The duc’s gaze snapped toward him. “Are you mad? No. The day after. I need time to trim my hair. As do you.”
Konstantin bit back a smile. “The trimming of our hair should only take a half hour.”
Andelot lowered his chin. “Whilst I appreciate your intentions, I ask that you refrain from any further comments.”
Konstantin held up a hand and then set it against his mouth.
Lesson Ten
Passion is a fire you ignite. It can either light a candle in the darkness
or burn down your entire house. The idea, gentlemen, is not to burn the house.
-The School of Gallantry
Two days later
At the home of Madame de Maitenon
Konstantin dragged a heavy hand through his overly arranged, tonic-fussed hair, which had been trimmed well beyond what he was used to, and warily watched the duc get up and sit in three different upholstered chairs set around the small parlor.
The duc kept shaking his head and openly muttering, “Useless. The woman’s taste in comfort is absolutely useless. These furnishings are for the devil.”
Konstantin doubted the furnishings were actually the problem.
Andelot eventually decided on a plush green, empire-style chair. He settled into it with a grunting huff and adjusted the red ribbon against his hair that held his mask in place. Crossing his polished riding boots at his ankles, the duc pulled his coat over his waist. “I cannot believe I am doing this. What if she refuses to see me?” Andelot’s blue eyes perused the doorway.
Konstantin was beginning to feel nervous for the man. “Everything will be fine. I am certain she will—”
The harried clicking of female heels against the wood floors, that hinted at a half-run, made Konstantin scramble to feet.
The duc uncrossed his boots and sat up but did not rise. “Tell me to calm down.”
“Calm down.”
“I am trying.”
Within moments, a very attractive elderly woman appeared in the doorway of the receiving room, partly out of breath with a cane in hand she leaned against for support. Her thick, silver hair was meticulously arranged in fashionable curls around her pale face. Rose-tinted silk flowers had been woven through her tresses, fashionably matching the shade of her elegant lace gown that showcased a slim, well-corseted frame. A long, expensive-looking string of pearls had been draped from her slender throat to her waist as if to emphasize and draw attention to the sizeable breasts surrounding them. Enigmatic bright blue eyes veered toward the duc.
Konstantin set his hands against his back. Waiting.
They stared wordlessly at each other in the pulsing silence.
If the tension visible between them could have been measured by the size of a flame, those stares would have created a blaze the size of whatever was burned the sun.
The duc shifted his jaw beneath the mask. He rose. Adjusting his black leather gloves in the manner a duelist might, he walked toward her, his booted steps steady and determined. He paused directly before her.
Widening his muscled stance, the duc gruffly announced, “We will speak in English for the duration of this conversation. Because all things French are dead to me since I left Paris.”
She inclined her head toward him, her eyes never once leaving his masked face.
Konstantin cringed for him.
Andelot squared his jaw. “I am here because I wish to see my granddaughter. I wish to have the sort of relationship with her that you never allowed me to have with my son. I know I am asking for a lot, given how we parted, but I believe I have long since grown as a man and am worthy of that honor.”
In a sultry French-accented voice, she announced breathily, “I never thought I would see you again.” Madame de Maitenon searched the duc’s masked face. “You look well for yourself.”
The duc snorted and leaned in. “Oh, come, my dear. You need not lie. In answer to the question you have not asked, beneath this mask, half my face is gone.”
Madame de Maitenon’s expression stilled.
Andelot cleared his throat and tugged on his coat. “Can I meet my granddaughter? Is that at all a possibility?”
She brought her hands together and softly said, “Maybelle has left London with her husband.”
The duc’s lips parted below the mask. “She is married?”
“Yes. She married quite recently.”
“And is she happy with the union?”
“Yes. Very.”
“Ah.” He half-nodded. “I am glad to hear it.” He hesitated. “Who did she marry?”
“His Grace the Duke of Rutherford. They are currently on tour and will be visiting every city in Europe before travelling into Egypt. They are not expected to return for another eight months. When she does arrive back into London, you may call on her. I have no doubt she would want to meet her grandpére. As such, I will…I will gladly notify you the moment she returns into town.”
A breath escaped the duke. “I would appreciate that.”
She nodded. “Where shall I send the missive when she arrives, Gérard? So she might call on you in person?”
The duc hesitated and lowered his chin. “I am living at 32 Belgrave Square. I ask, however, that you do not address me by my birth name. It would give me too much hope.”
Madame de Maitenon said nothing.
Andelot set his shoulders and after a few pulsing moments offered, “I thank you for your time, Madame. It was an honor to see you.”
Her blue eyes softened. “And you.”
Konstantin felt like he was watching something he shouldn’t. It felt very personal.
Andelot inclined his head. “I wish you a good-day.” He rigidly rounded Madame de Maitenon, brushing past her. Disappearing into the corridor, he called out, “Levin, in case you have not noticed, I am leaving.” The man opened the door to the entrance and walked out, leaving the door wide open, allowing the afternoon summer air and wind to blow in.
The elderly woman glanced toward Konstantin, tears now visibly gathering in those overwhelmed bright blue eyes. She pursed her lips in a noble attempt not to cry.
