The Rogue’s Prize (26 page)

forcefully. “Think of your father. Would

you have him reduced to squalor

because of your pride?”

She jumped to her feet. “You go too

far, sir!” She skirted by him and made a

hasty retreat toward the doorway. He

followed suit, grabbing her forearm, his

fingernails sinking through the thin fabric

of her sleeve, making her realize just

how poorly he compared to Thomas and

even Guffald.

“You have not given me your

answer,” he spat.

“Haven’t

I,

sir?

Perhaps

a

physician should check your hearing.”

He took a menacing step forward,

his eyes narrowed into slits. “You will

regret — ”

“Regret what, Burton?” her father

asked, coming to her side.

“ — not taking advantage of this

glorious day,” he slyly finished,

snatching back his hand. “I was seeking

to tempt Lady Constance with a carriage

ride.”

“Oh, you must go for a ride in Hyde

Park,” her father insisted, leaning

toward her. “Fresh air would do you

some good.”

Sensing

her

father’s

tactic,

Constance was bound and determined

not to comply. “Sadly, I feel slightly

under the weather and must decline.”

Which wasn’t completely a lie.

Her father spared her a grimace and

then focused his good humor on Burton.

“How have you and my daughter been

getting on?”

Burton

instantly

regained

his

composure and stepped toward her

father with an outstretched hand.

“Famously,” he said. “You have a

wonderful daughter, Your Grace. But, of

course,” he said winking, “you are

already aware of my affections.”

Constance willed her father to tread

softly. “Indeed, I am,” he said, strolling

past them to the fireplace. “My

daughter’s welfare is utmost in my

thoughts.”

“And a fine woman she has

become. You are to be commended,

Your Grace.”

The banter between her father and

Burton nauseated her. She scrutinized

her father’s face as he turned toward the

hearth, frightened he would buy into the

bastard’s compliments. His shoulders

appeared rigidly set. He was tense,

apparently not as much at ease as he

would have Burton believe. Did she

dare hope?

“Then we are of the same mind,”

her father agreed.

Oh no! Couldn’t he see through

Burton’s theatrical veil?

“Constance, are you unwell?” Her

father’s voice sounded far away. The

world spun. She lost her bearings.

“Quickly, Burton! Fetch my daughter a

drink.”

A drink was forced into her hand.

She sipped mindlessly, revived by the

soothing liquid as it slid down her throat

and burned a path into her stomach. Her

father stood before her, Burton smirking

at his side. She could have sworn he

found her swoon amusing or had the light

played tricks on her? Unsettled, she

made her excuses and begged their

leave. To say she felt ill was no lie. Her

head ached, perhaps from worry,

possibly because she hadn’t eaten much

in the past few days. With as much

dignity as she could muster, she left the

parlor only to be stopped in her tracks

outside the door by three ominous

words.

“Remember our deal.” Burton’s

voice cut her in two. Her heart pounded.

What had her father done?

“I’ve not forgotten. Rest assured

that on the night of the ball, your

engagement to Constance will be

announced as planned.”

She placed a hand over her mouth

and bit her fist to keep from screaming.

Burton was a violent man. Her father

knew he was untrustworthy. Was her

father’s fear of ruin stronger than finding

her a more suitable husband? She’d

nearly died trying to find a way to

resolve his problems. How could he

betray her like this?

“Constance may prove difficult,”

Burton slurred.

“I will handle Constance. Do not

forget she is my daughter. Danburys do

as they’re told.”

“See to it she does. I’d hate to see

your family sink into squalor.”

Footsteps approached, cutting off

her ability to eavesdrop. Placing her

hand on her stomach, she swallowed the

queasy lump rising in her throat and

quickly made her way up the stairs. It

was up to her to do something, anything,

and fast. The ball was but weeks away.

At the top of the staircase, she

walked across the landing and entered

her room. Quietly shutting the door once

she was inside, she rushed over to her

necessary and picked up a feathered

quill to begin scripting a missive to her

uncle. He was her one and only hope.

Uncle,

I have just heard father

plans

to

announce

my

engagement to Burton at the

ball held in two weeks’ time.

While I cannot express how

sensitive this matter is to me,

or heal the rift this situation

has caused between you and

my father, I implore you to

help me resolve this matter. I

cannot, and will not, be

forced to marry such a man.

Should I not find another

alternative, I fear you shall

never see me again.

Your beloved niece,

Constance

Uncle Simon had connections and

having never married, he loved her as if

she were his own child. Surely, as he

had before, he would set things to rights.

If not, she was determined to run away

again. Except this time, she’d tell no one

where she was bound.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Something was amiss. The stomach-

turning experience during Burton’s visit

had not lessoned. Day by day, Constance

felt more fatigued and unsettled, which

she attributed to nerves as the deadline

of the ball approached. Unless her uncle

could produce a miracle, her life would

be forever attached to a man she reviled

and feared.

