by Stacy Reid
“It is not a pleasant thought is it, Calydon?” Lucan taunted, a deeper coldness encasing his heart. “What kind of thoughts filled when you thought I fucked your sister and abandoned her to the cruel fates of society? Did you not hear the whispers that taunted my sister? ‘Marissa the Used,’ ‘Marissa the Abandoned’.”
Speaking of Constance in such a crude manner left a vile taste in Lucan’s mouth, but something raw in him demanded that some of the hatred, some of the pain he had lived with for years be felt by Calydon.
Calydon stilled rage lighting his eyes, then doubt.
“Is Connie untouched?” he demanded.
Lucan’s slow smile was deliberately sensual, remembering how he had touched Constance and letting the knowledge seeped into his eyes.
He was impressed with how intimidating Calydon suddenly appeared. If Lucan was a lesser man he would have been quaking in his boots. In fact, he was doing everything in his power to resist smashing his fist in the man’s face. Lucan could see the dark need in Calydon to offer him violence as well. Probably Lucan had underestimated the effect of the duchess’ presence. Without her, Calydon had no need to still the roiling rage inside of himself.
Calydon dropped his hand, and Lucan saw the fist coming. He could have dodged it. Hell, he could possibly have had Calydon on the ground before the man realized what was happening. But Lucan deserved it. Constance was all that was pure and lovely, and should never play any part in his vengeance again.
Lucan’s head snapped back from the force of the punch, it rocked him back on his heels. He raised his hand and wiped the thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “I deserved that, for Constance does not merit my vulgarity or insinuations. But I assure you it will be the only free hit you get, Calydon.”
Calydon’s eyes narrowed. “If you had thought to ask for her hand, it is denied. The only reason I am not ripping into you is because I know how tirelessly you have been working for society to welcome her back into their folds. That is the only reason, Mondvale.”
A hollow sensation formed in the pit of Lucan’s stomach and he dismissed it. “Your threat is irrelevant. Lady Constance will not have me.” At least not yet, but he would do everything in his power to have her fall back in love with him. Lucan was resolved, for he could accept no other outcome. Living without her smiles and kisses have been too bleak.
Calydon’s eyes remained hard and unforgiving. Lucan fully understood.
“You proposed to her?” Calydon demanded.
Lucan thrust his hands in his pockets. “I did,” he answered. “Constance rejected me.”
“Connie has not mentioned this,” Calydon said, surprise evident in his tone.
Lucan raised a brow. “It is not for me to speculate why Lady Constance felt she could not confide in her own brother.”
Calydon stiffened, but Lucan ignored him.
“I doubt you and I will ever be friends,” Lucan said. “But I have considered how young you and Marissa both were. My intention today was not to force any confrontation.” His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “I had only intended to lay what haunts me to rest so I can relinquish all need in my heart for vengeance.”
Calydon face was devoid of all expression, but Lucan knew he listened keenly.
“I confess I hurt Constance in the cruelest of fashion. I did start out to ruin her, but I couldn’t. She is enchanting, kind, everything I could ever want in a lady. In my lady. If you want satisfaction for the hurt I have caused her, you will have it.”
He noted the surprise that flashed in Calydon’s gaze before he masked it.
“I’ve destroyed Constance’s love for me, and I don’t know if I can ever get it back. I saw her at Lady Ellington’s Ball, and although she is now welcomed in society, I could still see that she is shattered. I am tormented day and night, and I need to know that she is happy, for I love her. I am also declaring my intention to eventually court her, for whether you want to hear it or not, I love your sister, more than I thought possible to love another.” Lucan admitted frankly.
“Deluded, but not so jaded and hard hearted,” Calydon murmured a smile curving his lips.
Lucan looked at the man blankly. What the hell was he blathering about?
