The Rogue’s Prize (36 page)

green ribbon, and the curling tendrils

about her face, gave her a chaste but

tantalizing appearance. The touch of

green accentuated her emerald eyes and

their half-lidded, downcast turn proved

her a brilliant actress. Percy had to

suppress his laughter. Chaste, indeed! A

sultry vixen hid beneath her prim and

proper façade. Her efforts to fool him

were unnecessary. He was not a fool.

And Constance was not that good of an

actress.

The only thing keeping him from

loosening her hair and letting it stream

about her shoulders like the sun

caressing a calm sea was the fact that

her family was in attendance. Damn

them! He wanted — no, needed — to get

Constance alone and fast, before he let

his guard down and sent both of them

spiraling down a path of mortification.

Pasting a smile upon his face, he inhaled

a deep breath. She was
his
and
his

alone. That was enough — for now.

“You seem quite pleased with

yourself,

Percy,”

Throckmorton

suggested, closing in to pat him on the

back.

“True.” Percy sighed. “I am the

wealthiest man in town.”

“Your answer pleases me.”

“It is genuinely heartfelt,” he

offered.

“I dare say things have worked out

better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Papa!” Constance glared.

Percy and Throckmorton exchanged

knowing smiles.

“You see,” Throckmorton offered,

“Constance’s mother was very dear to

me. I can only hope you will show my

daughter as much, if not more,
love
than I

ever showed my beloved Olivia. If that

were the case, my good man, Constance

would never be without your earnest

affections.”

“You have my word as a

gentleman, Your Grace,” he said,

knowing full well the gentleman was

warning him what would happen
if
he

did not comply. “I will do everything in

my power to prove myself worthy of

such a prize.”

The duke’s eyes took on a

bittersweet haze, forcing Percy to

wonder what kind of woman Olivia

Danbury had been. A replica of her hung

in the Danbury library. He’d seen it the

night of his proposal, the night he

revealed himself as the father of

Constance’s child. Her likeness also

hung around Constance’s neck, carefully

sealed in the silver locket she had fought

so vehemently to retain aboard the

Octavia
. Memories of his new bride’s

barely clad form took him by surprise.

He gazed upon her bosom. But when he

did, the locket was conspicuously

absent. Why? He found it extremely odd

that his new wife had not worn it on her

wedding day.

Throckmorton uncannily noted its

absence as well. “It is a pity you could

not wear your mother’s locket on this

day of days, Constance.”

Constance reflexively grasped her

bare neck. “In the excitement, I’d

forgotten.” The despair in her eyes

chilled him. “I fear it is hopelessly lost.”

The duke nodded. Percy’s eyes

narrowed at her admission. In the short

time he’d known Constance; she had

never misplaced the locket. In fact, it

had never left her person even when she

slept. It was unreasonable to believe

she’d lost it.

She turned in obvious distress. “I

should go search for it again.”

“No. No,” her father lamented.

“We’ve already torn this house apart.

This is your celebration. Enjoy your new

husband — your
new
life.”

Constance embraced her father.

“She is with us, Father. I feel her

presence.”

He nodded, and then set her at

arm’s length. “She would be proud of

you, Constance. From the moment you

were born, she spoke of this day with

great hopes for your happiness.”

“Oh, Papa.” She choked back a

sob. “I am happy.”

He sensed she was less so. “You

are welcome at Sumpton Hall any time,

your Grace,” Percy added, coming to her

aid.

“Thank you, Stanton. Olivia’s loss

has been devilishly hard. I should very

much like to visit my daughter … when

the occasion warrants.”

Constance held her father close as

the two men exchanged glances. Her

father’s affectionate embrace lasted but

a moment before he cut off the intimacy,

a fact Percy did not miss. Saying

goodbye to his only child seemed to

drain the man’s stamina. Or was he

experiencing an ominous portent of what

was to come?

“Simon,” Throckmorton motioned

abruptly. “Say your goodbyes. My

daughter and her husband have a new

life to live.”

Simon sauntered closer, a look of

concern rife upon his face. Percy

exchanged glances with his commander,

now uncle-in-law, who stretched out his

arms to embrace Constance close. What

needed to be spoken had already been

said between them. Percy had been

forewarned to take good care of his wife

— or else.

Simon

said

none-too-quietly,

“Believe

in

your

new

husband,

Constance. He will answer your prayers

and do us justice. I urge you — be

patient. Stanton has been alone a long

time, and a man cannot readily give up

his jovial habits overnight.”

“I don’t understand, Uncle,” she

admitted.

“You will, my dear. Someday, you

will.”

Then

Simon

turned

abruptly,

grabbing Percy’s upper arm. “This has

been an extraordinary day, Stanton.

Enjoy your journey home.”

“Will you visit as well?” Percy

queried.

“No. I’m afraid that will be

impossible for a time. You see, I’ve just

learned of a hunt I must partake in. This

particular fox has given many a good

rider and his dogs the slip once too

often. ’Tis a challenge I welcome, and

rightly so.”

