Impassioned

by Darcy Burke

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He opened the door and moved them into the small chamber. “You know where this leads, so that can’t be what you truly want to know. I think you want to know what I have planned.”

  “I can well imagine, you rogue. You will crumple my gown or mess my hair. Or both.”

  “What if I could avoid doing that?” He kissed along her throat. “Remember the other night when you were on your knees and I came into you from behind?”

  A feverish heat broke over her skin and need pulsed between her legs. How could she forget that? She’d behaved like an utter wanton. “You want to go into the bedchamber?”

  He lifted his gaze to hers and gently shook his head. “That would crumple your gown for certain. I want you to bend over the end of the chaise.” He inclined his head past her to the chaise in the opposite corner.

  She turned to look at the piece of furniture, the high end of which was at about the level of her waist. This was madness. She ought to refuse him and march them back out to the ball. Her body did not agree, and so it was that she walked to the chaise as if carried by wings that didn’t belong to her.

  Standing at the high end of the chaise, she looked back at him over her shoulder. He came to her, his eyes slitted with desire, and kissed her again, hot and needy.

  He hiked the back of her skirt up, and she bent at the waist, letting the chaise balance her. She put her arms before her onto the seat as he caressed her backside.

  “Hurry,” she breathed as his fingers slid into her crease, teasing her and setting her entire body aflame.

  “I’m afraid I must. Not just because we can’t take long, but because the sight of you in that gown has been taunting me all evening. And now, seeing you like this…” He thrust a finger into her sex, making her gasp.

  “I wish we had more time.” He put his cock against her backside, and she widened her stance, eager for him to enter her. “Later, we will, and then I will do everything I don’t have time for at the moment. Until then—” He drove into her, pushing her against the chaise and creating friction against her clitoris.

  He gripped her hips and let go, offering them both up to mindless sensation. She thought only of his touch and the delicious slide of his cock. After only a handful of strokes, her orgasm began to build. She pressed back against him, desperate to take him as deeply as possible. His fingers dug into her flesh as he buried himself to the hilt.

  “Hurry, Constantine.” She needed to come. Lights were already dancing behind her eyes.

  Increasing his pace to a near frenzy, the sounds of their bodies filled the small space with an erotic symphony. He pushed her forward against the chaise, and she exploded, her sex clenching down around him as devastating shudders wracked her body.

  She completely lost sense of time or place and didn’t come back until he helped her straighten. Her gown fell over her legs, and she vaguely realized that he’d tidied her up.

  “Thank you.” She felt unsteady and wholly satiated at the same time. Her thighs quivered but the rest of her sang with joy and relief. “You have solved my problems, I think.”

  He laughed, then cupped her face. “Good. That is my job.” He kissed her, but it was a brief touch as they were interrupted by a knock at the door they’d come through.

  “My lady? Are you in there?” Charity’s voice called.

  Sabrina snapped her attention to Constantine. “Go through my bedroom.”

  He nodded and slipped from the dressing chamber, blowing a kiss to her on his way out.

  Checking her appearance in the glass, Sabrina decided she would use the temperature of the drawing room to excuse her flushed complexion. She opened the door with as much composure as she could muster. “Yes, Charity?”

  The maid’s tawny eyes were wide with concern. “I’m so glad I found you. I’m afraid there’s a…problem.”

  Sabrina’s stomach dropped all the way down to the kitchen. “What?” The word was barely audible.

  “Grayson has found his way into the drawing room during a reel. He was last seen in the dining room where he absconded with a piece of pheasant.” The maid looked as if she wanted to cry, which was precisely how Sabrina felt.

  Chapter 19

  When Constantine had left Sabrina just a few moments earlier, she’d been bright-faced and smiling. As he encountered her in the hall at the top of the stairs, she was pale, her eyes wide with something akin to panic.

  He rushed to her side. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s the cat. We must find him before he can wreak more damage.”

