Impassioned by Darcy Burke

Chapter 11

Sabrina pushed the emerald through her earlobe and turned her head to watch the jewel sparkle in the candlelight. The matching necklace was heavy against her throat. She brushed her hand over the brilliant green gems. She certainly looked like a countess, even if she didn’t completely feel like one yet.

Rising from the stool at the dressing table, she moved in front of the long glass and held still while Charity drew the green and gold ball gown over her head. Sabrina smoothed the garment over her waist and hips before Charity fastened the small row of buttons at the back.

“Beautiful, my lady,” Charity said with a smile as she fetched the gloves.

“Only because of what you accomplished with my hair.” Sabrina touched the back of her head, marveling at how sophisticated she looked with the jewels gleaming among the red-gold curls.

“I’ve so enjoyed learning how to dress hair. I believe it’s my favorite part of becoming a lady’s maid.”

“You have a natural skill.” Sabrina pulled on the gloves and took a final look in the mirror before pivoting.

“Your reticule.” Charity went back to the dressing table to retrieve it and handed it to Sabrina.

“Thank you, Charity. I shall see you later. Enjoy your evening.”

As Sabrina made her way downstairs, she wondered if she would encounter her husband. He’d been ever-present in her mind since last night. How could he not be? She’d been forever changed by their encounter, and he hadn’t even known she was there.

That deception stuck in the back of her mind, as did everything she’d learned about what was wrong with their past attempts at coupling. Hearing his perspective about how the other night had gone between them, when they’d finally shared a bed, was eye-opening. She needed to learn to relax, to be comfortable with his touch. Last night had been a step in that direction, and for that reason alone, she couldn’t regret it.

She’d made it to the bottom of the stairs, and there Aldington was standing in the threshold to the foyer. Aldington? She ought to think of him as Constantine, especially after last night.

His eyes locked on her, his lips parting as he slowly perused her. Sabrina couldn’t move. It was as if he held her captive. Her breath snagged while she waited for him to speak.

At last he said, “You’re going to the assembly?”

She hadn’t realized she’d been hoping for a compliment until he didn’t give her one. “Yes. I wish you were coming with me.” She moved toward him across the marble floor of the stair hall. “Will you be up when I return?”

“I imagine you’ll be late. These assemblies go on well past midnight. Indeed, I may be out late myself, so you shouldn’t expect me.”

Sabrina closed the distance between them. Had she imagined the progress they’d been making? Perhaps she was giving too much credit to last night, which didn’t even count since he hadn’t known it was her. “You said you would fulfill my desire.”

His nostrils flared as she whispered the last word.

“A child,” she clarified.

His eyes darkened. “Why didn’t you want to marry me?”

She blinked, surprised by his question. He’d known and married her anyway? Of course he had. He was nothing if not the embodiment of duty and responsibility. “I didn’t realize you knew,” she answered softly.

“My father informed me the day before the wedding. He said you’d wanted to cry off, but he refused to endure a scandal.”

She was having trouble drawing a deep enough breath. “Would you have preferred the scandal of calling it off to marrying me?”

His brow furrowed into deep grooves. “Of course not.”

That would have been unconscionable. Sabrina wrung her hands together, her palms moist inside her gloves. “I didn’t want to marry anyone. I was so…anxious. About everything. Just the thought of having a Season, of going out in crowds, was nearly devastating to me.” By the time she finished, she could barely hear her own words. Perhaps that was due to the blood rushing in her ears.

“Yet, you are going out into a very crowded assembly tonight,” he noted.

“Yes, because I am working on overcoming my fears. I must. I am a countess, and I mean to behave like one. I didn’t before now—certainly not when we wed, and not last Season either.” She hadn’t finished trying to explain herself to him. But would he understand? Would he even try? “I’ve always struggled in large groups of people. I’m nervous and shy, and I want to stand in the shadows so no one will talk to me. No one will see my mistakes if they aren’t paying attention.”

His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything, so she went on.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry you. I didn’t want to marry anyone. I wanted to stay at my father’s country estate and probably become a spinster.” Now she took a breath, her heart speeding.

“That’s why you love Hampton Lodge so much.” He spoke with the measured words of someone who had just learned something. “You can hide there.”

A lightness spread through her. Perhaps he was beginning to understand her. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, I can hide there. Only, I can’t hide anymore. I am a countess—your countess—and I have a duty. Someday, I will—hopefully—guide my own daughter through her Season. How can I do that if I don’t gain the confidence I need to be successful?” She took another breath, her pulse finally slowing. “Anyway, you didn’t want to marry me either.”

His gaze turned sharp. “Why would you think that?”

“My parents said you didn’t, that if I didn’t improve my behavior, you were going to cry off.”

