by Darcy Burke
Constantine glanced toward the fiery phoenix, its wings spread, on the seal. “My father won’t like it.” His father wouldn’t like many things about his behavior lately. When the Importation Bill came to a vote, he was almost certainly going to enrage the duke.
“I know how much his opinion matters to you,” she said quietly. “However, you must do what you think is right—for you.”
“I’ll take it under consideration. Know that your opinion matters to me too.”
Perhaps more than that of his father. Isn’t that how it should be with a marriage? His father would likely say no, but Constantine wasn’t sure he could listen to him any longer on the topic of wives. Which befuddled him. His father hadn’t seemed to be a bad husband. In fact, Constantine would have said his parents loved each other. Certainly, his mother had loved her husband. But then, she’d loved everyone.
“Does it?” She lifted her hands to his cravat and loosened the knot of silk. “For instance, I am of the opinion that you are wearing far too many clothes.” She slid the snowy white length from his neck and dropped it to the floor.
“Is that right?”
She nodded slowly as she pushed his coat from his shoulders, again letting the garment slip to the carpet. “Mmm.”
“What of all your clothes?” He slid his arms around her waist and backed her against the side of his desk. “The number of garments a woman is required to don is criminal.”
“Lord Aldington, are you flirting with me finally?” She fluttered her lashes at him, a coy smirk curling her lips.
“Here I thought we’d progressed to first names.”
“My apologies, Constantine.” With one hand, she plucked the buttons of his waistcoat open and with the other, she stroked her hand down the front of his fall and pressed her palm against his rigid cock. “Still too many clothes.”
“You have two choices.” He shoved the items on his desk to the other side, heedless of what was there and what damage he might inflict, and lifted her onto the edge. “You can endure the clothing for a brief while and let me pleasure you here.” He lifted her skirt and pressed his fingers against her sex, drawing a soft moan from her moistened lips. “Or you come upstairs with me where I will likely ruin your clothing in my haste to tear it from your delectable body.”
“Delectable?” The word squeaked forth as she stared at him. “Me?”
He bent his head and kissed the flesh just above the edge of her bodice, cupping her breast through her ball gown and lifting, as if he could force her from the gown and expose her nipple to his greedy tongue.
She thrust her hand into his hair, her fingertips curling into his scalp. “I choose the first. Please.”
That was all the urging he needed. Pushing her back on the desk, gently, he settled her skirts around her waist, revealing her sweet sex and her honey curls beckoning him.
“I told you what I would do next time.” He spread her lips and licked her flesh, drawing a sharp cry. He looked up toward her face, but her head was cast back. He smiled. Then he noticed the bloody door was open.
Hurrying, he closed it firmly and threw the latch. “Privacy is important, lest we terrify the servants,” he murmured as he returned to his delicious task. “Open your legs, Sabrina, so I can taste you.”
She spread herself for him, one of her hands holding her skirts up out of his way. He stroked her slowly, teasing her clitoris and taunting her folds. Her breath came in pants as her hips arched to meet his touch. “Please, Constantine.”
“Please what?” He was being quite terrible, but he was rather enjoying this side of his wife. Hell, this side of himself. He didn’t even recognize the man standing between her legs and delivering torment upon her.
“Please, do what you started.”
“With my mouth?” He slipped his finger into her wet sheath and had to close his eyes as a wave of lust surged over him. “Tell me, Sabrina.”
“I want your mouth on me. Your tongue…in me. Please, Constantine.”
“How can I refuse?” He literally could not. His body demanded he taste her. He bent again and spread her wide for his tongue, licking up into her with a calculated thrust.
She gripped his head again, her fingers tangling in his hair as she rose up. Nonsense sounds filled the air around him as she whimpered and moaned. He buried himself in her, using his mouth and fingers to wreak a beautiful chaos upon her.
Her muscles clenched around him, signaling she was about to come. Sucking on her clitoris, he speared two fingers inside and pressed up, finding that spot that would send her into sweet oblivion.
A high-pitched keen erupted from her lips as her sheath squeezed tight around him. Her legs quivered with the force of her orgasm. He massaged her thigh and kissed her flesh, carrying her through the storm until her body began to settle.
She opened her eyes and regarded him with a hazy stare. “Constantine, that was magnificent.”
“Let me take you upstairs.” He started to lower her skirts, but she held them fast.
“Don’t you dare. I want you now. Inside me.” She sat up and reached for his fall.
“We have a perfectly good bed,” he reasoned. “Two, actually.”
“And we’ll use one—or both—later.” She released his buttons and slipped her hand into his smallclothes. Cradling his cock, she wrapped her fingers around him. All argument left him.
“Come to the edge.” He pulled her toward him. “Take me inside you.”
Their eyes met, her blue gaze brimming with determination and erotic promise. She guided him to her sex, and he thrust into her. Her lids shuttered, and her lips parted.
“Yes,” she hissed, wrapping her legs around him.