  “Where is he?” Constantine whipped his head around as if he would see the animal racing by.

  “He was last observed in the dining room stealing pheasant.”

  Constantine let out a soft curse. This was followed by a shriek from the bottom of the stairs.

  Their eyes met as they silently communicated that they had found Grayson.

  Starting down the stairs, Constantine nearly tripped as the cat ran by his feet. “Watch out!” he called, turning to make sure the animal didn’t cause Sabrina to fall. Thankfully, she was still at the top of the stairs.

  A footman dashed after Grayson, who veered left toward the drawing room, in pursuit. Haddock followed soon after, pausing just long enough to assure Constantine that he would have his resignation in the morning.

  “The hell I will,” Constantine muttered. He refused to lose a perfectly good butler over the antics of a cat.

  Sabrina pivoted and hastened after the footman toward the drawing room. Constantine took the stairs two at a time as shouts and a crash signaled the cat’s impact where the majority of the guests were gathered.

  Arriving at the threshold, he surveyed the room. The musicians were no longer playing, and the dancers stood amidst the now-ruined chalk images that kept them from slipping on the floor, their gazes darting about, undoubtedly in search of a small gray terror.

  “Where did he go?” Constantine asked loudly, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

  “We can’t see him,” Lord Wexford responded from the other side of the room. “It’s possible that when Lady Fairweather ducked into the retiring room to avoid the animal, it slipped inside with her?” Lucien’s friend grimaced, his eyes sympathetic.

  Constantine started toward the door at the opposite end, noting Sabrina to his right as she joined him. A loud, sustained cry from inside the room spurred them faster, and Constantine indicated that Sabrina should look inside since the space was designated for ladies.

  “Wait,” Haddock said, coming abreast of Constantine. “Let me position myself to grab him when you open the door. He will likely dash out.” He looked to Sabrina. “Open it a very small amount.”

  Sabrina nodded and Haddock crouched down right at the door. Exchanging a look with the butler, Sabrina did as he suggested and barely cracked the door. Haddock knew his cat, for the beast ran straight into the man’s clutches. He stood and there was a resounding cheer from the drawing room as he carried the cat from the room.

  Constantine’s entire body slouched as the tension drained from him. Sabrina, however, did not look as if she was even slightly relieved.

  “I’ll go check on Lady Fairweather.” She was pale, her eyes glazed with trepidation. This was a horrible situation for her. He struggled to find how to fix it.

  Knowing the anxiety this must be causing her, he wanted to tell her to retire, that she needn’t face this. But if she didn’t, her absence would only further mar the event, which was fast becoming somewhat of a disaster. His heart ached. This was not how tonight was supposed to happen.

  Sabrina slipped into the retiring room and closed the door. Pivoting, Constantine registered that all eyes were on him. This never happened unless he was delivering a speech in the Commons.

  Wexford clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Well, that was certainly entertaining. I daresay no one will forget this ball!” He spoke loudly and laughed, then looked abo
ut. “I need a drink so I can make a toast.”

  A footman rushed over with a tray bearing punch with too little ice. Constantine clenched his jaw.

  Snatching a glass from the tray, Wexford held it up as the footman rushed to deliver the remaining glasses and other footmen did the same. “To Lord and Lady Aldington and their wonderfully imperfect ball. It is as we all are—starting with the best intentions and making do with what happens along the way.”

  There was a satisfying—and perhaps surprising—chorus of “Hear hear!” Belatedly, Constantine realized he didn’t have a drink. A footman pressed one into his hand. Thankfully, it was a brandy. Constantine sent the man a silent look of gratitude, then swallowed the entire contents. He was immediately glad he had, for the next crisis had already arrived.

  His father was bearing down on him, his eyes practically black with anger. He spoke low so that no one would hear him but hard. “A word, Aldington. In your study.” Without waiting for Constantine’s response, he spun about and left the drawing room.

