The Rogue’s Prize (38 page)

woman’s presence has been sorely

missed in this house since — ”

“Jeffers!” a loud voice interrupted.

Constance pressed, “Since what,

Jeffers?” She held her ground, unable to

dismiss

her

nervousness

as

her

husband’s muscular form filled the

doorway. His brooding eyes and tone, a

tone she had never heard or suspected

him use before, had sliced the air like a

pirate’s

booming

through

a

companionway. Terror gripped her

heart. Was she so set upon loving a

pirate that she pretended to hear him

even now, on her wedding night?

“Since His Grace and our mistress,

Lady Celeste, lived here, of course,”

Jeffers said undeterred.

Percy’s shoulder twitched and there

was a brief tick in his jawline at the

mere mention of Lady Celeste’s name.

Her heart twinged. Was Lady Celeste his

mistress? Were rumors of Percy’s

exploits true on at least one account?

Would the woman prove a powerful

enemy and a competitor for Percy’s

attention?

Tension filled the room. Constance

stood quietly in the resulting silence and

watched shadows blacken Percy’s

brown eyes, then ever so slowly recede.

“May I ask who Lady Celeste might

be?”

“A woman of no consequence.” His

heartless reply cut deeply. Was that all

she was to be given? Was she supposed

to forget such a woman exited?

“As you wish,” she whispered,

illusions of happiness fading.

She turned toward the window,

clasping her arms across her chest to

quiet her racing heart and the doubts

threatening to engulf her. She had

promised never to let her guard down as

she had done with Thomas. Now, in the

midst of trying to pick up the pieces of

her life and prevent Percy’s discovery of

her pregnancy, she had no choice but to

ignore Lady Celeste’s previous hold

upon him. To erect walls between them

at so early a stage of their marriage, to

appear a shrew before their marriage

bed, brought her no reward.

What a web you’ve woven,

Constance. What did you expect?

Loyalty and servitude? Unrequited

love? You’re cuckolding the man!

Unaware he silently approached,

she spun around — only to spin into his

arms. His gentle fingers held her steady

and then he tilted her face upward. Her

body reacted to his hard body with

unusual surrender.

“Celeste was very dear to me,

Constance. I’ve asked that her name

never be mentioned because hearing it

brings me great pain.”

Had Celeste been a great love he

could

never

forget?

Crestfallen,

Constance nodded, incapable of speech.

She could not forget how his brown eyes

had softened at the mere mention of the

mysterious woman’s name. How he must

have loved her, and loved her still.

Suddenly, she felt sick, as if someone

had punched her in the stomach.

“Forgive my sharp tongue,” he said,

smoothing her cheek with his gentle

fingertips. “I’ve just received grave

news which has blackened my mood. My

father needs me. I must leave posthaste.”

“Your father?” she croaked, frozen.

“Yes. He’s been sick for many

months now. I’ve sent for the best

doctors and none have given me hope.

Word now is he has very little time left.”

“Percy,” she said, her heart

breaking. “If only you’d trusted me with

your deepest worry. I had no idea your

father was gravely ill, though the papers

did mention his accident almost a year

ago, wasn’t it? Of course, we must go to

your father at once. I’m still packed. It

won’t be any trouble to accompany you,”

she insisted.

His brown eyes darkened and his

frown pricked her conscience. He did

not trust her enough to confide in her and

he was right in that regard. They knew

so little about each other. Still, she could

not help but wonder why he’d never

mentioned his father or Celeste before.

Everyone had their secrets and she, for

one, had a marriage to consummate

before it was too late. The sooner the

deed was done, the better for her — for

her child. She could scarcely afford for

him to desert her now.

“Your devotion is quite gratifying,”

he offered, in part to soothe her

wounded pride. “But this is something I

must do alone.”

Constance was near hysteria. She

barely heard Jeffers pull the door to.

Only one thought ruled her mind — she

had to consummate her marriage so that

Percy believed her child was his.

“But you cannot leave me,” she

implored. “Not on our wedding night!

Let me accompany you. I can console

you. We can weather this storm

together,” she suggested, knowing at

some point of his bedside watch, he

would have to sleep.

Percy grabbed her elbows, pulling

her close. “’Twould only serve to bring

sorrow to the man.”

“Sorrow?”

“For all that he will miss, my gel.

My father’s been brought low by the

accident. The fact that he’s held on this

long is only by his fortitude alone. If any

of Burton’s accusations follow us to

Sumpton Hall, I fear it will cost him his

life.”

“Are you saying you believe

Burton?” When he did not answer, she

ceased to breathe. And then it dawned

on her. “You kept our marriage plans

from your father?”

His fingers tightened around her

upper arms. “Yes,” he said.

Her lungs fought for air. “Why

marry me, then? Was it your aim to

humiliate me by offering marriage in

name only?” Why had she expected

anything more?

“If you only knew the lengths to

which I have gone to marry you, you’d

understand, Constance,” he said. She

closed her eyes, unable to face him.

