Heiress in Love (Ministry of Marriage Novels)

by Christina Brooke

  She moved farther south, giving his stomach playful licks that felt like tongues of flame. No, no. Before he lost his mind completely, he needed to know why she was behaving like this.

  He touched the back of her head, trying to recall her attention. In a strained voice, he said, “Not that I don’t appreciate the…” He broke off with a long moan as she took him in her mouth, scattering his thoughts to oblivion.

  Something about this picture was wrong, but Constantine was damned if he could puzzle it out while her tongue fondled his cock with the skill of an experienced courtesan. The notion of Jane being the one to do this to him made the blood roar through his body in a dizzying rush.

  Shuddering, he threaded his fingers through her hair, his buttocks tensing as she took all of him. He’d taught her the basics, but in the past weeks, she seemed to have perfected the art.

  He held on for as long as he could, which, it turned out, was no time at all. Too soon, his mind blanked, and with a guttural cry, he came so hard his head swam.

  And they hadn’t even made it to the bed.

  When he’d regained his senses, he pulled her up for a long, drugging kiss, then guided her to the bed with a firm hand on the curve of her delectable bottom. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing—another novelty—and though he appreciated the view he was getting, her nakedness plucked another string of unease.

  His chest was still heaving when he settled back on the pillows, pulling her down to him. “I’m going to need a minute before I reciprocate.”

  She lay in the circle of his arm, biting the edge of her thumb in that way she had. He’d learned the gesture meant she was agitated about something.

  So. His instincts at the start of this torrid encounter had been correct.

  “Jane, what’s wrong?”

  “Wrong?” She looked up at him through the wild tangle of her hair. “Why should you say that? I … you enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  God, had he enjoyed it? “Of course I did. But you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, you know. It’s not mandatory.”

  “I like doing it. I like…” Her lips curved in a secretive smile. “I love having you at my mercy.”

  He laughed, and kissed her temple. His voice grew husky. “I’m your slave, princess. You know that.”

  She fell silent.

  And there it was again, that tension. He could feel it in her, even as she snuggled close.

  This was the moment in most of his dealings with women where he’d get the hell out of there. He’d leave, or he’d commit some unforgivable sin, and when they tossed him out of their beds he’d heave a sigh of relief and move on.

  Now, it was not so simple. Jane wasn’t one of those women. He cared for her. He was going to marry her. He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.

  She’d told him she loved him, but she hadn’t repeated the sentiment, and he’d learned better than to believe a woman knew her own heart in the afterglow of sexual release. Even if she truly believed she loved him, it might all be an illusion. He’d been her first real lover, after all. Sometimes women liked to fool themselves that they slept with a man for more altruistic reasons than the sinful pursuit of pleasure.

  But he was uneasily aware that if he made a wrong step now, he might well lose everything they had together. And what they had was new to him, precious. He hadn’t allowed himself to care for a woman since Amanda. He’d deliberately chosen lovers as hard-hearted and sophisticated as he was. If they ever developed more tender feelings toward him, he simply left. No danger there.

  Gently, he kissed the top of Jane’s head, stroking her bare, lovely arm with his fingertips.

  The words “I love you,” which she’d bestowed on him so effortlessly, were not so simple for him to say. An ache built in his throat as he tried desperately to think of a phrase that told her how important she was to him, how uniquely dear. A sentiment that would not seem like a sop to her feelings, a second-best to love.

  He couldn’t. And in the end, he reached for her and pulled her on top of him and dispensed with speech altogether.

  * * *

  As soon as he heard of Trent’s return from Town, Constantine was on the man’s doorstep. This time, instead of barging into Trent’s breakfast room, Constantine most correctly sent up his card. After a lengthy wait, he was shown into the library.

  Promising. Trent had not barred him from the house, at least. Perhaps he would have, if the notion had occurred to him.

  When Trent came in, Constantine walked forward, holding out his hand. Trent ignored it.

  “You wished to see me?” The tone was cool, but Constantine sensed the resentment seething underneath.

