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The walk through the hall past the library to the parlor was nerve-racking. She opened the door and entered with a serene calm she did not feel. He was standing by the window, his back to her. Charlotte entered, Constance gently closed the door, and he turned around. She heard Charlotte’s soft gasp beside her and Constance fully understood. Mondvale was very handsome, in a dark and exotic manner. His raven hair was held in a queue at his nape, and his spectacles did not detract at all from the piercing quality of his silver eyes. He seemed so tall, lean and hard. Dressed in dark brown trousers, a matching morning coat, and a white shirt, he looked supremely confident and at ease. Not as if he was confronting someone he felt deceived him.
His mouth curved into a faint smile. “Lady Constance.”
“Your Grace, how good of you to call.” She was pleased with the steadiness of her voice. “May I introduce you to Lady Ralston, my friend and companion?”
He strolled over with easy grace, and executed a small bow over Charlotte’s hand.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Ralston,” he murmured.
Charlotte responded in kind, her voice a little shakier than she probably intended.
“Please, let us sit,” Constance said, apprehension and a good deal of excitement clamoring inside her.
Charlotte sat in the sofa nearest to the window away from them. Constance sank into the seat opposite from him, wondering how to breach the topic of her obvious lie and apologize for it. The rattle of the china alerted her before the door opened, and Mrs. Pritchard wheeled in a trolley with teas and cakes, and with efficient movements, laid them out on the center table.
Constance dismissed her and then poured two cups of boiling water onto the Earl Grey leaves. She carefully prepared the tea, feeling his eyes watching in speculative silence the entire time.
“Thank you,” he murmured, when she handed him his cup.
She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “Your Grace, your presence indicates that you are aware of my ruse at Lady Lawrence’s ball. Please forgive my prevarication.”
He relaxed into the sofa. “Prevarication is forgiven, Lady Constance. I learned your identity later that night.”
She was sure he had heard the rumors as well, but he was still here. Hope surged inside her, hot and sweet. “Why are you here, Your Grace?”
One of his brows lifted in an arch. “I am inviting you to take a carriage ride with me in the park, Lady Constance, if you are available. Possibly a picnic by the lake? It is a beautiful day out.”
Her pulse jumped in her throat. No man had invited her to ride with him since she had been back in London. What was going on? Constance thought it fair to warn him, even though she loathed doing so. She placed her tea on the walnut table with a soft clink. “Are you not familiar with the scandal swirling around my name, Your Grace?”
“I am,” he intoned smoothly, taking another sip of his tea. “Are the rumors true?”
She held her breath, confounded he would be so brash. “If they are, would you retract your invitation and depart from me?”
His eyes roamed over her, and she wondered if she imagined the possessive way he did it. It was evident what he noted—the hues of her blond hair, the vivid coloring of her green eyes, the trademarks of Viscount Radcliffe’s line.
“Depart from you?”
“Many friends turned cold when they saw the truth of my shame.” That was the most she would admit.
“It is not your sin,” he said gently.
She smiled in spite of her nervousness. “Are you saying you are not repulsed?”
“I do not subscribe to such notions, Lady Constance. The circumstances of your birth are not a reflection of your character, but a reflection of those of Lord and Lady Radcliffe’s.”
Relief soared through her, but she could not allow him to be ignorant. “Everyone looks at me with morbid curiosity, and everyone speaks ill of me. If you are seen riding with me it will excite the most malicious speculation.”
He smiled, barely. Then it was gone, but she had noticed.
“I thank you, Lady Constance, for being concerned with my reputation. Hardly necessary, I assure you. Tongues will already be wagging, as my carriage is parked outside.”
She took a delicate sip of her tea, unable to credit that he was so calm about her illegitimacy. It absolutely made no sense to her. “And you do not care if society gossips about your visit to the Beautiful Bastard?”
“You are aware of your moniker.”
She swallowed. “I would be a fool not to be.”
He watched her with something akin to admiration, and a response thrilled inside of her. Memory of their dance and how he had touched her filtered through her.
“I do not care.”
Joy suffused her. “Then I would gladly take a carriage ride with you, Your Grace.”
“Lucan.”
Constance hesitated, then glanced at Charlotte, who was studiously looking toward the garden, her hands flying as they clenched her knitting needles. But Constance knew her friend had heard every word spoken. She cleared her throat delicately and Charlotte looked up. Her friend saw her unspoken request and rose to her feet.
“I will have Anne prepare your carriage dress and have the cook prepare luncheon for the picnic. If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” Charlotte murmured, then gave a small curtsy and departed. She left the parlor door open, and Constance suppressed her smile at the stern glance Charlotte had given her before disappearing.
Constance steeled herself, then met his eyes. “Now we can converse more freely. I am truly regretful I lied to you. I feared you would have turned away if I had revealed my name.”
He waved his hands and relaxed deeper into the sofa, assuming a very casual pose. “It is forgotten, Lady Constance. Gossip is not something that would prevent me from inviting a young lady such as yourself to drive on such a day.”
Her hands trembled, and she placed her tea cup on the walnut center table in fear she might spill it on herself. Did he want to court her? She wanted to blurt the question to him so badly her jaw ached from keeping quiet. “Then I thank you for your kind consideration, you will not regret my company.”
His lips curved into a charming smile, and the need to feel his lips on hers again welled inside of her. She gritted her teeth and pushed the images away.
“It is I who should thank you for your willingness to drive and picnic with the Lord of Sin, the debaucher of all things innocent, and with such enthusiasm, too.”
Constance laughed lightly, a giddy sense of happiness unfurling within her. He wanted to court her. It was the only explanation. She searched his face for any sign of tender regard or interest, but the cool manner in which he observed her had insidious doubt creeping in. If he wanted to court her, he would have been clearer. Was it possible he saw her as an exotic forbidden fruit one must indulge in, as Lord Nelson had said to her at last week’s picnic? Her stomach hollowed at the thought. It would not do at all for her to get her hopes up. She needed to proceed with caution, no matter how tempting it was to throw her fears into the wind.
But if other gentlemen were to see them together, more offers for genuine outings might come her way. A lady is always seen to be more suitable and appealing when other gentlemen pay her attention. “I see I am not the only one aware of their moniker, Your Grace,” she offered with a small smile.
“Lucan, please. I do not like to stand on formality.”
“Then please refer to me as Constance, when we are alone of course,” she invited.
She fancied it was pleasure that lit up his eyes at her request. She felt warmed, and a little bit flushed. She tried not to stare overly long at his lips. “I will prepare myself for our outing, Your—Lucan. I think cold chicken and sandwiches with wine will be appropriate for our picnic.”
He nodded his agreement. “I will be back around noon if that is acceptable.”
“It is very much acceptable, Your Grace”—she smiled—“Lucan. If you will exc
