Impassioned by Darcy Burke

Chapter 3

The crisp, late winter air bit at Constantine’s cheeks as he thundered down Rotten Row. He’d slept horribly, his mind and body awash with thoughts of his wife’s demands.

She’d actually demanded he visit her every night until she was with child. He still didn’t recognize the woman who’d arrived at his house unannounced.

And the thought of bedding her—every night—made him twitch with anxiety. The act was dull and dutiful, and every time he did the deed with her, he felt…empty. Especially when he compared the occasions with the times he’d been with a woman before he was married. Those nights had been filled with joy and sweat and rapture.

Constantine could imagine his wife’s reaction—horror, revulsion, and perhaps even tears. Not that he recalled her crying on any occasion. She had, however, seemed close a time or two, particularly on their disastrous wedding night. Just thinking of that made him cringe.

No, he couldn’t envision her appreciating a passionate advance from him. She’d never once given any inkling that she wanted him or felt any attraction or desire toward him. If she had, what would he have done?

There was no point in wondering. They were currently faced with a duty, and they would meet it. Perhaps now that she was demanding him to visit her, she would be more amenable to the act? He simply couldn’t imagine it. But then he never would have imagined her behavior last night either.

He had to admit he wanted to shut his father up about having an heir. The duke had recently begun to badger him about whether his countess was capable of giving him a son. He’d also noted that she and Constantine didn’t spend enough time together to give the matter the appropriate attention and effort.

Oh hell, was the duke behind Lady Aldington’s sudden change of behavior?

Constantine slowed his mount as he reached the end of the track. His father was an overbearing, meddling authoritarian. Of course he was behind this. Constantine should have seen his manipulation straightaway. He’d simply been too astounded at her sudden arrival. And by the way she’d cared for him. Seeing her never failed to steal his breath, and her touch had driven a stake of keen yearning straight through him.

He’d been too long without a woman. If only he’d been able to alleviate his needs last night with the courtesan.

Scowling to himself and eager for another bruising ride along the track, he turned his horse only to see his brother riding toward him.

“Morning, Con,” Lucien greeted with a wide smile that always seemed genuine, no matter the time of day or occasion.

“I’m exercising.” He sounded terse, and he didn’t care.

“As genial as ever. I’ll race you to the other end then.”

They’d been competitive about a great many things throughout their lives, but riding was something at which neither was better than the other. Sometimes Lucien won and sometimes Constantine did. “Yes.”

The word barely left Constantine’s lips before Lucien raced forward.

Muttering a curse, Constantine kicked his horse into a full gallop. It took him nearly the entire length of the track, but he ultimately overtook his younger brother and emerged the victor.

“Feeling better?” Lucien asked after they’d walked their horses for a few minutes.

“Yes, thank you. It always feels good to win.”

Letting out a sharp laugh, Lucien cast him a sidelong look from atop his horse as they walked beside each other. “I let you win to improve your mood.”

Constantine snorted. “You never let anyone win, not even for the sake of someone’s mental state.”

“Do I need to be concerned about your mental state?”

“No.” Despite the fact that his mind could not fully comprehend his wife’s sudden change in behavior. Or that she wanted him to bed her every night. For the purpose of having a child—he mustn’t forget that was all she wanted.

This predicament wouldn’t confound Lucien. Hell, it never would have happened in the first place. Lucien would have successfully seduced his wife on their wedding night, if his reputation as an accomplished and sought-after lover was to be believed. Constantine tried not to pay too close attention. Such things should be private.

Aside from his reputation, Lucien was known for helping people. Constantine knew that from personal experience since he’d been eager to provide assistance when Constantine had decided to take a mistress.

“Are you certain I needn’t be concerned?” Lucien asked, keeping his voice low, since there were other riders about, not that any of them were close enough to overhear them. “I heard what happened last night. I apologize for the confusion.”

“Confusion? You promised me secrecy and absolute discretion. Now I must worry whether Overton or his young ward will tell anyone they saw me.”

