Impassioned by Darcy Burke

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 about. “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.”

MacNair stepped toward Constantine, his gaze darting behind him and toward the stair hall. “Ah, Aldington, you may want to continue this in a more private location,” he said quietly.

Constantine turned his head and muttered a curse. A small group of guests had gathered to watch him hit his brother. This would be the talk of the evening, far worse than a dearth of ice or a loose kitten running amok.

If the ball had been a disaster before, it was now a catastrophe.

Cassandra and Prudence had looked at Sabrina in question after Constantine had gone back into the house. After muttering something nonsensical and which she couldn’t even remember a few minutes later, Sabrina had rushed inside and ducked up the backstairs to find a moment’s peace.

She felt terrible about how Constantine had learned the truth. He’d looked so utterly shocked. Beyond that, however, she didn’t know what he’d felt. Was he angry? Hurt? Disappointed?

She felt as if the world was squeezing in around her. No, she would not collapse. Taking long, deep breaths, she stood on the first floor landing and willed herself to remain calm. She just had to make it through the rest of the evening. And then she could face Constantine.

That did nothing to ease her mind or her anxiety.

Though she didn’t feel much better, she couldn’t disappear from the ball. She’d already done that earlier with Constantine when they’d shared that wonderful interlude in her dressing room. Had that been tonight instead of some long ago dream?

She stepped out of the stairwell and moved toward the drawing room. The rest of the evening would move swiftly and without incident. It had to. What more could go wrong?

Her mother walked from the drawing room and intercepted her. “There you are, Sabrina.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “This ball is an absolute tragedy. I fear you won’t be able to hold your head up in Society.”

Tragedy. Much to Sabrina’s chagrin, she flinched.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself? Or your husband?”

Why would she include Constantine? “I realize you’re quite used to denigrating me, but I won’t allow you to insult my husband, especially not here in his home.” His home. As if it weren’t hers too.

“I wasn’t insulting him. He’s the one who created a scene by hitting his own brother.”

What on earth had happened? Before the question even finished in her mind, she knew. Constantine was angry with him about the tutoring stratagem. And he had every right to be angry—with her too.

Except, shouldn’t she be angry as well? He was the one who’d betrayed her with another woman. Another woman who was her. Sabrina’s head began to throb. She massaged her fingertips against her temple. “Please excuse me, Mother.”

Sabrina began to turn and felt her mother’s hand on her arm.

“I wasn’t finished speaking, Sabrina.” The viscountess dropped her hand to her side.

“Well, I am finished listening,” Sabrina hissed back at her. She’d managed to keep herself together all night, and she simply couldn’t do it any longer. Stepping closer to her mother, she let anger and hurt meld into a vitriol she’d never felt before. “Not just tonight but forever. I don’t wish to hear anything more you have to say about me, my behavior, or my husband. And I definitely don’t want to hear anymore snide comments about my lack of a child or my failure as a countess. You’ve never understood me or even wanted to.” Heart pounding and hands shaking, Sabrina moved past her toward the drawing room—she wasn’t going to let her mother distract her from her duty.

Somehow, Sabrina made it through the rest of the ball without retreating to her room, suffering an attack of nerves, or seeing her husband for more than a fleeting moment. Whether Fate had decided to keep them apart for the remainder of the evening or Constantine had just been particularly adept at avoiding her, it wasn’t until nearly three o’clock after the last guests had departed that she found him in their sitting room.

He sat near the hearth, his hand clutching a glass of something that wasn’t wine. She would have guessed gin, given the lack of color, but she’d never known him to drink that. And why would she? A week or so of togetherness did not mean they were close.

“Have you been waiting for me?” she asked, clutching the gloves she’d removed as she’d climbed the stairs.

“Shouldn’t I have been? You indicated that you had some explaining to do.”

“I do, and I will.” She moved toward him. “I heard about what happened with Lucien.”

“All of London has heard by now.” His lip curled before he took a sip of his drink. “There will be a hundred stories as to why.” He looked up at her, his gaze inscrutable. “None of them will come close to the truth, however.”

