by Darcy Burke
“You can be ready.” She gave Sabrina an encouraging smile. “You’ve already done so much—you’ve been open to learning what you need to do, and you were brilliant at the rout. Just coming to London and demanding your marital rights was a massive leap.”
Sabrina wasn’t sure she agreed that she was ready, but she had come a long way. It would be foolish to not seize this opportunity, especially if Aldington was open to improving things, as it seemed he might be. “What is the plan?”
“Tomorrow evening—later, around eleven—Lucien will show his brother to a private chamber on the second floor of the Phoenix Club.”
Interrupting her, Sabrina asked, “Why the Phoenix Club?”
“Because there are bedchambers, and it offers discretion that an inn or other establishment might not. Both you and Aldington will be secreted upstairs wearing masks and cloaks, so there will be no chance of recognition. Aldington will be waiting in one of the chambers, blindfolded, and you will enter a few minutes later. A single candle will be lit so that you can see the surroundings. As I said, you’ll retain your mask in case his blindfold is dislodged.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” Sabrina said in wonder. “What should I do when I arrive?”
“You should undress to the level of which you are comfortable. Most of all, you must be commanding and alluring. Everything you say must carry the weight of experience and sensuality. We’ll practice this today, if you’d like.”
Sabrina appreciated her friend’s support and assistance, even if the thought of practicing seduction made her stomach knot. “I’m still not sure I’m capable of doing this.”
Evie folded her hands in her lap and regarded Sabrina expectantly. “Are you an outgoing person fond of crowds?”
“Not at all. But I’ve already told you that.” During their first meeting and again last night as exhaustion had begun to set in near the end of the rout.
“Yet you behaved last night as if you were both.” Evie’s expression dared Sabrina to argue. She could not. “You can do the same as the tutor. The only obstacle is you believing you can.”
She had already done much more than she’d expected herself capable of just a few short weeks ago. A sudden calmness swept over her. “I can do it.”
Evie beamed with pride. “I’m so glad. Now, let us finish our tea and begin your lesson.” She waggled her brows.
Later, as Sabrina rode home in the coach, she couldn’t help but think the scheme was utter folly. She was going to pretend to be a tutor of something at which she was woefully uneducated, and her husband was turning himself over to the care of a stranger. That he’d never taken a mistress and would now meet with a former courtesan—even if she was a fraud—to learn how to seduce his wife was somehow sweet. Would she feel differently, however, if the former courtesan was someone other than her? It was a moot question because it was her.
Her mind turned to what she would wear tomorrow evening—something she could remove and don without assistance. A corset would be an unnecessary bother. The idea of going without a corset was titillating—perhaps that was the right mindset she needed. Her cobalt gown last night had made her feel like a countess, so she would dress to summon the role of a former courtesan. And she would speak with a different tone. Lower, perhaps. Seductive. A tickle of anticipation danced over her flesh.
There was also a chill of uncertainty that had nothing to do with her self-doubt. This was a deceptive scheme. Though this would help their marriage, she couldn’t ignore the troublesome flash of guilt when she acknowledged that it was still a betrayal. She hadn’t even discussed this concern with Evie. The rest had been too overwhelming.
Since Aldington had agreed to meet with this stranger, he wasn’t entirely blameless—not that it was a competition or that both of their behavior somehow canceled out the wrongness of it. But was it really wrong if they were both trying, however drastically, to save their marriage? If it meant the difference between a lifetime of loneliness and an intimate union they both enjoyed, Sabrina knew which she would choose. Whatever the cost.
Following his racing club meeting, Constantine drove his phaeton to his father’s house in Grosvenor Square. As he stepped down from the vehicle, he brushed his hand over the side, where a bright yellow sun, the official design of the Gentlemen’s Phaeton Racing Club, was painted on the ivory lacquer. The name was perhaps unoriginal, but it perfectly stated their purpose. It was a club comprised of drivers of phaetons with two horses who raced to various locations.
Constantine looked to his pair of matched bays. They and the vehicle were his greatest pride, for this was the one activity he did for himself. His father hadn’t suggested or asserted it, but he did support it.
With a deep, fortifying breath, Constantine turned and went up the steps to the house. The duke’s stoic butler, Bender, greeted Constantine. “His Grace is in his study.”
There was rarely any chitchat with Bender even though he’d occupied this position all of Constantine’s life. Instead of just greeting him and walking past, Constantine asked, “How are you today, Bender?”
The lines around Bender’s blue-gray eyes creased more deeply, the only indication he had a reaction to the question. “The same as any day, my lord.”
“Then that’s well, I suppose.” Constantine handed the butler his hat and gloves before taking himself to his father’s study, moving more quickly than perhaps was necessary.
The door was open, which meant the duke would allow interruption. Still, Constantine stood at the threshold and cleared his throat to announce his presence.
Seated behind his massive oak desk, the duke looked up from the papers he was reading. He set down the magnifying glass he employed and sat back slightly in the chair. “Aldington, come in. I’m pleased to see you, since you are my only rational and capable offspring. Sit.”
It wasn’t an invitation but a command.