He stared at her. The gold flecks she’d only just noticed in his hazel irises seemed to burn with incredulity. “That simply isn’t true.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise that her parents had lied to her. They would have done anything to ensure she married Aldington. Constantine.

“Your parents sound incredibly cruel,” he added.

“They are not kind. That is part of the reason I want to change. I don’t want to be manipulated or viewed as malleable. I want to sponsor your sister, attend Phoenix Club assemblies, and host a ball of my own.”

He arched a brow. “Do you?”

She’d been considering it, wondering if she had the courage. If she didn’t, she’d find it. She had to. Notching her chin up, she looked him in the eye. “Future duchesses host balls. And they don’t allow themselves to be handled.”

“So, if I told you to stay home tonight, you wouldn’t listen to me?”

Was he serious? She couldn’t tell. “No, I would not. I like how I’m changing. And I-I hope you do too. Tonight, I want to go to a ball with my friend and come home to see my husband. Will you be here?”

“I guess you’ll find out later.” He brushed past her.

“I hope you will be,” she called after him. If she kept pushing him off balance, he eventually had to fall in her direction, didn’t he?

Sabrina watched him walk up the stairs and found herself appreciating the ripple of his shoulders as he moved, as well as the slope of his calf. She imagined his bare chest and hoped it wouldn’t be too long until he revealed himself to her again.

Tonight, she’d talk to Lucien and plead with him to ensure Constantine received an invitation to join the club. Then, she intended to wait up for her husband.

After quickly changing his clothes, Constantine arrived at his brother’s terraced house just as Lucien was stepping into the foyer from the stairs. The butler, Reynolds, was a terrifying figure—loomingly tall with a nasty red scar across his cheek. Despite his fearsome appearance, however, he was quite affable and always greeted Constantine warmly.

“You’ve arrived at an inopportune time, Con,” Lucien said as he drew on his gloves. “I am just on my way to the club.”

“The Phoenix Club. Of which my wife is a now a member, but I am not.”

Lucien pressed his lips together and grimaced. “Indeed. Let us discuss the matter.” He gestured for Constantine to follow him back to the library. On the way, he removed his freshly donned gloves, then tossed them onto a table before turning to face his brother. “You’re angry.”

“You’re damned right.” That had been Constantine’s initial reaction, but he’d convinced himself he’d overreacted, that he didn’t want to belong to Lucien’s club anyway. But seeing Sabrina tonight and knowing he couldn’t accompany her to the assembly had summoned his ire even more fiercely than when she’d told him about the invitation the other night. “How can my wife be a member while I’m not even invited?”

“Simple. The membership committee extended her an invitation.” Lucien exhaled. “And not you. To be fair, your name has never been proposed for membership. To my knowledge,” he added hastily.

Constantine rolled his eyes. “Spare me your rationale and your feeble attempts to make your position on the membership committee opaque. Everyone knows you sit at the top of the Star Chamber. It’s your bloody club.”

Lucien gaped at him. “First you roll your eyes—I can’t remember the last time you did that. I think I was ten and you were twelve? Then you refer to the membership committee with that tawdry nickname? Since when did you become so enmeshed in the bon ton and their comical obsession with how members are selected for the Phoenix Club?”

Swiping his hand through the air, Constantine scoffed. “Don’t try to avoid the issue.”

“Fine, I am on the membership committee, but it might surprise you to learn I am not a king—I do not have the final say as to who receives an invitation. We are a democratic group.”

Constantine snorted. “You could have submitted my name for consideration, but to your knowledge, you have not.”

“No, I have not.” Lucien threw up his hands. “I didn’t think you would accept, nor did I imagine you would even want the courtesy of receiving an invitation knowing it was only a formality because you would, in fact, decline.”

“How do you know I would decline?” The truth was he would have. And why did he want so badly to become a member now? Because of some ancient custom that said a wife must share all things with her husband? It certainly didn’t work the other way. If he wanted to invite Sabrina to White’s, he’d be laughed at. Then probably expelled.

“Because I know you.” Lucien fixed him with an unflinching stare. “You can try to deny it, but I think I know you better than anyone. Which is unfortunate. That should be your wife’s job.”

“I’m bloody working on that.” Constantine paced to the window in a fit of agitation. “Can you get me an invitation?”

“Is it that important to you?”

Turning back to face his brother, Constantine gave a slight nod. “Apparently.”

“I’ll do my best. As I said, it’s not entirely up to me.” He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “You do rather fit our profile.”

“There’s a profile?”

“Don’t all clubs have one? It’s not as if Brooks’s or White’s will invite just anyone. Nor can everyone get a voucher to Almack’s. Where’s the importance if there’s no exclusivity?”

“Except your club doesn’t seem to follow the same rules. How many dukes do you count in your membership?”

