,” she reminded him.
“Ah, so it is. My apologies,” he said, wrinkling his nose as if the effort cost him dearly.
“Is it not customary to refrain from visiting a newly married couple until after their first outing?” she asked, taking a seat on the opposite settee.
His bushy brow perked high. “One could say the same for you, madam. Shouldn’t you have refused an audience with me?”
She was caught. She nodded. “You’re—”
“Quite right,” he admitted, taking his seat. “Yet here you are, making me curious as to the nature of your relationship with the marquess.”
“You did mention it was a matter of life and death. You can hardly blame my curiosity.” She struggled to maintain civility. “As to my marriage, it is none of your concern. I seek only to know the true reason for your visit. As we have not been on the best of terms, pleasantries need not be exchanged.”
He tilted his head, his impertinent tongue wetting his large, bulbous lips. “Do you doubt me? My affections?”
“I think you made them abundantly clear the night of the ball.”
His cane hit the ground with a thump, making her jump. She rose and moved behind the settee, using it as a barrier between them. He stood and then stepped toward her, his eyes riveted upon her bosom.
“As a means of making amends for my behavior, I came here today to merely seek if you were well and settled.”
“I am,” she confided. In truth, she was. Percy had saved her from this man. She knew now that was enough. One month of marriage to Burton would have found her in a freshly dug grave.
Burton’s beady eyes squinted. His velvet tone was edged with steel. “Does Percy suit? It galls me to think that even now you are filled with his seed.”
“Good God! I have tried to be civil, but you are insufferable. I shall have Jeffers see you out.” She turned to leave.
He moved closer and cut off her exit.
“Control yourself, Lord Burton,” she ordered. “This is my husband’s home.”
“I lost control of myself when I lost you.” A strange spark lit his eyes as he reached out to grab her.
She side-stepped him and headed for the bell pull to ring for Jeffers.
Burton grabbed her hand and turned her back around, capturing her within his meaty arms. He shot her a twisted smile. “If you scream, you’ll never find out why I came.”
“Why did you come?” she asked, her thoughts sprinting from one possibility to another. Tears welled in her eyes as he pinched her skin.
“All in good time.”
“Please. Tell me,” she begged him. “Has something happened to my father?” Though her father no longer needed Burton’s money, it had been her worst fear that Burton would retaliate against him.
“I’ll ask the questions,” he said roughly. “Now, are you quite content with your choice? Do you moan like a cat in heat in Stanton’s arms? Do you sate his appetites the way I’ve dreamed of happily planting my seed in your womb?”
Shivering, Constance sucked in a steadying breath. “You’re disgusting.”
He jerked her back to the sofa and forced her to sit. “I applaud your little charade.”
“You’re insane.”
“And you should be mine!” The force of his seething words took her off guard. “Do not expect me to recede into the shadows without a fight.”
“After the lies you told my father, you cannot believe that I would ever consent to anything you have to offer.”
Burton was a madman! He believed he could control her, which was simply preposterous. Even when she’d been promised to him, she had never approved of her father’s agreement. It took little effort to recall the terror that had made her flee home in the middle of the night, putting her life at risk aboard the Octavia. But she’d been a different woman then. She hadn’t known Thomas then. A sly smile turned up the corners of her lips, the irony of it all plain. In some way, she owed Burton a debt of gratitude for steering her toward Thomas — and Percy.
Burton glowered at her. “Were it not that it would be too quick, I would strangle the life out of you now.” He gazed down at her with an evil glint in his eyes. “I will never stop wanting you. Accept that fact. And when I want something, I have ways of getting it.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in.
Constance trembled. She knew he held his anger in check by sheer force of will. Her saving grace was he couldn’t hurt her, not there, not in Percy’s home, especially when Jeffers and Mrs. Mortimer knew of his presence. She grasped onto that fact, however small, however short-lived.
Burton’s menacing laughter promised that no matter what happened, there would be no reprieve. She stared into her accuser’s alabaster face, realizing with certainty she would never be rid of him.
“You mentioned life and death. What did you mean?” she asked.
“If you don’t want your father to spend a day in debtor’s prison, you will find a way to get me into Stanton’s good graces.”
“You cannot be serious. I barely know my husband. And he would surely not believe a kind word about you after your performance at the ball.”
“You mean the ball where our engagement should have been announced?” His nod was self-serving. “Oh! But I am serious. It would be easy to arrange for certain papers to pass through legal ranks, papers that will most assuredly point to your father’s involvement with a local smuggling ring in a feeble attempt to replenish his dwindling funds.”
“That would be illegal!”
“Wouldn’t it?” he asked.
She bristled.
“I could arrange to prove it to you.”
“No! Please—”
Burton grinned. “Exactly the word I came to hear.” With a grand tap of his cane, he whirled through the door without a backward glance, leaving her to sag into the cushions, her fist against her mouth.
