by Stacy Reid
Constance checked her thoughts, as her mother was always berating her for being too forward and impulsive. She pulled her gaze from his tempting lips, wondering how to make him fall in love with her. Was it done by conversation? Or by stolen moments with shared kisses and embraces? She needed to discover its secrets and soon, for she could not abide the idea of marrying a supercilious prig like Lord Litchfield. An offer she feared Lord Radcliffe would soon accept, because she suspected her brothers were wholly in agreement that the only solution for her now was to marry.
…
Lucan fought to hold on to his self-control. Constance intrigued him against his own volition. He wanted very badly to draw her into his arms and devour her lips. He wanted her taste on his tongue, to inhale her scent of lavender and cinnamon, to see those emerald eyes darken with passion. Her freshness called to him and made him realize how often he dealt with the jaded, the depraved.
I have no friends; they have all turned from me.
Those had been the exact words Marissa had written in her letter to him. He should have felt some triumph that he was succeeding in his plan. After all, did he not want Calydon’s sister to feel the same pain his sister had endured? But the disillusion in Constance’s voice gutted him.
“I seem to have spoken a lot about me today, Lucan.” Her eyes sparkled teasingly. “I feel as if I know nothing about you, and I would wager you now know everything about me.”
His eyes traveled the length of her body. Not everything. Need coiled in his gut, and he directed his thoughts from the unbidden image of her splayed before him, those sensual hips arched provocatively as he sank his cock into what he knew would be sublime tightness and heat. He would take her slowly. He would savor every touch, every moan, and watch as her emerald eyes darkened with passion and mayhap love. Love? What the hell was wrong with him?
He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses firmer on his nose. “I am at your disposal, my lady, what would you like to know?”
“What is your favorite play?”
For some reason he expected the questions women normally hinted at. How rich was he really? Was he looking for a duchess? Had he really killed a man in the Orient? “I do not know. I have never been to a play.”
She gaped at him. “You have never been to the Theatre Royal? Or the Opera?”
She sounded genuinely appalled.
He flicked a glance at her chaperone, who sat only a few feet away. Several other couples and larger groups also picnicked, and he had seen more than a few looks of complete shock sent their way. Outright disapproval was stamped on many faces. Constance had studiously avoided them, concentrating all her attention on him.
He liked being the center of her sole regard.
Lucan had seen the need burning in her eyes to question his intentions, but she had decided to display some tact at last. He was impressed by her restraint. And that had not been the only need he’d seen in her eyes. The memory of their kiss was forever in her gaze, tempting him to behave foolishly. He gritted his teeth in annoyance as his cock jerked in his trousers with every move she made. He found himself enraptured by the way her luscious lips stretched around her food before biting into it. It did not seem as if the lady was trying to deliberately entice him. She was the complete opposite to the practiced partners in his other sexual encounters, her innocence and natural sensuality was refreshing.
“Well, Your Grace?” her strident demand forced him to focus.
Ah yes, she had been asking where he visited for enjoyment. He could hardly tell her about the hidden fight den Ainsley operated along with their gaming club. Lucan’s mind searched for somewhere with which she would be able to identify. “I have picnicked a few times at Hampstead Heath, several times in fact.” He did not reveal that this was over fifteen years ago, with his sister. The ghost of Marissa’s laughter and her softly lilted voice wafted through him. It is all so beautiful, Lucan. If only we could stay here forever.
“But you are a duke.”
“Am I?”
“Are you not?”
“I am just a regular man that inherited several crumbling estates and an inordinate amount of debts.” The estates were indeed in bad need of funds and repairs, but money was what he had in droves. He just needed to now find the interest to set the estates to rights.
Her emerald eyes assessed him deeply, seemingly probing at his soul. What was it about her that made him speak so freely? Lucan clenched his jaw in annoyance, not trusting the way he had relaxed so easily with her. The push and pull grated on him. Something in him fought to warn her, to push her away from him, to preserve the naive sweet girl that she was. Then a more primitive part of him roared in rage at his thoughts. Had his sister been given such thoughts, such considerations?
Wariness shifted in her gaze, and she frowned as if in deep contemplation, then exhaled gently with a small smile. It seemed she reached whatever decision she clearly battled. “You must allow me to take you to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. The Lyon’s Mail is all the rage, and I am quite sure you will enjoy it. The sounds, the laughter, witnessing the amazing talent of the actors, and oh the music… You can call on me and we will go together. I am sure you have a box?”
Lucan looked at her in stupefied amazement. He might have not mingled in high society for long, but he was bloody certain no young lady would invite a man out. Whether he was a duke or not.
“I was told there is indeed a box,” he heard himself saying, as if someone else was speaking.
“Wonderful,” she said on a radiant smile, which had so much genuine appeal, he was charmed.
“Do you have any family you would like to accompany us, Lucan?”
She flushed at his hard stare but did not retreat. His family was never something he spoke about, and only Ainsley, Marcus, and the Reverend knew of them in its entirety. Lucan had determined his life was not fodder for society’s speculation so he had held them close. “No,” he said flatly, to discourage all questions in that regard.