Lucien’s gaze flicked toward the ceiling as he thought for a moment. “None, I believe.” He grinned. “They don’t need our club, and we don’t need them.”

“Does any club need anyone?”

“Certainly, if they wish to be relevant and provide a place for one to belong.”

That single word—belong—drove an ache into Constantine’s chest. He ignored it.

“I’ll do my best, Con. I promise.” Lucien retrieved his gloves. “You have not mentioned how the tutoring session went last night. I admit I’ve been dying to know.”

“It’s none of your bloody business.” Honestly, it had left him feeling uncertain about his ability to seduce Sabrina. Could he set aside his preconceptions about her, when she’d only ever been petrified of him, to improve things between them?

“That doesn’t sound as if it went well.”

“I’d like for you to arrange for her to meet me tonight.” The request tumbled from Constantine’s lips before he realized what he meant to say.

Surprise dashed across Lucien’s features. “It’s rather late notice.”

Constantine almost took it back. But he didn’t. If he planned to visit his wife tonight, he needed to know he could do what he must. He could practice with the tutor, just pretend… “I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Con said evenly, using his brother’s words.

Lucien snorted. “Always for you. I’ll send word as soon as I can confirm the appointment. Where will you be?”

“At White’s.” Constantine left, bidding good evening to Reynolds, and went out to his coach. A few minutes later, he stepped into White’s and waited for the familiar air to settle him.

It did not.

In fact, he bristled as Trowley came toward him with single-minded intent. “Aldington, there is a wager in the book about your dear sister, I’m afraid.” His features folded into what was likely meant to have been an expression of concern but in reality made the man look as if he’d stepped in horse manure.

“I pay no attention to the betting book,” Constantine said with his haughtiest tone. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“The wager is that she will remain unwed at the end of the Season. A travesty, to be sure, but—” Trowley clamped his thick lips together and glanced about. Lowering his voice, he started once more, “But no one wants to court her for fear your father will eviscerate them. I, however, am not such a weak-minded sop, and as you know, I have been widowed these past three years. My children need—”

“Excuse me, Trowley.” Constantine had located Brightly on the other side of the room and immediately took off through the throng.

Brightly saw him coming and waved him over, taking a seat at a small empty table. “Ho there, Aldington. You’re a sight for a beleaguered gentleman. I was just about to pick up and head to Brooks’s where there are kinder waters. Too many sharks here.” He glanced about, then winked at Constantine.

Thiswas better. The company of a friend. It was as if Constantine was seeing Brightly for the first time. Yes, they were friends, not just colleagues.

A footman came to the table with a tray offering port or claret. They both chose the latter and Brightly proposed a toast. “To defeating the Importation Act.”

Constantine drank to the sentiment even while he was fairly certain defeat was impossible. Brightly would not be deterred, however. He never gave up on a fight.

“Your cause is rather outnumbered, Brightly.” Constantine set his glass down, but kept his fingers curled around the stem.

“There is still time before the vote. I could use help in convincing others to join us.”

“I haven’t said how I will cast my vote. Is it wrong to want to prevent foreign imports from undercutting good English grain?”

Brightly sat forward, engaging potential debate with his entire body. “Not in theory. However, in practicality, it won’t help the lower classes. Prices are too high, and their wages have not increased. We need to provide relief, such as lower rents.”

“As you’ve done on your estate.”

Brightly’s estate in northern Essex was one of the most profitable in England, producing a great supply of barley and wheat.

“Precisely.”

Brightly made a good argument. He’d lowered his rents a few years ago and had managed to increase his profits.

“I promise I’ll come to a decision—my own—soon,” Constantine said evenly.

Brightly offered a single nod. “I want you to know that no matter what you decide, I still support regulating the apothecaries.”

“Thank you.” Constantine wished he could offer the same assertion to Brightly about the importation law. That the other man pledged his support to Constantine’s cause without demanding something in return was a rarity among those at Westminster.

Brightly grinned. “You’ll come through on the Importation Act, even if it pricks your father’s ire.”

“It will do more than prick it,” Constantine said darkly. “He’ll be livid. I hope you’re prepared for the effects of his wrath.”

Brightly looked surprised. “How will that affect me?”

The duke’s threat to have Brightly expelled from White’s rose in Constantine’s mind, though he doubted his father would actually follow through. He’d been trying to bend Constantine to his will.

Constantine quickly surveyed the large room for the familiar form of the duke but didn’t see him. If he was sitting, he likely couldn’t be seen. Constantine would hope he wasn’t here. “Trust me, he will not forget that you not only championed the opposition of the act, but that you worked to obtain my support.”

“You’re concerned he’ll seek revenge against me for winning you over?” Brightly laughed as he swept up his glass. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I am not frightened of the Duke of Evesham.” He sipped his claret and gave Constantine a devilish look over the rim of his glass.

