by Stacy Reid
“If I do not, she will be ruined.”
Constance stuffed a fist in her mouth to prevent her sob. More than anything she wished she had not stayed. Ruined. Her brothers thought her disgraced. They would definitely not rest until she was wed, and Lucan would not bow to their will. She knew it with every fiber of her being. That meant she would be persuaded to wed Litchfield. Bile rose in her throat and despair shafted through her heart. She would not do it. She had never rebelled against her brothers’ gentle directions before, but she would not enter a union so permanent, so sacred, with a man she did not love or even possess a morsel of affection for.
“Connie is already perceived as ruined,” Anthony countered bluntly. “The circumstances of our birth do not lie in our favor. And now this. Phillipa and I were planning to travel to Italy and then Egypt in a few weeks. Why not have Connie accompany us? Give her some respite from England, away from it all. She is young, and there will be time aplenty for her to find her prince charming.”
Hope and gratefulness suffused her at Anthony’s words. She held her breath waiting for Sebastian’s reply.
“I will discuss traveling with you and Phillipa with Connie,” Sebastian murmured.
“Good. Are you going to explain to her about Marissa?”
“It doesn’t concern her.”
Anthony snorted.
“I cannot explain to our sister that Marissa was my mistress who killed herself when I refused to be with her,” Sebastian snapped.
Lucan’s word filtered in her mind with brutal clarity. Calydon used my sister and then abandoned her. No it couldn’t be true. There must be something more.
“It was a little more than that,” Anthony said drily. “Marissa asked you to help her be free of her husband. I think any sane man would have said no to murder.”
Good heavens.
Constance hardly knew what to do with all she was hearing. Her brothers were silent and a soft breath eased from her when Anthony asked about Jocelyn and the babe. Mistress? Murder? It was all too much. A part of her now understand why Sebastian had refused to speak with her and had studiously avoided her the entire day. Everything he did was about protecting her. When would he realize she was no longer a child? She needed to know this. And she instinctively knew, if not for tonight, she would never have been made aware of the details.
What was he really concerned with? Protecting her innocence—or protecting the love and belief she had in him?
Chapter Fifteen
Lucan had not thought there was anything his friends could do to render him speechless, and he was not a man easily surprised.
“You did what?” he asked for the second time, certain he had been mistaken.
Even the Reverend looked flummoxed, and he was the most unflappable one of their depraved group. The Reverend’s obsidian eyes were carefully void of all emotions as he looked at both Lucan and Ainsley.
“I leaked a story of Lady Constance being seen here to my inside source at The Spectator. It was run two mornings ago. You were away on business in Derbyshire, and I realized you were not aware of the situation. Here is the sheet in the event you wish to read it,” Ainsley murmured at bit warily.
With a calmness Lucan did not feel, he picked up the paper and read the notice. He went cold. She is ruined. He already knew how the scandal would be received by society. Because of his wealth and title he would be forgiven. Instead of calling him out for his reprehensible actions of having her in his club and kissing her, the mammas of the haute monde would applaud his good sense in escaping the trap the bastard girl had set for him.
He fought down the rage that bit at his insides and buried his emotions deep. He did not know what Ainsley saw when he looked at him, but the man was smart enough to step back a few paces and held up his hand.
“Hear me out, Lucan.”
“I do not think there is anything to hear. You have taken steps to ruin her further, after I changed my path. She will not be able to recover from this. Why would you act so maliciously toward her?”
“Lucan, I—”
“Hold your fucking tongue,” Lucan snarled. “I trusted you and you betrayed my confidence.”
“I thought it was the only way—”
Within two strides he stood in front of Ainsley, grabbed him by his collar, and slammed him into the bookcase. The violence tearing through Lucan’s gut begged for an outlet, and he ruthlessly struggled against smashing Ainsley’s teeth into his thick skull. “The only way for what?”
Ainsley gripped the hands fisting his collar. “For you to let go of this vengeance and marry the woman you hold such obvious affections for. I can see how you feel about her. I have never seen anyone leave you in such knots. And you are not just one of us anymore. You are now a duke, Lucan, a duke. I have seen you happy for the first time in years. I could think of no other way to get you to direct your happiness toward her. And I know you are pig-headed enough to let her slip through your fingers. But I also know how much you care for her, and those affections you have for her would never allow you to truly see her ruined.”
Lucan pushed Ainsley away, damn the man for trying to manipulate him. For once again, it was Constance paying the price. “How do you think she is not completely ruined now?”
“If you marry her, society will forgive her. You are the Duke of Mondvale, you know. But better, you are the Lord of Sin. You provide the means for high society to satiate their appetite for the sinful and forbidden. They secretly love you for it. As your duchess, she will be unable to fall to ruin.”
Lucan knew the truth of it. If her brothers had been able to wed her to a duke, possibly all he had been doing from the shadows would have been prevented. For as he understood, the realm had less than thirty dukes and most were married and doddering. As a duchess, she would command respect despite being the Beautiful Bastard. But could he do it? Combine his family with the man who had callously contributed to the ruin of a most beloved sister?