“I wager it will take a while for us to be civil to each other,” Calydon offered. “I can imagine the hatred you must feel, and I even accept it. For I wanted to crush you when I saw Connie’s pain, and she had not suffered as Marissa. So I understand some of your pain if not fully. And I hope you can eventually forgive me for the part I played in Marissa’s hurt…and I will endeavor to forgive your role in Connie’s pain.”
Lucan nodded, the acknowledgment soothing the edge of rage that still lingered. Though he only had to think of Constance, and it all deflated. He stood in silence as he remembered the vibrant woman Marissa had been in her happy days. He pushed it from his mind for he had vowed to forgive, to understand and to learn.
“I suggest we make use of my sparring room. From all accounts you are an excellent fighter, and I think it is time we went into the ring together,” Calydon mused. “Then when we pound on each other, the excuse I can give my duchess is that we were simply sparring.”
Lucan watched as Calydon went to the mantel and poured brandy into two glasses. Lucan accepted when Calydon held one out to him.
“Constance?” Lucan asked. He had been battling the need to show his weakness for her, but then decided it did not matter. What objections would he face when he tried to court her?
“I believe you love Constance. But you will have to wait until she has returned to England to pay your address. I will not force her where her heart does not lie. Though I believe it belongs to you.”
Nothing the man said made an impact on Lucan. He was stuck on Constance not being in England. “Constance is not in the country?” he demanded.
A cool smile curved Calydon’s lips. “No. She boarded a train this morning with Anthony and Phillipa for Europe. They may then move onto Egypt.”
A crushing weight descended on Lucan’s chest. “How long?” At Calydon’s silence, Lucan went cold. “How long will she be gone for?” he repeated.
“A year.”
His stomach hollowed out. A year? A year in which she may meet someone else, be wooed and fall in love?
“Tell me where she is.”
“No.” Calydon’s voice was implacable. “She is my most cherished sister, and if she needs this, I will give it to her. I know love, and I understand the need I can see blazing from you to go to her. But in this, I will not have her thwarted.”
Lucan inclined his head, then spun and walked away. He would not plead; he could see the man was unbending. He would hire men to find her. But he realized it would mean nothing. He had waited too long, he had been foolish, and now the emptiness he felt was profound.
He had lost her.
Chapter Twenty
Lady Constance has returned to Sherring Cross. You have my blessings if she will have you.
Calydon
Lucan’s heart slammed into his throat. He read the note for the second time hardly daring to breathe, to hope. Constance had returned after only three months. He knew it may not have anything to do with him, but hope hot and sweet poured through him. Did this mean Calydon had somehow delivered Lucan’s letter to her? When he had realized he would be without her for a year, or longer, or possibly forever, he had poured everything into a letter and asked Calydon to see it delivered to wherever she traveled.
You have my blessings if she will have you.
Lucan understood full well the honor Calydon accorded him after he had tried to ruin his sister. The man was forgiving. Damn well more forgiving than Lucan himself would have been. But then, Calydon had looked Lucan directly in the eyes and vowed to destroy him if he ever hurt his Connie again. He had believed the man, though the warning had not been necessary. If she would give him a chance, he would love and treasure her with every breath in his body.
He hoped
the fact that Calydon had given his blessings, indicated a change of heart on the lady’s part. While Lucan and Calydon had formed some sort of tentative friendship, the man had never once hinted where Constance had traveled to, no matter how often Lucan had demanded. He had wanted to travel the oceans, follow her to wherever she traveled and convince her to marry him. These past three months had been agony for him, where he envisioned several scenarios of the men he had scouring the continent for her, finding her, and giving him her location. He would then kidnap her and take her to his castle in Scotland where he would make love to her for days until she agreed to be his wife. But they had only been dreams, while he had waited for the year to draw to an end.
He glanced at the note a final time and then launched into motion, exiting the library where he had been ensconced for the long morning dealing with several business matters, namely the restoration of his entailed estates. He ordered his carriage around and for his bags to be packed, and sent out several missives alerting his friends to where he traveled, for it would take him a couple of days to reach Sherring Cross to see her.
