The Rogue’s Prize (47 page)

lashes to keep from being blinded, she

heard footsteps ascending the stairs. The

sound forced her into action. She quickly

composed herself and approached the

staircase. Jeffers ascended the steps. He

saw her approach and waited for her to

join him. He bowed, dutifully, and then

somewhat confused, his gaze dropped to

her neck. He lifted his brow.

“My Lady — ”

She ignored him. She brushed past

and began to descend the staircase, not

caring that he’d seen the necklace around

her neck or that she was being impolite

by cutting him off as he’d begun to

speak. The man was Percy’s valet. He’d

been privy to the truth. He’d known

Percy was Thomas all along. He’d

witnessed her disgrace and had made no

concerted effort to conceal his surprise

at her discovery.

He must have gotten over his shock

because he raced down the steps and

caught up with her. “His Grace sends his

most humble apologies,” he said.

“He does,” she replied blandly.

“He cannot accompany you to this

evening’s entertainment at Convent

Garden.”

“Oh?” Was she to be given a

reprieve?

“He hopes you will forgive his

pressing business and asks that you not

scold him unmercifully.” Was Jeffers

trying to explain Percy’s deceit? If so, he

was too late.

“It’s a wife’s duty to scold her

unruly husband, is it not?”

Jeffers wasn’t fazed. “To make

amends,

His

Grace

has

made

arrangements for you to attend
La

Duenna
without him.”

“Without him? Why, that would be

scandalous!”

“Captain Guffald will be arriving

shortly to play your escort.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Jeffers

finally said, “I believe the two of you

are already acquainted.”

“Indeed,” she answered. “We are.”

She could not help but notice the

butler’s censor. Was he remembering the

morning of Guffald’s visit? Was he

aware that she knew Guffald had been a

deliberate conspirator in her husband’s

masquerade?

Jeffers could not possibly know the

riotous avenues of her thoughts, the

scandalous expletives she wanted to rain

upon him. There was nothing nobler than

a man who served two masters. That

Jeffers held Percy’s confidence, in the

face of certain scandal, proved the man

quite adept at his position in Percy’s

household. No. She could not fault the

man, as much as she wanted to throttle

him for his involvement. He, at least,

had been counted upon to keep a secret.

She had only one choice available

to her. “When your master returns,

inform him that I appreciate his concern

for my happiness. His offer of Guffald’s

assistance is greatly appreciated.”

Constance smiled a knowing smile.

Guffald had been her only refuge when

she’d tried to escape the Striker. She’d

kept his secret, that he’d come to her aid,

only to be pushed back by the weather. If

not for him, she and Mrs. Mortimer

would have fallen from the ship to their

deaths. Perhaps he could be prevailed

upon to take her back to Throckmorton.

Jeffers attempted to speak. “You

must — ”

The outer bell rang.

“Answer the door, Jeffers,” she

ordered.

Jeffers

reacted

instinctively,

answering the summons with an agility

she least expected. “Good evening,

Captain,” he said, permitting the

gentleman entrance. “Lady Blendingham

is prepared to accept your escort.”

Guffald crossed the threshold, took

off his hat, and bowed. He rose, and then

moved his gaze over her figure as she

stood at the bottom of the stairs. His

quick intake of breath proved she’d

succeeded with her toilette, achieving

the effect she’d hoped to solicit from her

husband. The gown she’d chosen cut

scandalously low and the bodice had

been lined with thin lace, accentuating

her swelling bosom and drawing

attention to the locket she now wore

temptingly between her breasts. Earlier

this evening, she had hoped to sweeten

Percy’s appetites, distract him from the

truth about her baby, but now that she

knew who and what he really was, she

no longer cared. She had her mother’s

locket, the one thing she could not live

without. The locket and what she had on

were all she would take with her from

this place.

Constance smiled at the captain,

knowing any small encouragement she

offered went against decorum. She was a

married woman. If she arrived at the

Opera House without her husband, she

would face disagreeable snippets from

the ton, in all possibility complete

ruination. But there was no turning back

and she did not intend to see
La Duenna.

She

meant

to

leave

Percy,

the

Blendingham peerage and a proper

living, namely a surname for her child,

behind. She could not forgive what

Thomas or Percy had done. Toward that

end, she armed herself with the strength

it would take to continue the masquerade

of a duke’s wife, just a bit longer. She

stepped forward and accepted the

captain’s hand.

The gallant officer bent low,

placing a chaste kiss upon her gloved

fingers, hesitating longer than tolerable.

His eyes strayed, caressing her gloved

fingertips, languidly moving up her arm,

toward her breasts as he raised his head.

Constance inhaled nervously. Guffald’s

interest was unrequited. There was

longing in his gaze, a look she’d seen

before. But the intensity in his gaze had

grown. And for the first time, she knew

how she could escape.