Constantine secured his arms around her—one on her back and one clutching her backside. “Forgive me, for I cannot go slow. Later, I’ll take my time. But now—”
Now, he had no control. Nor did he want any. He surrendered completely to this blissful, spontaneous moment—the moment they’d toasted just a short while earlier. Gratitude and joy swept through him as he rocked into her. She clutched his shoulder and neck, pulling his head down to kiss him.
Her mouth was hot and wet, as greedy as he felt. Their bodies strained together, completely enraptured as they hurtled toward completion.
It came hard and fast for him. He managed to slip his hand between them, to coax another release from her. She clenched around him, and he swore he’d never experienced such pure satisfaction. Since last night anyway.
Rising from the devastation of his release, he withdrew from her. “I don’t have anything to tidy you…”
“Fortunately, I have a criminal number of garments with which to ameliorate the situation.” She flashed him a smile as she tended to herself before sliding from the desk.
He hastened to help her, marveling at her brazenness. At her beauty. At her undeniable courage and fortitude. If not for her single-minded pursuit, they would not be here. She was astonishing.
And he was falling in love with her.
Two years wasted. Because he was such a reticent, self-involved idiot. He stroked his fingertips from her forehead down her cheek to her jaw. Then he kissed her, softly, reverently, dragging his thumb over her lips when he finished. “Now we can go upstairs.”
She picked up her wineglass and finished the madeira. “And now, I am ready.”
“I’ll be along presently, after I pick up my clothing.” He watched her go and hoped this was truly the start of something new, of something real.
If it wasn’t, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Because he couldn’t go back to the way things were.
And if he thought about it, which he tried not to, he had the tutor to thank for everything that was happening. Without her giving him the courage to do and say what he ought with Sabrina, they might still be fumbling in the dark. Despite the inarguable benefit of her help, he was sorry it had been necessary. Although, he couldn’t regret the progress they’d made, the intimacy they’d discov
ered. The tutor had been a help when they’d needed it, and he was grateful for what she’d provoked within him—the desire to court his wife, to give her the attention and consideration she deserved.
He retrieved his clothing, then his gaze fell on the invitation to the Phoenix Club. What the hell was that about? He couldn’t deny the rush of joy—and relief—he’d felt when he’d read it. But the threat of his father’s wrath had to be considered.
Or did it?
Perhaps it was time the duke altered his thinking when it came to his second son and his second son’s incredibly worthwhile endeavor. More importantly, perhaps it was time his eldest son pushed him to that end.
Chapter 18
Reynolds, Lucien’s butler, showed Constantine into his brother’s library where Lucien sat at his small desk, his hand scratching a pen across parchment. He seemed rather intent on his task since he didn’t react to their arrival.
“Lord Aldington is here to see you,” Reynolds said, prompting Lucien to look up.
Lucien blinked, then wiped his hand over his face.
The butler left and Constantine moved toward the desk, which stood beside a window that looked out to the back garden. “Good morning, Lucien.”
Lucien put his paper into a drawer and stood. “Another surprising visit. Can this be, what, the second in a fortnight?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Constantine sat in one of the wingback chairs near the hearth.
“Do you want a drink?” Lucien asked, taking a step toward his liquor cabinet.
“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. Too much happening at Westminster this week.”
“Ah yes, the Importation Bill?” At Constantine’s nod, Lucien continued. “Have you decided how you will vote?”
“You sound like Father. Yes, and don’t ask me about it. Please.”
Lucien’s brows climbed his forehead. “Such manners. And you’re almost…smiley.” He narrowed his eyes. “You seem happy. What’s wrong?”
Constantine laughed.
“Dear God, you’re laughing.” Lucien strode to him and put his hand against Constantine’s forehead. “Are you feverish?”
Swatting Lucien’s hand away, Constantine pursed his mouth up at his brother. “Stop being an ass and sit down.”
“I’ve been admonished.” Lucien sat opposite him and straightened his waistcoat—he wasn’t wearing a coat. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this highly entertaining call?” His eyes widened. “You and Lady Aldington have reached an accord.”
“We weren’t at odds.” They just hadn’t been…together. And now they were. Saturday’s phaeton race to Richmond had been the best he’d ever undertaken and the fact that he’d arrived first wasn’t the reason. It was his wife’s company and perhaps the stop they’d made on the return that had involved a well-hidden tree and resulted in the loss of a button on his fall.
“Why are you smirking like that?” Lucien asked.
Constantine shook his head. “No reason.”
“Liar. You’re positively smitten. In fact, I would say you are glowing.” Lucien leaned back in his chair, looking smug. “You’re welcome.”
Smitten? Yes, he was. He was tumbling headfirst into love with his wife, and the sensation was at once unsettling and delightful. He chose not to dwell upon it but to just enjoy her company and the time they spent together.
The last thing Lucien said finally sank into Constantine’s brain. “I should thank you?”
“The tutor helped, did she not?”
“Yes, but I admit to feeling a sense of guilt about it.”
Lucien’s brows climbed in surprise. “Did you have sexual intercourse with her?”
Constantine ignored the heat that rose in his face. “No, but I should tell her about our meetings so that we can put all of it behind us.”
