by Darcy Burke
His palm flattened over her skin, just below her nape. “You won’t be a failure, and neither will your ball. I promise you that. We won’t give any of them the satisfaction.”
All Sabrina could think just then was the satisfaction she craved. What would it be like to kiss him? More than a chaste brush of lips, but a searing declaration of desire.
“Constantine…”
There was a flash of surprise in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something much fiercer. He curled his hand around her nape and lowered his head until his mouth touched hers. His other hand rested on her shoulder, his thumb sweeping gently across her collarbone.
She clasped his back, finally realizing how desperate she was for this connection. His lips plied hers, moving softly but purposely, coaxing her to kiss him back. It didn’t take much. She wanted this and so much more.
Thinking of all Evie had told her and the book she’d provided, Sabrina slid her tongue tentatively along his lips. The press of his thumb on her intensified as he sealed his mouth to hers and met her tongue with his own. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, giving her exactly what she desired. His hand cradled her head, holding her captive to his embrace, not that she wanted to be anywhere else.
Bliss raced through her, lifting her to a plateau she’d never even glimpsed. Heat and need pulsed in her sex and in her breasts, heavy against him. At last, they were on the precipice of rapture. On a balcony in the middle of a bloody musicale.
“Oh! I beg your pardon.”
The masculine voice startled them apart. Sabrina turned her head away from the door, too humiliated to allow whoever it was to see her face.
“A moment please, Harkin.” Constantine’s voice was a deep rasp and did nothing to ease the ache inside her. If anything, it only sharpened her longing. The sound of the door, which she hadn’t heard open, told her the man had left. “He’s gone back inside,” Constantine confirmed.
Sabrina let her body wilt against his. “That was horrifying.”
“I wouldn’t say it was horrifying,” he said. “We are married, after all. It’s not as if your reputation is ruined.”
She looked up at him to see a frown flit across his features. “Yet you are troubled by it.”
“Only because if my father hears of it, he will say it was horrifying. Once upon a time, I might have agreed with him.”
“And now?”
He gave her an enigmatic smile. “Now, we must go inside before the musicale starts.” As he guided her into the house, Sabrina was careful to look straight ahead and not make eye contact with Harkin. Did she even know who he was? She didn’t think so, and she preferred to keep it that way, at least for tonight. And perhaps the rest of the Season.
“How was your evening before you had to deal with your mother?” Constantine asked as they strolled the perimeter of the drawing room.
“We hadn’t been here long.” Sabrina remembered that Cass had said she would find her. “Your sister is probably looking for me. I don’t suppose you see any potential suitors for her here tonight?” She glanced up at him.
“I am not the best person to ask.”
Sabrina’s gaze fell on a tall, dark-haired Irishman she’d danced with during her Season and whom she’d talked with at the Phoenix Club assembly. “What about Lord Wexford?”
Constantine arched a shoulder. “I don’t know him well. He’s a friend of Lucien’s if you’d like to determine if he’s up to snuff.”
“I’ll speak with him.” Sabrina scanned the drawing room to see if her brother-in-law was in attendance and found him near the doorway. She also noticed a gentleman waving his hand rather emphatically at Constantine. “Do you know that man?” She didn’t recognize him.
“Yes, he’s a colleague. Forgive me, but I must talk with him briefly. I will join you for the musicale.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her glove, his eyes glittering with promise.
Sabrina’s insides fluttered as he moved away from her. She might have stood there mooning over her husband if Lucien hadn’t approached her.
He bowed to her with a gallant flourish. “Good evening, Sabrina. How goes your sponsorship of our sister?”
“It’s scarcely begun, but since you brought it up, I wonder if you might tell me about Lord Wexford. Would he make a suitable husband for Cass?”
“Absolutely not.” The answer came swift and hard. Lucien’s usually jovial gaze had darkened to cinder.
“I thought you were friends.”
“We are. Good friends, actually, but he is completely inappropriate for Cassandra.”
