Heiress in Love (19 page)

But the most persuasive factor was the clear evidence of Jane’s love for Luke that he’d witnessed in his antechamber. He would be cruel to part them.

That day had been full of surprises, in fact. He’d discovered in himself a latent desire to step into the role of protector and guide to the engaging little boy. A laughable proposition, given Constantine’s past, but no less powerful for that. Frederick had scorned to fill the role of preceptor, deeming Luke beneath his notice. The boy had been starved of male influence, but that was about to change.

So. Constantine would save the mill and do what was best for Luke in the process.

He would marry Jane.

He was wise enough about women not to present the matter to her as a fait accompli, however. He still had time to court her, woo and seduce her. He felt a driving need to make her want him for himself, not for what he could give her.

Constantine’s lips twisted in a cynical smile at his arrogance. Was it merely pride that spurred him to such tactics? Or the instinctive desire to be the hunter, not the trapped?

No matter. He had a month to repay the debt to Bronson. That was time enough.

As he sorted through his correspondence, an official-looking letter caught his attention. He ripped it open, and swore.

It was a demand from Bronson. Constantine scanned the short letter, which informed him of his obligation to repay the mortgage within thirty days. As if he didn’t know it! Further, Bronson made it clear he had every intention of foreclosing if the debt and interest wasn’t repaid to the penny by the due date.

Bronson also stated he was sending an agent to value the mill property in anticipation of foreclosure.

A musical voice interrupted his string of oaths. “Oh, good gracious! The air is turning quite blue in here.”

Constantine glared at his irritating relative. There was a teasing laugh in her tone, but he was in no mood for levity. Rising at the lady’s approach, he said, “I beg your pardon.”

Lady Arden waved a hand. “Do sit down.”

She turned to help herself from the chafing dishes set out on the sideboard. When she’d placed a sparse selection of morsels on her plate, she came to the table. “What has made you so ill-tempered, pray, Constantine? Is it bad news?”

His brows twitched together. “No.” He sought to change the subject. “Did you know I’ve inherited a ward along with this house?”

“Inherited a ward?” Lady Arden said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Not an inheritance, as such,” he amended. “Frederick named me guardian to Lucas Black.”

“The delightful dark-haired imp I’ve seen about the place?” said Lady Arden.

Constantine nodded. “That’s him. Son of Mary and Ernest Black, I believe. Or at least that’s what Greenslade told me. I’ve never heard of them, have you? Apparently, they died of a fever when he was still in leading strings.”

Lady Arden blinked. “But how old is the boy? Not more than seven, surely.”

“Six,” said Constantine. “Why?”

“My dear Constantine, if he was the child of that pair, it must have been a miracle birth. Why, Mary would have been at least five-and-fifty when she bore him.”

He frowned. “Perhaps I have it wrong, or Greenslade did. At all events, I am now responsible for the boy.”

A home, a child, and possibly a wife. Wouldn’t his London cronies split their sides laughing? He felt a sudden, strong desire for escape.

He touched a napkin to his lips. In fact, escape was precisely what he’d do, if only for a morning. Leaving half his breakfast untouched, he rang for his phaeton to be brought around.

Lady Arden observed him keenly. “What a splendid idea. I always find driving calms the nerves. Why don’t you ask Jane to accompany you? I’m sure the poor creature hasn’t been out of the house for days.”

“I don’t wish—” He broke off at Lady Arden’s minatory look. Sighing, he said, “Yes, I’ll ask her. Although Cousin Jane does tend to be a high stickler. She might well object to driving out alone with me.”

Lady Arden shrugged. “In an open carriage with your groom in attendance, there can be no objection.”

Lazily, he smiled. “What a poor opinion you have of my ingenuity, Lady Arden.”

Her bright eyes flew to his, brimful of warning. “Tread carefully, Constantine. I might allow you a certain amount of license, but you must remember that your behavior reflects on me. I won’t have Jane’s honor besmirched.”

He raised his eyebrows. “In other words, hands off?”

She gave him a long, cool look. “In other words, Constantine,
be discreet
.”

CHAPTER TEN

With a subtle jerk of his chin, Constantine signaled to his groom that he wasn’t needed. Kiever stepped away from the horses’ heads and they moved off with a swift, smooth forward action.

If Jane objected that he had not brought Kiever with them, she didn’t say so. Perhaps she was as glad as Constantine to escape the Hall for a time.

Well, what better way to court a lady than to take her driving in the sunshine?

“They’re fresh this morning,” he commented, nodding toward the gleaming chestnut horses that snorted and strained against the resistance of their harnesses. “This should take the edge off.” He dropped his hands and they shot through the leafy tunnel of the oak grove.

Jane clapped a hand to her bonnet and laughed a little at the speed. Her laughter held a silvery quality, like water flowing in a brook.

He’d never seen her so animated. Despite the unrelieved black of her costume, her eyes sparkled, her skin glowed with dewy softness, and those delectable lips parted in a joyous smile.

He wanted to feel those lips beneath his once more. He’d find a way to do it, too, before this drive was over. A sweet, tantalizing kiss that would pave the way for more.

“Luke will be envious,” Jane said. “He would say these beautiful creatures are
something like
!”

“Aren’t they just? Softest mouths in England. My one true extravagance.”

“Fine horseflesh is no extravagance,” she commented. “I suppose you don’t let anyone but your groom drive them.”

“You’d suppose correctly.” He glanced down at her with a glint of humor. “Why? Do you covet my chestnuts, Jane?”

“I’m positively eaten up with jealousy,” she admitted, making him laugh.

She sighed. “Frederick was no judge of horseflesh. Unfortunately, he could not be brought to acknowledge the fact.”