Lucien shook his head with a half smile. “You’re daft if you’re worried about that. Why would they endanger their own reputations?”

While Constantine assumed they would not, the encounter still didn’t sit well with him. “I don’t like that they know I was there. It will make things extremely uncomfortable. Especially since I saw what they were doing. I can’t believe Overton has fallen so far as to take advantage of his ward.”

“They are in love, actually,” Lucien said with more than a hint of exasperation. “And currently on their way to Gretna Green where they will be wed.” He pinned Constantine with an expectant stare. “Don’t you possess even a tiny shard of romanticism in your cold, black heart?”

His heart wasn’t cold or black. It just wasn’t terribly…alive. Not since he’d lost the only person who’d ever loved him fifteen years ago.

“I do,” Constantine said defensively, even as he felt the tiniest tinge of envy for Overton and his ward. “Lady Aldington arrived last night.” He blurted the revelation without any thought.

Lucien blinked in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were expecting her.”

“I wasn’t.” Constantine sealed his lips together lest he share anything else without thinking, such as the reason for her arrival.

“You don’t seem enthused,” Lucien observed. “Would you rather she’d stayed at Hampton Lodge?”

“Of course not. She should be in London for the Season.”

“I should think she ought to be in London to be with her husband.” Lucien spoke lightly but with an edge of concern that only dredged up Constantine’s sour mood. He hated when his brother tried to meddle—it was bad enough when their father did.

“Mind your own business,” Constantine muttered.

“There’s my surly brother.” Lucien laughed. “One of these days I’m going to wedge that stick out of your ass, and you are going to feel so much better.”

“I need to get to Westminster.” Constantine turned his horse.

“Have a splendid day!” Lucien called after him.

As he rode from the park, Constantine pushed his brother’s cheerfulness out of his mind. For a man who’d fought in Portugal and been sent home after being injured, he was particularly pleasant. And that was in spite of their father’s badgering. The duke looked for every opportunity to question why Lucien wasn’t still fighting, since his injury hadn’t caused any lasting effects.

Constantine guided his horse into the mews and dismounted. “Excellent ride, Zephyr,” he murmured before declining the groom’s assistance. He generally liked to care for his horses when he had the time, which wasn’t often when he was in town. Since his encounter with Lucien had cut his riding time short, he took advantage. Brushing Zephyr soothed Constantine’s agitation, and by the time he walked into the house, he was feeling better than he had all day. He’d just go upstairs to change before heading to Westminster.

Haddock met him in the foyer. “Good afternoon, my lord. Your gig will be ready shortly.”

With a nod, Constantine started toward the stairs. “I’ll be back down directly, Haddock.” He looked over his shoulder to see the housekeeper, Mrs. Haddock, walk into the foyer, her gaze on her husband. Haddock pivoted, his brows arching slightly before his features softened.

Constantine had never noticed the butler doing that before, but then they didn’t realize he was watching. Their mutual attention was entirely focused on each other as they spoke in low tones that Constantine couldn’t overhear. Were they discussing a household matter or something more…intimate? Constantine was reminded of how his marriage didn’t have similar moments.

With an abrupt turn, he climbed the stairs and at the top nearly collided with the countess. As usual, he was momentarily stunned by her beauty. Because he didn’t see her regularly, he reasoned. Her honey-gold hair was only visible under the front brim of her bonnet, and a rather plain, pale walking gown draped her figure. She was just pulling on her gloves.

He swept his hat from his head. “Are you on your way out?” Constantine was surprised, for she didn’t often venture from the house, and certainly not the morning after she’d arrived.

“I have errands.” Her voice carried that haughty edge he’d detected briefly last night.

“What sort of errands?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, and he wondered if she’d ever done that in the history of their acquaintance. “The sort that would bore you.”

Constantine straightened. “I see.”

Her gaze dipped. “How is your hand?”

“It still hurts. More than I would have expected, actually.” It didn’t really, but if he could postpone the resumption of his marital duties until he’d sorted his thoughts, he would seize the opportunity.

