The Rogue’s Prize (22 page)

what were you thinking, running off

without telling me where you were

bound?”

“Questions,”

she

tsked.

“All

warranted. I assure you, my dearest

loves, I will answer them all. I truly

have had quite a tiring ordeal, however.

I simply must gather my wits. Will you

not allow it?”

“Byron,” Uncle Simon said.

Constance shot her uncle a scathing

stare. “Please don’t spoil everything,

Uncle,” she whispered.

“I insist you know where Constance

has been,” Simon interjected, shame and

guilt in his penitent eyes. Twisting, he

faced her father, poised for battle.

Wary of the outcome, Constance

placed shaking fingers to her temples.

“That has been my deepest desire,”

her father said.

Her uncle had terrible timing. She

fixed a heated stare upon his person, and

then turned toward her father. “I swore

him to silence, father,” she said,

directing her plea so that her uncle

would not fall further out of favor.

“Please do not blame Uncle Simon for

my insistence on going to see Aunt

Lydia.”

“Lydia!”

her

father

howled.

“Lydia?”

“Byron, I know how much anguish

you’ve suffered over Lydia’s conduct. I

do not wish to cause you further torment,

but I — ”

“What

would

you

know

of

suffering?” her father raged. “You strut

about like a peacock, no care to your

credit, whereas I owe everything I am to

my accountant and no thanks to you,

you’ve narrowed down that field.”

Simon continued unaffected, “The

girl wanted to go see her mother’s sister.

Why do you begrudge her this?”

“Lydia? San Sebastian? Spain, of

all places!”

“Uncle Simon booked passage for

me aboard the
Octavia
, a merchant

ship.” Every pore of her body

anticipated his outburst at the mere

mention of her setting foot on board a

sea vessel, something her father had

sworn never to allow. What little

courage she’d saved for this moment

slowly withered.

“
You
put Constance on board a

ship
!” her father raged.

As feared, her father cast aside all

protocol and lunged toward his brother.

She put herself in his path, hoping to

prevent bloodshed. “He was acting on

my behalf, Papa.”

“Is it bad enough that I must sneak

past my creditors, Simon, without having

to worry whether or not you are putting

my daughter in harm’s way? You said

she’d gone to visit the Carringtons.”

“Try to understand, brother,” Simon

volunteered. “I’ve explained the reasons

for our financial predicament but you

have refused to believe them. Constance

had a plan to tap into Lydia’s

inheritance, to use what is inherently

hers to aid your cause. If you weren’t

determined to keep her under lock and

key, you’d see she’s highly capable of

making her own decisions.”

“Deciding Constance’s future is my

affair, Simon. Not yours. You’ve done

nothing but violate my trust. I suggest

you leave before I do or say something

I’ll regret.”

“Papa, you must listen! Uncle

Simon was only trying to help. I, alone,

am responsible.”

“You are a woman and therefore

not held accountable for the decisions

you make. Simon, however, knew the

risk to himself — and to you.”

The finality in his voice lanced

deep. Constance nodded to Simon,

entreating him to heed her father’s

warning. He’d known the danger and had

sought to aid her anyway. She could only

hope that once she fully explained the

situation, the coals of her father’s anger

would cool.

Ushering her uncle to the parlor

door, Constance urged, “Do as Papa

asks, Uncle. Don’t worry. I’ll explain

everything.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he

said.

“Papa is all bluster. Deep down, he

only desires what is best for me, for all

of us.” Simon shouldered much of the

blame for their misfortune and debt, but

it was enough to know he was innocent

of the crimes her father accused him of.

If only she could find a way to prove it.

“I’ll send a missive to you soon. I

promise.”

“The sight of you returning looking

as you do, has dealt me quite a blow.

Where, by all that is holy, have you

been?”

“In good time, Uncle. In good

time,” she assured, her voice visibly

shaken.

“I will discover the truth.”

“You will, sir,” she said as she

watched Cooper usher him out the door.

• • •

paced the polished marble floor of his

study. He looked down at the crumpled

note in his hand and read it aloud one

more time.

T h e
Striker
docked today.

Frink and his men have been

taken

into

custody.

The

Octavia ’s crew — what

remains of it — have been

escorted to headquarters. I

have it on good authority an

Englishwoman with blonde

hair disembarked the very

same

ship.

Since

Lady

Constance has been missing

as long as the Octavia set out

to sea, it is my belief that she

is the lady in question and

that should you wish it, a call

to

her

residence

would

produce the woman forthwith.

Your servant,

Josiah Cane

Burton threw the missive into the

hearth and hit his hand on the mantle,

drawing forth an exasperated gasp. That

the twit had run from their impending

engagement was an outrage. That she did

so on the
Octavia
, the ship Whistler had

informed them carried valuable cargo,

was another. If she was on the ship when

it had been captured, what had she

learned? Seen? Heard?

