Heiress in Love (Ministry of Marriage Novels)

by Christina Brooke

  What, then, could she do to make Constantine want to marry her?

  Only one answer presented itself. It shocked her that she would even consider it, much less take steps to implement such a stratagem. But Luke was worth any sacrifice, even the risk of ruining her reputation.

  At dinner, Jane had noticed Constantine staring at her mouth, his eyes hot with desire. Stupid as she was at reading men, even she couldn’t fail to see this as a sign. He wanted, quite desperately, to kiss her.

  The most foreign and surprising thrill of power scintillated through her. She couldn’t persuade Constantine into marriage by reasoned argument or shame him into wedding her, either.

  Might she tempt him into it? Make him so wild for her that he would marry her simply to get into her bed?

  It was a bold stratagem, one she was hopelessly unqualified to employ. It was underhanded, contemptible, even. But what other course was open to her at this point?

  Jane hesitated, her hand closing on the doorknob. She took a deep, shaky breath. Before doubt could creep in and corrode her resolve, she wrenched open the door and went in search of Constantine.

  She found him in the muniments room, of all places, writing what appeared to be a letter in a firm, bold hand. She saw a pile of correspondence addressed in that same hand stacked by his elbow.

  So he’d been attending to business since he’d excused himself after dinner. She’d expected to discover him in the library, draining the brandy decanter and brandishing a cheroot.

  Jane hovered on the threshold, reluctant to break his concentration. While she debated whether to wait or obey the most craven impulse to escape, Constantine signed the letter with a flourish and looked up.

  “Jane.” Slowly, he rose to his feet. “Come in.”

  She found herself watching his lips as they formed those few syllables. The husky timbre of his voice made his words of welcome sound like an invitation to sin. Or did she imagine that, given her own wicked intentions? Her nerves thrummed with fearful anticipation.

  Courage, Jane. She must not forget that she did this for Luke.

  With an effort, she lifted her chin and prepared to go ahead with her plan.

  Suddenly, she realized she’d no earthly idea how to broach the subject with him. Should she try some sort of physical overture? That seemed far too bold. Perhaps she ought to wait for him to take the lead. But how would he know that she’d changed her mind? She’d spurned his advances in the garden in no uncertain terms.

  His brows lifted a fraction. “Did you want something, perhaps?”

  The perfect opening. She seized it. “Yes, I…” She gasped. “I want you to kiss me,” she blurted out.

  Heat surged upward, filling her cheeks, scalding her ears. Her heart was having palpitations. Could one die from sheer embarrassment?

  For many moments, Constantine didn’t answer. His fingertips drummed on the surface of his desk as he searched her face.

  Miserably aware that she’d been as subtle as a brick, Jane choked out a hasty apology and turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  Jane halted, her head bowed. She didn’t dare to look at him. She waited, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. Would he grant her request despite the inept way she’d phrased it?

  She closed her eyes. I am simply no good at this.

  When he spoke again, he stood directly behind her. “Don’t run away.” His tone swept over her skin like raw silk.

  Jane swallowed hard, groping for her courage, but it slipped through her fingers and flitted away, eluding her grasp. She ought to have known she couldn’t handle this, couldn’t handle him.

  The warmth of Constantine’s breath stirred the curls at her nape. “Turn around and look at me,” he commanded.

  She obeyed him. Her eyelids seemed weighted. She couldn’t raise her gaze past his mouth. A mouth that had flattened to a hard, uncompromising line.

  Shaken, she did look up then. His eyes no longer held an appreciative glow. They glittered, hard as emeralds. “This is a ploy, isn’t it?” he said. “You’ve come here to offer your kisses like some sort of virgin sacrifice. Haven’t you, Jane?”

  Alarm rocketed through her. “No! Of course n—”

  “Just how far would you go to get my ring on your finger?” His regard was direct and unfettered. It raked her body, lingering at her breasts.

  Inwardly, she shuddered, but not with revulsion.

  “Believe me,” he said, “you won’t succeed.”