“You’re a rich, independent woman. You may purchase your own cattle now.”

She grimaced. “Not independent enough to visit Tattersall’s.”

“I’ll nose around and see who might be selling privately. Then you could judge for yourself.”

That suggestion seemed to act like magic. “I could? Oh, that would be marvelous, indeed. Not that I don’t trust your judgment, of course.”

“I quite understand,” he assured her. “It’s a very personal thing.”

She seemed pleased at his comprehension. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Frederick always thought he knew best.”

“Don’t I know it?” murmured Constantine. “Did he ever tell you about the time—” He broke off. “Well, I suppose one shouldn’t abuse the fellow now that he’s dead.”

“You may abuse him to me with a clear conscience,” said Jane. “I’m livid with him over that will. Besides, I don’t see that death changes anything about who a person might have been when he lived.”

His feelings were so much in accord with hers that he was startled into silence.

After a moment, she said quietly, “I must seem heartless to you.”

He blew out a breath. “Not at all. In fact, in all honesty, I’m relieved to hear you say it.” He didn’t fancy marrying a woman who still pined for his cousin.

Turning the subject, he said, “When I die, I’d like my friends and family to raise a toast, tell a few jokes at my expense, and send me on my way.”

“I shall endeavor to remember it,” she said demurely.

Now, this was promising. His raised an eyebrow, quizzing her. “You are so confident I’ll predecease you?”

She flicked a hand. “It is the usual way of things with men and women. And you are
years
older than I am, after all.”

He laughed, thinking that a sense of humor was definitely a point in her favor. She hadn’t displayed much tendency to joke in the short time he’d known her. Of course, he’d been too busy provoking her to laugh with her before.

The proximity of her slender body was making itself felt in all kinds of small, tantalizing ways. The intermittent press of her thigh to his, her hand clutching his arm as they feather-edged a corner, her shoulder brushing his when he swerved to avoid a stray sheep that chose that moment to wander onto the road.

“What a pleasant day,” remarked Lady Roxdale, a trifle breathlessly.

His voice scraped a little. “Yes, isn’t it?”

A strong wind had blown the clouds away, and the sun shone brightly. He’d almost forgotten the impulse to let the chestnuts have their heads and carry him straight back to London.

No, there was no escape from any of the responsibilities Frederick had flung in his lap, and he didn’t wish to, not really. Strange. After the painful excision of his youthful self from Broadmere, he hadn’t expected to fall back in love with his second home, Lazenby, so quickly.

The narrow country lanes were badly rutted due to the prolonged rain. Their repair would have to wait until he came to an understanding with Jane.

Though Frederick had been a good landlord in many ways, repairs and maintenance were always required on an estate of this size. The church, the vicar told him, needed a new roof.

But his primary concern was the mill. Freeing the property of that monstrous debt, getting rid of the dam that stopped the flow of water to power the machinery inside it, luring his workers back and making the whole thing profitable again. He would not succeed as landlord of this estate unless he could accomplish all those things. It was time to put pride aside and accept Jane’s help.

He took a circuitous route, following the road that ran along the high limestone cliffs. To their left, down the valley, the woolen mills stood, hunkering along the wide stream. Despite their practical purpose, they were grand buildings, made of Cotswold stone, nestled snugly into the valley as if they’d grown there.

He frowned. “Tell me, what do you know of that fellow Bronson, who leases the mill on Trent’s lands?”

Jane shook her head. “Nothing at all. He doesn’t visit here. I think the neighborhood must be grateful to him, though. When the water supply dried up, I was relieved our weavers had somewhere to go.”

Yes, they had somewhere to go, all right. A mill where they were paid a pittance and worked harder than ever before. Lady Roxdale wasn’t to know that, however.

Constantine narrowed his eyes. “The man is not such a hero as you think. It appears Bronson has found a way to stop the water flowing downstream to our mill at Lazenby, and
that
is why the stream dried up. There was no longer power to run the mill, and therefore, no work for the weavers.”

She gasped. “That is monstrous! Why didn’t Frederick do something about this?”

“I don’t know. Jones tried to tell him.”

“I see.” Jane hesitated. “What are we going to do?”

It was a small thing, really. One trivial two-lettered pronoun. But it made a vast difference to him.

For the first time, Jane ranged herself on his side.

It took him a moment to respond. “I’m going to get that dam torn down. With or without Trent’s permission.”

“Do you think he even knows about the problem? I understand he allows Bronson free rein to run the mill.”

“He knows now,” said Constantine grimly. “And if he doesn’t do something about it within the week, I’ll destroy the benighted thing myself.”

Suddenly, the crenellated bell tower of St. Edmund’s broke above the line of trees, always the first sign of the village. The chestnuts swept around a corner and Constantine slowed them to trot past the King’s Head, purveyor of superior breakfasts.

The sight reminded Constantine of Montford.

If he wanted to marry Jane, he would have to find a way to persuade the duke to withdraw his objections. Constantine was not in awe of Montford, not at all, but he’d be a fool to ignore His Grace’s omnipotent reputation. That, and his very real power over his former ward.

As they climbed the hill toward the church, a small figure darted in front of them, seemingly from nowhere. Constantine drew hard on the ribbons. “Whoa, there!”

The child hesitated, long enough for Constantine to see his dirty, tear-streaked face, then he turned and pelted up the street, toward the church.

“That’s Luke!” Jane clutched Constantine’s arm. “What on earth—”

Constantine had seen enough to know that the boy had been in some sort of fight. Received the worst end of it, too, by all appearances. A quick glance in the direction from which the boy had come revealed half a dozen boys in homespuns, the obvious culprits.