by Darcy Burke
Elizabeth wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a question or another jab. “I intended for it to catch fire.” She chose her next words carefully, because a fight with Celeste wasn’t at all what she wanted. She wanted Celeste to see that she’d matured. She had it all in hand, and she didn’t need any nursemaid save Mrs. Dalton. “Lord Constantine and I worked through the details together, though I think he deserves much of the credit. He can be very convincing when he chooses to be. ” Her face warmed as she recalled just how convincing he’d been today. Even she could almost believe they’d once been lovers.
Oh, but Celeste mustn’t see her blush. Quickly, Elizabeth added, “I ought to have known a brother of Roman’s would prove himself an outrageous actor,” for bringing up the subject of Roman was sure to distract Celeste from her interest in Elizabeth.
“I would have done it for you,” Trestin said so firmly, both women’s attention instantly went to him. He still stood rigidly just inside the doorway. A muscle twitched at his jaw. “There was no need to involve anyone else.”
Of course, Elizabeth could never have become so detached from her morals that she’d convince all of London that her best friend’s paramour had sired her bastard. There was no question of his involvement, once she’d realized Celeste was in love with him. “Lord Constantine isn’t odious, my lord. I find him very pleasant.”
A slight frown marred Celeste’s pale brow. “I’m very happy for you to have Oliver back, dearest. I simply worry that you’ve gone from one extreme to the other. Lord Constantine? After everything Roman did to me? Theirs is a family of fickle-hearted rakes. How can you trust him with a so great a secret?”
Elizabeth went rigid against the couch. Not because her faith in Lord Constantine was shaken—and it was, just a bit. Celeste’s opinion mattered more than anyone’s. She was more of a sister to Elizabeth than even her own sisters, for Celeste had never turned her back on her as Sarah and Ellen had.
Had she somehow disappointed her friend again?
She simply needed to convince Celeste that she’d made the right decision. “It may be true that Roman did you an ill turn, but Lord Constantine remains the ideal choice for Oliver’s father. He’s dashing enough to have turned my head, he lives in Devon where Oliver was born, and he’s so destitute, he would have done almost anything for my banknote.” And he is kind, she almost added. The similar looks of disapproval being directed at her, however, stopped her from including anything that might be interpreted as imprudent attraction.
Trestin approached the sofa and came around the low table where a tea ought to have been set by now. He rested one hand on the back of Celeste’s shoulder so that they presented a unified front. Or else he had simply wanted to be nearer to her, and had suddenly realized she wasn’t in arm’s reach.
Whatever his reason, he now towered over Elizabeth. “You should know that I always wish to be counted on, especially when it comes to a matter this important. Lord Constantine is an aimless rogue. Not at all the type of man who can perpetrate a ruse like this. If you’d come to me rather than running off after the wedding, I could have helped you find a man better suited to the task.”
Elizabeth had to laugh at that, for she stung both from being called to the carpet for her choice and at the reminder of her loneliness following Celeste’s happy day. “What type of man, precisely, is suited to the task of duping half of England?”
“Anyone can lie for you once,” Trestin said without a breath of amusement. “There’s no constancy in Constantine, despite his name. What if Finn bribes him for the truth?”
Her breath fled her lungs. What if Trestin was right? On its heels drafted the certainty that Lord Constantine had made a commitment to Oliver. He would never tell, simply because he didn’t want to.
When she tried to make that rebuttal, Trestin continued, “Lord Constantine has no reason to keep your secret forever. There will always be a steady stream of collectors demanding money he doesn’t have.”
Perhaps it was her fanciful infatuation with Con, but she found it difficult to reconcile the warm man who’d defended her from a brute twice his size with the selfish younger son Lord Trestin described. Too, she knew now Lord Constantine wasn’t the gamester everyone thought. If he bled money, well, it was because he had a kind heart.
