Heiress in Love (44 page)

She shook her head. “No. It’s me. It was all my fault.
I’m
the one who wronged
him
. Don’t you see? I hurt him! So badly, so inexcusably …
I’m
the one who is not good enough.”

“But surely he’s the last man on earth who’d make you happy—”

Fierce now, she said, “Constantine has made me feel so much joy I cannot possibly express it to you. It’s as if I’ve been dead all these years and he has made me feel alive as I’ve
never
felt before! And he needs me. To take care of him, to believe in him. I must make him see—”

She broke off, and he wondered if she regretted saying so much.

In spite of himself, he was moved by her speech. Always self-contained, quiet, sometimes displaying a dry humor, Jane had never exhibited this kind of animation—this kind of passion—before. He was forced to conclude her experience with Black had done her some good, after all.

He hesitated. It would be nothing short of a miracle if she could bring Roxdale to heel in one night, given the man’s demeanor that day. And if she could, well then, Montford might be obliged to let her have her way. She was her own woman now, independent of him. There was only so much he could do to hold her back if she insisted on following her heart.

Lady Arden was right. He didn’t want to lose Jane again.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I’ll give you one night.”

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, her eyes shining like stars. He gazed down at her, and was plunged back to a time when she’d always looked at him like that. Her prince, she’d called him, when he’d rescued her from that sordid boardinghouse in the slums.

But she’d never embraced him so warmly before. He’d been scrupulous about keeping his distance, hadn’t he? He’d never wanted to be accused of impropriety where his wards were concerned. For the first time, Montford abandoned caution. He closed his arms around her and hugged her close.

And it came to him that Roxdale was a lucky man to receive this young woman’s unstinting devotion. Roxdale was her prince now, and that was as it should be.

But if her prince wouldn’t fight for her, he didn’t deserve such a woman as this. If he
did
fight, well, perhaps Montford might reconsider his objections … For the good of the family, of course. Lazenby was still a rich and desirable prize no matter who was its lord.

Whatever the case, Montford rejoiced for the moment in having his little girl back. He would not willingly do anything to jeopardize this fragile rapprochement.

Giving in to impulse, he kissed the top of Jane’s head and murmured, “All will be well in the end, little one. You’ll see.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

On the evening of the ball, Jane’s fingers trembled so much, she couldn’t trust herself to attempt even a flick of the powdery haresfoot over her nose.

“Here, I’ll do it.” Rosamund took the instrument from her fingers and gently dusted a little powder here and there.

Then Rosamund stood back to examine her. “Your color is deliciously high, so we don’t need rouge. Perhaps a touch on your lips, though … There. That is beautiful. Look.”

Jane turned to stare at her reflection in the mirror. With her hair piled on her head in elaborate swirls, it looked darker, only a hint of auburn showing through. Her eyes were bright; her cheeks displayed a becoming blush. Her lips looked soft and plump and red.

“Ready for the gown, my lady?” Wilson’s tone vibrated with disapproval. Ignoring her maid’s displeasure, Jane nodded.

“This is going to be the fun part!” Cecily practically bounced up and down, heedless of crushing her sprigged muslin gown. She, too, had dressed for the ball, which ought to have concerned Jane, since Cecily was not supposed to be attending it. But Jane’s head had little room in it for anything but Constantine tonight.

Wilson brought forward the gown, a glorious swirl of crimson, cut low across the bosom. Jane had never worn such a daring garment in her life, but it matched her mood tonight. The color made her think of fire, of passion, of the way Constantine made her blood pound and sing.

Wilson threw the gown over Jane’s head. It whispered and hushed around her, the silk smooth and decadent against her skin. She held her breath as her maid set to work on the row of buttons down the back.

When Wilson was finished, Jane turned to look in the cheval glass. After weeks of unrelieved black, the flamboyant color made her spirits soar.

Rosamund beamed at her. “Oh, Jane, you are a goddess! I’ve never seen you look so radiant.”

“That color is
perfect
on you. Didn’t I tell you it would be?” Cecily clapped her hands and went to rummage in Jane’s jewel box. “I cannot wait to see Montford’s face!”

“I cannot wait to see
Roxdale’s
face,” murmured Rosamund. “Do you think he’ll dine with us this evening?”

Jane’s heart knocked against her ribs. “Let’s hope so. I want him to be there when I make my announcement.”

“Announcement?” Cecily’s head shot up. “What announcement?” She fell to rummaging again. “Ah. Here we are.” Carefully, she lifted a heavy necklace from the velvet-lined drawer. It scintillated madly in the candlelight.

“I cannot tell you,” said Jane. “It’s a surprise.”

“Well, that’s too bad of you, goosey. I won’t get to hear it because I won’t be at the dinner.” Cecily tapped her lips with her fingertip. “Unless I borrow Diccon’s livery and pretend to be a footman.”

Rosamund shuddered. “You say that as if you’ve done it before. No.” She held up her hand. “Don’t tell me the details. I don’t wish to know.”

Shaking her head, Rosamund added, “Thank goodness Tibby comes to us next week to act as chaperone. I shall relinquish that responsibility gladly.”

“
You
are
my
chaperone?” Cecily frowned. “I thought I was chaperoning you!”

“Oh, is that so? Pray, in what civilization would anyone think you an adequate duenna, Cecily?”

Jane smiled, letting her mind drift away from her cousins’ amiable squabbling. As the dinner hour came upon them, so did her nervousness ratchet up a notch.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. She needed to calm herself. If she appeared hesitant or frightened in the next few hours, her entire purpose would be thwarted.

Constantine needed her to reestablish him in society. That’s what she’d do tonight.