“I can’t imagine they would.” Sabrina slowly lowered herself into the chair facing his in front of the hearth. The usual twitter of anxiety rattled inside her. She clasped her hands together in case they started to quiver.

“It’s a rather unusual situation.” His voice carried an air of detachment. Sabrina couldn’t tell at all how he was feeling. “My father has ended your sponsorship of Cassandra.”

Though she wasn’t surprised, Sabrina was still disappointed. “Because the ball was such a mess?”

He tipped his head in a slight nod. “And because I didn’t hold up my end of a bargain we made.” Before she could ask him about that, he asked, “Was the tutor stratagem your idea or Lucien’s?”

Sabrina licked her suddenly very dry lips. “Lucien’s. And Evie’s. She suggested it to me.”

Constantine’s nostrils flared. “They worked together then.”

“Yes.”

He speared her with a dark stare. “With you.”

“Yes. You were also involved,” she added quietly, her gaze drifting to her lap.

“Of course I was involved—I was the mark.”

She snapped her head up. “You weren’t a mark.”

“Wasn’t I? You were all in on the ruse while I was the dupe.” He wasn’t wrong, and it was the aspect that had tortured the back of Sabrina’s mind, even while they’d reaped the benefits of the deception.

“You weren’t a dupe. At least, I never thought of you as such. I thought this would help matters, and it did, didn’t it?”

He took another sip. “But I also thought it would help matters. Whether it did or not, perhaps you’ll agree it wasn’t the best idea.” Now, she could see the emotion simmering just beneath the surface of his calm veneer.

“No, it was not. Still, it brought us here, didn’t it?”

“To a place where secrets and lies are revealed and not because we shared them. We seem to suffer a lack of honesty and forthrightness. For myself, I have tried very hard—perhaps too hard—to protect you, to keep you from being overset. I resolve not to do that any longer. And you are going to have to find a way to speak your mind. I know you can do it, as evidenced from the very first night you arrived in London.” The last part carried a hint of derision.

She understood what he meant. She’d had the courage and nerve to demand he bed her every night to have a child, but she hadn’t been able to set aside her apprehension to facilitate that. Not until she’d become the tutor. Thinking about it from his perspective made her understand how he would feel—hurt, upset, perhaps even that she was afraid of him.

“I’m sorry for that,” she said softly. “It took me a long time to gather the courage to come here, to…change, to be the countess I need to be.” And so far, she’d utterly failed—from the ball tonight to sponsoring Cassandra, to being a wife.

Lines furrowed around his eyes, and suddenly he looked sad. “I’m sorry you saw me as such a fearsome person that you had to work so hard to approach me. I should have done more when we were first married to put you at ease. Perhaps we are not well suited after all. I am a focused…dispassionate person. You are easily upset, anxious.” He finished his gin and stood, the empty glass dangling from his fingertips. “Let us hope you are with child by now so that we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”

She stared up at him, words freezing on her tongue before she could utter them.

“I apologize for ruining your ball by hitting Lucien.”

A humorless laugh spilled from her lips. “It was ruined before then. I’m sorry it all went so badly. I hope it won’t reflect poorly on you.”

“It will likely reflect poorly on both of us. It’s a good thing neither one of us really cares for the social whirl.” The emptiness in his eyes made her shiver. Was this the same man who’d run to her defense earlier? Who’d seduced her in her dressing chamber? Who’d shown her that love wasn’t only real but that it was possible for her to feel?

He strode past her to the cabinet, swept up a bottle on the way to his chamber, and closed the door firmly behind him. She heard the lock catch.

Did he mean for them to go their separate ways? He’d certainly implied that by saying he hoped she was already with child. She smoothed her hand over her belly.

It was very late, and she was exhausted. There would be time for them to talk, to move past this…unpleasantness. Did he really think of it like that? The past days had been the happiest of her life, far surpassing pleasant.

She had to think they could find their way back to that. Unless he was right, that they weren’t truly suited for one another.

Pressing her hand to her midsection, she thought, at least I got what I came for. Probably.

Only that was no longer enough.