She felt a burst of defensiveness for the man she’d known but a few days. “He is impoverished, but I’ve come to know his character. He wouldn’t want his family to know he’s lied to them. And he’s met Nicholas twice now. He knows Nicholas will take Oliver without a second’s hesitation. I believe Lord Constantine cares about that.”
Celeste and Trestin looked at her as if she’d explained that Lord Constantine had antlers.
“In that respect, Lord Constantine makes an excellent foil,” Elizabeth continued, feeling sure her summation of him was accurate despite her friends’ obvious disbelief. “He adores Oliver. I think he doesn’t want the lie exposed. He’s even gone so far as to become my protector in truth so that Nicholas will have no cause to think Lord Constantine and I aren’t truly involved…” she almost choked over the last word, “…sexually.” Heat flushed across her chest. And yet, reducing Con to a handsome shield belittled the great lengths he’d already gone for her, to say nothing of her increasing infatuation with him.
“You’ve agreed to become his mistress?” Celeste exclaimed at the same time Trestin asked, “Does Montborne know he has a mistress?”
“Montborne?” Elizabeth repeated, knowing he meant Roman and nonetheless being unable to connect the marquis to her affairs. Then she realized Trestin’s meaning: as the head of his family and the viscount, Trestin would think Con’s eldest brother should be apprised.
Goodness. By her estimate, Con must have nearly thirty years under his belt. He shouldn’t have to discuss his personal affairs with anyone, least of all his brother. But then, she supposed this summed up his position in his brother’s household. Lord Constantine wasn’t the youngest, to be fawned over, or the oldest and therefore responsible one, but a middle brother on whom the only expectations placed were for him to report his activities and to make every attempt to stay out of trouble. No wonder he stood a little straighter whenever she appreciated his efforts.
“I can’t think Roman knows,” she said, tucking away the knowledge that her admiration of Lord Constantine encouraged him, for a time when it could prove useful. “He and I made our arrangement just this morning.”
Their eyebrows rose at that.
Celeste’s sisterly censure couldn’t be more obvious. “Does this mean there was a last night?”
Their attack of Lord Constantine was wearing on Elizabeth. “Not in the way you think.” She was glad when a tap at the door preceded a maid carrying an elaborate tea. Conversation stopped while the tray was set down and the plates of sandwiches and biscuits were arranged across the low table.
The moment the maid stepped out, Celeste turned her face up toward Trestin. “This is much worse than I feared. I think she has a tendre for him.”
“I don’t!” Elizabeth insisted. Even though she did, a little.
“He is handsome,” Celeste said, turning back toward the tea. She reached for the teapot and began pouring out. “Young for your tastes. Only a few years older than you.” She slid a sidelong glance at her own, younger husband. His disapproving expression didn’t change, but his golden eyes warmed a touch.
Celeste spooned sugar into each teacup. “Roman can be charming when he puts his mind to it. I’ve heard Lord Constantine, too, is a jolly sort.” Her eyes remained hooded as she adjusted the three teacups in their saucers. They made a subtle clink, clink as she touched them needlessly. Elizabeth imagined Celeste was doing her stoic best to set aside her differences with Roman and concentrate on advising Elizabeth about his brother.
After fiddling with each teacup and saucer to her satisfaction, Celeste passed a setting to Elizabeth and one to Trestin, then sat upright with her hands clasped in her lap. “If you’ve
fallen for him already, it can only be because he’s as easy to like as they say. Still, it’s a very precarious situation you’ve put yourself in. If I worry for you, it is not without reason.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea without replying. What Celeste really meant was that it was not without precedent. A trace of bitterness wove through Elizabeth, but she really had no rebuttal.
“I fear ’tis too late to caution her,” Trestin murmured to his wife, as if he, too, believed it futile to think Elizabeth capable of guarding her heart. “Her mulish expression reminds me of Delilah’s when I told her that Mr. Conley was not for her.”
Celeste’s brow rose. “Your sister married Conley,” she reminded Trestin, without making an attempt to keep her voice low.