Muffled voices permeated the air in the atrium as she stared at the fire in the hearth. Placing her hand over her heart, feeling its beating rhythm finally steady, she inhaled a deep breath. She’d never felt so alone.
She’d been forced to watch her mother die. Thomas had never given her any promises, and he’d exiled her from his life. Her husband had left her on their wedding night to tend to his sick father, and instead of being supportive, she’d selfishly encouraged him to take her to his bed to cover up her sickening secret. How much longer could she hold on? What was she to do now that Burton had threatened her if she didn’t lobby for him? Not only would Percy find that odd, but it would be one more lie between them. But if she didn’t become Burton’s pawn, her father would be charged with piracy and locked away. And if Burton ever found out she was with child, everything she’d sacrificed for her child’s security would be for naught.
A comforting hand settled on her shoulder. Startled, she jumped to see Lieutenant Guffald standing in the half light.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I should have announced myself, but you were so engaged by the fire and so enchanting to watch, that I hate
d to disturb you.”
Constance peered up into the lieutenant’s face, uncomfortable with his presence. She didn’t understand why. He’d kept his promise to rescue her on the Octavia.
She smiled cordially and, with a gesture of her hand, indicated for him to sit near her by the fire. “Lieutenant.” She sighed. “It is good to see you again. And so soon.”
“You appear slightly disheveled, Lady Stanton. Is something wrong?”
She muttered hastily, “Lord Burton was just here.”
“I know. He let me in the house,” he said. “I found that quite odd. He gave no reason, only that he was in a hurry to leave. Did he do anything untoward?”
“No,” she lied. “He had some news to relate about my father.”
Alarm flickered in Guffald’s blue eyes. “Forgive me. Is your father unwell?”
Her head was in a tumult. “Oh, he’s quite well, thank you.” For now.
“You seem, well… agitated. Did he harm you, threaten you in any way? I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“No,” she replied hastily. “Indeed, no,” she reassured. She smiled at Guffald, hoping to ease his concern. “The man simply will not let his grievance against my family go, however.”
“Your marriage to Percy, for instance?”
Her head snapped up and she studied Guffald. His use of her husband’s proper name alerted her defenses. But then she remembered. The two were famous friends. She had no need to worry about the familiarity between them.
“I’m afraid so,” she admitted.
Guffald leaned closer. “If I may — why did you receive him? Certainly that wasn’t a good idea, given Burton’s outburst. I’m sure Percy will be most unhappy. You should not be so eager for honey when the bee’s sting might be fatal.”
“Burton’s behavior is none of your concern, Lieutenant,” she objected, angered that he thought her silly. His use of the strange metaphor didn’t help matters. “My husband, should he choose to, will deal with Lord Burton.”
If only he were here. She sighed. She gazed down at the gloved hand of the gallant lieutenant who’d fought pirates in order to save her life and narrowly escaped. The man who’d almost single-handedly succeeded in getting them off the Striker before the storm had prevented them from launching the gig. She peered up into Guffald’s crystalline blue eyes and noticed a hint of a boyishly affectionate smile playing on his lips. What did he find so amusing? The idea didn’t sit well with her. She sprung out of her chair and put distance between them.
“I fear the day has grown old and I’m rather tired. Thank you for coming to call, Lieutenant. I’ll be sure to relay your good tidings to my husband when he arrives.” Damnation! She hadn’t meant to let that slip.
“So he has deserted you,” he exclaimed. “And so soon? I cannot fathom the man’s stupidity. Were our situations reversed, I assure you, no one would see my face for at least a fortnight.”
“Lieutenant.”
“What could have possibly pulled Percy away from your arms?”
She quickly rose to her husband’s defense. “Lord Stanton,” she said, trying to bring formality back into the conversation, “has gone on an errand. For me, in fact. You see, he recently discovered I have a passion for sweets. He insisted on seeing that we were fully stocked. Surely you would not begrudge him this kindness.”
Would Guffald believe her lie? Why she chose not to reveal the truth, that Percy had rushed to his ailing father’s bedside, she couldn’t fathom. Her relationship with her husband, mysterious, precarious even, made her feel as though she stood on uneven ground. ’Twas best not to sharpen the dagger too soon. Without a consummated union, she could find herself facing a cuckolded husband. And if her reputation suffered another blemish, she could find herself out on the street, the laughing stock of the ton.
Constance moved to the open door and spied Jeffers in the hall, holding a tea service.
“My lady,” he said, tilting his nose haughtily when the lieutenant sauntered out of the room. “I have brought tea.”
Guffald exclaimed, “What a delightful idea. That is just what Lady Stanton needs to refresh her spirits.” Turning back to her, he offered, “Pardon me if I take my leave. I fear I have overstayed my welcome.” With a dutiful nod, Guffald bowed stiffly and made a hasty exit out the front door.
