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“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.