Constance slipped her arm through

Percy’s, suddenly eager to distract him.

“Dearest Uncle, surely you do not

intend to waste time on such sport. The

fox hunt is ghastly. I cannot bear you

hunting grouse, let alone a beautiful fox.”

“Ah, but what seems perfectly

ghastly, my gel,” Percy confided,

“oftentimes satisfies the hungry. Truth be

told, a fox can be quite deadly. Yet, I

suppose

the

chase

is

the

most

invigorating part of the hunt and what

draws a good man hither and yon. Were

I of the hunting persuasion, I’d abhor

adorning that ridiculous hunting attire.

It’s, well — ” he dabbed his nose, “ —

for a better word, sporty, eh what?”

“Quite so,” Simon agreed.

“I don’t understand either of you.

One wants to kill a harmless animal and

the other only cares about how he looks

while doing so. What kind of men are

you?”

Percy and Simon locked eyes. If

only she knew.

“Men, Constance! What more could

we be?”

“Were I the wiser, I’d say you

enjoyed the senseless pastime,” she

responded. “I hear hunting dogs are

treated unfairly.”

Percy tapped her arm with his hand.

“Au contraire! Hunting dogs are well-

trained and kept isolated for the

opportune moment to strike, my gel.

There is pleasure to be found in the care

and feeding of dogs.”

Simon coughed uncontrollably.

Constance’s mouth hung agape.

“What manner of man are you,

husband?”

“Only a man preoccupied with the

appearance of a certain damsel on his

arm. And should she be adorned with the

latest finery — what better way to show

her off to all who survey?”

His

jovial

laughter

put

the

conversation to rest, but the torment in

Simon’s eyes made the situation all too

clear. New information had been

acquired and a rendezvous set for

tonight. Tonight of all nights, damn it to

hell!

Gazing down at Constance, Percy

wondered if vengeance would be enough

to tempt him to leave a young, willing

bride alone in her marriage bed.

• • •

spend with those she loved. Too soon,

she found herself donning a French gray-

colored Pelisse. Percy aided her in his

eagerness to be off, and ushered her

toward the threshold of Throckmorton

house and away from everything she’d

ever known. Down the front steps they

marched, side by side. Chivalrously,

Percy escorted her to a carriage sporting

the Blendingham family crest —
her

family crest. She was now Lady

Percival Avery, Marchioness, expected

to produce an heir to the Blendingham

line. Unworthy of her new station,

scandalously branded, her husband had

chosen to flaunt her with pomp and

circumstance, as if she were a virginal

bride. Why did this good fortune not

offer happiness? Her new husband’s

manner was infectiously warm. But she

could not help thinking that in deceiving

a man as honorable as Percy she’d made

a grave miscalculation.

Forcing a smile, Constance sat

upon the conveyance’s cushions and

settled in for the journey to Percy’s

townhouse, his city residence. Within the

carriage, he postured himself close, his

knee absently brushing against hers as

the coach jostled across the uneven road.

Their proximity seemingly left him

unaffected. She, however, was not

immune, nor oblivious, to the desire

sparking within her. It was ghastly,

simply appalling that she reacted so

wantonly to a man she hardly knew.

How quickly Thomas and his babe

seemed to be forgotten. Was she now to

be branded a strumpet, a woman who

responded to any man’s touch? And

would her new husband question her

knowledge of the marriage bed this very

night?

Percy stared out the window, intent

to gaze out upon the city. She inspected

his profile, his brow and aquiline nose,

the sensuous curve of his lips leading to

a gently rounding chin. Little in his

expression gave hint of his thoughts.

While she inspected him, she wondered

what it would be like to feel Percy’s lips

trailing kisses down her throat, her

shoulder, and further to —

She shivered with expectation and

tried to convince herself that she was

suffering a case of nerves.

“Steady yourself, dear lady,” he

leaned in to whisper. “You have nothing

to fear from me.”

He had the most irritating way of

reading her mind — as did Thomas. “I

fear nothing, my Lord.” She lied.

His eyes gleamed as he lifted her

shaking hands and inspected them.

“Dearest, your body gives you away.

Never fear, however! I am a most gentle

sort, quite willing to wait for your most

eager reception, whenever that may be.”

“My … r-reception?” she stuttered.

He leaned back against the plush

burgundy corner, the lack of his warmth

filling her with cold abandonment.

Sniffing, he flipped out a lace

handkerchief and dabbed his nose to

ward off the smells seeping into the

coach from the street.

“This part of town vexes me so.

Poor souls — Oh! Where was I? Yes.

We were discussing our marriage, were

we not?”

“Is that what we were discussing?”

she parried.

His gaze settled upon her as if she

was daft. “You are a gentlewoman and

must know little of the ways between a

man and woman.”

Her heart hammered fiercely in her

chest. Time for the boarding axe to

strike.

“What I mean to say is, my gel,

you’ve known me only a short time.

Surely you have concerns as to my

demeanor, doubts as to my loyalties, and