Duke by Day, Rogue by Night (31 page)

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. Constance trembled. She knew he held his anger in check only by sheer force of will. Her only saving grace was he could not hurt her, not here, not in Percy's home, especially when Jeffers and Mrs. Mortimer knew of his presence. There was solace in that fact, however small, however short-lived.

Burton's menacing laughter promised that no matter what happened, there would be no reprieve. She stared into her accuser's alabaster face, realizing with certainty she would never be rid of him.

“What is so urgent?” she asked.

“If you don't want your father to spend a day in debtor's prison, you will find a way to get me into Stanton's good graces.”

“You cannot be serious,” she gasped incredulously.

“Oh! But I am. I can arrange for certain papers to pass through legal ranks, papers which will most assuredly point to your father's involvement with smuggling in a feeble attempt to replenish his dwindling funds.”

“You wouldn't dare!” she gasped.

“Wouldn't I?” he asked. “I could arrange to prove it to you.”

Fortuitously, the door knocker pounded on the front door. Burton grinned. With a grand tap of his cane, he whirled through the door without a backward glance, leaving her to sag into the cushions, her fist against her mouth. Muffled voices permeated the air in the atrium as she stared at the fire in the hearth. Placing her hand over her heart, feeling its beating rhythm finally steady, she inhaled a deep breath. She'd never felt so alone.

She'd been forced to watch her mother die. Thomas had exiled her from his ship without any promises. Her husband had left her on their wedding night, and though she wished his father well, she'd not heard from him since the wedding. How much longer could she hold on? What was she to do now that Burton wanted her to lobby for him? Surely Percy would find her sudden interest and support of Burton odd. But if she didn't become Burton's pawn, her father would be charged with piracy and locked away. And if Burton ever found out she was with child, everything she had sacrificed for her security would be over before it had ever begun.

A comforting hand settled upon her shoulder, startling her. She looked up to the figure standing in the half-light.

“Forgive me,” the light-enshrouded shadow said. “I should have introduced myself but you were so engaged by the fire, and so enchanting to watch, that I hated to disturb you.”

Disappointed the voice did not belong to Thomas or Percy, Constance peered up into Lieutenant Guffald's face. If ever there was a face other than her husband's or Thomas's she'd be happier to see, it was Guffald's. He'd promised her rescue on the
Octavia
. Perhaps she could rely upon him now. She smiled cordially and, with a gesture of her hand, indicated for him to sit near her by the fire.

“Lieutenant.” She sighed. “How good it is to see you again. And so soon,” she exclaimed, hoping he would understand the dilemma he created by visiting her at this time.

“You appear slightly disheveled, Lady Stanton. Is something wrong?”

She detected kindness and respect in Guffald's voice, something terribly missing in Burton's. Constance exhaled and tried to regain her confidence.

“Lord Burton was just here.”

“I know. He let me in the house,” he said, gauging her reaction. “I found that quite odd. He gave no reason, only that he was in a hurry to leave. Did he do anything untoward?”

“No,” she lied. “He had some news to relate about my father.”

Alarm flickered in his blue eyes. “Forgive me. You seem, well … agitated. Did he harm you, threaten you in any way?”

“No,” she replied hastily. “Indeed, no,” she reassured. She smiled at Guffald, hoping to ease his concern. “The man simply will not let his grievance against my family go, however.”

“Your marriage to Percy, for instance?”

Her head snapped up and she studied Guffald. His use of her husband's proper name alerted her defenses. But then she remembered. The two were famous friends. She had no need to worry about the familiarity between them.

“I'm afraid so,” she admitted.

Guffald leaned closer. “If I may — why did you receive him? Certainly that was not a good idea, given Burton's derision. I'm sure Percy will be most unhappy. You should not be so eager for honey when the bee's sting might be fatal.”

“Burton's behavior is none of your concern, Lieutenant,” she objected, angered that he thought her silly. His use of the strange metaphor did not help matters. “My husband, should he choose to, will deal with Lord Burton.”

