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A fire in the brazier warmed the parlor in Lucan’s apartments, but its heat did not reach him. He felt cold and empty. For the first time since h
e’d taken on his path to end Calydon, Lucan felt a deep wash of regret. He had convinced himself over the long months of plotting, his revenge would be sweet when he ruined Constance in the same way Calydon had done Marissa. Instead, its taste was bitter and vile, and Lucan had not even executed his plan.
It had been his full intention to have them discovered in a compromising position and to then refuse to marry her. Her ruination would have been completed. But he had been unable to do it. He had decided to find another path to bring down Calydon. But, God, the look in Constance’s eyes.
I feel you when you stare at me, you know. I felt you tonight before I even saw you. That has never happened to me before. Is it the same for you, Lucan?
When she had asked Lucan that, he had wanted to howl “yes”. He’d remained silent, fearing if he answered, she would see the truth. The instant her gaze touched him, it was as if some unseen force burned him, bespelled him, and he only had to quickly scan the crowd to find her stare hot with need caressing him.
He was aware of a strange numbness somewhere deep inside himself. After what had happened to Marissa he had promised himself he would never bed an innocent, never entangle himself with one. He had shattered the dreams and hopes he saw in Constance’s eyes. He supposed every young girl dreamed of courtship and marriage. It had been clear she expected him to declare for her. It made him feel hollow to think he had planned on doing worse to her. And for what? He doubted Calydon could feel the pain Lucan had felt when he learned he had lost Marissa so cruelly.
Please confide in me.
The memory of the heartfelt plea tormented him, and the knowledge of how much he had hurt Constance cut into him like a knife. He could hardly explain that he had been trying to save her from himself. The huge pool of pain that had reflected in her green eyes had shredded something inside of him.
His sister had been brutally beaten for months, then hung herself. At least Calydon still had Constance. At least Lucan had not executed his vengeance on her. But he could find no comfort in his reasoning.
“Tell me what happened?” Ainsley prompted for the second time from his spot near the mantel.
Lucan did not look at him. Instead he went to the cabinet in his office and poured himself a glass of scotch. He downed the liquor in one swallow and poured another. The door opened and closed quietly, but he did not look up. It would be the Reverend.
“What the hell is going on? Did someone die?”
Lucan lifted his head, surprised to see the club’s accountant, his friend Marcus Stone entering. He was their fourth partner in the club. The man took in the wrecked office, the shattered glass, and overturned chairs with cool aplomb, saying nothing at Lucan’s apparent loss of control.
“Should I leave and come back?”
Before Lucan could answer him, the Reverend entered, scanned the destruction and poured himself a drink. They all waited on Lucan, his friends, the only ones he had trusted with his plans of vengeance.
“I failed in executing my plan to compromise Lady Constance last night at Lady Beaumont’s ball. In order to prevent her from further designs by me I pushed her away with cruel words.”
Marcus righted one of the overturned chairs and sat. Lucan could see the puzzlement in his friend’s blue eyes. “I don’t understand. Isn’t that what you wanted? The chit’s ruination? Why would you change your course?”
Lucan walked to the east windows that overlooked St. James Park. He dropped his forehead on the cool panes of the glass. He wanted Calydon to pay, but it was Constance enduring the most hurt now.
“I struggled against it, tried to push her away and find another path. When I told her that what has been burgeoning between us meant nothing I…I had not expected the evidence of her anguish to affect me so. There is a pain in my chest, a torment in my mind that will not ease.”
There was a pregnant silence.
“I have never seen you wax poetic over any female before,” the Reverend said, moving to stand beside him. “If you have such feelings for Lady Constance why not simply marry her? You are now a duke, I expect marriage to be somewhere in your future with your responsibilities to the title.”
“I cannot.”
“You can do anything you wish, Lucan,” the Reverend countered.
Lucan straightened, closing himself off from all the feelings ravaging inside. “I will not marry into the family of the man that helped to destroy my sister. I will not forgive Calydon, and I will not halt my destruction of him. I shall direct my actions so that Constance is not adversely affected.”
The Reverend sighed. “Marcus has uncovered the other interests Calydon has invested in and who owns the majority. There are several that are in debt to us and can be manipulated.”