  She knew Constantine Black was shameless. He was a scoundrel of the first order. He’d slaked his lust on an innocent girl, then refused to marry her. He would mete out the same treatment to her.

  If she allowed it.

  The thought made her spine stiffen. Who was he to judge her actions? At least her motives were pure.

  And she couldn’t afford to back down now.

  Recalling how he’d reacted when she’d licked her lips at the dinner table, Jane quickly ran her tongue over them. She hoped she didn’t look foolish.

  His muttered obscenity should have shocked her, but triumph lifted her spirits. Men like Constantine were slaves to their passions, weren’t they? All she needed to do was present him with temptation and his male urges would do the rest.

  Her heart thumping in her throat, she closed the distance between them with one, deliberate step.

  Quick as thought, he gripped her chin and tilted her head up so their gazes clashed.

  “Don’t try it.” His thumb stroked along her lower lip, sending a dart of heat to quiver in her loins. “I won’t stop at ravishing that pretty mouth of yours.”

  A challenge shimmered in the air between them.

  Jane struggled to clear her brain. She knew he wouldn’t force himself on her. That being so, his threat was an empty one, wasn’t it? He couldn’t make her want more than kisses. She’d call a halt if he moved beyond the safety of a chaste embrace.

  So what did she have to fear? His powers of persuasion? Or her own weakness?

  As she stared up at him, not moving, Constantine’s features darkened with intent. His perfectly sculpted lips parted. Curiosity, excitement, and strongest of all, fear, jangled inside as he bent toward her. He moved so slowly that she marked a dozen panicked heartbeats before she felt the whisper of his breath on her lips.

  The heat of his body surrounded her; his presence bound her with a sensual spell. The only parts of him that touched her were his breath and the finger and thumb that tilted her chin. Yet, she felt panicky and trapped.

  As his mouth crushed down on hers, the panic rose up to choke her. Fear shuddered through her body. She couldn’t! Jerking her head away with a strangled cry, Jane whirled on her heel and fled.

  * * *

  Later, Constantine stood on the terrace outside the library, indulging in the vice that had so offended his hostess the first time they’d met.

  The night was so dark as to be almost black. He could make out very little of the landscape through the persistent drizzle. A damp wind blew; the air was chill. He drew on his cigarillo. Ah, the joys of spring.

  The London Season would soon be in full flight. Strange. He didn’t miss Town with its variety and its diversions. His cronies would be trawling the seas of sharp-eyed ladies and accommodating courtesans about now, selecting this Season’s mistress or that night’s lover, or pursuing random, anonymous encounters in the Haymarket and Covent Garden.

  No, he didn’t miss all that. But he’d been celibate too long for a man of his temperament. Which made his rejection of Jane’s little gambit tonight distinctly unsettling. At another time, with another woman, he would have accepted what little she offered, murmured sweet reassurance as he beguiled her into giving him everything he desired. He would not—most definitely not—have warned her off.

  He thought of Jane with her dangerous schemes and where they might lead and took a contemplative drag of smoke.

  “Here you are, my dear.” A low, feminine voice spoke behind him
.

  He turned to see Lady Arden step onto the terrace. Her bright eyes were alert, sparkling with determination. A lady on a mission.

  Constantine sighed. He was in for it now.

  Out of politeness, he indicated his cigarillo. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” she replied, moving toward him. She hesitated. “I am glad to have the chance to speak with you alone.”

  He gave a grim smile. “I suppose I can guess the reason behind Lady Endicott’s dismissal.”

  “I did not dismiss her.”

  “No, you simply told her some designing woman has her claws in that precious son of hers. Nothing more likely to send her hotfooting it to Town.” He extended an arm beyond the balustrade and tapped ash over the side. “It must be obvious, even to Lady Roxdale, what you are about.”

  “She’d have to be a ninny not to guess,” agreed Lady Arden. She glanced at him. “You are minded to be stubborn, aren’t you?”

  His shoulders shook. “Stubborn? I?”