  “Yes, I wished to see you. And I’ll tell you now, I have not come to pick a fight.” He looked around. “Do you mind if we sit down?”

  “You won’t be here long enough,” said Trent. “State your business and go.”

  Constantine regarded Trent with a small measure of sympathy. Perhaps he ought to let the man vent his spleen. “DeVere gave you a dressing-down, did he? I am sorry for it.”

  “He held you up as an example. To me!” Trent’s square jaw hardened.

  “He must be in his dotage,” said Constantine lightly.

  “That’s what I thought! There’s madness in the deVeres and his lordship has it in spades.” With a start, Trent seemed to catch himself, perhaps remembering that he was (a) himself a deVere on the distaff side, and (b) speaking to a Black, the natural enemy of the deVere clan.

  Trent cleared his throat. “Never mind that. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to inform you of the work that is going on up at your mill.”

  “I know what’s going on!” Trent snapped. “I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? Rode past there this morning.” He gave a short laugh. “If you’re stupid enough to foot the bill for improvements on my land, then more fool you. I shan’t stop you.”

  “No, I’m not fool enough to do that,” said Constantine. “Lord deVere is footing the bill.”

  He paused, relishing the astonished consternation on his neighbor’s face. Trent might wriggle out of repaying Constantine, but he didn’t have the guts to deny his formidable uncle the funds he’d expended on Trent’s land.

  Recovering, Trent blustered, “At all events, Bronson holds the lease on the mill. It’s no concern of mine what he does with the place.”

  His temper rising, Constantine said, “But your tenants are your concern, Trent. And you have a duty to them not to abdicate responsibility to a man like Bronson. A man who has been conspicuously absent in these parts.”

  Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know those weavers’ wages were barely enough to keep them alive? Do you know what hours those men and women and children were expected to work? Do you even care?”

  Trent sent him a contemptuous look. “Don’t come over all high-and-mighty with me. I’ll not take lessons in my duty from a blackguard like you!”

  The fury that exploded inside Constantine needed an outlet, but he’d promised himself he would not lose his temper today. Panting with the effort of holding back, he shook his head.

  “No,” he managed. “That, at least, is clear. You’ll never learn, will you, Trent?” He narrowed his eyes. “I always knew you for a golden-haired hypocrite, Trent. But I never dreamed you would stoop to fraud.”

  A flash of emotion crossed Trent’s features before his face shuttered. “What?” he said coldly.

  “Mr. Greenslade did a little digging for me,” said Constantine. “And do you know what he discovered? That you, Trent, are a director and principal shareholder of Bronson and Company. There is no Bronson. You made him up.”

  Trent’s hands were balled into fists. His knuckles were white. His face betrayed nothing at all. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Constantine. He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Shall I hazard a guess? You persuaded Frederick to run his mil
l as you run yours—like a business. In your capacity as Bronson and Company, you lent Frederick the funds to buy the very latest expensive machinery for the mill, then you made sure the mill foundered, by damming the stream that powered it. What was the plan then, Trent? The interest on that loan was crippling. Did you intend to bleed Frederick dry?”

  Trent curled his lip. “What a nice little fairy tale you’ve concocted, Constantine. I hardly think—”

  “When you dammed that stream, you lost this estate three seasons’ worth of earnings. We had to pay your mill to weave our wool. And not only that, but our weavers had no choice but to accept work from you under harsher conditions and for fewer wages than they’d ever known.”

  “This is pure fabrication!” said Trent, but sweat beaded his upper lip.

  Constantine leaned forward, planting his palms on the desk. He spoke softly. “And do you know what the worst part of this whole business is, Trent? You didn’t even have the guts to perpetrate this villainy in your own name.”

  Constantine drew a paper from his waistcoat and threw it down. “Here is what I calculate you owe me in damages and lost earnings. You can instruct your solicitor to communicate with mine.”