  Honestly, Constantine couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to seek him out. The confrontation had to happen. Constantine would ensure it was over quickly. Squaring his shoulders, he thanked Wexford for his words and delivered his empty glass to a footman before starting downstairs.

  Just outside the drawing room, he ran into Mrs. Haddock, who looked as if she’d been crying. He paused and motioned for her to move to the side with him. “You mustn’t feel upset about the cat. I refuse to accept your or Haddock’s resignations. We must simply find a way to keep Grayson contained at certain times, and we can discuss that tomorrow. In the meantime, try to make sure he’s locked away for the duration of the ball. Will you check on Lady Aldington in the ladies’ retiring room? She is soothing Lady Fairweather, who seemed to be overly distressed by a small bundle of fur.” He cracked a smile at the housekeeper, who dashed a hand over her eyes.

  “You are the kindest of employers, my lord. I am so very sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Haddock. Just please take care of the countess.”

  “Right away.” She took off down the corridor, avoiding the drawing room.

  Exhaling, Constantine made his way downstairs, glad for the brandy now warming his insides. Lucien stopped him in the gaming room to ask if everything was all right. “I hear the cat has been caught,” he said.

  “Yes. The threat has been removed. Your friend Wexford gave a delightful toast upstairs. I thanked him, but please let him know how much I appreciate it.”

  “I will.” Lucien flicked a glance toward Constantine’s study. “Father just went in there. What’s going on?”

  “He’s about to unleash his rage upon me.” Constantine felt rather numb about the prospect, which normally would have upset him. He hated to disappoint his father. However, in this case, there was no help for it.

  “Do you want me to come along?” Lucien asked quite soberly.

  “No, but I appreciate the offer. I can withstand his anger.” He continued on to the study and closed the door behind him.

  The duke stood near the hearth, his arms crossed over his chest. “You voted against the act today.”

  “Yes.” Constantine walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy. He offered one to his father, who only narrowed his eyes further. Shrugging, Constantine returned the glass to the cabinet and sipped from the second.

  “That’s all you have to say for yourself?” the duke demanded.

  “What else is there to say? The vote is done, the act has passed, which is what you wanted, so why do you care how I voted?”

  “Because you told me you would vote for it. We had an arrangement.”

  Yes, they did, and that arrangement was the only thing that had given Constantine pause. Ultimately, he hadn’t been able to vote for the act, even if it meant his father removed Sabrina as Cassandra’s sponsor.

  Constantine strode to the window, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes we must vote a certain way to gain political capital.” He cast his father a perturbed glance. “I know you are aware of this from your vast experience. In this matter, it benefitted me to vote against the Importation Act in order to gain support for the Apothecaries Act.”

  “You’re a fool because that is dead.”

  “No, it is not, and I won’t let it die, as you did my mother.” Constantine had not chosen those words. In fact, he couldn’t believe he’d said them.

  The duke’s eyes widened to a seemingly impossible degree. “I did not—” He snapped his lips closed, pressing them so hard that they turned white with his fury.

  “The Apothecaries Act is of the utmost importance to me, and I will do whatever is necessary to see regulation of medical practice in this country. If I have to vote against an act that was in no danger of failing in order to gain support for my efforts, so be it. I would have thought you would do the same. You taught me to be cunning and strategic.” He glared ice at his father, daring him to find fault with what he’d done.

  “You lied to me.”

  “I made a deal to get what I needed. The fact that you demanded such a thing for a matter as simple and uncontroversial as allowing my wife to act as my sister’s sponsor says far more about you than it does me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a ball to manage.” Constantine started toward the door, his body thrumming with anger and determination.

  “You do that,” the duke said coldly. “The bloody thing is a disaster as it is. Even if you hadn’t deceived me, I’d have to reconsider the countess’s role in Cassandra’s Season.”

  Constantine looked back at his father. “You’re going to remove her as Cass’s sponsor, aren’t you?”

  “After tonight’s failure? Of course I am.”