“I see. Well, I’m glad I asked you. If there are any other gentlemen we should avoid, I hope you’ll let me know.” She moved closer to his side. “Have you been able to procure an invitation for Constantine to the Phoenix Club?”
One of his brows slanted. “Constantine? Dare I hope things are progressing well between the two of you?”
She couldn’t help the blush that rushed to her cheeks. Probably because it was impossible to not keep thinking of their kiss on the balcony. “They are…progressing.” Perhaps Constantine would come to her bed that night. Her pulse quickened at the thought.
Lucien grinned. “That must be why there have been no further requests for meetings with the tutor.”
A wave of unease washed over Sabrina. She’d done a good job of ignoring the guilt she felt regarding her deception. It was easy when things were going so well between her and Constantine and when she was trying to look forward and not back. Should she even feel guilty given their newfound closeness? She hoped they would both see how the sessions had helped—and she was convinced they had.
“You should come to the club tonight,” Lucien said, pulling her from her troubling thoughts. “It’s Tuesday, so you can see the men’s side.”
“If my husband could come with me, I would.” In truth, she wanted to go anyway. She was quite eager to see the inside of a gentleman’s club.
“I’m working on it,” he murmured. “But I can’t tell you anything about it. In fact, if you could come tonight, your presence and, frankly, your charm might persuade others to be in favor of inviting Con.”
Her charm? “Are you mistaking me with someone else?”
He smiled at her. “Not at all. Lady Aldington has caused quite a stir since returning to town. Haven’t you heard? She is no longer the shy wallflower countess. She’s a coveted guest at any occasion, and she’s a member of the Phoenix Club.”
Sabrina had no idea she’d garnered so much attention. The old anxiety welled up inside her, but there was something else too—pride. “I will think about coming.” It depended on Constantine and whether he had plans later. If he did, she would go to the club after dropping Cass and Miss Lancaster at Evesham House.
The host signaled that the musicale would shortly begin, and the guests should find their seats. Sabrina glanced about and finally saw Cass and Miss Lancaster. “Do you wish to sit with us?” she asked Lucien.
“I’m going to stand in the back. Hopefully, I’ll see you later.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, as they so often did, before he turned and strolled to the wall behind the last row of chairs.
As Sabrina made her way to Cass and Miss Lancaster near the front, she noted Constantine was still speaking with the same gentleman. His gaze met hers, and his brow briefly furrowed. He gave her a slight nod, which she thought was meant to reassure her that he would join her for the musicale.
She reached Cass, who apologized for not finding her earlier. “I’m afraid we got swept up in some drama with Miss Carrington.”
“Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good.”
“She spilled ratafia on her gown,” Cass explained. “You would have thought it was the end of days.”
Miss Lancaster pursed her lips, and Sabrina couldn’t quite tell if it was from exasperation or that she was trying not to laugh. They took their seats in the third row, with Cass between Miss Lancaster and Sabrina.
“I’
m sorry that I wasn’t attending you,” Sabrina said. “I’m afraid Constantine distracted me.” And still was, if she were honest. She looked in his direction and happened to catch his eye once more. He mouthed “sorry” and gave her a regretful stare. Then he and the gentlemen hastened from the room as the music began.
Disappointment curled in Sabrina’s chest, but she shrugged it away. Her husband was an important and busy man. Still, he’d taken the time to come to the musicale where he’d rescued her before giving her a kiss she would never forget.
Chapter 16
When Sabrina emerged from the staircase hall in her evening finery—a stylish, sparkling headpiece that wound about her elegantly styled hair and a gown made of deep garnet silk—Constantine almost suggested they send word to the Brightlys that they were ill. However, he didn’t think it was yet time to progress their burgeoning relationship to a more intimate level. They were getting closer, if last night’s kiss was any indication.
Constantine stepped forward and took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her ivory glove. “You look radiant.”