Constantine admired the man’s courage. It made Constantine wonder if he was afraid of the duke. Not afraid, but cautious. He’d had to be, lest he end up the subject of his disdain like Lucien, and sometimes Cassandra. Thinking of that only stirred the chaos swirling inside him. He took a long drink of claret.

“I understand Lady Aldington has come to town. Mrs. Brightly and I would be delighted if you would come to dinner next week. Would Wednesday suit you?”

Constantine hesitated. Should he make plans for her? What if she’d already committed to something else? He didn’t want to reveal their uncoordinated relationship, so he responded the only way he could. “That would be brilliant. I know Lady Aldington will look forward to it.”

Uncoordinated? What a woeful understatement to describe the status of their marriage.

“Mrs. Brightly will be thrilled. Cheers!” Brightly held up his glass and finished his wine. “Now, I must be off to Brooks’s. Still work to be done this eve.” He grinned heartily, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m glad I saw you this evening—always a high point. Night!” He stood and took himself off.

Constantine smiled in spite of how his evening had started. Brightly possessed an uncanny ability to spread good will wherever he went. It was a wonder he wasn’t able to convince the entire House of Commons to vote with him.

Nursing his claret, Constantine chatted briefly with a gentleman who stopped to wish him good evening. As soon as he left, the duke sat down at the table, a frown creasing his entire face.

“Good evening, Father.” Constantine gripped his wineglass.

“Why were you talking to that miscreant again? I thought we had an arrangement.”

“You hinted at one, but yes, we do have an accord. I am going to vote in favor of the Importation Act, and you are going to appoint my wife as Cassandra’s sponsor. Starting tomorrow.”

The duke clutched a glass of port and lifted it to his lips. “I’ll do it after the vote.”

Fed up with his father’s demands, Constantine leaned forward and spoke quietly but firmly. “That won’t be for a fortnight at least. You’ll make the change now, or I’ll vote with Brightly.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Do you want to find out? Don’t forget who raised me. I will not be manipulated.” But he had been—his marriage was the prime example. “Not anymore.”

The duke studied him a moment, his eyes glinting with something that might have been admiration, but Constantine couldn’t be sure. “I see. I will speak with my sister tomorrow. You may inform Lady Aldington that her sponsorship will begin on Monday. She should come to confer with Cassandra as to her calendar.”

“I’ll make sure that she does.” Victory sang in his blood as he sipped his claret.

A footman arrived at the table and handed Constantine a letter. “Lord Aldington, this was just delivered for you.”

Anticipation gripped Constantine as he opened the parchment.

“Who is sending you notes here?” the duke demanded.

Constantine scanned the words. Lucien had set the appointment for one o’clock. That was still so many hours from now.

“No one of import.” Constantine refolded the paper and tucked it into his coat. He glanced toward the center of the room and wondered if he could endure an entire evening here. Or perhaps he should follow Brightly to Brooks’s.

Returning his attention to his father, he made the decision. He certainly didn’t want to spend the evening with the duke. Not that his father would want to either. He would likely go home soon.

Constantine finished his claret. “If you’ll excuse me, Father, I have another appointment.”

The duke glanced toward Constantine’s coat. “To do with that note?”

“Not directly, no.” Constantine stood. “It’s of no concern to you, in any case. You are not privy to my entire life, nor will you be. Good evening.”

He turned and left without allowing the duke to respond. His father was likely seething—he hated not having the last word, and Constantine rarely spoke to him like that. When he did, uncertainty and regret often took hold. He didn’t hate his father, and he actually understood why the man treated him with exacting expectation. He only wanted Constantine to be the best. He also demanded the same of Lucien and Cassandra, except they apparently fell short in the duke’s eyes. That bothered Constantine.

Walking to Brooks’s, Constantine felt the note’s presence in his coat, searing him as if it were heated. Or perhaps that was just his blood as he contemplated another meeting with the anonymous tutor. Who was she? And why was he looking forward to seeing her so much?

He realized he’d enjoyed their conversation. Some of it had been uncomfortable, but it had been necessary. He had to think of Sabrina differently, had to treat her differently.

That her anxiety and shyness had been so crippling for her was distressing. Along with the fact that her parents hadn’t seemed to care. Why force a Season on a young woman who wasn’t prepared? Let alone a marriage? Not even his father was that cruel. When Cassandra had asked to delay her Season, he’d allowed it. And she wasn’t plagued by a paralyzing fear of people.

The fact that he was looking forward to his time with the tutor later picked at Constantine’s mind. He shouldn’t be anticipating it, and he wouldn’t allow what had happened last night—they would only talk. Now that he knew Sabrina didn’t actually loathe him, he could, perhaps, seduce her.

Hopefully the tutor could help him formulate a plan. Her purpose was to educate, and he was ready to learn.