  A movement outside the window on the terrace drew Constantine’s attention. The light wasn’t very bright, but he could make out the unmistakable gold and ivory gown of his wife and…a gentleman touching her in a way that was beyond the pale.

  His father all but forgotten, Constantine threw the door open and stalked through the gaming room to the open doors leading out to the garden. The world seemed to glow red as he came upon the man whose arms were curled around Sabrina’s struggling form. Before he could pull the miscreant away, he heard a grunt, which was followed by the man doubling over as Sabrina backed away from him.

  The lantern hanging on the exterior of the house illuminated Sabrina. Instead of looking terrified, she appeared furious, her brows pitched into an angry V as her eyes seemed to glow with cobalt fire.

  He rushed to her side. “What did you do?”

  “I punched his groin.”

  “You what?” Constantine stared at her, utterly enthralled—and in love—with his wife.

  She lifted a shoulder. “It’s the only thing a woman can do when a scoundrel oversteps.”

  Overstep was a massive understatement as far as Constantine was concerned. Several gentlemen from the gaming room, and a few ladies, had swarmed onto the terrace, including Lucien.

  “What happened?” Lucien moved past the man who was on his knees groaning.

  “He was too forward,” Sabrina said, brushing her hands together.

  “Are you going to demand satisfaction?” someone called.

  “There’s no need,” the man croaked, lifting his head to reveal his identity—Mr. Franklin Crimwell, a fellow member of Parliament who appeared to be well into his cups. Not that his state forgave his behavior in the slightest. “I offer my most sincere apologies. I did not realize this was Lady Aldington.” The man’s color was gray, his features squashed with pain and humiliation.

  “That’s true,” Sabrina said quietly. “He kept calling me Mildred. I think he is out of his wits.”

  Lucien bent to help the man up. “Come, Crimwell, let’s get you into a coach to your house.” Looking toward the group of people, Lucien inclined his head toward one of his friends, Dougal MacNair, who quickly moved to lend assistance.

  “Thank you,”
Constantine said, grateful for his brother’s help.

  When Crimwell disappeared into the house between Lucien and MacNair, conversation picked up as people filtered back into the gaming room.

  It was at that moment that Cassandra rushed onto the terrace, straight for Sabrina, followed by her companion, Miss Lancaster. “My goodness, Sabrina, are you all right?”

  A familiar scent washed over Constantine—a tropical fragrance that swept him into the darkness and overwhelmed him with sensation. He stepped toward his sister and sniffed. It couldn’t be coming from her. Turning his head slightly, toward Miss Lancaster, he inhaled. And nearly staggered backward. It was her.

  “That scent…”

  “Oh, yes, my apologies,” Cassandra said, looking toward Sabrina. “I’m afraid we helped ourselves to your fragrances before the ball. I forgot to don some at home, and this tropical scent is absolutely divine. Pru and I couldn’t resist.”

  So the perfume didn’t belong to Cassandra or Miss Lancaster, but to…Sabrina?

  Constantine turned toward her, shock coursing through him. “It was you?”

  Her eyes had lost their heat and were now round with distress. “Constantine, I can explain.”

  “Later,” he ground out, his mind spinning at this astonishing revelation. His brain simply couldn’t process this information—it didn’t make any sense. Yet, he knew it was true. “We’ve a rather disastrous ball to oversee.”

  Whatever her explanation, it had to include Lucien. Constantine spun about and stalked inside, making his way to the entrance hall where Lucien was just walking back into the house. MacNair followed behind him.

  “Crimwell is on his way home,” Lucien said. “I believe MacNair and I have earned a drink.”

  Years of anger and frustration boiled to the surface in Constantine. “You’ve earned something.” He strode forward and sent his fist into his brother’s handsome face, knocking his head back.

  Lucien staggered backward, his hand rising to his cheek. “Christ, Con! What the devil are you about?”

  “I’m about fed up with your meddling and ‘help.’ It’s past time you minded your own bloody business.”