Konstantin swallowed. “He needed to see you. He was sitting in a carriage outside your window every night for weeks.”
A trembling hand touched her face as she blindly attempted to use the cane to walk to a chair. A sob escaped her.
Konstantin darted toward her and grabbed her hand and her corseted waist, knowing full well she wasn’t going to make it. He turned her and gently eased her into the nearest chair, his chest tightening.
She swiped at her tears with one hand, her manicured fingers trembling. She grabbed Konstantin’s arm, searching his face with a tear-streaked pale face that flickered with distraught emotion. “Where did the scarring come from? The ones hidden beneath the mask? What happened to him?”
Knowing he owed the woman a measure of comfort, he offered, “He never told me. But he mentioned it happened whilst trying to escape France. After you had arranged transportation for him.”
Her hand jumped to her mouth. She closed her eyes, letting another tear slip down her cheek and said through her quaking hand, “Leave me.”
He seated himself in a chair beside her. “I will leave once I am assured you are less distressed.”
“Whilst kind,” she choked out, “that will take more time than you have.”
“I have time, Madame,” he gently offered. “Do you require anything? Shall I call for one of your servants?”
“No. Thank you.” She lowered her hand and sniffed softly. “Might I ask who you are to him?”
He inclined his head. “I am Mr. Levin. I am a friend.”
“How long have you known him?”
“A few months. Though most of it was never in his presence.”
“You have a heavy accent.” Her eyes cut to his. “Are you from Russia?”
“Yes.” Konstantin shifted toward her in his seat. “I wish to assure you that in my country, Andelot is well-known for being everything a man should
be. He is a legend in Moscow and is a patron to the poor and all things good. He is incredibly generous. Overly generous. To me and to everyone.”
She reached out and delicately touched his arm. “Care for him, Mr. Levin. I am afraid I was always too proud to do right by him. He needs a true friend. The sort he has never had due to his status and upbringing. Promise me you will be a good friend to him.”
It was obvious this woman was still in love with Andelot. “I will ensure he stays out of trouble.”
“Merci.” She removed her hand. She hesitated. “Please tell him I am engaged to be married to Lord Hughes. He needs to know.”
Oh, damn. The duc was going to have a fit. And yet…Konstantin sensed she was telling him as if she was hoping Andelot would do something about it. “Pardon my asking, but is there any hope for him?”
She hesitated. “I am not ready to answer that. Thank you for staying, Mr. Levin. It was very kind of you. I am quite well now.” Her tone hinted that she wanted to be alone.
“Of course.” Konstantin rose and also inclined his head. “Should you require anything, please send a missive to me at 32 Belgrave Square and address it to my name. I should be there for at least another two weeks until I find a place of my own. When I move, I will forward the new address.”
“I appreciate your generosity.” She swiped away the last of her tears. “Au revoir, Mr. Levin.”
Konstantin hesitated, nodded and then awkwardly turned, a raw heaviness eating away at his chest and his mind. Once he was outside the townhouse and had gently shut the entrance door the duc had left open, Konstantin hissed out a breath in complete exasperation. He had clearly walked into the middle of a broken affair that had been simmering for well over twenty years.
Jogging down the stairs and landing on the pavement, he paused, realizing the duc was leaning against a lamppost two doors down.
Two younger women with parasols slowed and stared at the duc’s masked face.
The duc inclined his head.
They grabbed each other’s arms and scurried by with a quick rustle of skirts as if they had just glimpsed the devil.
Konstantin sighed and strode toward the man. Coming to a halt before the man, he confessed, “I think you did well.”
Andelot held his gaze, all emotion hidden beneath that black velvet mask. “Why were you in there so long?”
“She was crying. I was trying to console her.”
Andelot glanced away. He said nothing.
Konstantin cleared his throat, knowing he needed to say it. “She uh…she wanted me to inform you she is engaged.”
Andelot snapped his gaze toward him, his chest rising and falling visibly. “Is that what she said?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.” The duc pushed away from the lamppost with a gloved hand and rasped, “Have you ever loved a woman so much that the very breath in your throat is no longer yours but hers?”
Konstantin swallowed. He didn’t know about love, but he did know he still couldn’t sleep at night without thinking he could smell Cecilia’s perfume on his own skin. And every time he looked at his watch, he thought of how she had lain naked with it, her slim fingers opening and closing the silver lid in playful fascination. “I have come close to knowing it.”
“Pray you never do.” Andelot veered in close. “Did she tell who she is marrying?”
“A certain Lord Hughes.”
Andelot squinted. “Hughes. I know that name. I see him from time to time over at the…” Andelot glanced back toward the townhouse. After a few pulsing moments, he swung away. Striding back to the carriage, whilst tugging on the sleeves of his coat, he said, “I deserve this.”
Konstantin huffed out an irked breath. “So you are just going to walk away? You are going to let her marry this Hughes? Is that what you are saying?”
The duc jerked to a halt. He turned and quickly strode back to Konstantin. “I have no face.”
Konstantin glared. “There is more to you than your face.”
“Such sentiment is beautiful on the tongue but in reality, it is untrue. I have to pay women to bed me.”