“Will you be taking your tea in the parlor, my lady?”
Her mind picked apart the lieutenant’s conversation. Try as she might, however, she didn’t know what to make of the man, nor could she understand what he and Percy had in common.
Jeffers cleared his throat. “My lady?”
“Are you familiar with Lord Stanton’s estate Sumpton Hall?”
Jeffers’ pale eyes were like bits of stone. “I do not speak of his lordship’s affairs.”
“Yes, that is commendable. But what I desire to know is if I can travel to his estate in a day’s time. A man should not be solely responsible for his father’s care, especially at a time like this. I should like to help. In fact, I want to surprise my husband.”
“As it so happens, my lady, his lordship will be returning soon. I’m sure he will be quite pleased to learn of your willingness to come to his father’s aid, but I fear there will not be a need for you to do so.”
Jeffers’ eyes creased at the corners, confusing her as to what emotion he held in check. Was he laughing at her or did he want to throttle her? With Jeffers, one never knew. The man obviously lived and breathed to serve one master and one master only. She held back her excitement and dread, slightly annoyed that he’d left her to speak to Burton alone.
“Percy returns soon?”
“Indeed, your ladyship.”
“When did this news arrive?”
“I just received a missive. I’m hesitant to admit that is what delayed your refreshments, an act in itself which calls for no excuse and my dismissal.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she said, giving him a tight smile.
She walked to the front door and stared out at the bustling street. It was noonday, yet the city pulsed with fervor — each soul that passed, whether concealed in conveyances or strolling about, was eager to arrive at his destination. Alone, save for a few servants and Mrs. Mortimer, Constance took a deep breath and welcomed a triumphant peace. Her husband meant to return, and soon. Time offered her another chance to shape the destiny of her child.
“I’m afraid the news isn’t good, my lady.”
Color drained from her face. Good God! Had Burton already done something to her father? To Percy?
“Pardon me?” She pulled away from the window, her heart thudding noisily inside her. “What did you say?”
“The dreadful news has hit us all very hard.”
Constance grew more frightened by the minute. What news? “You must tell me. What has happened?”
“His Grace, the Duke of Blendingham, is dead.”
~~~~
The pieces fit nicely. Percy had deserted his beautiful bride on their wedding night. Guffald clapped his hands together in glee. She could still be his — his! Though she wore the marquess’ ring, she wasn’t truly married.
He held his elation in check. He had not gone to great lengths to win Throckmorton’s approval, suffered privation and humiliation at the hands of the enemy, or Burton’s irrational demands for nothing.
Bounding up the street, a sense of duty to give Constance what no one else could — love — he allowed the powerful force of that knowledge to fuel him. Liberating in its magnitude, his love pushed him beyond his limitations. For Constance, he’d sworn to uphold only one law, a law as old as time — to each his own. Years of his life had been sacrificed for this — for her. Like a ship drawn to a port light, his life, his morals were forever coupled to a road that would surely lead him out of obscurity into the dream he envisioned for the two of them.
Devil take Percy, Burton, and Frink! His love would prevail.
Chapter Eighteen
Wood cracke
d and moaned all around her. Her gown snagged a piece of wood. Water rose up to her hips. She couldn’t escape. A ghastly hand reached out, not for her, but for a basket she held in her arms. Try as she might, she couldn’t break away. Lord Burton’s laughter enveloped her. She screamed.
“Percy!”
Constance scrambled to brush the counterpane off her legs as if by doing so she could push back the water threatening to engulf her. Her frantic gaze took in the bed, the room, before she realized that she’d been dreaming again. What did she have to fear? She wasn’t on a ship. She was in Number Seven, Hereford Street. She was Marchioness Stanton.
Exhausted by the ghastly images of Burton and remembrance of his threats she buried her head in the pillow, already moist with her tears. She’d spent hours crying for the future of her child. She’d never been more afraid than she was now. The undeniable and dreadful fact was that Burton would do what he could to ruin her father. But what would she be forced to do to betray her husband’s confidence? Guilt-ridden, she was also mourning the loss of Percy’s father. She couldn’t imagine life without her father and had no idea how she would console Percy when he returned. She’d been selfish to think only of herself and her child when her husband’s father lay dying, selfish to think consummating her marriage was more important.
“Tears do not become you.” A masculine voice penetrated the night making her heart resume its previous erratic rhythm.
She bolted upright. “Who’s there?”
Her flesh tingled with needle pricks as her eyes searched the darkness, noting a slight movement near the window. The gold curtains danced nervously in the breeze. She distinctly remembered latching the window. Why was it open? She had never slept well with the window open, and therefore made sure it was closed before she went to bed every night.
“Who—” she squeaked, unable to control her fright. “Who’s in my room?”
“Are you always this demanding in bed?”
She sank back into the sheets. “Percy?” When had he returned? “Am I dreaming?”