Thatwas prompting his delay? Sorting his thoughts?

“Perhaps you should not have gone riding,” she suggested. “You might put more salve on it. That would ease the pain. Unless you prefer to be uncomfortable.” Did she think he was using the wound as an excuse?

Which he was, dammit.

He did not know what to make of this woman. “I’ll do that before I go to Westminster.”

“Will I see you later this evening?” Now she gave him an expectant look, her hands clasped before her.

“I will likely be late.”

“Of course you will,” she murmured before summoning a slight smile and then abandoning it. “I’ll wait up. Should you find your…disposition improved.”

Before he could reply—and really, what the hell could he say at this juncture without sounding like a complete ass—she’d started down the stairs. He stared after her, wondering again who this new Lady Aldington was and what had happened to provoke this stark and bewildering change.

Perhaps he should visit her tonight. If she was so changed, she might be different in their marriage bed. She certainly didn’t seem to be anxious or tense around him as she had before. Was there a chance she wanted to participate?

Making his way to his chamber, Constantine stopped abruptly in the sitting room as he caught the scent of apples and vanilla. His wife smelled like that, he realized.

For a moment, he tried to think of doing things to her that would make her scream with pleasure. He couldn’t envision it. All he saw was her pale, mortified face.

He should speak with her plainly—ask if she was still going to quiver with apprehension and turn rigid until he left her. But to speak of such things gave him tremors of anxiety. And she thought him dispassionate. Her description had pricked him, made him question whether it was true.

Of course it was.

For fifteen long years, he’d worked hard to keep every emotion bottled tight. Before that, he’d only revealed them to one person, to the mother who’d loved him and assured him his father did too. Constantine wasn’t sure he believed that. The duke was proud of him, but that was not the same thing.

How he wished he could talk to her now, ask her what he should do and whether he was completely wrongheaded about his wife or, hell, about everything. Since he could not, he went into his chamber and carried on with his day.

The thrill of saying exactly what she’d wanted and the resulting expression of shock and uncertainty on her husband’s face was still thrumming through Sabrina when she met Charity downstairs. Together, they left the house and went to the coach, where a groom helped them inside.

“Where are we going, my lady?” Charity asked with an edge of excitement. This was her first time leaving the house as a lady’s maid, and she’d confessed that she was a trifle nervous.

“Just a few errands,” Sabrina said vaguely. Though she’d received Charity’s assurance that she wouldn’t gossip, Sabrina wasn’t going to freely offer information about certain things. And their first stop was one of those things.

When the coach entered Piccadilly, Charity asked if they were going shopping.

“We may.” That depended on what happened next.

A few minutes later, they rolled into St. James Square and then onto King Street, where the coach stopped in front of a small terrace house.

Sabrina turned her head to the maid who was staring out the window. “Now, Charity, you are going to remain in the coach while I pay this call. I shan’t be long.” With a brief smile, Sabrina left the vehicle and stopped short when she encountered the person she’d come to see.

“Lady Aldington?” Lord Lucien Westbrook squinted briefly as he came toward her. He removed his hat and offered her a bow. “What a delightful surprise.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.

“Not at all. I am just returning from the mews after riding in the park. I saw your husband there, in fact.”

Sabrina did not react to him seeing Aldington. “May we go inside for a few minutes?”

“My apologies. I should have invited you straightaway.” He indicated for her to precede him to the door where the butler admitted them inside.

Lord Lucien’s house was much smaller and less opulently decorated than his brother’s or father’s. Which wasn’t to say it was spartan. The entry hall was compact, but the white marble floor gleamed, and a painting of a cloudy sky graced the wall.

“It’s an odd painting for an entry hall, I’ll grant you,” he said. “It reminds me of the sky in Portugal. I would lie on my back and stare up at the clouds, wondering where they’d been and where they were going. Sometimes, I fancied reaching up and catching a ride.”