  Lady Arden’s lips pressed together in impatience. “But you must marry her! Surely even you can see that. I hear there is a massive debt due on the mill and no funds to repay it.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” He’d done his utmost to find the necessary funds. So far, he’d failed.

  There was always the stock exchange, of course, and he’d sent instructions to his broker that day. But counting on a large return on a few high-risk investments to save him would be almost as foolhardy as relying on the gaming tables. He needed a windfall, and soon.

  “Jane seems to like you,” said Lady Arden. “That, I had not expected.”

  His smile had a bitter edge. “Most women love a rake, I’m told.”

  “Not women like Jane,” said Lady Arden seriously. “Still, I applaud her for having the sense not to cavil at doing what must be done. She is a good, dutiful girl. She will do what’s right.”

  “And you’re here to see to it that she has every opportunity to do so,” he murmured.

  “At the least, I shall not hinder the process, as Griselda would have done. What possessed you to ask her to stay?”

  “What do you think I had to say in the matter?” He shook his head. “Besides, if I hadn’t agreed to let Griselda remain, Cousin Jane might have left for Town with the duke. That would not have done.”

  “No.” She eyed him for a moment in silence. Then she turned to gaze out at the night, tapping her fingertips on the balustrade.

  He could almost see the cogs whirring in that intricate mind of hers. “Allow me to chart my own course, ma’am.”

  She hesitated, then turned to face him. “Very well. I shall … facilitate. But for the moment, I shall not interfere.” Let us see how well you do, was her unspoken challenge.

  “Be assured, I’m fully sensible of my obligations.”

  “I’m glad of it. And a touch surprised. I thought I had my work cut out for me with you.” She regarded him narrowly. “You haven’t developed a tendre for her, have you? That would never do.”

  His hesitation made her eyes widen a little. Then he said, “God forbid.”

  Lady Arden’s brow furrowed. Perhaps she recalled the last time he’d dallied with a respectable lady who wanted marriage. “Take care what you are about, Constantine.”

  He took a long drag of smoke and blew it into the night. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I will.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Jones!” Constantine dismounted and held out his hand. “I’m obliged to you for meeting me.”

  The grumpy old fellow appeared reluctant to shake hands with Constantine, but after an internal struggle, he clasped it briefly. “I’s put out ter grass two year ago, my lord.”

  Constantine recognized by the broadening of the man’s accent that he was not minded to be cooperative. He couldn’t blame Jones for being less than pleased to have him as landlord in these parts. As a boy, Constantine had given him no end of trouble with his pranks.

  That aside, Constantine needed his help. And if he knew the former steward’s interfering bent, it wouldn’t be long before Jones would overcome his reluctance and start ordering him about like a schoolboy again.

  “Jones, I need your advice.”

  The older man rubbed his craggy jaw with the side of his thumb. “Don’t know what ye think I’m able to tell ye.”

  Constantine laughed. “Oh, don’t give me that. I’ll wager you’ve forgotten more than I’ll learn in a lifetime about running this estate.” He squinted upward. “I want to consult you about many things, but my primary concern at the moment is this mill.” They both surveyed the imposing structure, nestled at the foot of the valley.

  The building had once been the focus of a thriving industry. To Constantine’s shock, Larkin had informed him that the mill stood empty now, disused. He’d not quite believed it until he’d ridden up here and found the place deserted. The stream that had powered the woolen mill had dried to a trickle. Was this why Frederick had so blithely mortgaged the place? Perhaps he hadn’t cared if he forfeited it.

  “Aye,” said Jones, rubbing his cheek with the side of his thumb. “A great shame, that was. All the weavers out of work, and forced to beg for a place up at Bronson’s. On a fraction of the pay, mind.”

  “You mean the mill on Adam Trent’s land?”

  “That’s right. He don’t run the mill himself, though. Leases it to a fellow called Bronson. Never seen about these parts, lets his foreman manage the place. But Bronson’s a hard man. Took his chance to pay less and make more profit when the workers here were turned away.” Jones shrugged. “Where else could they go?”

