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A grin split her face. “Yes.”
There was no hesitation, and the surety of her response and the joy in her eyes humbled him. He would endeavor to make her the happiest of woman.
“I will visit tomorrow and call upon your father, then I will speak with your brother.”
She nodded, then laughed, infecting him with her happiness. Lucan dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss against her lips, burying the need to blurt the truth of his involvement in her pain and ostracism from society. He would unburden all to her, but not today. A deep part of him wished he would never have to reveal it, but he would not start their life together with deception.
For now, he basked in the sweetness of her kiss and the comfort of her touch, knowing he would face the day he had to reveal all his sins to her.
Chapter Sixteen
The cheery gathering in the breakfast room was for Constance’s benefit. She understood that, and loved her family for their support, but she pled a headache and took a tray into her room. She wanted to tell her family Lucan would be calling, but knew it was best to remain silent. While he had promised to speak with her father, he had not mentioned anything in relation to his sister and Sebastian. It was as if Lucan simply closed away the raw grief she had seen in his eyes, where she knew it would simmer and seethe with the possibility of exploding into something horrible one day. They all needed to discuss it as a family, but no one was confiding in her. She hoped after Lucan called on her father and brother, an amicable resolution would be found.
With the need beating in her to understand the rife between her love and her brother, she had sought out Jocelyn, and spoke of what had been overheard between Sebastian and Anthony in the library. Constance had also told her of Lucan’s visit, and all that had been said between them after securing her promise to remain silent. Jocelyn had in turn tried to shed some light on Marissa and Sebastian’s relationship. Constance did not comprehend fully what paramours did, but what made it all more shocking was that Marissa had been married. Sebastian had an affair with a married woman. Constance could hardly credit it.
It had not been easy for Jocelyn to speak, Constance had seen that. And she had been grateful Jocelyn had confided in her. For Constance had already realized Sebastian would omit the details. Before breakfast she and Sebastian had taken a turn in the gardens where he had shared some of his past with her. He told her Marissa had been his dear friend whom he lost. Dear friend. Constance had bitten her lips so as not to blurt out that she was well aware of what Lucan’s sister was to him, and that there was no need to spare her the details.
She looked at the folder gripped so tightly in her hands.
Do I want to know?
She had not meant to eavesdrop on her brothers again. She had only intended to confess to Sebastian that she had overheard him and Anthony, and to ask him to somehow resolve the storm that was still brewing between him and Lucan. It had also been her intention to inform him that Lucan would be offering for her. She’d heard Anthony informing Sebastian that the report on Lucan was completed. She’d had no intention of stealing the report until Anthony asked if they should inform her of what they found. Sebastian’s “no” had been unequivocal. Disappointment and frustration had surged in her. Even with everything crumbling around them, her brothers still thought it necessary to withhold information.
She had made quick work of stealing into Sebastian’s chamber and finding the folder. She knew she needed to read it and discreetly return it before breakfast was over. Constance sat on the chaise in her chamber, ignoring the food on the small table by the window. She flipped open the report, amazed at what had been gleaned in as little as three days.
Fifteen minutes later, she slowly closed the file, her heart beating so hard she feared she would faint. She had never meant anything to Lucan. The torment that had followed her since last year had been orchestrated by him.
The anger that gripped Constance was better than the cold pain snaking around her heart. What a fool she had been. With a distant sort of calmness she walked to Jocelyn and Sebastian’s chamber, entered, and replaced the folder in the top drawer of the chest. She returned to her room, and sat in the high wingback chair looking out the window that faced the small but beautiful garden.
The tears would not come. She felt incapable of crying. The hurt was too much. She felt as if a dagger had been plunged inside of her and was still knifing through her with vicious intensity. She had been filled with much romantic idiocy of a prince charming wooing and sweeping her off her feet. A prince charming she had been so sure was Lucan. Constance vowed then, never would she allow her heart to be open to another man.
…
Lucan alighted from his carriage, not liking the feelings of nervousness wafting through him. He was not the type of man to be affected by nerves. Bloody hell. He’d been unable to sleep after leaving Constance and had spent better part of the night boxing bare knuckle with Ainsley, and then Marcus. Yet tension still wound Lucan tight. While he had all intention of offering for Constance, he would not call on her father, until Lucan had unburdened all to her. It was damn tempting to bind her in marriage to him, then reveal his complicity in her pain. But the thought of once again deceiving her left a sour taste in his mouth. He would first speak with her and beg her forgiveness for his past actions, then he would speak to her father and Calydon.
Lucan had glimpsed her blond hair from his carriage, pacing in the gardens. He avoided the front of the townhouse and walked to the side gate where he quietly entered. Luckily the gate was unlatched. He walked on the stone path toward her. Dressed in a peach day dress, and with her unbound hair rippling to her waist, Lucan thought she had never looked more ravishing.
“Constance.”
She jerked and spun around to face him, her hand pressing against her chest.
“Forgive me if I startled you.”
“What are you doing here?” No excitement lighted her eyes or her voice. She sounded bland. She looked behind him to the gate and then back toward the house.
He frowned. “I am to call on your father, but I first wanted to speak with you on an urgent matter.”
“And you did not think that you should call at the front?”
“I wanted to converse without any interruption from your family. I understand they are all here?”
She closed her eyes almost as if in pain and walked farther into the garden. When it seemed as if she determined they were far enough away to be accorded full privacy, she looked at him.
“My brothers and their wives are not here. However, my father is in his study and my mother in the parlor.”
Her stare was filled with a curious state of detachment. Concern curled through him. “Are you well, Constance?”
“Why would I not be? Tell me, Your Grace, what is this urgent matter you wish to discuss? ” she asked icily.
Your Grace? Whatever happened to referring to me as Lucan? He took a few steps closer to her. “Before I start I want you to know how much I love you and—”
“Love?”
She looked at him as if she had never seen him before. It was not the look of sweetness and want that he was used to seeing from her.
“Yes… I do, more so than I thought possible, but before I speak of the affections I hold for you, I need to confess my sins and hope that you will forgive me. Then if you will have me, I—”
“Your Grace, I—”
“Let me finish—”
“I cannot!”
Her hands fisted at her side and what flashed in her eyes was pure rage. His gut knotted in a way it had never before, and the cold chill that slithered through Lucan was alarming.
She took a deep breath and firmed her shoulders. Her head tilted and she met his gaze. “I cannot listen as you spout to me sentiments of love and affection, Your Grace. It would be cruel for me to allow you to express yourself and lay your heart bare when I have no intention of returning your regard ever.”
Lucan felt the ground shift un
der his feet, and he crushed the hat in his hands. Had he been mistaken in her affections for him? He could not have been. She had expressly told him of her love, kissed him, and surrendered her passion to him so ardently. Did she believe he was crying off?
“I have all intention of asking Lord Radcliffe for your hand, Constance. I wish to marry you. If it is that you doubt I—”
“Marriage? What makes you think I could ever be persuaded to marry you?” she asked with such withering scorn it drew him up. “Your Grace, I beg of you to leave and forget the conversation we had yesterday. I will not tell my family you called. I am too ashamed of my naivety to tell the truth of my situation to anyone.”