He

watched

the

burning

communiqué disintegrate and pictured

his life doing the same. He’d grown

accustomed to the finery he’d procured

since first venturing into the smuggling

business. Siphoning his funds through

various accounts and businesses, he’d

been successful enough to prove himself

proficient. Prove himself skilled enough

to work his way into influencing the

House of Lords, the seat he’d been

deprived for nearly a quarter century.

It would take more than finances

and notoriety to aid his cause. Lady

Constance held the key to his desires.

With her at his side, he was bound to

ascend in social status. But one word

from her could nullify his endeavors.

Once Constance and her family were

aligned with his, he’d have everything he

ever wanted, a wife to spoil or abuse at

his whim, control of Throckmorton

House, a more positive role in

government, and power beyond his

wildest imaginings.

A lopsided smile parted his lips.

What was left of the note smoldered like

an ancient blood pact, fueling his will.

Pouring himself a heavy libation, he sat

down in his leather desk chair and

leaned back, curling his finger in the

chain of his pocket watch, content as a

sated parlor cat.

He would get what he wanted and

he’d use anyone in his path to help him

do so, even if it meant spilling innocent

blood. Yes, a jolly good plan.

CHAPTER TEN

“You nearly drowned when the
Octavia

was attacked,” her father croaked, “and

were kept prisoner in a pirate’s cabin?”

“Yes, Papa. But I’m also only here

with you today because that pirate

captain saved my life.”

“And did this
pirate
have his way

with you for his trouble?” he snarled.

Tears rimmed her eyes and she

looked away guiltily, unable to give her

father the assurance he craved.

Her father reached out his hand and

turned her face toward him. “Answer

me, Constance. I lost your mother years

ago and nearly lost you at the same time.

I could not bear to lose you now, no

matter what has happened.” He paused,

swallowed and then began again. “You

are all I have left.”

“Papa.” She sighed, hating herself

for the disappointment she brought him.

“Let me finish,” he said, nodding

and squeezing her hand. “I abhor pirates,

but I wish your rescuer no ill will unless

he did something we shall all regret.”

“The only regret I have is that I did

not make it to Aunt Lydia to rectify your

financial problems.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. The

time she’d spent in Thomas’s arms had

felt natural and right. But now, safely

comforted by her father’s touch, the

intimacy she’d shared with the rogue

seemed a vulgar slight against everything

she’d been taught to hold dear. If only

she’d met him on her way back from her

aunt’s villa. Perhaps then, armed with

what her father needed to remedy his

plight, her descent into madness would

have not come at so great a cost.

“Did he touch you, my dear? No

matter how distasteful, I urge you to tell

me the truth. It is certain you had no

choice in the matter.”

But she had chosen. What would

her father think of her, if he knew the

truth? She could never admit, least of all

to him, that she’d fallen in love with a

rogue.

“I’m no longer marriageable, Papa.

Is that what you want to know?”

Her father’s spine uncoiled. His

brows furrowed. Face reddening, he

scowled and his next words cost her,

and she suspected himself, dearly. “Is

there any chance you could be with

child?” he asked.

Constance paled. Other than from

Mrs.

Mortimer,

she’d

had

little

counseling in these matters. “I don’t

know.” Her voice sounded weak and far

away and a heated flush crept up her

neck.

Father’s eyes burned raw and

volatile. “Do you mean to tell me that I

now have to find you a husband, who’ll

also be duped into thinking any resulting

child will be his?”

Constance reached for him but he

broke away. “Surely we can find another

way to rectify our debts than forcing me

to marry, Papa. I am quite sure my

beloved aunt would be more than

willing to help, if we would but ask.”

“Lydia,” he snapped, “has never

forgiven me for not being on board that

damned ship. I suppose she would have

rather seen me die defending Olivia’s

honor.” His voice broke. “Which is what

I would have gladly done, if given the

chance. It was only by the hand of God

that you didn’t follow your mother to her

grave!”

Keenly aware of his distress,

Constance gazed into her father’s eyes.

She understood his agony. She’d

watched him grieve.

“No matter what the future unfolds,

know that I do what is in your best

interest, Constance.”

“Or do you mean the best interest of

Throckmorton?”

“
You
are my only family.
Your
heirs

stand to inherit all that I own.” He

embraced her, as if that one act could

make up for what he had in store for her.

Constance tore her hands away

from his eager embrace to prove a point.

“You mean my husband will inherit.”

His lack of sensitivity struck deep. The

rules of succession were firm. “What do

you suggest?”

Rising, her father left the divan and

strode over to a crimson decanter sitting

on an embossed side-table imported

from Spain, ironically a wedding gift

from Aunt Lydia. “You have only one