Lucan prayed like he had never done before.
He prayed Constance returning was a sign in the lessening of her anger.
He prayed it meant she would forgive him. That she still loved him.
And he prayed he would have the strength to let her go if she did not want him.
Because Calydon would hunt him to the end of the earth if Lucan executed his plans of kidnapping her and secluding her at his castle until she married him. He smiled, though it was without humor, for he was fully aware, he would do anything to bind his green-eyed bewitching beauty to his side.
“Your Grace.”
He paused in the act of climbing the final steps of the mansion’s winding stairs and looked down at his butler. “What is it, Alfred?”
“There is a young lady here to see you.”
Lucan glanced toward the parlor, not wanting any delay in his leaving. “Lady Penelope?” he asked drily. Since his retirement to Wynter Park, his ducal estate these past weeks, the young lady tended to travel miles to visit him. She and her mother, the Viscountess of Fordham. It seemed the ambitious mammas of the haute monde were everywhere. He had not the withal to entertain them today.
“No, Your Grace, and this young lady is in the gardens. She said to tell you she is waiting for you. She refused to leave a name, Your Grace.” The butler sounded disgruntled and bemused at the same time.
“She refused to identify herself?” Lucan did not have time for foolish games. “And you did not refuse entry?” he demanded.
Alfred flushed. “Though petite, the lady has the will of—”
“Petite?” Lucan demanded a little too forcefully. For a split second, he felt as if he had been stabbed through the chest and his knees went weak. It couldn’t be her.
“Where exactly is she?” His estate was large with several gardens and lakes.
“She is by the rose gardens, Your Grace, I—”
He bounded down the stairs two at a time, passed the startled Alfred, and ran into the gardens. Lucan’s heart thudded and he forced his mind to be quiet. It could be anyone, but God, he knew.
He broke into a sprint after he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He slowed to a stroll as he neared and entered the secluded gardens as quietly as he could. A lady sat on a stone bench, spine taut, her back to him, dressed in a black crepe that covered her from head to toe. He saw the flash of her hands and a letter in them.
His letter.
The raw fear that filled him was unwelcomed. She was here to give him her answer, a yea or a nay. He held his breath in an agony of anticipation willing her to feel him, to face him.
…
Dear Constance,
My very first memory was seeing my sister Marissa take her first halting step. I had not thought to start this letter in such a manner, but the depth of affection and love I felt for my sister dictated much of my life and subsequent actions. It is not an excuse for the unforgivable way I have treated you. But I hope that in reading my words, you can find it in you to forgive me for hurting you.
Marissa had flaws and I own to them. They were flaws that allowed her to behave recklessly and hurt others with her selfish desires. She was also a warm, caring, and beautiful young lady, a most beloved and cherished sister. We grew up believing we had no ties to nobility or anything to recommend us to the life Marissa craved. When we lost our parents, I became her rock, and she was my solace in the enduring hardship I faced in working and living in London. I was in the Americas when I came into the possession of her last letter. She swore to end her life after being rejected by everyone she thought loved her, after being cruelly abused by her husband. I cannot express how my heart broke in that moment knowing she must already be dead, knowing how much she must have suffered and I had not been there. I traveled to London post-haste to discover she had already been dead and buried for several months. I will not burden you with the sordid details, but I am sure you know by now Marissa had been Calydon’s mistress before and after she was married. I see now they were both misguided, reckless and more than foolhardy in their passion for each other. But before I reached this opinion, I vowed to destroy everyone that played a part in her tragic death. It was the only way I felt I could repay her for not being there when she needed me. It was with this thought sustaining me that I directed my attentions to you when I realized Calydon also had a sister he cherished. I thought to repay hurt with hurt and pain with pain. But I was wrong.
From the moment I met you, you captivated me body and soul. Your beauty, your kind and generous mannerisms, even your scent stirred and enraptured me. When I realized my feelings for you were interfering with my vengeance, I tried to push you away. In the end, an end that may be too late for us, I now know you are more important to me than anything else.