She turned her head from the painting to see him smiling. “How do you possess so much charm compared to the other males in your family?”

Lines creased across his forehead as his smile dissipated, and a slight grimace pulled at his mouth instead. “Shall we adjourn to the library?”

He led her from the entry past the stairs and into the room at the back of the ground floor. It was a library but also a parlor with a comfortable seating area. Her gaze fell on a large desk in the corner, which was stacked with papers, and she realized it was also his study. It seemed Lord Lucien was an economical man, at least when it came to space.

“Can I offer you refreshment?” He stood in the center of the room, perhaps waiting for her to choose a place to sit.

“No, thank you.” Her bravado faltered for a moment. It was one thing to boldly face her husband and another to approach her brother-in-law, whom she didn’t know all that well. Then again, did she really know her husband well either? Perhaps not, but her frustration with him and their marriage provided an excellent fuel for her audacity. “I came to, ah, ask for your assistance. I understand you do that. Provide assistance, I mean.”

One of his dark brows ticked up. “I see. Tell me how I can help.”

Sabrina moved to a chair and perched on the edge of the peacock blue cushion. Lord Lucien set his hat and gloves upon the desk and took another chair nearby.

Gathering her courage, she laid out precisely what she required. “I am in need of a new wardrobe, and I should like to receive invitations to the best events the Season has to offer. You may wonder why I’m coming to you for this, and the truth is that I don’t know where else to go. I can’t ask my mother. She thinks my wardrobe is fine, and she’ll only tell me that as the Countess of Aldington, I already have everything I need and shouldn’t desire anything more.”

“How unhelpful,” he murmured. “I am sorry about that. Are there no other women with whom you may confer?”

Sabrina shook her head, feeling the old, familiar heat in her cheeks. Anxiety floated up her throat, and she struggled to swallow.

“I know just the person who can help you,” he said warmly. “Mrs. Renshaw is one of the patronesses at the Phoenix Club. She has excellent taste and is well-versed in the latest fashions. I’m not entirely sure how to help you garner the ‘best’ invitations, but I do have an idea that will vault you to the inner circle of London gossip and intrigue.”

That sounded troublesome. Sabrina didn’t care for gossip or intrigue. “Oh dear, do I want that?”

“Yes, because it will prompt people to invite you to everything.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, then I suppose I must. What is your idea?”

“I’m going to present your name to the membership committee of the Phoenix Club.”

She leaned forward and forgot she was already quite close to the edge of the seat. Gripping the arm of the chair, she resettled herself more firmly on the cushion. “Is Aldington a member?” She didn’t think he was, but she was hardly informed as to her husband’s activities.

“He is not.”

“Then how could I be a member?”

“Membership has nothing to do with a husband—or wife. We have several members whose spouses have not been invited and will likely never be.”

“Aldington would hate that,” she said softly, thinking it was the most wonderful idea she’d ever heard. She met Lord Lucien’s dark—and suddenly curious—gaze. “What a lovely offer, thank you.”

He rubbed his hand against his jaw a moment, studying her. “I don’t wish to intrude, but if you’re comfortable sharing, I wonder what is prompting this?”

There was no reason to say anything other than the truth. “I wish to be more like a countess.” It was her hope that Aldington would be more inclined to give her the attention she required if she better fulfilled her role. She lifted her chin and stiffened her spine. “I’m weary of being overlooked and ignored, of being shy and afraid.”

Lord Lucien blinked, a look of admiration flickering in his gaze, his head cocking to the side, as if he were regarding her in a new light. “I am delighted—no thrilled—to help. I can only imagine what Con thinks of this.”

“He doesn’t exactly know. I didn’t expect he could help me with any of this.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Lord Lucien winced, as if he’d stepped in a thorny shrub. “I take it the state of your marriage is as sad as it looks.”

Sabrina was mildly surprised by his bluntness but didn’t find it unwelcome. “I don’t know how it ‘looks,’ but since we spend most of our time apart and I couldn’t tell you what he likes for breakfast or whether he is a member of the Phoenix Club, I would say sad is an accurate description.”