Everything in him rebelled against the idea. To wed her, he would have to forgive Calydon. “I will not forgive you anytime soon for this, Ainsley,” Lucan promised. The hurt and condemnation she must be facing now was insupportable.
“I know you will demand satisfaction for this, Lucan. I will meet you in the ring for several bouts tonight,” Ainsley offered. “But this was the only way I could think of to get you to stop behaving so foolishly and claim the woman your heart has chosen.”
Without speaking, Lucan grabbed his coat and top hat and swept from the room. He would fix this, but certainly not in the manner Ainsley expected.
…
“The Duke of Mondvale is here?” Constance asked Mr. Harris for the third time.
“Yes, my lady.”
Good heavens.
Why had he come? She was the only one at home. Should she see him? Not even Charlotte was present, having left earlier in a secretive rush. “Have you informed His Grace that Lord and Lady Radcliffe are not at home?”
Mr. Harris gave her a slight smile and nod. “I was once again informed he wishes to speak with Lady Constance.”
She nodded. “I will see him in the gardens outside. If my parents return before he leaves, please inform them of our whereabouts.” She would not see him at all in private, and she had intended to take a turn in the gardens to collect some flowers for the drawing room.
“I understand, my lady.”
With a calm she had not expected, she went upstairs and collected her shawl. Within a few minutes, she was in the gardens walking toward the stone bench on which he sat. Gravel crunched beneath her feet and Lucan stood to face her. She had missed him. Today he was dressed in a gray suit, his hair once again caught in a queue. He adjusted his spectacles on his nose—a nervous gesture she was learning to identify.
“Your Grace,” she intoned formally with a slight curtsy. “To what do I owe your unexpected visit?”
His eyes roamed over her almost hungrily, before resting on her face. “Are you well?” he asked
quietly.
“I am, thank you.”
“I was made aware of the publication in the papers only this morning. I had been away on business and returned to town today.”
Relief surged through her. He was not so uncaring after all.
A smile lifted her lips. “I see. And you hastened to visit me because?” she prompted, her heart beating a bit faster.
He hesitated. “If you want to marry it will be done.”
She stiffened. “Are you proposing?”
He winced. “No. But it was pointed out to me that marriage is the only option for you. I agree.”
She stared at him in outrage. “So you agree I need to marry, but not to you?”
“Yes.”
She wondered if she spoke with the same man who had danced with her beneath the stars that had kissed her, that had made her feel so much. “And who do you suppose I should marry? I do not see a bevy of suitors calling on me.”
“Make a list of anyone you desire. Whether it be an earl or a duke or a baron. He will marry you.”
Constance glared at him. He really wanted her to marry someone else. He could relinquish her so easily? “That is not possible. I am ruined.” By my own foolish desire for you, her heart screamed, but she refused to show him any emotions. She would die before she gave him an inkling of knowledge of how much his disinterest was hurting her.
“I will make it so.”
“How?” she whispered harshly. “My brother is the Duke of Calydon, and I can assure you he cannot simply tell me to pick a name from society.”
“Your brother doesn’t own anyone.”
She stared at him appalled. Own anyone? Good heavens. “Such a gesture on your part is unnecessary.”
“If not for my attentions you would have not been in such a situation. You were not seen, but a misguided friend revealed the information that you were at Decadence hoping to force my hand. I will do all in my power to make reparations. If there is anything you want, and it is in my power, I will get it for you. You only have to say the words. And I pray that you will see this as a token of how deeply regretful I am.”
She nodded mutely, her heart a painful cadence inside of her chest. “Thank you. Do you really care about my happiness, Lucan?”
“Nothing is more important to me. Whatever you want, whatever you need, if it is within my power you will have it, Constance.”
Hope curled inside of her, yet she hesitated.
“What do you want, Constance?”
She braced herself. “You.”
Constance never imagined he would be so surprised at her declaration. Everything about him seemed frozen. Before she lost her nerves she expounded. “I will be your duchess.”
He went so unemotionally distant he shook her calm facade. But she would not plead with him.
“No,” he growled.
She nodded. “Then I bid you good-bye, Your Grace.”
She walked away from him with quiet calm. She would not wed someone she did not love. If he would not have her, she would travel with Anthony and Phillipa and see some of the world. She would not commit to a life of unhappiness to please society or even her mother, who had traveled a similar path that had led them to near ruination. Constance would not repeat her mother’s mistake.
Her heart lurched as hands gently encircled her waist from behind. She had not heard him move at all. She tensed. “Why are you touching me?”
He released her as if he had been stung, and she slowly turned to face him, curious to what she would see. Oh, Lucan. Emotions roiled in his eyes, and she saw the flash of fear before he buried it. She waited for him to speak, without any expectations in her heart.
…
Lucan felt a horrible sense of inevitability pressed in on him. “I will not marry you,” he reiterated softly.