Lucan walked over to the table, where his friends showed him reports of holdings and schemes many did not know Calydon owned or was involved in. Lucan wanted to know everything about the reclusive duke. He would not rest until he completed his revenge. Only his vow felt hollow, his heart too shredded to be invested deeply. Constance would haunt him for months. The memory of her taste on his tongue, her hot moans, her eagerness, and the tight clasp that had nearly choked his fingers. Hell. You could have her forever, an insidious voice whispered. Her passion, her laughter, the hope, the future in her gaze.
He slammed the shutters down, and directed his attention to the conversation around the table. A few minutes later, his friends departed, and he availed himself to all the liquor in the cabinet. For the first time in years, he got roaring drunk. There was no sense of triumph that he had hurt Constance at all, only shame that he had sought to destroy someone so refreshingly pure and beautiful.
For a sin that was not hers.
…
Dressed in her light blue morning tea gown, Constance sat in the chair near the window in the drawing room and gazed out into the gardens. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, but it did not bring the warmth she expected. She doubted anything could thaw her. It had been a week since she’d last seen Lucan, and she was still not at peace.
She could not seem to sort out the conflicted emotions bubbling inside her with such viciousness. She raged at him, hating him with such passion she trembled. Then it would switch so fast to deep yearning, tears would come to her eyes. She resented both feelings. She preferred to dwell where there was no pain, only coldness.
I fantasize what it would be like to walk beside you, laugh with you, to have children with you. How could he have said such words and then walked away? The notion that she had been wrong about him all this time was too staggering to contemplate or accept.
A spasm of anguish snaked through her. She had trusted him. How naive she had been. But it was her own foolish daring and desires that made for such an outcome to be possible. She could not shy from that, no matter how painful the acknowledgement was. She now believed Lucan was as wickedly unprincipled as society said, despite being the only man to ever make her heart stutter. She only had to think his name, and the memory of his taste, the feel of his lips on hers, on her breast, and the feel of his fingers between her thighs would spiral heat wicked and hot through her. She was confounded by it. He had devastated her and she still thought about their kisses, about the pleasures he had bestowed on her.
She had always dreamed about romance, a dashing prince charming sweeping her off her feet with dances and picnics, strolls by the waterfront and stolen kisses. Constance wanted love, family, laughter, a togetherness that had been missing from her childhood. She had felt foolish hope that her illegitimacy would not deter a suitor. After all, she was wealthy, and she was without illusions about her beauty. It was hard to credit that it was her bastardy that drove him away. He had known before he called upon her. What had changed his mind? The strolls by the water fronts, the picnics and outings could not have been in vain on his part. Something had happened, and she needed to know what. She could deny no more that unless she knew, it would forever haunt her.
The day passed in a gr
im kind of blur as she made her plans. Only Charlotte seemed to pick up on Constance’s despondency. Charlotte had been outraged when Constance explained all that happened. She had seen the looks of concern from her mother and father, and had been grateful they had not probed.
The evening dinner was a quiet, informal affair. She lingered for what seemed an appropriate amount of time that would not rouse concern, before she excused herself. An hour later, she felt as if she had walked a hole into the carpet in her chamber.
She vacillated between talking herself into seeing Lucan and demanding answers, and berating herself for even thinking of being so bold, so reckless. She had been too shocked at Lady Beaumont’s ball to demand he give her an appropriate answer. He had not officially declared his intention to her family, but she refused to accept that his attentions had meant nothing. With that firm thought, she launched into motion.
She rang for a bath and ordered a gown to be readied. She knew it would take a while but she did not care. She would see him tonight. She asked her maid to be circumspect and Constance could see the concern in Anne’s eyes. It was not hard for Constance to keep the anger alive while she completed her toilette. She did not even flinch when her corset was drawn tighter than necessary. Nothing would dissuade her from her path.
She was not surprised when an hour later, Charlotte knocked on the door while the finishing touches were being placed to her hair. Charlotte drew in a startled breath when she noticed the black domino cape laid out on the bed, along with Constance’s golden masquerade mask. “Constance, have you lost your marbles?” Charlotte hissed.
Constance waved her hands, dismissing Anne, and rose from in front of the vanity to face Charlotte.
“No, I have not,” Constance said brusquely.
“Where are you headed? Lord and Lady Radcliffe have retired for the night. So who are you heading out with and to where?”
Constance ignored Charlotte’s strident demand and took up the cape. “Help me.”
“Constance,” Charlotte snapped in exasperation. She helped Constance into her cape and Constance turned to the mirror and slipped on her mask.