She gave him a look filled with such sympathy, his chest ached. He wanted to tell her to keep touching him as she lightly caressed his arm in a gesture he was not sure he understood. He did not like how the simple quick touch was so pleasurable.
“I am very sorry, Lucan. It must be lonely not to have a family. Mine is very interfering and tells me what to do all the time, but I cannot imagine life without them,” she said with a smile that was kindness itself.
Her satiny skin glistened under the sunlight, her hair shone like gold itself, and the glow in her green eyes tempted him to unwind. A nameless hunger ate at him. For more. With her. And that shook him. He hardly knew her.
“I have a family, Constance.”
Her mouth formed an O of surprise. “Forgive me… I assumed—”
He waved away her apology. “It is I who should beg your forgiveness for being so brusque. I do have a family. I have two younger cousins whom I regard as sisters and an aunt living in Hampshire.”
Her eyes glowed with pleasure, and he released a slow breath. It did not feel as awful as he had imagined, revealing a bit about himself. He found he wanted to tell her something that society did not know, something not so notorious, and quite normal.
“That is wonderful, Lucan. Why are they not in town, if you do not mind me prying?”
“My cousins are still in the schoolroom, and my aunt does not belong to this society,” he said mildly.
He watched her curiosity deepen. She was so transparent in her emotions. She shifted closer to him on the blanket.
“I heard your father was a school teacher?”
The lady was informed. Not many in London knew much of his background. There was a lot of speculation, and some had the right of it, but many had it wrong.
“He was.” Going on an impulse he was sure to berate himself for later, he continued, “My mother was the daughter of the previous Duke of Mondvale, a secret she kept from us our whole lives. I fancied our father knew, but he never said anythin
g either. She was disinherited for eloping with him over thirty years ago. She was an only child and as such, I was the heir.”
“And when the duke passed on you were found, so you could take your inheritance?” she asked somewhat breathlessly.
“It took the crown four years, but they were relentless.”
“A lot of the rumors whispered of you being some long lost cousin, not the grandson to Mondvale himself.”
Lucan nodded, though in truth he was responsible for some of that misdirection. “It seemed he did everything to bury the fact that his daughter had eloped.”
“Do you regret not knowing him?”
Regret? “I knew I had grandparents alive in the world, though not of such elevation. There had been a time when I tried to find out who they were.” When his parents had died, he and Marissa had been alone, penniless, with hardly any food to eat in the winter. He had been desperate enough that he’d rifled through his mother’s belongings, for he knew she periodically wrote to someone and watched the post hoping for a reply. At the first visit to his ducal estate Wynter Park, he had found those letters, bound and unopened in a top drawer in the library. Yes, he had regrets—for not having the satisfaction of telling his grandfather what he thought of his callous disregard for his daughter.
“I do not, for then I would not have known my aunt and cousins. From what I learned of Mondvale, they would not have been welcomed in our lives.” But Marissa would have been alive.
Constance smiled. “Your cousins must be so excited and your aunt proud.”
He arched his brow at that. He doubted his cousins cared or saw the importance of him having such a title. While he had ensured they wanted for nothing, not once had they aspired to move in lofty circles, happy with their life in Hampshire. His aunt, a former school mistress herself, was even less inclined than his cousins.
A sharp gust of wind lifted the blanket, and a dark cloud passed over them, blotting out the sun for a brief moment.
“Oh drat!” Constance cried and then started to laugh as a large drop landed on her cheek. “I fear our picnic is over, Your Grace. But it was indeed splendid conversing with you.”
She gave him a winsome smile, and Lucan wondered if he had ever beheld anyone as ravishing as the lady. Several shrieks and laughter from the other ladies and gentlemen ensued as the rain pattered with more strength. The footman appeared and in quick time packed their belongings.
Constance and Lady Ralston giggled as they ran ahead of Lucan toward the waiting carriage, while he walked behind at a much slower pace. Something about their joy rattled him. The rain had been timely indeed. He was weakening toward Constance, and Lucan doubted he had ever been in such a dangerous position. The day should have been about using her to discover more of Calydon’s weaknesses. Learning more about the man, gleaning titbits society would not know were important. Lucan was a master at sifting through the undercurrents, picking at the details that were crucial, and ignoring what was irrelevant. The only thing he had learned today was how damned enticing Lady Constance was. If he was not careful, she would have the power to sway him from his path, and that would never do.
Chapter Seven
Constance held herself still while her maid artfully arranged her hair so that her golden ringlets cascaded down one side kissing her shoulder, and piled the rest in an artful chignon. She’d resolved to try and make Lucan fall hopelessly in love with her. A quiver of trepidation traveled through her. She knew what she had to do, and she would not falter. Seduce Duke Mondvale, the Lord of Sin.
She was nervous and doing her best to look indifferent, wanting to appear serene when he called to collect her. She had been pleased when he had visited the day after their picnic to invite her to the opera. He had been charming and unassuming and within minutes her mother had been smiling, the dour expression she had greeted him with melted away under his undeniable charm.