“You have already said so,” Constance pointed out, her demeanor one of calm and indifference.
She stepped back from him, her pale pink skirt swirling in a gentle manner around her feet. An unidentifiable emotion swept through him. She did not comprehend how much he had influenced the pain she and her family now suffered. She also knew nothing about him. He had built his fortune on the sins of others’. Not only did they owe him a great deal of money, but Lucan had made it his business to know about others weaknesses. He never did anything with the knowledge, only alerting the unsuspecting fool when he needed him for something. As he had done with Lord Orwell. If she knew the depth of Lucan’s crimes against her, she would not be so open to marrying him. He opened his mouth to inform her, but everything inside of him shut down for seconds. He could not bear for the look in her eyes to turn to contempt and hatred.
His heart lurched at the thought of her discovering his secrets. He had known loathing and bitterness, but fear no longer had the power to touch him, or so he had thought. For he felt fear now that she would see all of him and be repulsed. “You do not know the manner of man I am, Constance. To want to wed me is a naive, foolish desire after how I planned to compromise you. I am incapable of giving you the kind of marriage—the kind of love—you seem to desire.”
Her chin titled, and damn if she wasn’t staring him down despite her head barely reaching his chest.
“And what kind of marriage do I need, Your Grace?”
He hesitated then spoke frankly. “One with love and laughter, picnics and balls, children and merriment…and family solidarity.”
“And why is it you cannot give me that?”
“Because all I have left inside since I lost Marissa is darkness.”
She shifted closer to him. “That has an easy solution. I cannot bring back your sister, and the ache of her loss will be with you for years to come, but I will take some of your darkness and give you my light. I will always comfort you when you feel pain.”
He looked at her in bemusement. Take his darkness? The last thing he wanted was for her to understand the depth of his demons. “I want you nowhere near my wickedness.”
Constance flushed. “I know you are not as dissolute as you would have me believe, Lucan.”
“Is that so?”
She gave him a rather wistful smile, and he wanted to give her the things she dreamed of. “I know about the Edinburgh Review articles that you write, championing humanitarian views of ending the practice of farming babies. I am aware of the motions you take to parliament. I know about your many charities. I know you did not ruin me when everything in you clamored to; instead you tried to protect me. So you see, I know of the good in you.”
The silence was deafening.
“You may well be wondering how I know this, but I do read,” she said in a teasing manner. “My brothers firmly believed in my education, and while I tend to indulge in penny dreadfuls and romantic novels, I also edify my mind with sensible reading. I have read all the arguments you have put forth. I admire them, and I believe they tell me a lot of your character, Lucan. And I see much to be admired.”
Much to be admired? Unable to face her hopefulness anymore, he turned away and closed his eyes.
He did not deserve her. Fear gripped his heart in the most unwelcomed manner. He wanted to reach out so badly and claim what she offered. A life with her. But he could never allow himself to become enmeshed with her, for the moment she found out the depth of his actions against her family, against her, she would despise him. And then he would know true pain.
For he was already in love with her.
Then why are you thinking of walking away you fool, his conscience screamed. You love her.
“Lucan?” her voice was soft as she touched his back with a feather light caress.
He groaned stifling the impulse to draw her into his arms and crush her lips to his. Though he fought hard against it, he’d had a startling realization during the early morning train ride to London—he needed Constance in his life. He’d missed her fiercely in the few days apart.
He felt as if it would take months, perhaps even years before the ache of Calydon’s involvement
in his sister’s death diminished. But he had to consider, more so than ever before, that the man should not be held as deeply in contempt as Marissa’s husband who abused her so cruelly. The night Constance had visited Decadence, Lucan had reread all fifty-six of Marissa’s letters. And then he had burned them one by one. All her hopes and fears, her pain and desperation had been infused in those words, and he refused to remember her that way anymore. He’d acknowledged what he had fought against for so long. Marissa had been as flawed as everyone else. She had taken a lover after marriage. A thing he had not thought his sweet sister capable of. He did not judge her for it, he only saw how much he had failed her.
And he only knew because she wrote how Calydon spurned her after taking her innocence, and that in her anger she wedded Stanhope. Then she had continued her affair with Calydon. She had told Lucan how her husband had beaten and tormented her after he realized she was still seeing Calydon. Lucan had been in the Americas when he received that letter, he had almost expired from horror, and traveled back to London immediately. But while he had been traveling back he intercepted her last letter to him, and realized he had lost his sister.
To now relinquish his anger against Calydon, and to recognize that he must have been as young and reckless as Marissa, was an idea that would take Lucan years to resolve. But he was willing to try, for Constance’s sake. He had to try.
“Lucan?”
He faced her and cupped her cheeks. Her eyes flared wide and the hope in them made his chest constricted. He was a damnable fool to make such a treasure slip from his grasp because of fear. “I was an insufferable ass for suggesting you wed another, forgive me.” He moved closer to her. “Will you marry me, Constance?”