  Trent barely glanced at the sheet of foolscap. “I admit nothing! None of this is true. But whatever I did, Constantine, you owe Bronson and Company a damn sight more money than this! You have one week to find those funds or you can say good-bye to your mill.” He sneered. “You won’t be such a hero to your people then, will you, Lord Roxdale?”

  Smiling grimly, Constantine said, “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be saying any farewells any time soon.”

  Trent’s face whitened. “How? How could you possibly find the money? Frederick left you with nothing but land.”

  “That’s right. He did.” Constantine gave him a feral smile. “But Lady Roxdale has done me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage. Didn’t you know?”

  * * *

  “Aunt Jane, Aunt Jane!”

  Jane expelled a breath in a quiet oof as Luke cannoned into her. He wrapped his skinny arms around her and squeezed her tight. Then he released her to caper about the room. “Guess where we’re going?”

  She pretended to think. “To … the moon?”

  He gave a gurgle of laughter. “No, silly! Guess again.”

  “Hmm … I know! Timbuktu.”

  “Timbuktu?” He hooted in derision. “What would we go there for? No, better than that.”

  She tapped her chin. “No, I’m afraid I simply can’t guess. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “London!” Luke took her hands and swung them to and fro. “Can you believe it? Lord Roxdale says he’ll take me to Astley’s to see the performing horses, and Tattersall’s, too. And to the print shops, so I can see all the latest cartoons. And Somerset House, and oh, all manner of places.”

  “Did he? That’s wonderful,” said Jane, perhaps a little too heartily.

  Oblivious to her disquiet, Luke chatted away about London and its attractions, peppering his conversation with the phrase “Lord Roxdale says.”

  “That all sounds marvelous,” said Jane when he at last drew breath.

  “And best of all,” added Luke, “Lord Roxdale says I can have a holiday from Mr. Potts!”

  “Poor Mr. Potts,” said Jane, laughing. But she raised no objection. She and Constantine had reached a compromise over Luke’s lessons. In fact, they’d managed to merge their philosophies on rearing children fairly harmoniously. Constantine was learning that he had someone else besides himself to think of now; Jane did her best to curb her tendency to shelter Luke from every chill wind.

  She’d never expected to view Constantine’s guardianship as a boon. Yet, his presence had done Luke a great deal of good. Jane thought of Montford, and the good he’d done as her guardian. It was no small thing to be responsible for every aspect of a child’s well-being. Negotiating with Constantine over their respective roles in Luke’s life had given her a fresh perspective on her dealings with the duke.

  Now, she said, “You like having Lord Roxdale as your guardian, don’t you, darling?”

  Luke nodded. “He’s a prime gun!” His gaze lowered. “Aunt Jane? Lord Roxdale says I’m a son to him now. So … when you marry him, does that mean you’ll be my mama?”

  The hope in those soft brown eyes made her heart turn over. Happiness broke over her like a sunburst. “Oh, yes, Luke. Yes! I would love you to be my son. More than I can say.”

  She hugged him to her almost fiercely. He flung his arms around her neck and he hugged her back, making tears start to her eyes.

  “I love you more than life.” She whispered it into his dark curls, then kissed both his cheeks. How much longer would he want her cuddles? He was growing up so fast.

  Suddenly, the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour.

  “Must go,” said Luke, wriggling out of her embrace. “I’m meeting Jimmy down by the lake. We’re going fishing.”

  “Are you just?” Jane wiped away a tear, laughing a little at herself, and at the resilience of youth. “Catch a big ’un and I’ll ask Cook to fry it up for your dinner.”

  “Huzzah!” said Luke, and with a cheeky grin that squeezed her heart, he ran off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  If solitude were to be found anywhere at Lazenby, the garden was the most likely place for it. Jane lifted her face to the sun, feeling the spring air shiver and hum around her, the sunlight dance on her skin.

  Pleasantly heated, she moved into the cool of the wilderness, with its carefully tended disarray, and gave a luxurious stretch. She was a little sore from the marathon session of lovemaking last night. It was as if Constantine had heard her unspoken plea for reassurance and done his best to show her how he felt. Over and over and over again.