If only he were here.
She sighed.
So few moments with the man condemned her to continue making mistakes like these.
She gazed down upon the gloved hand of the gallant lieutenant who'd fought pirates in order to save her life and narrowly escaped. The man who'd almost singlehandedly succeeded in getting them off the Striker before the storm had prevented launch of the gig. The golden-haired man's fingers twitched. She peered up into his crystalline blue eyes and noticed a hint of a smile playing upon his lips. Was he aware of something she was not? The idea did not sit well with her. She popped up out of her chair and put distance between them.

“I fear the day has grown old and I'm rather tired. Thank you for coming to call, Lieutenant. I'll be sure to relay your good tidings to my husband when he arrives.”
Damnation!
She hadn't meant to let that slip.

“So he has deserted you!” he exclaimed. “And so soon? I cannot fathom the man's stupidity. Were our situations reversed, I assure you no one would see my face for at least a fortnight.”

“Lieutenant.”

“What could have possibly pulled Percy away from your arms?”

She quickly rose to her husband's defense. “Lord Stanton,” she said, trying to bring formality back into the conversation, “has gone on an errand. For me, in fact. You see, he recently discovered I have a passion for sweets. He insisted upon seeing that we were fully stocked. Surely you would not begrudge him this kindness.”

Would Guffald believe her lie? Why she chose not to reveal the truth that Percy had rushed to his ailing father's bedside, she could not fathom. Her relationship with her husband, mysterious, precarious even, put her on jagged ground. 'Twas best she did not sharpen the dagger too soon. She was keenly aware, without a consummated union, how quickly she could find herself on the street should her reputation gain another blemish and her husband become the laughing stock of the ton.

Constance moved to the open door and spied Jeffers in the hall. Holding a tea service in his arms, he had never had any intention of her meeting anyone alone.

“My Lady,” he said, tilting his nose haughtily when the Lieutenant sauntered out of the room. “I have brought tea.”

Guffald exclaimed, “What a delightful idea. That is just what Lady Stanton needs to refresh her spirits.” Turning back to her, he offered, “Pardon me if I take my leave. I fear I have overstayed my welcome.” With a dutiful nod, Guffald bowed stiffly and made a hasty exit out the front door.

“Will you be taking your tea in the parlor, my Lady?”

Her mind picked apart the lieutenant's conversation. Try as she might, however, she did not know what to make of the man, nor could she understand what he and Percy had in common.

Jeffers cleared his throat. “My Lady?”

“Jeffers, are you familiar with Lord Stanton's estate, Sumpton Hall?”

Jeffers displayed annoyance. “I do not speak of his Lordship's affairs.”

“Yes, that is commendable. But what I desire to know is if I can travel to his estate in a day's time. A man should not be solely responsible for his father's care, especially at a time like this. I should like to help. In fact, I want to surprise my husband.”

“As it so happens, madam, his Lordship will be returning soon. I'm sure he will be quite pleased to learn of your willingness to come to his father's aid, but I fear there will not be a need for you to do so.”

Jeffers's eyes creased at the corners, confusing her as to what emotion he held in check. Was he laughing at her or did he want to throttle her? With Jeffers, one never knew. The man obviously lived and breathed to serve one master and one master only.

She held back her excitement and dread. “Percy returns soon?”

“Indeed, your Ladyship.”

“When did this news arrive?”

“I received a missive only moments ago. I'm hesitant to admit that is what delayed your refreshments, an act in itself that calls for no excuse and my dismissal.”

“I'm sure that won't be necessary,” she confided.

Walking to the front door, she gazed idly through the etched glass to stare out upon the bustling street. It was noonday, yet the city pulsed with fervor — each soul that passed, whether concealed in conveyances or strolling about, was eager to arrive at their destination. Alone, save for a few servants and Mrs. Mortimer, Constance took a deep breath and welcomed a triumphant peace. Her husband meant to return, and soon. Time offered her another chance to shape the destiny of her child.