“Thank you. I apologize if I kept you waiting. I’m afraid we lost track of time with the preparations for the ball.” She pulled the vibrant Kashmir shawl draped over her arm around her shoulders. Woven in vivid colors of red, blue, gold, and purple, the woolen garment perfectly complemented her gown.
“It was well worth the delay,” he noted with a smile, his gaze sweeping over her once more. “We should be on our way, however.”
He guided her outside, and she pulled her shawl up around her shoulders to shield against the cool evening breeze. A few moments later, they were settled side by side in the coach, their thighs barely touching. It was both a provocation and a torture.
“I wanted to apologize for having to leave so abruptly last night,” Constantine said. “It was imperative I meet with someone regarding the apothecaries bill.”
She tipped her head toward him, and in the light of the lantern, her blue eyes shone like the surface of a lake on a bright summer day. “There’s no need to apologize. I know how busy you are.”
“You are very kind,” he murmured.
“Was it a productive meeting?”
“I hope so, but it’s hard to tell. This has been long in the making. For over twenty years, in fact.” If something had been done much sooner, his mother might be alive today. “I’m trying to gain support for the bill and working to make sure there is a draft that is acceptable to all parties and can be passed. It’s very difficult to get everyone to agree, but I believe, after all these years, we are finally getting close.”
“What do you hope the bill will specifically accomplish?”
“Practitioners will need to complete certain education, be of a minimum age, and have received examination. There must be regulation in place to ensure the safety of our society. There are too many surgeons or apothecaries and the rest who should not be practicing.” He realized his voice had climbed and his hands had moved animatedly as he’d spoken.
She gently placed her fingertips on his forearm. “This is an issue about which you care very much. Is there a particular reason?”
Constantine’s throat constricted. He never discussed this with anyone. A week ago, he would have avoided answering the question. “My mother died at the hands of an inept surgeon. He should not have been practicing.” He spoke softly, but the words cut like a rapid hail of arrows.
Her touch became a clasp, her hand closing around him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“We don’t discuss it. My father refuses. I’ve tried to speak with him about this bill, but he always finds another topic of conversation. I sometimes wonder if he feels guilt—he sent for the surgeon and trusted him.”
“What happened?” Her gaze was so gentle, so encouraging. “You needn’t tell me if you don’t want to. I don’t wish to press.”
For the first time, he wanted to tell someone. The pain of losing his mother, of not being at her side, was a burden he’d never shared. “She had some sort of pain in her belly. It went on for several weeks and the surgeon insisted that bleeding, in addition to a regimen of unknown medicinals, would help. My mother didn’t survive. I have always believed that if I had been home instead of at Oxford, I would have been able to prevent what happened.”
Sabrina turned completely toward him and brought her hand up to his cheek. “You can’t know that.”
“That’s the devil of it. I’ll never know if I might have been able to save her.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself. She wouldn’t want that.”
He smiled sadly—because Sabrina was right and because he missed his mother so very much. “You are very wise for such a young, sheltered lady,” he whispered.
“I don’t know about that, but I see and hear the love you had for your mother, and I know she felt the same for you.”
He stared at her, bemused by her understanding when her own mother hadn’t demonstrated such emotion. “You are wise, against the odds, I will add, given what I know of your family.” He put his hand over hers against his cheek.
She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. The connection was a balm to his soul, easing an ache he’d thought could never be alleviated.
The coach stopped, and they abruptly parted. She withdrew her hand, and he let her go, though he wanted nothing more than to keep holding her in any way that he could. What was happening to him?
The door opened, and they exited the coach. They walked close together to the door, her arm entwined with his. A few moments later, they strolled into the Brightlys’ parlor.
Mrs. Brightly, a cheerful woman approaching thirty with a heart-shaped face and round, brown eyes, dropped into a formal curtsey. “Good evening, my lord, my lady.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Brightly,” Sabrina responded with a smile. “We so appreciate your invitation to join you this evening.”