The three days wait to see him had been intolerable. She had dashed off a note to him, thanking him for his invitation, and he had responded. At first, when the butler had handed her the letter, she had been flummoxed. She had not recognized the seal—a stunning silver and red design of a lip pressed to an apple. It looked sinful. Constance had gone hot with excitement. She had slit the seal and read the single line nearly a dozen times.
It was my pleasure, Lady Constance. I look forward to our next encounter and shall be sending a carriage for you at seven.
L
Charlotte swept into her room, looking beautiful in a pale pink gown, cut low on her shoulders, her dark hair bouncing around her forehead. Anne put the finishing touches in Constance’s hair, and she went over to the mirror. Anne had outdone herself. Constance wore one of the daring new gowns she had ordered from Madame Lemont. A flattering green gown that perfectly matched her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” Charlotte murmured.
Constance smiled. “So do you, Charlotte.”
Her friend must have heard the doubt in her tone, the one she had been working so hard to bury.
Charlotte turned serious eyes to Constance. “You will be fine. Ignore everyone who stares and whispers. It is expected. It is good that you are going out and not hiding as you were before. But promise me that you will be careful tonight. Remember His Grace has not asked permission to court you, so we are still unaware of his intentions. I know your spirit, Connie, so behave with decorum.”
“I will be careful,” she said affectionately, kissing Charlotte’s cheek. “But don’t chaperone me too strictly.”
“Constance!”
“Oh pish, I highly doubt anyone can determine if they are ideally suited without a few stolen moments here and there, Charlotte. I only ask you to give me such instances before you hover.”
“It is not safe to be alone with a man like Mondvale for even a few seconds,” she growled.
Constance rolled her eyes. “Well if someone would explain what I must be wary of, my life would be much simpler. Come on, Charlotte, tell me.”
Constance laughed at the fulminating look from her friend.
“We are only going to the opera, Char, and you will be right there. I do not think it possible for me to be ravished under your watchful eyes. Though I doubt Lucan is interested in doing any ravishing at all.”
Charlotte released a gusty sigh. “I am still very uncomfortable traveling without your mother.”
“Mother has a headache, and we will not make her feel guilty. You know she would push herself to travel with us when it is hardly necessary.”
Charlotte harrumphed and pulled on her gloves.
They descended the stairs, hurrying out the door and into the waiting carriage Lucan had sent. Constance dispatched a swift prayer to the heavens, hoping tonight was the night she would be able to unravel his intentions.
…
Lucan held himself rigid beside Constance in the plush private box situated above the rest of the auditorium. She was a brave thing. He could feel the tension sifting along her frame. The stares and the whispers were obvious, and he could see it pained her. A pang of regret sliced through him.
He had sworn he could be cool and detached, no matter what temptation she offered. That resolve had faltered when he first saw her this evening. He had waited for her beneath the archway at the lobby entrance, watching as the crowd milled about in front of the theatre. She had alighted from the carriage, looking reserved and more than a little bit nervous. Her lushly curved body clad in a green silken gown only a few shades darker than her eyes. Diamonds dripped from her ears and throat, but the pleasure that lit her eyes and the radiance of her smile upon seeing him, had made his mouth dry. It was genuine.
Now to see her discomfort when she should be enjoying herself affected him. Acting on impulse, he slipped his hand over hers and laced her fingers through his. Her head dipped, and she stared at their intertwined fingers for long frozen seconds.
Lucan considered her bent head, wondering if he had made a gross miscalculation. Probably his atten
tions were not as welcome as he had thought. He had seen wariness in her eyes on more than one occasion and that would not do at all. He needed her close, vulnerable, not hiding behind any protective walls. She lifted her head, and the smile she bestowed upon him punched him in his solar plexus. It was the only explanation for how the breath escaped from his lips.
She subtly shifted closer to him, and he felt when the tension leaked out of her frame. He was very conscious of Lady Ralston seated behind him, and he was happy for her presence, for he could see himself doing something highly inappropriate in the darkened box. Like trailing his hands beneath Constance’s petticoats to find out if the passion she exuded when dancing and kissing extended to everywhere. He could imagine her, spread wantonly, tangled in the sheets on his bed beneath him, making those aroused sounds as he drove deep into her. He grimaced as his trousers tightened in discomfort. He determinedly pushed the images from his mind and examined the many ladies aiming disapproving stares their way.
Many matrons of society shone their opera glasses and blatantly ogled them. Lucan knew he was gossiped about and that many wondered about him. But it had never been as obvious to him as tonight. For tonight he was sharing his box with the Beautiful Bastard. A sharp sense of uneasiness plagued him. It affected him too deeply, knowing of her pain.
The curtains drew, and she sat forward, a soft smile tilting the corners of her lips. He thought back to the report he had on her. When the season had opened, her family had made a show of support, and everyone had stepped out. Calydon and his duchess, Lord Anthony and Lady Phillipa, and Lord and Lady Radcliffe. Yet Constance had not stayed in London. After only a few outings, she had retreated to the country. Where she apparently only took long walks, visited her brother’s tenants, and became a patron to a kind and charming old couple that cared for unwanted children.