Even though Elizabeth had half a mind to reprimand them for patronizing her while she was sitting right in front of them, her heart nonetheless gave a silly little hop in her chest. But what nonsense that was! Hadn’t she already turned down Con’s butchered proposal? The thought of wedding a man that adverse to marriage was ludicrous.
The thought of losing him, however, made her feel strangely hollow.
…if I should meet a man who sets my belly fluttering while treating me as respectfully as your Lord Trestin does, I shall marry him without delay.
She would marry him—if he felt the same.
“I do wish you two would stop,” she said firmly, wanting to end the conversation before she became obstinately attached to Lord Constantine. “I’m not a naïve young girl. He’s fine-looking and thoughtful—and amiable,” she added, “and he’s shown himself to be rather determined to act as my protector. Surely when choosing a lover, a woman can ask for little more. But I’ve hardly forgotten the natural conclusion to any liaison. He will leave. Or maybe I will.”
“He will most certainly leave you,” Celeste said with no apology in her tone. “Lord Constantine must marry, eventually. I should hope that after your last amour, you will not want to be kept by a married man again.”
Elizabeth winced. She would dearly love to make a flippant riposte, but the fact remained that she had fallen in love with a married man. Nicholas Finn had been thoroughly wedded from the first. Her belief that he’d leave his wife to start a new life with her had been a stupid hope. She could see that now. She couldn’t even claim to have been young and foolish when she’d devoted herself to him, for she’d been above her majority then, and far more experienced in the ways of seduction than most women twice her age.
No, Celeste was right. She wouldn’t be kept by a married man again. She wasn’t sure she could trust her heart with a bachelor, for she’d had plenty of those in her time, too. And if ever there was a man who did want to marry her—and she didn’t count Con’s hasty proposal in that number—she’d never be able to trust him. For men, in her experience, did not understand the meaning of ’til death do us part.
But she wasn’t the type men married. “I’m a courtesan,” she said firmly, and never had saying it sounded so permanent. “There will always be another man after this one.” If only because she couldn’t bear to be alone forever.
Celeste gazed at her with a touch of sadness. “You may marry someday.” To Elizabeth’s ears, there was no conviction in it.
Trestin cleared his throat. Elizabeth and Celeste both glanced up at him as if they’d forgotten his presence.
“I think it unlikely any Alexander will marry before he must.” He offered her a smile that seemed to tighten his face rather than brighten it. “I hope you’re able to keep his attention long enough for Captain Finn to accept your trick as fact. After that, I suppose it doesn’t matter if Lord Constantine does scamper off to chase a new entertainment, so long as he leaves Oliver with you.”
Icy fear pumped through her veins. He would leave; that much was fact. It was the way of things, the trade she made for her freedom—and her wealth, though not the latter, in this case. But what could she do if they spent months or years convincing Society that he was Oliver’s father, and then he left her and took Oliver with him? Her trick would only work once, and never on Con.
She believed him when he said he was going to be Oliver’s father forever. If he left her, he’d take his son. Just as Nicholas had. She couldn’t let that happen. He mustn’t reach that point, not for a very, very long time, at least. The law favored a father’s guardianship until a child was old enough to make a sound decision between his parents. That day lay a decade in the future, at least.
But what could she do to prevent Con’s more immediate tiring of her?
The answer came to her instantly, as natural to her as her own breath. She’d do what she’d always done. She must entice him. Offering her favors to a man had never kept him permanently, but she didn’t need permanent. Only until Oliver was of the age to make his own decision, and she needn’t fear the law.
But how did she seduce a man who didn’t want to be seduced?
Her talent for tempting men flared to life. Sex was what she knew. It had worked, at least well enough, to get her to this point. As she and Celeste sipped their tea, and Trestin paced near the window, Elizabeth considered her strategy. She must give Lord Constantine the sense that he needed her more than she needed him. She had no doubt she could succeed at luring him into her arms, if the right set of circumstances could be arranged. She was a courtesan, was she not?
