Heiress in Love (27 page)

A very good point, and one Jane still wrestled with. She pursed her lips. “And
I
am surprised, my lady, that
you
have not already helped reestablish Constantine’s character in the
ton
.”

Perhaps, before he became Roxdale, reestablishing him had not been such a matter of concern to Lady Arden. Now,
that
was a cynical thought! But it behooved Jane to remember that Lady Arden and the Duke of Montford were birds of a feather when it came to furthering the interests of their respective houses. One could never be too cynical in judging their motives.

“You are right. I failed,” Lady Arden said, surprising her. “Ordinarily, I do not admit defeat, but in this case…” She shrugged unhappily. “I could not help Constantine because he didn’t wish to be helped. He went straight to the Devil and there was little I could do.”

“His family?”

Lady Arden shook her head. “His father cast him off completely, and of course his mother and sisters were too timid to flout his authority. Constantine’s brother George was the only one who stood by him, but George is a country gentleman, and a younger son at that. His stamp of approval counted for little among the beau monde.”

Jane shifted uncomfortably. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I feel disloyal, talking about Constantine this way.”

“My dear, it is not disloyal to discuss what we might do for him. We both have his best interests at heart. And the Lord knows he will never tell you this himself. The fact that he can still show his face at all in society is partly due to my intervention. I must say, it wasn’t easy, especially when Constantine was so determined to shoot himself in the foot over the business.”

She paused. “You say you do not care for society. You might think that is so, until an old friend cuts you in the street, or your children are ostracized by their peers. Scandal can taint your extended family, too, you know. How would you manage if your own cousins were prohibited from receiving you at Harcourt?”

“I’m persuaded that would never happen.”

Lady Arden spread her hands. “Perhaps not. But it is what would occur in many cases. Constantine’s papa barred him from his own home, you know. The poor boy didn’t see his father again before he died. It is no easy thing to live with one foot in and one foot out of our world. You’ve never known what it is to be cast out, Jane, and I hope you never will.”

Jane frowned over these words. “Are you saying I shouldn’t marry him, ma’am?”

“I’m saying you need to help him. You are a Westruther, an intimate connection of the Duke of Montford. The simple act of Constantine’s marrying you goes a long way to reestablish him, but it will not be quite enough. You need to show the world that he has your full support, and that of your family.”

The prospect gave Jane a panicky feeling in her chest. She’d rather have a tooth drawn than go to balls and parties in Town. But she couldn’t ignore Lady Arden’s plea.

A little shyly, she said, “You have an affection for him, don’t you, my lady?”

“Oh, yes indeed! He was such an impetuous, wild youth, but always with a good, kind heart.” She shook her head, her dark eyes sad. “I never understood why he didn’t do the decent thing by Miss Flockton. Anyone could see he was mad for the girl. We all thought it only a matter of time before they tied the knot. And then that horrid scandal.”

Lady Arden sipped her tea. “He and Miss Flockton were found together in his bedchamber at a house party, can you believe it? How
could
Constantine have been so indiscreet? Why couldn’t he have waited till the wedding night, I ask you? Men! Sometimes they do not think with their brains, if you take my meaning.”

Jane couldn’t mistake the innuendo. Her cheeks heated. She tried not to think of this unknown Miss Flockton in Constantine’s bed.

“The duke told me Miss Flockton married a barrister,” she managed.

“Yes, well, what could the poor girl do when her idiot brother had the bad taste to challenge Constantine to a duel over her, and the parents wailed about her shame all over town? Trying to force Constantine’s hand over it, I daresay. They were minor gentry, but ambitious. The girl hadn’t a penny, but she was very beautiful, of course.”

Oh, of course,
thought Jane bitterly. Any girl Constantine ruined would be beautiful.

“Constantine came out of the duel unscathed but the brother did not,” said Lady Arden. “The least Constantine could have done was deloped—fired in the air, you know—but not he! The ball lodged in the brother’s shoulder and he nearly died of a fever, poor fellow. It looked for a time that Constantine would have to fly the country, but thank goodness, the brother rallied. And still Constantine wouldn’t marry the girl! She had no choice but to wed a nobody and thank heaven she didn’t suffer a worse fate.”

Jane shook her head over it. She couldn’t quite reconcile this story with what she knew, or thought she knew, of Constantine. One thing it did teach her, however, was not to place too much faith in his apparent affections. He must be a fickle creature to have deserted a lady so in need of his help. A lady, moreover, whom he’d made the object of his attentions.

Tentatively, Jane said, “Constantine and Frederick had a falling-out, but I had the impression that it was not to do with Miss Flockton.” She hesitated. “I had heard Constantine lost his fortune at cards.”

“Nonsense! Broadmere is a prosperous estate and the family is perfectly well-to-do. Where had you heard that?”

Jane frowned. “Do you know, I’m not sure. It must have been from Frederick, I think.”

Why would Frederick have said such things if they weren’t true? Perhaps he genuinely believed them. Or perhaps he’d been so prejudiced against his cousin that he heaped every kind of ill on his head.

Setting down her teacup, Lady Arden shrugged. “Oh, I daresay Constantine plays—we all do—but he never lost any large sums at the tables or you may be sure I’d have heard of it.”

Her brow puckered, Jane said, “I might have misunderstood, or perhaps Frederick did. I am pleased to know that it is not the case. I should hate to see this estate laid to waste from such a cause as gaming.”

“You may rest easy on that score,” said Lady Arden. She leaned forward, fixing her brilliant dark eyes on Jane. “Will you help him?”