Constantine took a chair near the hearth instead of the one next to the desk. It was a minor grasp for independence, but one he liked to take from time to time. “Lucien and Cassandra are both rational and capable.”
“Your brother is a wastrel who squandered a promising military career, while your sister, who is arguably the prettiest young lady to grace Society in a number of years, has no suitors!” He slapped his hand on the desk to punctuate his frustration.
“As it happens, my errand today involves Cassandra. Lady Aldington has offered to take over as her sponsor, and I think it’s a capital idea.”
The duke’s mouth opened as he stared at Constantine for a moment. “No. That’s a terrible idea.”
Suddenly, the notion that the duke was somehow behind the countess’s return to town seemed utterly silly. Which meant she was acting entirely on her own. Constantine would contemplate that later. His father continued, “Lady Aldington is far too timid to assume that role. If she were a man, I’d call her a milksop.”
Constantine frowned, a mild display of the reaction he felt. What he wanted was to tell his father to shut his insulting mouth. “I find your description of my wife ironic given you insisted I marry her.”
“You are well aware that she had to be forced into it.” His father wiped his hand over his eyes. “I regret that I chose poorly for you.”
“Perhaps you should have let her cry off then,” Constantine said frigidly.
“And suffer the scandal of it?” The duke shook his head. “Never. Though, given that she hasn’t been able to provide an heir, perhaps I should have considered it.”
The anger simmering inside Constantine boiled into a fury. He should have expected this. His father had voiced his disappointment more than once.
“Do you suppose she’s incapable?” The duke asked, seemingly unaware of Constantine’s ire. “Her mother had six children who survived to adulthood, and her older sister has already birthed several babes. In fact, I think her younger sister, who wed last season, has also delivered a child. That would be most unfortunate if you ended up with th
e invalid.”
Constantine gritted his teeth. “She is not an invalid. Furthermore, she’s no longer timid. She is eager to act as Cassandra’s sponsor, and she is up to the task.” He would ensure she was. There was no way he would let her fail in his father’s eyes. Which meant he supposed he couldn’t let her fail in her duties either. He would bloody well give her a child.
“Why? She has no social skills. She’ll do nothing to contribute to Cassandra’s husband hunt.”
“In fact, last night at the Kipley rout she was most scintillating. She’s matured, Father, and you must admit that Aunt Christina has demonstrated a lack of ability when it comes to shepherding Cassandra.”
The duke scowled. He had to be aware of his sister’s foibles, and yet he didn’t seem to care while picking everyone else apart for theirs.
“You aren’t at the balls and routs,” Constantine continued. “You don’t see how Christina abandons Cassandra and barely pays her any mind.”
“That’s why she has a companion now.”
“Is her companion to be facilitating dances with prominent gentlemen and encouraging promenades?”
The duke’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked in a breath, and the hand that had remained atop the desk fisted. “I will speak with my sister on this matter. Now explain to me why I am hearing murmurs that you may not be in support of the Importation Act.”
It was as if Constantine was still a lad, defending his every decision, which his father had said was necessary so that he could ensure his heir was developing the appropriate capabilities. As an adult, he’d continued to answer his father’s demands, but in this case, he would almost certainly disappoint the duke who was in favor of the law. The act would impose tariffs on foreign grain in an effort to maintain prices of domestic grain so as not to bankrupt English farmers. Those in opposition, such as Constantine’s friend Brightly, argued the law would increase prices, which would hurt the laboring class.
Constantine was leaning toward voting with Brightly but wasn’t going to tell his father that. “I have been focusing my energy on the apothecaries bill.” His father should have been too, after what had happened to his wife.
“Well, divert your attention to the bloody Importation Act. It will be up for vote soon, and I expect you will support it.”
“Just as I expect you to support Lady Aldington as Cassandra’s sponsor. She will do an excellent job. Imagine what could happen under Christina’s lack of supervision. What if Cassandra was lured into a compromising position?”
The duke’s dark brows pitched into an angry V. “Then that would be your sister’s fault, not Christina’s. Bender!” He bellowed the last.
A moment later, the butler stepped into the study. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Send for Lady Cassandra at once.”
Too late, Constantine realized the trouble he’d caused. Goddammit. He turned to Bender. “Don’t bother.” Directing a glare at his father, Constantine clenched his jaw. “Cassandra hasn’t done anything wrong, nor will she. This conversation is about your sister and her failure as a sponsor. Give Lady Aldington a chance, and if you are unsatisfied with her performance, by all means go back to Aunt Christina.” Oh hell, Constantine had just set his wife up to be sharply scrutinized by the most demanding of men.
After sending a dismissive nod to Bender, the duke sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritated contemplation. “Why are you pressing this matter so hard? I didn’t think you cared much for your wife, yet here you are acting like her champion.”
Constantine almost asked why he would think he didn’t care. However, the answer seemed obvious. To any outsider—hell, to his wife—it would seem as though that were the case.
Did she care about him? She’d come here and demanded an heir. If she despised him and was still willing to do her duty, for whatever reason, including her own desire to be a mother, he had to give her credit.