Mrs. Mortimer, having returned

from a brief visit with family, had taken

an added interest in her condition,

stating only that they’d know more as

time passed. If Morty’s fears were well-

substantiated, Constance was carrying a

child, Thomas’s child. And if that were

true, it would be even more important to

shield that child from Burton’s wrath,

which meant running away, shirking her

duty to her father, leaving with nothing

more than the child to comfort her. But

how could that ever be enough to sustain

them?

Constance laid her hand on her

stomach. Thomas. She’d dreamt of him

unceasingly since returning home, but

had

received

no

word

of

his

whereabouts.

Though

she’d

never

expected him to contact her, she longed

to see him again and fantasized that he

would rescue her from her horrid

circumstances. At least, with Thomas,

she knew what she was getting, a rogue

with a gentleman’s touch, one who

would only strike when attacked. With

Burton, she couldn’t be sure — and

that’s what scared her the most.

Leaning

back

in

her

chair,

Constance sighed. The truth of her

circumstances would soon become

apparent. In the meantime, she hoped her

father would find the strength to ignore

his quest to find her a suitable husband

or, at best, direct his aim at someone

other than Burton. With their financial

situation still unresolved, however, it

was doubtful her father would desert his

scheme to connect their family to the

gentleman. In fact, she thought it would

only serve to fill him with fervent

purpose to see the deed done. If it was

absolutely necessary for her to marry for

money and to keep a scandalous

pregnancy concealed, who would be her

likely pawn?

Embroidering a rose petal into a

delicately designed piece of linen to

occupy her time, Constance jumped

when a knock sounded on her door and

Cooper addressed her from the doorway

of her receiving room.

“Yes,” she said.

“You have a visitor, my Lady.”

She

narrowed

her

eyes

suspiciously. “Who?”

Cooper’s eyes scanned the sparsely

furnished room, dedicated to her

mother’s memory, and then raised a

conspiratorial brow. “Lord Danbury,”

he answered.

“Uncle Simon, here?” She gasped,

jumping up from her seat.

“He’s waiting for you in the

parlor.” Cooper was loyal to her father,

but he’d been a great father figure to her

during her lifetime.

“Tell him I’ll be right down.”

She glanced at her appearance in

the mirror and squeezed her cheeks to

give them a little more color, hoping to

conceal the uncommon pallor nausea had

given her of late. She’d chosen a demure

dress of celestial blue, adorned with

lace above the rounded collar to conceal

her developing bosom. Her hair had

been arranged in a braided bun with

several ringlets framing her face. No

matter the style, there was no helping the

fact that she looked a little thinner than

normal.

Descending the stairs, passing

gilded-framed family portraits which

seemed to glare accusingly, she entered

the parlor with expectant hope fluttering

in her heart. She had only one ally.

Simon. Had he come to help her at last?

He stood near the window.

“Uncle, I’m so glad you’ve come!”

she exclaimed.

He turned at the sound of her voice

and his joyous expression quickly

transformed to a worried frown. “I came

as soon as I could arrange it,” he said,

gazing upon her. “What has happened to

you, my dear? You seem rather … well,

for lack of a better word … thin.”

She began in earnest, “Uncle, so

much has happened since I’ve seen you

last. I’m at a loss as to where to begin.”

He moved closer, taking her hands

within his and led her to the sofa. “Start

from the beginning. Tell me everything.

Lord knows your father has been as

silent as the grave.”

“I fear nothing anyone can do will

make Papa see reason. He barely speaks

to me.”

“Your father has much on his mind

and blames me for his dilemma. We

cannot possibly understand the lengths to

which he will go in order to repair the

damage he thinks I’ve done to our

family.”

“Uncle Simon, I know that you

would never do anything to malign the

family. You love Papa and me. That is

plain and,” she choked back a sob,

suddenly overcome with emotion, “I

appeal to that love now.”

His eyes softened. He lifted her

chin. “You have my love and you always

shall. What is it, child? What has

dampened your spirits? I confess, I was

livid after reading your letter.”

She squeezed his hands. “Papa has

made a deal with Burton. Though I

revealed my loathing for the man, he

plans to force me to marry him.”

Simon lifted her chin again. “You

are certain of your aversion? You aren’t

holding a grudge against the man simply

because you don’t want to marry an

older man?”

She shook her head. “I’m not being

silly. I fear his intentions aren’t

honorable.”

He glanced down at her bosom and

frowned. For a moment, she wondered if

he knew exactly what Burton had done

or simply noted the difference in her

décolleté.

“Then,” he began, breaking her

doubt, “we must find a way to convince

your father otherwise.”

“There’s

more,

Uncle,”

she

whispered, unable to control her shame.