Jeffers

coughed,

his

censor

galvanizing her into action. Constance

felt the weight of a cloak draped about

her shoulders. She wrapped her fingers

around her mother’s locket and held it

tightly, closing her eyes, praying to God

to give her the strength to leave behind

the men she’d loved. Yes, she could

admit it now. She’d loved Thomas and

Percy, both equally and yet differently.

Jeffers opened the front door and

held it at the ready. For an awkward

moment, Constance thought she should

race up the stairs and wait for Percy

until she could confront him and he

could explain why he’d deceived her.

But as her hand left the locket and

became enveloped in Guffald’s, she cast

that idea aside.

“Lady Blendingham,” Guffald said,

her name slipping out of his mouth on a

sweet caress. “May I escort you to the

ends of the earth?”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said,

“but I only have need of reaching

Convent Garden.”

He winked, exuding his charm.

Then the smile left his eyes as his gaze

dropped to her breasts. “By the bye,” he

said, “I see you have finally found your

locket. Did you have difficulty locating

it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “As a matter

of fact, I’ve only just discovered its

whereabouts.”

He smiled, his teeth flashing white.

“I can see the object has brought you

peace of mind.”

Peace was not what she felt. “I

have been at odds without it,” she

admitted truthfully. Her eyes flit to

Jeffers’s face as the captain swept her

toward the door. “Do thank my husband

for finding my necklace.”

Jeffers stood as solid as one of the

statues in the garden. Guffald’s next

words, however, caused the man to

blink. “Pass along my regards to

Blendingham.”

Jeffers bowed. “I shall relate your

message, Captain.”

Guffald patted Jeffers on the

shoulder as he ushered her out the door.

“That’s a good man.”

• • •

townhouse, soaked through and through.

A deluge had forced his retreat after

hours of searching for signs of Burton’s

participation in a deal with the
Delrina

Gray
. The cargo aboard the ship

practically proved Burton held the key to

Celeste’s death. Word had previously

come to him by way of Jacko and Ollie

that one of Burton’s servants had been

sighted at the landing on the west end of

town, hawking items from the recent

sinking

of

the
Arboreal
.

When

questioned about how the man had

acquired the merchandise, he’d fought

desperately to evade his men. Reacting

on instinct, he and his men had chased

the tyrant to a literal dead end, where the

man had found a dagger in his gullet.

Still

breathing

when

they

had

approached, the thief eagerly purged

himself of his sins, giving an eyewitness

account of Burton’s involvement.

Baroness Chauncey had not led him

astray. He owed a huge debt for her

vigilant guard over Burton’s household

affairs, his comings and goings.

Percy’s gut clenched. The news had

been grave indeed. Throckmorton had

unknowingly betrothed Constance to a

man who took great pleasure in beating

and raping his servants. The power

hungry despot had been willing to kill

anyone in his way as he sought out the

young with a perverse, insatiable

appetite, making no aristocrat his match.

Frustration fueled Percy as his eyes

surveyed the empty foyer. His greatcoat

dripped water onto the marble surface.

His

mind

raced

with

newfound

knowledge. Had Celeste fallen prey to

Burton? Were the carriage accident, his

father’s illness, and her death, a ploy to

get back at him for convincing his father

to speak out against Burton’s lobbying

for control over the House of Lords?

What of Constance’s near miss with the

fiend? The mere thought of Burton

bruising his wife’s perfect breast

enraged him.

He slammed his gloves down upon

the floor and growled. Jeffers would

want to cosh him, but he thought no more

of it as he beat the raindrops from his

sleeves and removed his coat.

“Jeffers!” he bellowed. He listened

for an answer, but the house was eerily

quiet.
Highly unusual.
“Constance!”

Where was cook, the servants?

Jeffers, especially, seemed to always be

around whenever he entered the house.

“Jeffers!” he howled.

Footsteps thump, thumped on the

second floor. He looked up and yelled,

“Constance?” Knowing full well that

Burton would continue to make good on

threats against all those he loved, Percy

bolted up the stairs, taking two steps at a

time. He intended to make sure his wife

was safe.

Jeffers stuck his head over the

banister when he was half-way up the

staircase. “Your Grace,” he said.

“Where have you been?” Taking in

the man’s unusual dishevel, he asked,

“What has gotten you into such a state?”

Jeffers stared down with frantic,

apologetic eyes. “Your … G-Grace,” he

stuttered. “She found it.”

“Who found what?”

“Her Ladyship,” he explained.

“Where is my wife?”

“Gone, sir.”

What had happened to addle

Jeffers? The man never used the

informal address of sir. “Gone where?”

“I received your missive and — ”

Percy held up his hand and

interrupted the disturbed servant. “Stop!

What missive?”

“The note you sent confirming that

Guffald was to accompany Lady

Blendingham to the opera in your stead.”

“I sent no such note,” Percy

growled. He scanned the foyer. The

house suddenly took on an emptiness that

didn’t need to be explained. Urgency

filled every fiber of his being.

“When she left wearing the locket, I

— ”