He ought to credit her for more than that, and not just because he was fairly sure she didn’t despise him. Which was why he was fighting so hard for her to be Cassandra’s sponsor. They may not be close, but he’d made vows to her and it was time he kept them.
Drawing a breath, he straightened his shoulders, adopting a stance as if he were facing down a pack of wolves. “You have raised me to be the duke when you are gone. It will be my responsibility to ensure the members of this family are taken care of. I take that duty very seriously, and I want what’s best for Cassandra. Don’t you wish to see her wed this Season? Lady Aldington is a better choice of sponsor to meet that end. Furthermore, you selected my wife based on a variety of factors, including her unimpeachability. That trait alone makes her a better sponsor. Whether you think she has the initiative or cleverness to navigate Cassandra’s path doesn’t particularly matter. I know her far better than you, and it’s time you allow me to do what you’ve educated me for.” Constantine nearly laughed. As if he knew her very well at all. Hopefully, that would change.
He truly hoped for that?
The duke’s gaze simmered with a heavy contemplation without any indication as to what he would decide. “That was a pretty speech. You have been an excellent student. I will take your recommendation under advisement.”
Constantine allowed himself to relax the barest amount, the tension in his body lightening but not disappearing. “Thank you.”
“In the meantime, you’ll consider very closely how you plan to vote on the Importation Act.” The duke sat forward and picked up his magnifying glass, returning his attention to the papers on his desk. Constantine was dismissed, and it seemed a deal had been proposed: if he voted for the act, his father would appoint Lady Aldington as Cassandra’s sponsor.
Constantine didn’t want that arrangement. Turning on his heel, he stalked from the study. The comfort and relaxation he’d felt from his racing club meeting had been completely pulverized by his father’s domineering autocracy.
Bender met him in the entry hall with his hat and gloves.
Constantine wondered if he should speak with Cassandra to inform her how the meeting went and that he’d inadvertently given their father the idea that a compromising situation was possible. But no, if he did that, the duke would find out and it wouldn’t help their cause for Lady Aldington to be Cassandra’s new sponsor. He would have to hope that his father would see reason.
Because Constantine sure as hell didn’t want to vote for that act. Especially now that his father had all but demanded he do so. Apparently, Constantine would prefer to be contrary.
Or perhaps he was ready to emerge from the duke’s shadow.
Chapter 10
When Sabrina arrived in the dining room that evening, her husband was already there, standing in profile at the head of the twenty-foot table. The candlelight seemed to make his bright-white collar glisten against the stark black of his coat. A single emerald stick pin was the only color in his attire, sparkling amidst the snow of his cravat. She was a bit disappointed that his neck wasn’t exposed as it had been that morning after Grayson had scratched him. Apparently, she rather enjoyed ogling his bare flesh.
He pivoted as she walked into the room, his gaze sweeping over her in a hooded fashion. She couldn’t read anything about his reaction. Or if he even had one.
The head of the table was set as was the seat to his right. Sabrina moved to the chair and he, not a footman, held it for her.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Your chin looks to be improved.” Though there was an inch-long, thin, red stripe.
“It is no longer bleeding, at least. I am not usually this prone to injury.” He was of course referring to the cut to his hand on the night she’d arrived. Was that humor in his voice? She thought so. Perhaps they had turned a corner onto a new path earlier. Who knew a mischievous cat could do what they could not?
As she sat, his hand fleetingly grazed her shoulder. Though the contact was brief and slight, she felt it in the pit of her belly, where a mass of flittering butterflies tickled her in antici
pation of the following evening. When she would be his tutor, of all things. The thought of it still sent her into a near panic, and she had to suppress the urge to let out a nervous laugh.
After Aldington was seated, the footman poured claret and the first course, white soup, was immediately placed before them, sending a pleasing aroma of veal and almond into the air.
Sabrina picked up her spoon amidst a tumult of anxiety. She needed to tell him about her invitation to the Phoenix Club. Instead, she said something completely inane. “I have missed Cook’s white soup.”
“She does make my favorite version,” he said before sampling from his bowl.
They ate in silence for a few moments—well, outward silence. There was a cacophony in Sabrina’s head as she contemplated how to tell him about the invitation, recalled everything she’d discussed with Evie that afternoon, and anticipated what was to come tomorrow evening.
She cast a glance in his direction, noting the sharp angle of his cheekbone and the lush sweep of his eyelashes. How had she never noticed how long they were?
Setting down her spoon, she sipped the claret, which reminded her of summer berries. Again, she stalled. “This is delicious. I don’t drink wine very often at Hampton Lodge. I never know what to ask for. Perhaps you could provide me with some direction.”
His brow pleated. “Dagnall should be able to help you with that.”
Dagnall was the butler at Hampton Lodge. She preferred to have her husband’s assistance. “I was rather hoping you could share your opinions,” she said serenely before taking up her spoon and finishing her soup.
“I’ll ask Haddock to put together a selection of wine for us to taste. You should form your own opinions instead of relying on mine.”
“I’d like to hear yours all the same. Tasting them together sounds delightful.” Something else to look forward to. The butterflies in Sabrina’s belly rose to her chest.