“Don’t.” Lucien shook his head. “What would be the point? You aren’t going to see the tutor again, she helped you when you needed it, and I daresay Sabrina is just as happy as you are to have gotten to where you are now. It would be a shame for you to mope about it.”
“I’m not moping.” Constantine narrowed his eyes at Lucien before deciding he would much rather bask in the newfound bliss he’d found with Sabrina than think of the tutor—or the past at all. “I came here to ask why I was invited to your club. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t realize that.”
Lucien exhaled as he rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. “I thought that was perhaps why, but I wanted you to bring it up. You were invited because the membership committee deemed you worthy.”
“All it took was you recommending me?”
“I think the smiling and the laughing probably helped.” The statement was mildly facetious and normally would have made Constantine scowl. Instead, he rolled his eyes.
Lucien leaned forward. “Did you just roll your eyes again?”
Constantine ignored his brother’s inanity. “Sabrina says the purpose of the club is to provide a place for those who feel excluded elsewhere. Did you really not invite me before because I didn’t want to join, or is it because I am included in Society?”
“That is the purpose, and yes, I didn’t see you as someone who needed inclusion. I’ve changed my mind about that of late, however.”
This grabbed Constantine’s full attention. “Why?”
“Because I see you more clearly. You felt like an outsider in your own marriage. And when I think about how you interact in Society, you don’t seem to enjoy it. You involve yourself because it’s expected, particularly with Cass having her Season. Also, because of your work in the Commons, which actually means a great deal to you. All those things make you a good candidate for the Phoenix Club. I hope you’ll accept the invitation. I think you’ll find camaraderie there.”
Constantine didn’t have many friends. In fact, only Brightly and the other members of the racing club came to mind. “How did Horace Brightly and his wife qualify for membership?”
“Don’t think of it as a qualification. The club seeks to grow its numbers by inviting people with good intentions and kind hearts, and in particular those in possession of qualities that are overlooked elsewhere—sometimes because of those traits.”
Brightly was certainly good intentioned and had one of the kindest hearts Constantine knew. “And Sabrina?” he asked, despite thinking he already knew the answer.
Lucien looked at him as if he should know the answer. “Con, you know your wife. At least, I hope you do by now. She should have been invited a year ago, and the only reason she wasn’t is because I knew you wouldn’t support it.”
That hurt. Constantine looked away, frowning. “She isn’t comfortable in Society, but she’s trying.” She was sponsoring his sister and hosting a damn ball when both of those things would have made her hide under her bed a year ago.
“We are thrilled to have her as a member of the Phoenix Club,” Lucien said.
Constantine met his brother’s eyes. “I don’t know that I’m a good candidate, actually.”
“I disagree. The question is whether you want to be included. Do you?”
“I’m not sure it’s for the right reasons. My wife is a member, so I feel I should be too. Plus, my brother owns the damn place, so it seems as though I should support his endeavor.”
A wide grin split Lucien’s face, reminding Constantine of how he looked when he found a stashed biscuit in their nursery. “I would love to have you in my club. Truly. I never imagined you’d even consider it. Please do—you’re not the man you think you are,” he added softly.
Constantine agreed with that much. If he’d learned anything since Sabrina had come to town, it was that she had the power to topple his strictly ordered life. The man he thought he was would be horrified and seek a return to order. Not that things were disordered, but they were different. Unexpected.
He stood, his errand completed, though he still hadn’t reached a decision about the invitation. “Be sure to come to Sabrina’s ball. I need for this to be
a smashing success for her.”
Lucien got to his feet, smiling. “You’re turning into a rather caring husband. I shall have to believe in miracles after all. Oh, here it comes, another eye roll.”
Constantine shook his head. “You’re a provoking menace.”
“I thought I was a troll.”
“That too. Just be at the ball and be your most spectacular self. Everything you touch turns out wonderfully.”
A darkness crept into Lucien’s eyes, and the smile faded from his mouth. “That is hardly true. But I will do everything I can to ensure your wife is the most celebrated hostess in London come Saturday morning.”
“Thank you.” It felt good to be aligned with his brother. And it would feel even better when his wife’s ball was the success of the Season.
The face staring back at Sabrina in the glass was the same one as the day before and the day before that. Yet, she looked different. There was a softness to her mouth and a sparkle in her gaze. She could attribute the change to the past week and the absolute joy it had brought.
Or perhaps it was because she was with child.
Sabrina’s courses arrived every twenty-eight days without fail. She could set a clock to them, and as of today, she was two days beyond their arrival. It was difficult not to giggle with excitement and hope. She’d never, ever been late, not in twenty-two months of marriage.
But then she was certain that she and Constantine had engaged in more sex over the past week than in those prior twenty-one and three-quarters months. She did giggle then because she couldn’t help herself. She’d come to London for a baby, but she’d gotten so much more.
Love for her husband swelled in her chest. She hadn’t told him how she felt, but she would soon. Perhaps when she told him about the babe. Which she wouldn’t do yet. It was far too early, even if she was all but certain.
There was something else she should confess—the deception of pretending to be his tutor.