“I'm afraid the news isn't good, my Lady,” Jeffers said.

“Pardon me?” She pulled away from the window. “What did you say?”

Jeffers continued to hold the tea service as though it weighed not an ounce. “The missive contained dreadful news. That is the reason I was detained. It has hit us all very hard.”

Constance grew frightened. What could the message possibly contain? Was Percy all right? “You must tell me. What has happened?”

“His Grace, the Duke of Blendingham is dead.”

• • •

The pieces fit nicely. Percy had deserted his beautiful bride on her wedding night. Guffald clapped his hands together in glee. She could still be his — his! Though she wore the Marques's ring, she was not truly married.

He held his elation in check. He had not suffered privation, humiliation, or Burton's irrational demands for nothing.

Bounding up the street, love's powerful force fueled him. Liberating, tangible love pushed him beyond his limitations. For Constance, he'd sworn to uphold only one law, a law as old as time — to each his own. Years of his life had been sacrificed for this — for her. Like a ship drawn to port, his life, his morals were forever coupled to a road that would surely lead him out of obscurity into the dream he envisioned for the two of them.

Devil take Percy, Burton, and Frink!

Constance tossed and turned in Percy's behemoth bed where ghastly images of Burton and his threats plagued her dreams. Beneath her head, her pillow was still moist from her tears. She'd spent hours crying for the future of her child. She was afraid, more afraid than she'd ever been in her life. Afraid of what Burton would do to ruin her father and what she would be forced to do to betray her husband's confidence. Guilt-ridden, she was also mourning the loss of Percy's father, the duke. She couldn't imagine life without her father and had no idea how she would console Percy when he returned. She'd been selfish to think only of herself and her child when her husband's father lay dying, selfish to think consummating her marriage was more important.

“Tears do not become you.” A masculine voice penetrated the night.

She bolted upright. Had her dreams of Burton materialized? Was he even now in her bedroom, prepared to exact his revenge?

Real or imagined, someone was in her room. Her flesh tingled and her eyes searched the darkness, noting a slight movement near the window. Focusing on the gold curtains, she watched them dancing nervously in the breeze. Why was the window open? She distinctly remembered latching it. She did not sleep well with a chill in the room and always made certain the window was closed before she went to bed. But now that she thought of it, she seemed to be waking up at night gazing at an open window more often than not this past week.

“Who — ” she squeaked, unable to control her fright. “Who's in my room?”

“Are you always this demanding in bed?”

She sank back into the sheets, unsure how to behave. Percy? When had he returned?

“Am I dreaming?” she asked.

“No,” his voice was close now, comforting in the darkness, easing the chaotic beating of her heart.

“I don't want to be dreaming,” she whispered. “I want you to be real.”

“I assure you I'm real, my gel,” he said.

He was close enough now that his warm breath sent thrilling quivers down her spine. Within moments he was stretched out beside her, removing her shift. His hand roamed over her body awakening the part of her only Thomas had been able to reach.

“Why do you taunt me? I'm so very sorry — ”

His fingertip stopped her from voicing her concerns. “Don't speak of it. It is done and I am here. You are in my blood,” he insisted huskily. “I should never have left you.”

She sighed, rolling her head back, allowing him access to her neck. “Now I know this is a dream.”

“I assure you I am here — with you — in this bed. Quite a fine bed it is, too — with you in it.” His lips brushed her forehead, his hands smoothed hair away from her face. Tingling sensations awakened her nerve endings and everywhere his hands crept across her body. She arched toward him, writhing closer, wrapping her leg around his waist, aching for him to make her his, to erase the worry that someone might come between them and ruin their union before it had even started.

Was it wrong to think this way? Was she beyond wanton?

His fingers curled in her hair as he kissed her mouth. His lips were clean shaven, smooth, persistent. She opened her mouth, welcoming his tongue, the dueling clash that fired her insides into molten lava. Her heart beat a wild staccato pulse as he suckled first one breast, then another, bathing her in kisses.