The secret to carrying off anything extraordinary among the beau monde was to behave with utter unconcern at the sensation one created. Westruthers never bothered themselves with the opinions of others. She’d learned that from Montford, and from her cousins, too.

She’d need all her courage to make this grand gesture tonight, and all her poise to carry it off without a falter. For Constantine’s sake, she prayed she’d succeed.

*   *   *

The first guests Constantine saw upon his arrival at Montford House were Lady Arden and Lord deVere.

He bowed, unable to dredge up much by way of greeting. His heart was pounding and his guts were as tight as a drum. He didn’t even know why he was here. Perhaps some misplaced sense of obligation toward Montford? Certainly, it was not to see Jane.

“Constantine.” Lady Arden spoke in a low voice, taking him by the elbow and drawing him aside. “I trust your presence tonight means you’ve thought better of playing the jilt.”

“I wouldn’t say I’d thought better of it,” he murmured, looking about him. “Montford undertook to secure my release. Good of him, wasn’t it?”

He looked down at her. Worry and frustration shadowed her dark eyes. He regretted she’d been dragged through this mire.

In a softened tone, he said, “It will all be very civilized. You needn’t worry. I’ll behave.”

Constantine hoped he’d not be obliged to behave himself for long.

If only his brother hadn’t begged off the ball, he’d have an ally, but George loathed society affairs. Besides, George hadn’t expected to be in London at the time. He was only here now, Constantine suspected, to stop his elder brother doing something rash.

With a minatory glance at Constantine, Lady Arden allowed deVere to escort her to the drawing room. Constantine lingered in the hall. He wished he hadn’t accepted the invitation to dinner as well as to the ball. In a ballroom, it was easy to pass unnoticed, simple to escape whomever one wished to avoid.

But he couldn’t very well go to the ball without attending the preceding dinner, too. Originally, Montford had planned to celebrate Jane and Constantine’s betrothal.

Constantine sighed. There’d be Westruthers and Blacks aplenty here tonight.

“Constantine, my dear!”

He turned. “Mama! You’re here?” He moved forward to kiss her cheek. “But…” He stopped short when he saw his sister, Lavinia. “A family gathering, I see,” he said coolly, nodding to her.

“Constantine.” Lavinia accorded him an equally frigid bow. Well, at least she hadn’t cut him this time. A marked improvement, some would say.

He looked at his mother, wondering what on earth he ought to say to her after all these years. It wasn’t the time or place for the kind of conversation he ached to have. Social chitchat seemed absurd.

Before he could utter another sentence, Lavinia put her hand on her mother’s arm. “Come away, Mama. They want us in the drawing room.”

His mother shot Lavinia a worried glance, then smiled deprecatingly at him. “I’ll just…”

He felt the cynical hardening of his face. “Yes, do go in.”
Away from my contaminating presence.

“Constantine?” Her voice came from above. All three Blacks turned to look at her, poised up there on the stairs.

He barely heard his female relatives gasp.

Constantine swallowed hard. He had never seen anything like it, not in all his misspent days. Slowly, Jane descended, a bird of paradise floating down from the heavens, a flame to set him burning for eternity.

She wore red.

Her eyes sparkled; her skin glowed with a sheen that transcended even the magnificence of the color she wore. The vivid color picked out tawny highlights in her hair. The gown was perfectly plain, except for the graceful drape of fabric that cupped her breasts. Not many women could carry off a gown like that, but she …

The swell of her bosom made an enticing appearance above the low, unadorned neckline. Diamonds sparkled at her throat. He recalled with aching intensity that first night they’d spent together, when he’d kissed her there, the way she’d melted against him …

Fury ripped through him. What was he doing, letting himself get caught up in daydreams? They were finished. Over. Forever and ever, Amen.

He realized it was some moments since anyone had spoken. Jane paused like an actress on the stage to allow them to look their fill. Then she lifted her chin and paraded down the stairs.

Here was no princess. Tonight, Jane was Queen.

“How delightful.” She smiled graciously, oblivious of the ladies’ shock at her scandalous dress. “Constantine, this must be your mama. Do introduce us. I’ve been dying to meet her.”

Hoarsely, he performed the introductions. His mother fluttered. “How happy we are to make your acquaintance, Lady Roxdale. I don’t come to Town very often but I was most charmed to accept…” She looked about her, clearly discomfited. “What … what an elegant house this is.”

Jane took her hand and shook it, smiling warmly. “Mrs. Black. You must be very proud of your son.”

Lavinia sniffed. His mother merely looked confused. Constantine sent Jane a warning glance. What was the minx up to?

Jane turned to Lavinia. “And you, Mrs. Worth, are most welcome.”

“Did I hear correctly?” asked Lavinia. “Do you really intend to marry my brother?” She sounded as if she’d never heard of anything so ridiculous.

Jane sent him a glance under her lashes. “Ah, you are impatient as I to know the answer to that question! Now do, please, go in to the drawing room. You will find His Grace there.”

She waved her hand like a conjurer and, accordingly, Constantine’s relations disappeared.

He was left standing there, glaring at her.

She raised her brows, all elegant hauteur, except for the slightly pugnacious set to her jaw. A warrior queen, riding into battle.

He spoke softly, but his voice seemed to echo around the hall. “What in God’s name are you doing in that getup?”

“This?” She gestured down at herself, and the movement drew his eyes down the delicious curves of her body. His groin tightened. His jaw clenched.

Think of something else. Anything.

Remember how she betrayed you.

But his mouth was dry and his breathing rapid and the blood in his head was rushing south. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone before. His eyes flicked to the stairs, and his animal brain began to calculate whether they could make it up to a bedchamber before he ripped that stunning dress away from her body and made love to her against the wall.