That was a little too much information. “You should go back and talk to her.”
“No.” Andelot swung away again and headed back toward the carriage. “She knows where I live.”
Konstantin swallowed and genuinely wished he could help Andelot. But who was he to give advice about women? He couldn’t even hold onto the woman destiny had handed to him in a coach at midnight.
Lesson Eleven
What under heaven’s majestic clouds are you waiting for?
-The School of Gallantry
Nine days later – 10:03 p.m.
Next door to 32 Belgrave Square
Konstantin’s warm hand smoothed away the pinned curls from her forehead as he leaned in and trailed soft, soft kisses up the curve of her throat. The tips of his calloused fingers gently skimmed down toward her breasts, that lingering touch promising her a lifetime of all things beautiful and romantic. It was pulse rending. It was genuine. It was divine.
She didn’t want to wake up.
But of course she did.
A tap on her shoulder startled her awake. “Mother,” Abigail’s voice whispered down at her. She tapped Cecilia’s shoulder a bit more aggressively. “Mother, are you awake?”
No matter how old they got, they still interrupted one’s sleep. “I am now,” Cecilia murmured, drowsily rolling toward her daughter and dragging the linens with her. She squinted up at Abigail, realizing all three of her daughters were standing at different heights beside her four-poster bed, fully dressed in their morning gowns and satin slippers as if it were two in the afternoon. The eldest, Giselle, regally held up a candle that illuminated their pale, oval faces in a soft, wavering glow of the bedchamber.
Her girls only ever came to her as a group when there was a problem. A serious one. Cecilia sat straight up, her heart pounding. “For heaven’s sake, what is it? What happened? Why are all of you dressed?”
“We couldn’t sleep,” Abigail announced with the firm set of her chin. “We spoke to John. He had mentioned something about a certain gentleman you met in Russia.”
Cecilia froze. Oh, no. No, no, no.
“He said this gentleman lives next door beyond the gates and the hedges,” Giselle continued for Abigail. “Is that true?”
Cecilia groaned.
Abigail squinted. “Why did you not tell us about this Mr. Levin and how he rescued you?”
She wasn’t ready to face this. Not yet. “Can we discuss this in the morning?”
“No. John wouldn’t answer any of our questions. What happened in Russia between you and this man? Are you and he friends? Or more than friends? We are old enough to know.”
Cecilia wanted to crawl under her bed. But she had never been one to hide her life from theirs. She loved them too much for that. “He and I are more than friends. And I was actually thinking of…calling on him.”
All three perked.
Oh, dear. She had just unleashed the romance hounds. “Please. No advice on what I should do.”
Giselle waved her free hand toward the closed door behind them, causing the flame on her candle to dance. “The lamps in the house beyond the hedge at 32 are still lit and we can hear the piano being played through our open windows. You should get dressed and see him.”
Cecilia almost bit her own hand. She wasn’t ready to see him. “I just returned to London seven hours ago. I need to sleep.” Which was really a pathetic excuse. She would have already gone over and knocked on that door, but she was scared witless. What if it wasn’t the same? What if Konstantin turned her away? What if he had already moved on? She had a million other concerns she couldn’t even voice aloud.
They were too young to hear any of it.
Giselle waved about the candleholder in agitation. “There is no need for pretenses, Mama. How can you even sleep knowing he lives right next door? You always complain about being alone and yet here
you are ensuring it.”
Cecilia cringed. And she thought she was blunt.
Abigail’s brown eyes met hers in earnest. “How much do you like this Mr. Levin? A little? Or a lot? Because there is a difference.”
It was as if the five months Cecilia had been away, all of her daughters had bloomed into thirty-year-old, well-situated women with advice. “A lot.”
Juliet pertly tore off a small piece of the crumpet she held and shoved it into her mouth, her full cheeks rounding. “I suggest you ring for your lady’s maid.” She chewed majestically several times before adding, “Might I suggest your primrose evening gown and the emeralds you bought last year at auction?”
Cecilia shifted toward them in exasperation. “Have you lost what little you have of your respectable minds? I am not calling on him at this time of night. This isn’t Russia.”
Giselle lowered her chin, her gaze sharpening. “Calling on him during respectable calling hours is nothing short of mundane, Mama. That is what old ladies of the ton adhere to. Calling on a man at this hour is exciting and proof of your devotion. As long as you keep it to fifteen minutes it might as well be Russia.”
Juliet nodded. “I agree. No one of any consequence is even in the neighborhood to take notice of such a visit. Ask the governess. As she always likes to say, the Season is over and the gossips have all gone to the country.”
“Amen for that,” all three girls said in rehearsed unison as if it were some sort of jest.
How was it she had raised not one, not two, but three overly romantic, starry-eyed girls? Where did they learn these things? She certainly never discussed the notion of romance with any of them. It was those poetry books the governess insisted on.
“I cannot go to him,” Cecilia whined, feeling sixteen and newly dismayed by the reality of a relationship.
“Why not?” Abigail inquired.
“He could have already moved on.” With that, she settled back down against the pillow, turned away and closed her eyes, chanting to herself to stay calm.
She felt them lingering. And breathing. And lingering. And breathing.
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 153