Heiress in Love (36 page)

His mouth turned down in disgust. “Oh, I was so full of violent passions and idealistic fervor. I truly thought I loved her. I was prepared to suffer estrangement from my family if that was what it took to make her my wife. And … she laughed at me.”

Jane ached for that wild, passionate young man. Fury filled her, thinking of the woman whose greed had destroyed his good name. Her hand clenched his.

He glanced at her, then looked down at their joined hands. “I was full of pain and wounded pride. I knew Amanda was ruined in the eyes of the world but I couldn’t bring myself to marry her after that.”

“They all talked at you, I suppose,” said Jane.

“Oh, yes, there were many stern lectures, ranting and raving. People—dear friends, even—cut me in the street. I pretended not to care. I fell in with a crowd who didn’t give a fig what my morals were, but I never felt a part of it.”

“And your father?”

His jaw tightened. “Looking back, I think that at first, he tried to understand. In between the rants, he demanded an explanation. I gave him none. To have revealed Amanda’s scheme would have damned her completely. But it was more than that. It hurt that my father would so far misjudge me as to believe I would have taken Amanda to my bedchamber and treated her with dishonor, when he
knew
I wanted to make her my wife. I thought he was better acquainted with me than that. Yet, he didn’t draw a distinction between my past exploits and the present crisis.”

“The boy who cried wolf.”

“Yes. They believed the worst because of what they already knew. So, I became an outcast, a libertine whose name was only whispered in connection with some scandal or other. I had to resign from my clubs. Any place low enough to have me was somewhere I usually didn’t care to go. Only George stood by me. Only my brother George.”

“What of your other family?”

He sighed. “My sisters, believing their marital prospects ruined, shunned me. Mama…” Jane ached for the pain that crossed his features. “Well, she’d never stood up to my father before. I haven’t laid eyes on her since. My father disowned me, you see. Banished me from the family home. In fact, he was in the process of cutting me out of his will when he died.”

“Constantine, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So that’s why you never went back.”

He shrugged. “George was meant to have Broadmere. As far as I’m concerned, the place is his. For the last twelve years, I’ve only drawn the younger son’s allowance. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken a penny, as was my father’s intention, but George refused to accept the property if I didn’t. Now that I’ve inherited Lazenby Hall, I’m trying to persuade George to formally take title to Broadmere, once and for all.”

No wonder Frederick had assumed Constantine was an absentee landlord. Now, it all made sense. “So you’ve existed all this time on a younger son’s allowance.”

“Augmented by profits made on the Royal Exchange, yes.”

She stared at him. “Not from the gaming tables, then.”

He laughed. “I may be a fool, but I’m not stupid. When I play, I make sure I don’t bet beyond my means. Why, I’d have been rolled up within the month, otherwise.”

She nodded, deep in thought. “Did you ever regret not marrying her?”

He shook his head. “At the time, I certainly regretted all that I’d lost. But … no, I didn’t regret refusing to wed Amanda. And she ought to be glad of it, too. I would have made her a devil of a husband, hating her as I did. Sometimes … Well, sometimes I did wonder whether I should have just married her and lived apart from her, as so many men do.” He turned his head and raised her hand to his lips. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Because of you.”

Joy bubbled up inside, burst from her in a brilliant smile.

His eyes burned into hers. “My God, Jane, when you smile at me like that I can’t breathe for wanting you.”

She took his face between her hands. “I love you, Constantine. Make love to me.”

She kissed him before he could say a word in response, too scared that he might repulse her love or try to give some kind but inadequate answer. The only reply that would satisfy her was those three words.

How terrifying a realization that was.

When he’d taken her earlier it had felt like he must love her, but she knew she could easily be deceived on that score. Part of a rake’s charm must be that he could make a woman believe he adored her.

Constantine pushed aside her wrapper and kissed his way down her body, lingering long at her breasts, then pausing to swirl his tongue around her navel. A sensual haze took over her brain, until all her worries melted away.

“Ohh,” she gasped. “That’s
wicked.
”

His warm breath tickled her stomach as he laughed. “My innocent.” Then he trailed his lips to her hip, pressing kisses along her thigh.

She moved restlessly, her sex throbbing for his touch. The brush of his tongue on her inner thigh sent heat curling through her. His unshaven jaw was scratchy with the beginnings of a beard, but in a pleasant way, one that made her skin tingle to a heightened awareness.

She needed him; she was ready; he was taking too long. She put a fluttering hand on his head, trying to urge him up so they could get to the best part, but he chuckled and remained where he was.

“I want you…” She gasped and writhed with need, until his hands gripped her inner thighs and gently pushed them apart.

His breath was hot on her sex as he parted her folds and—her eyes snapped open—oh, good Lord!

“What are you
doing
?” She shot up the bed, scrambling to get away from his questing tongue.

Constantine returned her horrified gaze with a wicked glint in his eye, resting his chin in his hand. “You’ll love it. I promise.”

“N-no, I won’t. You … you can’t just…”

He raised his brows.

“It’s indecent!”

“Decency has no place in a bedchamber. Not in our bedchamber, anyway.” He gripped her ankle and began pulling her toward him, but she clung to the headboard, determined not to let him do such a scandalous, embarrassing thing.

His eyes narrowed with amusement, but she knew by the angle of that stubborn chin that he wasn’t going to let her get away. He raised himself and crawled toward her like a green-eyed predator. Her eyes widened; a delicious panic fluttered in her chest. Clearly, Constantine was not minded to play the gentleman and concede to the wishes of a lady.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, then he gave her earlobe a playful lick. With his lips against her ear, he whispered, “You wanted me to teach you pleasure, Jane. There’s so very much I can teach you.”