“Trust me. That’s all I can ask, for I will

not divulge anything more.”

“Trust must be given in order to be

received.”

Embracing her, he kissed her

forehead. “I must go,” he said.

Desperation sank in. She could not

allow Percy to desert her. Not now! Not

tonight! Tears swept down her cheeks.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath

and pressed herself intimately close to

his chest, unwilling to be parted. His

heat was a welcome delight. Her hands

slid up his sides and then splayed over

the planes of his muscular chest with

distinctive need. Craning her neck back,

she gazed up into his eyes and stretched

on tiptoe, eager to taste his lips, to

succumb once more to the passionate

storm that had once taken her by surprise

aboard the
Striker
.

Her mouth inches from his, she

said, “Can you not stay long enough to

consummate our vows?”

“No.”

Percy’s heart thrummed beneath her

hands. He drew in a ragged breath and

his touch emboldened her, soliciting

warmth between her legs. His eyes

radiated fire and he stroked her cheek,

before bending down to kiss her mouth.

Desperate, Constance held nothing back.

In Percy’s arms, there was no thought of

danger, no sounds of cannon or fear of

mutinous rebellion. She was married to

him, free to give herself, submit her

body without fear of repercussion.

Pressing her lips against her husband’s,

she ached with undeniable need.

Wantonly, she wrapped her arms about

Percy’s neck and pulled him closer,

pressing her breasts against his rapidly

beating heart. She sighed contentedly

when one of his hands traced a path from

her elbow to her waist, inching higher up

her rib cage, slowly toward her breast.

Lost in his kiss, she was vaguely

aware he moved her toward the bed and

dipped her backward onto the coverlet.

His hands sought the hem of her gown,

igniting a fiery path along her calf, her

knee, and thigh as he lifted it higher. His

fingers caressed her skin, her inner thigh,

eagerly searching for the center of her

being, while his lips blazed a trail down

her neck toward her swelling cleavage.

She urged him on, unable to think, unable

to control the desperation building

within.

A distant knock muddled her

senses. Or was it the sound of her heart

once again coming to life? He apparently

had heard it, too. He paused, and then

gazed into her eyes.

“It would give me nothing but

pleasure to spend the night in your bed,

my gel. Though you will not understand

why I cannot, know that what I do now is

for you, for my father — for our future.

Rest assured, we will pick up where we

left off when I return.”

Brushing disheveled hair out of her

face, he placed a gentle kiss upon her

brow.

“Don’t leave me, Percy,” she

pleaded. “I need you!” She held him

close, but he was stronger of mind and

spirit and tore himself out of her arms.

He rose from the bed, stepped back, and

gazed down at her like a drunkard

refusing a drink.

“Don’t wait up for me, Constance,”

he said.

With a gallant bow, he departed,

leaving behind an unsettling silence in

his wake. Numbly, she lay on the bed,

her hand gently cupping her budding

abdomen, until panic took hold. She was

horrified that Percy wouldn’t return in

time for her to suspend his disbelief that

she carried another man’s child. Every

minute she was alone, the solitude

swelled into deafening heights.

Percy’s kisses were fresh in her

mind. She touched her lips with her

fingertips and sat up, suddenly aware

that she’d desired his coupling for more

than the obvious reason.

“If you only knew the lengths to

which I have gone to marry you, you’d

understand, Constance.”

What lengths had Percy gone to, to

ensure their marriage took place? Had

Burton threatened him? Had he been

forced into a duel? She’d heard nothing

about Green Park in the Gazette.

“Trust me. That’s all I can ask, for

I will not divulge anything more.”

Scanning the bedroom, she rose and

righted her skirts, smoothing her hands

over the creases, until her misty eyes

focused on the ordinary room. As

Marchioness, she stood to lose more

than her good name. Discovery of her

ruse could and would damage Percy’s

duchy.

If the circumstances were different,

she might understand why he didn’t want

her to accompany him to see his ailing

father.

A knock startled her. Had Percy

changed his mind? Had he returned?

She rushed to the door and opened

it, only to find a maid, who with a nod

and a curtsy entered the room quietly,

lighting several candles mounted along

the wall. With incredible speed and

agility, she started a fire in the hearth,

curtsied again, then left as soundlessly

as she’d arrived.

Constance stared at the light

filtering into the room, casting odd

shadows upon the walls. Transfixed by

the room’s transformation, she glanced

around the room as it took on a bizarre

yet familiar tone of burnished gold. Her

eyes settled on a small, oval painted

replica glistening upon a night table in

the dancing light. She walked to the table

and picked up the image, holding it up to

the candlelight, startled to find the

rendered likeness of a woman who bore

an uncanny resemblance to Thomas. The

young woman with dark auburn hair and

the bluest eyes stared back with

unquestioning trust.

Who was this beautiful girl? She

must have had an important place in her

husband’s life to sit ceremoniously close

to his bed. Was this the indomitable