She buried her self-disgust down far enough that she need never think of it again. She might not be able to win his heart. If she could just keep him returning to her bed, however…
It would have to be enough.
Chapter Eight
CON KNEW CYPRIANS other than Elizabeth, of course. He frequently tagged along with his brothers to this or that engagement, and he knew most of the expensive ladies of the night by sight, if not by name. But he’d never kept a mistress of his own. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with Elizabeth, aside from visit her after dark from time to time. But would that be enough to divert the gossips? Or ought he to make a larger statement, some flashy show of his claim to her?
Likely not. He needn’t overthink what was required of him.
He left Will’s, his regular coffeehouse, and ducked out to the humid evening air. He’d fortified himself with brandy-laced coffee for his first occasion as protector. Yet as he started in the direction of Elizabeth’s townhouse, he couldn’t help but think that he should be more prepared for this mistress thing than he was.
It wasn’t that he’d never wanted a mistress. Nor was it that he didn’t enjoy women, as Elizabeth had teased. He’d participated in his fair share of romps. Before he’d grown older. Wiser. Realized the extent of his family’s situation, and got to thinking about how he might better their lot, rather than waste precious coin on women he’d never see again.
That was when he’d turned to investing. But his new lady, Lady Luck, was playing coy these days.
The warm wind blowing off the Thames changed direction. Fetid scents assailed him: horses and coal smoke, a pile of refuse in the gutter. His belly tightened. He held his breath as the wind seemed to bring the putrid odor of the floating prisons right to his nose. The stench was too close to that of King’s Bench, where he’d spent the most terrifying six days of his life. He never wanted to see that place again.
Lady Luck needed to stand by his side. Soon.
He tugged his hat more firmly onto his head lest a stray wind blow it into the drain overflowing with filth. He turned down Bond and reminded himself that he shouldn’t fear prison as much as he did. He’d paid his creditors. Darius’, too, for God’ sake. If Dare was in over his head again, well, that wasn’t his problem, was it? He need only worry about his own investments failing.
But that was one of the troubles with being a twin. He wasn’t sure he could turn his back on any of his brothers, but Dare… Dare was a piece of his own soul.
He didn’t want to consider too closely what it meant if he couldn’t just stand by and watch the selfish rotter be condemned to debtors’ pr
ison. Merely thinking about the place made him want to retch. Their father had died there. Just outside of King’s Bench, in a tiny hovel Tony had purchased for him when he’d scraped together enough to buy Liberty of the Rules. Being confined to filthy apartments rather than the prison itself hadn’t been enough. The squalid streets around the fortress bred disease, and gaol fever didn’t concern itself with rank.
Blast it all, but he needed a solution. One with more permanence than the turn of a card. Other men were able to make a living prospecting? Why not he?
He strode blindly down an empty street shadowed by the gray pall of evening. There was just so much he didn’t know. His lacking was compounded by the fact that, in a family of rakes and attorneys, there was no one he could ask for help. No one he dared to ask for help, at any rate, and even if he did ask, what would any of them do besides shake his head and tsk? Not a one knew the first thing about finances. So what was the point in telling them how badly he’d mucked up his affairs? Or betraying Darius?
His stomach knotted. What could be done for his brother that they hadn’t already tried with their father?
He thrust Dare from his thoughts. He’d rather think about Elizabeth and her child. He felt pleased with his efforts in that direction, actually. He liked being the one she depended on. She listened to him.
It did bring him back around, however, to the matter of advertising his relationship with her. Dusk had settled over the city, but it was still early yet for him to call on her. He wound his way down the London streets as he waited for full darkness to fall. Were the right neighbors watching her door? Would anyone take note of his comings and goings? Or should he arrive much, much later than this, and stay on until morning, when his presence at her townhouse couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a carnal affaire?
