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“And as she should,” a hushed voice carried to him. “He is a libertine. I always said she was a young lady of good sense.”
“A very rich libertine with a dukedom. A fine catch I would say,” another voice rebuffed. “But it is evident she is a young lady of good sense, despite circumstances that were certainly not her fault.”
Lucan’s lips curled in disgust. This was what he wanted, opinions of her shifted, but society was all too fickle. He walked toward the terrace and was surprised to see Belfry ambling beside him.
“Then you have no intentions toward the lady?” Belfry asked.
The look he dealt the man had Belfry tugging at his cravat in agitation.
“I meant honorable intentions,” he muttered, face scrunched in discomfort. “I mean no dishonor to Lady Constance, Mondvale. I merely wondered if the lady is free for a twirl in the garden,” Lord Belfry said.
Lucan smiled. “You may have better luck than everyone else. The lady is generous, I am sure she will afford you a dance.”
Belfry nodded eagerly and strolled over to Constance.
Lucan discreetly watched as she spurned the advance of the fifth man to seek her hand in a dance. She gave Belfry a vacant smile and after a few seconds the man departed, his face flushed in obvious embarrassment. What was the minx doing? Was not this what she wanted? She had railed at him that she had no friends, saying he had torn her from all she held dear, so why was she not basking in her restoration? Lucan needed her to be happy. He needed to know that he had brought good into her life, more than he needed his next breath.
He slipped onto the terrace, keeping her in his line of sight. She had yet to see him and he wanted it kept that way. Ainsley stepped from the shadows and walked over to him, and they stood in silence watching her reject partner after partner.
“What the hell is she doing?” Lucan growled in frustration, though he felt a deep sense of admiration in her actions.
“In the last three weeks Lady Constance has received over two dozen invitations to balls and picnics. She has attended only four events. The Countess of Fairclough sent an invitation to her daughter’s debut ball, and Lady Constance said no,” Ainsley informed him.
Lucan gritted his teeth. Why wasn’t she blasted heading out? He had been working so hard, pulling in favors to turn the tide against her and it was all for naught? “Is she doing well otherwise?”
As a favor to him Ainsley had attended each event as a guardian. Watching her from the shadows and reporting to Lucan his perception of how she was being received. Ainsley also served to smooth out any negative talk Lady Ashford and the Dowager Duchess had not reached.
Ainsley sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “You could go and visit her, Lucan, invite her to ride out with you. Better yet, she is standing right across from us. Go ask her to dance. She may be tempted to accept you,” Ainsley suggested.
Lucan glanced at him wondering if he jested, but his friend’s mien was contemplative. “I am sure you jest.”
Ainsley raised his brow. “You have not been sleeping or eating. You have forgiven debts of thousands of pounds. You gave Lord Prescott back his twenty thousand pounds and that very beautiful estate in Essex for a simple invitation to his lady’s annual ball. The invitation could have been secured for far less, I wager.”
Lucan went silent. “It is not time to approach her as yet.”
Ainsley laughed mockingly. “We know time waits on no man.”
Lucan went cold, knowing Ainsley referred to the painful experience of losing his lady. Lucan tensed as Constance suddenly stiffened. She tilted her head and stared directly at him. It was impossible for her see him, but then he recalled her passionate assurances that she could always feel his gaze upon her. Heated awareness rippled over his skin, Ainsley’s presence faded, and all Lucan could see was Constance. Her eyes widened, and a flush of color climbed her cheeks. She took an instinctive step toward him, then grounded to a halt. Her hands visibly trembled, she pressed a palm to her stomach and inhaled deeply. Her eyes darkened with roiling emotions, daring him to approach her.
Lucan’s heart jerked a painful cadence in his chest, and he found himself moving across the terrace floor, closer to her, unable to suppress the desire to just be nearer. He stopped shy of entering the ballroom, cocooned in the shadows. They stared at each other for what seemed like endless moments. It pained Lucan to see the unguarded delight glittering in her emerald gaze slowly dampened, before her expression shuttered. Her lashes lowered, and she subtly shifted away, halting the need urging him to walk over to her. A soft breath escaped his lips. No…it was definitely not the time to approach her, especially with Society’s watchful eyes still upon her.
Ainsley came up beside him. “When will you go to her and plead your case?”
To her? The pleasure that had warmed her eyes upon seeing him filled Lucan with hope, but he’d also espied the flash of raw agony, and the strength of her continued pain sliced deep. She needed more time. But to her family… He clenched his teeth as he faced what he should have done weeks ago, but had been delaying. “I have an appointment to see Calydon tomorrow.”
“Hell!”
Lucan understood Ainsley’s sentiment. In all his plotting, he never imagined he would be visiting Calydon under such circumstances. Calydon had stepped into Decadence the week before and Lucan had fought off the primitive wave of satisfaction that had filled him. Instead of forcing the confrontation he had plotted for so many months, Lucan had ducked out, shocking himself. It was then he had understood the depth of how much Constance meant to him. He had drawn on his coat and hat, collected his cane, escaped the building, and walked toward the Thames, watching the subtle currents that ran in the water. That was when he had realized he had abandoned all revenge against Calydon. Albeit too late. To have Constance in his life, he must do so with a clean slate, a heart clean of vengeance. And suddenly it had been easy. There had been no fight, no regret, just hope that she would forgive him for hurting her. And he would be able to claim the woman he had come to love.
Chapter Nineteen
The silence in Calydon’s library was a cold one, yet it had not discomfited Lucan. The man had expected Lucan, and he had been received with civility. Calydon’s duchess had floated in only a few seconds after Lucan was given entrance to the library, obviously pregnant and clearly hoping to make the tension that now seethed in the air less somehow. Lucan feared she failed abysmally. Calydon indicated she should wait in the drawing room, and she had only muttered “nonsense” with a smile and taken a seat.
Tension roiled in the air, and Lucan had been picturing Constance’s face for the past few minutes to thaw the icy rage that had flared inside and encased him upon seeing the man. Calydon roused Lucan’s ire instead of forgiving thoughts. Constance needed him to be forgiving, to be understanding. But it pained him to see Calydon standing in such wealth, experiencing such happiness and love with his duchess while Marissa rotted, beyond redemption, her soul lost and tormented if Lucan was to believe the church.
Lady Calydon’s dark beauty was quite stunning, and so was the apparent control her presence had on the duke. It was as if she grounded him and prevented him from attacking Lucan. A smile twisted his lips, and he fancied it was unpleasant from Lady Calydon’s blanch.
“Are you here to offer for Constance?” Calydon asked from where he stood by the windows. The man did not even face him.
“No,” Lucan said flatly.
The man turned with affected calm, but Lucan could see the controlled violence Calydon emitted.
“Why not?” The strident demand came from Lady Calydon. She shifted in the high wing-back chair she sat in, and rested her hand with tender care on her rounded stomach. Her gray eyes as she assessed Lucan were actually welcoming, which he found quite strange.
“I am here to lay the demons that haunt me to rest, nothing more.” He had no plans to get ahead of himself. This was just one hurdle he had to cross. After he had secured Constance’s forgiveness he
would approach Calydon for her hand.
“Marissa,” the duke murmured.