He kissed her neck, then gently took her skin between his teeth.

Jane gasped.

“You like that?”

She nodded.

He drifted down. “And this?” He closed his mouth over her nipple and sucked, until pleasure raced from that sensitive flesh to her loins in a fiery current.

“Ah!” She writhed beneath him.

He reached down to cup her sex with his hand, used the flat of his fingertip to circle gently, building the tension inside her.

His lips moved against the slope of her breast. “Is this right?”

Her head tipped back. “Oh. Yes.”

“Imagine what it would be like for me to kiss you down there.”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak.

“If this were my tongue and lips on you, how would it feel? I want to taste you, Jane. I’m dying to cover you with my mouth.”

A whimper of helpless longing escaped her. She didn’t know how to answer him, but when he touched her like that, and said those sinful things … she felt her reluctance slipping away.

He pressed gentle kisses to her stomach while he pleasured her with his hand.

“Jane, do you trust me?”

She was too far gone to answer. It was easier not to.

That husky voice came at her again, commanding this time. “Do you trust me, Jane?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Then let me.”

“Yes.”

He settled between her legs again and she felt his tongue take over the work of his fingers, swirling and flicking, testing, exploring. He set her on fire with his tongue and lips, and the last vestige of her shame burned away in the conflagration.

When he found one trick that made her moan his name, he used it unrelentingly until she knew she would perish from the pleasure, burn and burn until nothing was left of her but ash.

Fleetingly, she touched his hair, then her hand dropped to the side as the pleasure exploded, racking her body, obliterating her mind.

And then he was inside her, stoking the flame, riding her with deep, slow thrusts, pushing her to the limit, until she cried out a second time. The world went black, and she lost any sense of what came next in the storm of her release.

Jane smiled as he collapsed beside her. She’d lost part of herself to him, and she didn’t ever want it back.

*   *   *

In the days that followed, Jane only grew to love Constantine more. The way he’d taken charge of the situation at Bronson’s mill commanded even Montford’s respect; certainly, the duke said no more about Constantine’s lack of suitability before he left Lazenby Hall.

Daylight hours were filled with hard, rewarding work, overseeing the repair and rebuilding of cottages, since Mr. Trent had abandoned his estate for the time being, apparently called on urgent business to Town.

Constantine had obtained finance on the strength of his and Jane’s betrothal, and preparations were under way to ready their own mill for production. All of the Lazenby weavers who’d been forced to seek positions at Bronson’s were eager to begin work. Under the threat of mass desertion from his own weavers, Bronson had been forced to raise his wages to match those Constantine had set.

Even in the midst of all this labor, Constantine never forgot the one casualty of the flood, the one woman he couldn’t save. He ordered a special memorial service to be held in the village church and laid flowers at Hester Martin’s grave.

At night, Constantine became Jane’s dark, sinful lover. He coaxed her to do things she would never have dreamed she’d do, let alone enjoy. Her narrow world expanded to a universe of pleasure, beyond anything she’d hoped for when she’d agreed to submit to his instruction.

Yet, love had made her greedy. She wanted more.

He’d never said the words, never referred even obliquely to her impulsive declaration. He behaved as though he thought only of her, as if her happiness were vital to him. But until he said the words …

“What are you thinking about?”

She looked up to see Constantine smiling at her across the dinner table.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I was in a brown study. Forgive me.” She took up her spoon and dipped it in her soup. She had no intention of revealing the tenor of her thoughts.

With a glance at Lady Arden, Constantine let the matter drop. He sipped his wine. “I want to take you to London next week, Jane. Would you like that?”

“London?” Her eyes widened in alarm. “Whatever for?”

“I have business there. And I wish to track down Trent and bring him to a sense of his responsibilities. His tenants need him.”

“So…” She hesitated. “No balls, or … or parties.”

“There’s Montford’s ball, remember?” he said. “I believe we are to be the guests of honor.”

She’d forgotten all about it.

Lady Arden cut in. “You are still in mourning so you cannot dance, but you need not forgo
every
pleasure, my dear. Perhaps it is a trifle unusual for you to appear at a ball so soon after Frederick’s death, but when your betrothal is announced, people will understand. As Constantine’s affianced bride, you are needed at his side.”

The lady cast her a meaning look, and Jane recalled their conversation about reestablishing Constantine in society. Her heart sank. She must go, of course, for his sake.

Ah, but she’d always loathed social occasions. Her manner was too direct to appeal to members of either sex and her tongue tied when she attempted light conversation. While Cecily was known for her eccentricity, people loved her for it, too. Jane’s oddness was less endearing. It was merely … odd.

But there was another reason for Jane’s reluctance. She gazed at Constantine, with all his magnificence and virility, and realized she’d been living in a cocoon with him these past weeks. Wrapped up in him, with the world far away, she’d grown confident of his attentions. She’d felt safe.

In Town, with so many more interesting diversions to draw him, whatever charm Jane possessed would quickly pale.

There would be other ladies, too. More sophisticated, more beautiful, more experienced. How could she hope to compete with them?

The prospect cast a harsh, unforgiving light on her interactions with Constantine in the past weeks. He’d used many warm, caressing words, but none of those words had been the ones she most dearly wished to hear.

All of a sudden, reality slammed into her. For many moments, she couldn’t breathe. Why did she continually delude herself about him? Why did she insist on living in some fantasy land when a cold, hard examination of the facts would lead any sensible person to conclude the truth?