Given her bargain with Constantine, she wasn’t in a position to promise any such thing. If she needed to break their betrothal, she would only do Constantine’s reputation more harm.

“I’ll try,” she said.

*   *   *

The afternoon had been unseasonably sultry, uneasy and tense, as if the atmosphere held its breath. With nightfall came the deluge, and a strong wind that swept up showers of rain and flung them against the windowpanes.

Jane shivered, only partly with cold. Despite the clouds finding release in this downpour, her nerves felt thoroughly on edge. Constantine had not come down to dinner, calling for a tray in the muniments room as he labored on.

She’d tried to calm her nerves by every means known to her. Warm milk that she left untouched, a novel that could not engage her, needlework that sat in her lap unheeded while her needle remained poised in midair.

When all was quiet in the house, she rose and went to the communicating door between her bedchamber and Constantine’s. She pressed her ear to the panel but heard nothing within.

Midnight, he’d said.

Slowly, her fingers closed around the ornate key that held the door fast against his intrusion. With painstaking care, she eased the key around, and heard the tumblers unlock with a small click.

Her heart gave a great thump at the sound. She glanced around her chamber. There was too much light. Snatching up the snuffer from the mantelpiece, she doused all of the candles but one. Sitting down at her dressing table, she set the lone candle upon it.

A long look in the mirror told her she looked pale, her eyes hollow with apprehension; that her abundant, thick hair needed taming. She covered her face with shaking hands. Oh, God, how would she manage this? How could she have said yes to him?

How could she have said no?

Constantine Black compelled her, utterly. Even while she knew the risk she took, she still longed to go through with their midnight tryst. She thought of his hand on her thigh; his lips on the swell of her breast. She’d never felt so vital, so lacking in control of her body and her emotions as she had with him. Just thinking of it made her body thrum with excitement.

And soon, very soon, he would be here.

Now, Jane fully understood why that Miss Flockton had opened her bedchamber door to him, inviting her own ruin, all those years ago.

Really, how laughable! She’d thought herself superior to that silly, innocent chit; too wise, too cynical about the ways of men,
too cold-natured
to be taken in.

Yet, she was just as silly and malleable and hot-blooded as any other woman when it came to Constantine Black.

Sillier. She stood in grave danger of losing her heart to him.

A clap of lightning illuminated the room. For an instant, Jane saw the horror on her face reflected starkly in the mirror. Thunder rolled ominously above.

For a few shocked moments, Jane couldn’t seem to draw a breath. She clutched the edge of her dressing table, and the ruched satin edging pressed into her palms.

No.
Denial crowded her mind, beat in her chest. She couldn’t possibly be so stupid as to fall in love with a handsome face.

But it wasn’t just his magnificent form and features that held her captive, was it?

He was charismatic, magnetic; he drew people to him, then set them firmly at a distance without them even knowing it. Some instinct within her wanted—needed—to bridge that gap, to annihilate it. Sometimes, she thought she had, and then he threw up some other defense, or distracted her by saying something obnoxious.

She sensed that the more tightly their lives entwined together, the more he would fortify his defenses against her.

Well, if Constantine could show her pleasure in the marriage bed, it would be a gift, indeed. Perhaps she ought not to ask for more. Supplication was not in her nature; if he did not want to let her get close to him, she would not beg. Begging, she suspected, would be the surest way to make him turn from her, in any case.

The noise of a door opening and closing in Constantine’s bedchamber put an end to her reflections. Low, masculine voices reached her ear—Constantine and his valet.

As she stared at her face in the looking glass, it occurred to her that she looked tragic, her eyes apprehensive, her mouth turned down a little at the edges. Not the most alluring prospect.

Jane pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to lend them color. She instructed her facial muscles to smile, but they did a poor job of obeying her command.

Apprehension tied knots in her stomach. The need to see Constantine warred with a plethora of fears. Fear of him, and of the act she was about to commit. But more than that, she feared herself, that if she gave herself to him, it would leave her weak. Defenseless as she hadn’t been since she was a little girl.

She heard Constantine’s bedchamber door close a second time. His valet must have left. Her heart leaped into her throat. Now, he would come.

Slowly, she picked up her silver-backed hairbrush and set it to her unbound locks with a hand that shook slightly. One hundred strokes, morning and night, her nurse had always said.

She was up to twenty when the light tap at the door came. She jumped, and the shawl slipped from her shoulders. Without waiting for her answer, the communicating door opened and there he stood.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jane set down the brush and made as if to rise, but he said, “No, stay where you are.” She sank down again, unable to take her eyes from him.

She’d expected he’d wear the same flamboyant dressing gown she’d already seen him in twice, but other than removing his coat and cravat, he hadn’t undressed.

She wasn’t sure if she was reassured by that.

He held a bottle of red wine in one hand and a glass in another. “I’m afraid we’ll have to share the glass,” he said, moving toward her. “I couldn’t think of a good reason to give for needing two.”

A reminder that what they did now was illicit, forbidden; that he would be discreet.

He paused at a small occasional table by the fireplace and set the wine and the glass down. Crouching before the hearth, he looked back at her over his shoulder. “I’ll build up the fire, shall I?”

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find her voice to answer. The need for more heat made her think of cool air on naked skin. A thrill shivered down her spine.

Under his attentions, the dying fire flared to life, throwing a golden, flickering light around the chamber. She watched the broad lines of his back and the trim taper of his waist as he took a long paper spill from a china jar on the mantelpiece and touched it to the flame.

Then he moved around the room, systematically lighting each and every candle that she’d so purposefully doused before he’d arrived.