When you return to London, I will be waiting for you. If you find it in your heart to forgive the pain I have caused you, I ask you to put me out of my misery and consent to be my wife. I see us having a most content and fortuitous future together. If not, I will endeavor to not trouble you with my unwanted affections. I await your response.
Lucan
Constance folded Lucan’s letter with tender care. Thunder rumbled overhead and a slight chill nipped at her. As rain started to drizzle, she rose and turned to hurry inside the conservatory, for she would not make it into the main house before the deluge. There was a sound of movement, she spun toward it and froze. Lucan. Her breath caught, everything seemed still in that moment. She could not move for the feelings washing through her. He is here.
He stared at her in silence, his chillingly beautiful eyes piercing as arrows. The profound relief in his gaze had the tension melting from her frame. She had missed him so.
Dressed in dark brown trousers and jacket, a white shirt, and riding boots, he looked splendid. A drop of rain splashed on her forehead, rolling into her eyes, but she did not blink, fearful that if she did, he would disappear.
He pushed his spectacles firmly onto his nose. His endearingly sweet, nervous gesture.
“I…Lucan, I am here,” she said softly. “I received your letter.”
His eyes blazed with emotions and raw tension emanated from him. He took a shuddering breath. “Will you have me, Constance?” His voice came out as a low rasp.
No statement of love or a reaffirmation of his earlier proposal, but she knew what he asked. The sky darkened and more rain wetted her. The strong column of his throat convulsed at her silence, and he swallowed. Tenderness pierced her deep at the vulnerability she never imagined she could see in his eyes. She ached to touch him, to hold him, to be held by him.
“Yes,” she whispered, but the flare of powerful relief, then desire in his gaze made her aware he heard, even over the distant rumble of thunder. A fork of lightning speared through the sky, a dark cloud blotting out the remainder of the sun, but neither of them moved. Constance felt trapped, weak limbed, yet e
nergized from the need that poured from him, wrapping her in heat, although he did not touch her.
A sob of want and anticipation escaped from her lips as in two strides, he was there drawing her closer. The look on his face caused her pulse to flutter wildly. It was love—stark and agonizing. Yet Lucan’s touch as he cradled her face was gentle. He kissed her lips, the corner of her mouth, and then her eyelids with tenderness. “I missed you,” he said with aching gentleness. “Your laugh, your taste, your scent, even the fire that snaps into your eyes when you are angry.” His hands tightened on her cheeks. “I cannot exist without your forgiveness. To know I have caused you such pain torments me.”
Her breath caught, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder, inhaling his warm heady scent. And she could not exist without him. Before she had even received his letter she had begged Anthony to return her from Naples. She had needed to get away from the hurt that had ravaged her, as the pain of Lucan’s actions had cut unimaginably deep. But as she had journeyed through the vineyards and ruins of Italy with Anthony and Phillipa, she had pictured Lucan with her. As they had dined in moonlit open-air restaurants, she had imagined it had been with him. In the nights she ached for him, dreamed of him. Every night. She knew he had tried to atone and restore what he had deliberately shattered, and she respected him for it. The haute monde had forgiven her perceived infractions, but Constance had discovered she did not care for their forgiveness, and that it was hers they needed to earn.
In her weeks away, all she had thought about was the pain that must have driven Lucan to act as how he had. She had regretted not caring more about that pain, not understanding what drove him, for she adored him completely.
“Constance?” The raw uncertainty in his voice had her lifting her head.
A soft smile curved her lips. “You have all of me Lucan. My forgiveness, my—”
He took her lips in a primal kiss. Crushing her to him, his lips roved over hers, all passion unleashed. She felt his raging desire and instead of fear filling her, she rose on her toes and met his kiss with untamed passion. The letter fell as she slipped her hands over his shoulders and gripped him as he lifted her.