“It is our honor.” Mrs. Brightly stepped forward toward Sabrina. “Come, let us sit for a bit before dinner is served. Would you care for sherry or marsala, or something else?”
“What are you having?” Sabrina accompanied her to a large seating area.
Mrs. Brightly sat on a narrow settee, and Brightly joined her there. “The marsala. It’s divine.”
Sabrina took a seat on another wider settee covered in a rich, teal blue damask. Constantine followed and sat beside her, though not as close as their hosts were sitting. But then, the Brightlys’ furnishing ensured a rather intimate proximity.
“Then that’s what I shall have,” Sabrina said to their hostess. “I find I’m distressingly partial to nearly all fortified wine. I only recently discovered this when his lordship arranged for me to taste several varieties so I could compare them.”
“That sounds like such fun.” Mrs. Brightly turned to her husband. “We must do that.”
Brightly regarded her with a glowing expression. “Your wish is always my command, my love.”
Already, Constantine felt the palpable connection between the Brightlys. It was always thus—it was no mystery how the couple felt about one another. Glancing toward Sabrina, he wondered if she noticed it. Both tonight and on their previous visits.
“Wilkes, four marsalas, if you please.” Brightly looked to Constantine. “If that’s all right with you? Keeps things simple, and it’s a marvelous bottle, if I do say so.”
“Brilliant,” Constantine said, wondering if he ought to inch closer to Sabrina. He wanted to. Since she’d kissed him in the coach, perhaps she wanted the same.
The butler, who had lingered in the doorway after showing Constantine and Sabrina to the parlor, poured and distributed the wine. He then departed.
Brightly sipped his marsala before putting his arm along the back of the settee behind his wife. “I must tell you, Aldington, Mrs. Brightly and I received invitations to the Phoenix Club yesterday. I am rather shocked.” He exchanged an excited look with Mrs. Brightly. They seemed to be suppressing, rather po
orly, a sense of glee.
“This pleases you, I take it?” Constantine asked even as his insides felt as though he’d swallowed acid. Why was he not good enough for the club? A club run by his brother who claimed to be looking out for him.
“I’m quite thrilled,” Mrs. Brightly said, her eyes dancing. “I understand I can visit the gentlemen’s side on Tuesdays. And then there are the exclusive assemblies on Friday. It’s all so decadent!”
“Lady Aldington is a member,” Constantine said rather tightly. The press of Sabrina’s thigh against his startled him. She’d moved closer. Her hand rested on her lap but was quite close to his. His pulse thrummed.
“How splendid!” Mrs. Brightly looked to Sabrina. “Were you there last night, Lady Aldington?”
Constantine felt her stiffen and knew her answer. Just as he knew she hadn’t told him.
“Er, yes.” She flicked a look toward Constantine. “It was my first opportunity to visit on a Tuesday, and Lord Lucien—Aldington’s brother—showed me around.”
“I hear the gaming room can be quite raucous,” Brightly said.
“And the décor is reputed to be opulent.” Mrs. Brightly lifted her marsala to take a drink.
Sabrina leaned her head toward Constantine’s. “I was going to tell you,” she whispered.
Mrs. Brightly looked to Constantine. “Lord Aldington, you can escort Horace while Lady Aldington does the same for me.”
“I am not a member.” Constantine took a long sip of the marsala, allowing the sweet wine to coat his tongue.
Mrs. Brightly paled, and Brightly moved his arm to her upper back. He squeezed her shoulder and gave Constantine a rather pained smile. “Apologies, Aldington.”
“That isn’t necessary. I’m sure many wonder why I am not a member of my brother’s club. I do not presume to understand their membership practices, nor do I wish to. I am content with my other memberships. They certainly don’t leave me wanting for more.” He straightened, pushing his back against the settee. “Besides, I am delighted to be a founding member of the exclusive Gentlemen’s Phaeton Racing Club.”