Now, he shocked her by swearing under his breath. “My apologies, Lady Aldington, but my brother is a colossal ass.”

“I won’t disagree with that assessment. However, in his defense, I have been less than amenable. I have been shy and…afraid.”

His eyes took on a dark intensity. “Not of him, I hope.”

“Not like that. He’s…intimidating. Or he was before I decided I wasn’t going to perceive him that way anymore. Honestly, you’re intimidating.”

“Am I?”

“I suspect it’s the Westbrook way.” Or the fact that nearly everyone intimidated her. Used to intimidate her.

“That sounds like some sort of rule that my father and brother would like. Hence, I hate it.” His tone was breezy and charming, and in that moment, Sabrina decided not to be intimidated by Lord Lucien either. Their father, however, was another matter. Hopefully she’d only have to suffer his company once or twice before she was able to return to Hampton Lodge where she would delightedly await the arrival of her child.

But first she had to entice her husband to create that child.

Would this transformation snare his attention? Joining the Phoenix Club would. It could also make him very angry. She’d seen a glimpse of his temper and wasn’t sure how far he could be pushed.

“I’m not going to be intimidated by you either, Lord Lucien,” Sabrina said, circling back to where they’d left off before thoughts of a murky but hopeful future had distracted her.

“Please call me Lucien. We are brother and sister, even if only by marriage.”

“Then you must call me Sabrina. I admit I find it odd that you and Lady Cassandra refer to Aldington by his Christian name.”

“How do you refer to him?”

“I don’t, really.”

“Of course you don’t,” Lucien muttered, wiping a hand over his forehead. “What is your end goal here, Sabrina? Are you trying to make this marriage into something more than it is?”

“Since it is currently next to nothing, yes. I’m not ready to ignore it. Certainly not until after I have a child.” Once she was no longer alone, she didn’t particularly care what happened.

His dark brows shot up. “That is your goal then—a child?”

“Yes.”

He massaged his temple. “You aren’t asking for help with that, are you?”

“No.” She would not rule it out, however. Perhaps Mrs. Renshaw could be of assistance. She was a widow, after all.

Lucien sat forward in the chair, his hands braced on his knees. “I am going to pledge my assistance—and that of Evie, Mrs. Renshaw, I mean—to you. My brother might be the most uptight, remote jackass in England, next to our father of course, but I love him and want to see him happy, even if he doesn’t know what that means.”

“Do you think that’s true?” Sabrina didn’t know or understand her husband at all.

“Sometimes, yes. It’s been ages since I can recall a time when he seemed genuinely joyful, and I’m sorry to say it wasn’t when he married you.” His brow furrowed, and he looked past her. “I think it was before our mother died.”

“I’ve often wondered about that. He’s never spoken of her.”

Lucien’s gaze snapped to hers. “Never?”

She shook her head, and he sat back, extending his legs out while he adopted a pensive expression, his cheeks elongating as he tightened his jaw.

“Perhaps jealousy would unseat the giant stick up Con’s ass,” Lucien mused.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lucien sat straight and waved his hand. “We need to provoke a reaction from your husband, and your transformation will do just that. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you’re admitted to the Phoenix Club with due haste. That way you can attend the assembly next Friday. That will drive him mad, I’m sure. Especially when you are the toast of the ball.” His mouth spread into a wide, cat-like grin. “Come, let us go see Mrs. Renshaw.” He jumped to his feet and offered her his hand.

Sabrina took it, rising slowly to her feet as a mixture of excitement and trepidation washed over her. “Now?”

“There is no time to lose. The new enigmatic and devastatingly charming Lady Aldington awaits.” He waggled his brows at her, and Sabrina’s insides turned over. She hadn’t imagined such enthusiastic support.

Gratitude, along with a myriad of other emotions, welled within her. “Thank you.” She only hoped she could become the things he said. She’d give anything to be that woman.