  I’m your slave. When he made love to her so tenderly, passionately, when he teased and cajoled her into wickedness, when he spent time simply gazing at her as she slept, it was hard to believe Constantine didn’t want her and her alone in his bed. Perhaps he did love her. Perhaps he simply didn’t know it yet.

  Courage, Jane. Fatal to corner him on the subject. If he wasn’t ready to examine his feelings, she wouldn’t try to force him. Nothing was more certain to make him set her at a distance than an impassioned appeal for his love.

  In London, she would not sit back and let those other women stake their claim. She was a Westruther and Constantine’s future bride. That ought to be enough to stiffen her spine. She would fight for him if she had to.

  “Jane. I guessed I’d find you here.”

  She jumped. “Oh, Mr. Trent! You startled me.”

  Anxiously, she glanced around. Constantine would have Trent’s head if he saw them together in the shrubbery, screened as they were from view of the house. While she still disputed Constantine’s right to order whom she might entertain as a visitor, she didn’t wish for another confrontation between the two men. Besides, Trent was scarcely good company these days.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said quickly, trying to move past him so at least they were out of the shrubbery, in the open air.

  He gripped her arm, not roughly, but firmly enough to hold her in place. “I know, but I heard … Dear God, Jane, I heard you are to marry him! How you could—” He broke off, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

  When he spoke again, it was in a low, throbbing tone. “I have avoided sullying your ears with this tale for too long, it seems. DeVere warned me not to speak to you of this, and God knows I wouldn’t if it weren’t necessary, for it’s sure to set you against me, so besotted as you are—”

  “Sir! Not another word.” Furious, she tugged at his strengthened grasp. “Let go of me! Mr. Trent, you will leave these premises immediately!”

  Jane tried to pull away but he gripped her upper arms and yanked her back to face him. He was so close, she could see the perspiration that beaded his upper lip, pick out the pores in his ruddily fair skin.

  His voice rasped,
“At least hear what I have to say.”

  “Remove your hands, sir!” she said between her teeth, while her heart pounded in her chest. If he molested her here, no one would come to her rescue.

  Instead of releasing her, he gave her a shake. “I had meant to court you with respect, to be patient, but that blackguard has not waited, has he? He has beguiled you with his handsome face and his rakish manners! You, Lady Roxdale! The most sensible, levelheaded female of my acquaintance. Yet even you cannot see him for what he is.”

  “That is enough! Let go of me. You make yourself foolish—”

  He wasn’t listening to her. Suddenly, his mouth firmed with determination. “Well, let me show you something.”

  Ignoring her struggles, Trent yanked her into his embrace. She fought like a termagant, but she was no match for his strength. “Don’t! No! I don’t want—”

  His mouth crushed hers in a violent, inept kiss that made her feel bruised and helpless—and not in a pleasurable way. His breath came in heavy pants, laced with brandy and something sour that made her want to retch. His tongue thrust into her mouth and waves of revulsion tumbled through her body. This horrid assault was not at all like kissing Constantine Black.

  With the heels of her hands, she thrust hard at Trent’s shoulders, hoping to surprise him into letting go.

  The miracle was that it worked. One second, Trent’s body was pressed against her in a menacingly amorous manner; the next, it was as if he’d leaped away from her.

  Then she saw Constantine free his hand from Trent’s collar. That same hand clenched and hauled back. She cried out, but not before Constantine’s big fist connected solidly with Trent’s jaw.

  The blow lifted Trent off his feet and sent him sprawling into the bushes.

  For a moment, Constantine waited, his hands fisted loosely by his sides, but Trent didn’t get up. Then Constantine turned his furious gaze on her.

  “Thank you,” she managed. She looked over at Trent, who hadn’t moved. “Oh, but did you have to hit him so hard?”

  “Yes.” The statement was bald and flat. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “But I wouldn’t have had to hit him at all if you’d stayed away from him, as I told you to do. I was right, wasn’t I? I knew he wanted you.”