  Constantine was surprised that other work couldn’t be found for them on the estate, if the conditions at Bronson’s were so intolerable. Why hadn’t Frederick done something?

  A trickle of water flowed through the streambed, a meager legacy from the recent downpour. Not nearly enough to power a mill. “I want to know what can be done to make this mill run again, Jones. Build a reservoir, divert another tributary. I don’t know. Something.”

  Constantine pulled off his hat and shook droplets of water from its brim. “It never stops raining in this place. I can’t believe there’s no water to power my mill.”

  “As to that, my lord…” Jones hesitated, perhaps torn between his own desire to see the mill back in operation and his natural abhorrence of giving Constantine assistance.

  “Come, Jones, I’m depending on you,” said Constantine. “Young Larkin is a good fellow but hasn’t an ounce of your judgment. If you want your old position back, it’s yours. And if you know something, tell me.”

  Constantine saw at once that the older man was mollified by his promises. Perhaps his dismissal had wounded the man’s pride.

  Jones nodded. “Well, my lord, there’s a trick these mill owners have of making sure the competition goes out of business. You see Bronson’s mill?” He pointed to another stone building in the distance, farther up the valley. “They’s upstream from this’n. So…” He spread his hands.

  Constantine frowned, his jaw tightening. “Do you mean to tell me the blackguard has dammed this stream so our mill doesn’t get any water?”

  “Aye, that’s about the size of it.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Or at least, that’s a way I know of making sure other mills suffer.”

  “Good God!” Fury possessed Constantine. Why had no one else thought of this? Why hadn’t that idiot Frederick?

  “Did you tell my cousin of your suspicions?” he demanded.

  Jones regarded him with scorn. “’Course I did. He wouldn’t listen. Didn’t want to know.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Master Frederick never did hold with the mill.”

  Constantine swore. That would be Frederick all over, refusing to take an interest in an enterprise that didn’t fit with his notions of gentlemanly pursuits. One might collect rent from tenants but God forbid one pursued income from trade. His father hadn’t been so high in the instep.

  “Do you know this Brons
on’s direction?” said Constantine.

  “That I don’t. But Mr. Trent will.”

  Grim-faced, Constantine mounted his horse. “I’m going up the valley to see for myself. And then I’ll hear what our neighbor has to say.”

  * * *

  Constantine strode into Adam Trent’s house, ignoring the bleating from his butler. “In the breakfast parlor, is he? Thank you, I’ll find my own way.”

  He discovered Adam Trent in the south parlor discussing a breakfast of ham and eggs.

  Constantine slammed his hand on the table, making the flatware jump. “I want a word with you!”

  Trent looked up in astonishment, then fury dawned. “Good God, Black! What do you mean by bursting in on me like this? I ought to call you out!”

  “It’s Roxdale to you,” growled Constantine. “And you’d be wise to keep your challenges to yourself until you hear what I have to say. I’ve just come from Bronson’s mill.”

  Trent’s eyes lost none of their righteous outrage. “And? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “It damned well will mean something to you! Your tenant, Bronson, has put countless Lazenby men out of work. He has dammed the stream that used to flow down to our mill, making it impossible to power it.”

  “I—I knew nothing of this,” stammered Trent, rising. “It must be a mistake.”

  “No mistake. I saw it with my own eyes.” Constantine paused, his chest rising and falling. “Well? What are you going to do about it?”

  Trent blinked at him. “Why, I … What can I do?”

  Constantine spoke through his teeth. “Order him to get rid of that dam so that my workers can come back and earn a decent livelihood! The thing’s badly constructed and full to bursting with all the rain we’ve had. If you can’t think of my people, think of your own. I wouldn’t wager a groat against the whole structure collapsing with the next downpour.”

  “The mill is Bronson’s responsibility. I—”

  “And your tenants are yours!” said Constantine. “Order Bronson to come down here or take care of it yourself, I don’t care. Have that dam dismantled within the week or I’ll be up there to do it with my own hands. Good day to you!”