Romancing the Rogue (64 page)

~~~~

“What has my
wife been up to, Jeffers?”

“I prefer not to gossip, Your Grace. That does not suit.”

Percy harrumphed. “Must you adhere to protocol at all times? I do not want to be reminded that I’m not worthy to eat your bannocks.”

“Old habits die hard, Your Grace.”

Percy folded the Gazette and placed it near his plate. He had no interest in the news. Jeffers’ attempts at humor thwarted his concentration, and he grew sour with impatience. He was eager to see Constance. Heaven help him, he couldn’t get enough of the woman. What was taking her so long?

Plagued by thoughts of his father’s death and his pleasurable night in Constance’s bed, he brooded over her new status as the Duchess of Blendingham and what that would entail. He walked a tight rope where she was concerned, risking a legacy hundreds of years in the making.

“
I’m not who you think I am,”
she’d said.

Those seven words were ingrained into his mind. But what had she really been trying to tell him? Was she going to admit she was pregnant with a pirate’s baby,
his
baby? The idea was ludicrous. Had she been prepared to admit she was an informant? That she was, in fact, in cahoots with Josiah Cane and Frink? Improbable. He doubted there could be any involvement with Frink. He’d been aboard the Octavia and witnessed her violent interaction with the captain.

Still, something wasn’t quite right.

For nigh on a week, he’d watched her toss and turn in her sleep. Last night he hadn’t meant to wake her, but she’d seen him. His father’s death, the heavy weight the duchy placed on him, and questions about her loyalties had driven him to her side. That he’d needed her more than anything else in the world jolted him. He’d never needed anyone like he needed, wanted Constance. But burdensome complexities arose from that admission.

He was playing a game that might destroy her.

She had feelings for another man. To add to his dismay, he also had two buffoons seeking their marital demise, Burton and Frink.

His fingers played with the evidence in his pocket, tracing the engravings as if he knew each curve by heart. As well he should after spending a week pondering how the trinket had gotten into the wrong hands. Retrieving the silver locket, he glanced down at the polished surface, engraved with the initials OD and caught his reflection. His powdered skin and hawkish eyes condemned him for being false. He was a fool to expect a woman to fall in love with a popinjay. Constance wasn’t a fool. She was very much like the sparkling silver between his fingers, a polished embellishment, providing a gentleman distinguished swagger, making him the envy of every other male in Town.

Burton wanted Constance, badly enough to threaten her. Frink sought to kill her. Guffald desired her, but Percy discounted his friend, knowing he would sidestep if Percy demanded it. What about Thomas Sexton? Making love to his wife was a difficult if not satisfying affair. In her arms, he could neither be a duke by light of day or a pirate by night.

Voices carried down the stairs, alerting him that he would no longer be alone. Setting aside his concerns, he was eager to share Constance’s company, to gauge whether or not she still had that same passionate glow in the wake of their lovemaking. He placed the locket back in his banyan.

“Good morning, Jeffers,” her melodic voice sang. Her skirts swished and he could hear the tap, tap, tap, of her slippered feet on the marble floor.

“You’ll find a vast array of delicacies to sample this morning, Your Grace. His Grace is already seated. Ring if you need me. I shall not be far.”

“Thank you, Jeffers. You’re most accommodating.”

Percy closed his eyes and listened to her gentile voice — wonderfully light, soft, and clear — and then opened them to watch her round the corner with Mrs. Mortimer at her side. The two women who stood before him couldn’t have been more different. Mrs. Mortimer, with unruly graying hair and dour skin, paled beside his lovely wife whose blonde hair had been arranged in looped braids. Spiraled curls fit for a Grecian goddess added a halo around her head. And her sunny disposition was a boon to his spirits.

Mrs. Mortimer glared at him strangely, making his gut tighten with apprehension. Lies and secrets had been forced on more than one soul at his table.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Constance said, her green eyes softening.

“My gel.” He stood and bowed. “Mrs. Mortimer,” he offered with a polite nod from the head of the table.

Constance curtsied. “Mrs. Mortimer told me the terrible news about your father. Please accept my heartfelt condolences,” she said, reaching for him.

He accepted her hand. “Thank you, madam, for your concern.”

Constance responded so quickly he couldn’t keep up. “I hope your father did not suffer. Were you able to attend his funeral? Did any of your relatives join you? I am heartily sorry that I couldn’t attend. A wife ought to be with her husband during times like these. Why didn’t you send for me?”

“Odd’s fish, madam,” he exclaimed, trying to remember everything she’d just said. “I have only just returned and you waylay me with questions like an experienced constable.”

“How am I supposed to react?” she asked, her gentle, contemplative eyes searching his. “My heart aches for you, Your Grace.”

“You are overly generous,” he said. “Were I a wiser man and you any other woman, I’d suggest you had your mind set on a bauble or some trifle to go along with your new position.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I prefer your happiness, Your Grace. If you loved your father half as much as I love mine, I understand how greatly affected you must be by his death.”

He nodded, placing his hand over his heart. “I accept.”

She’d gone to great lengths for her father. Would she be proud of the lengths to which he’d gone to console his? But she couldn’t know. Because play his part he must to the bitter end, without involving her and putting her in danger. “Fortunately, I know how much your father means to you and therefore, cannot be tempted to take offense.”

She settled into the seat beside him. With tactical ease, she reached across the divide, grabbed his right hand, and began stroking the sapphire set within the silver Blendingham family crest — his grandfather’s ring. She’d never seen him without the ring, a purposeful invention on his part and one he’d meant to use to keep her from confusing his two personas.

What brokered her fascination with the trinket now? Or was the ring an excuse to touch him? He preferred the later.

“My heart aches for you. I assure you that your father has been in my prayers since I discovered his illness on our wedding night.”

Did she have to bring up that night? Though he’d remedied their union, their wedding night was the night he’d discovered her locket in enemy hands.

“What is dear to you is dear to me, as well,” she confided with a nod.

Her eyes sparkled like dew drops on newly opened petals in a spring garden. She appeared innocent, adoring. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Was she simply a pawn in Cane’s devilish game? Or was she the instrument of his demise? He squirmed beneath her adoring eyes. She made him thankful he was alive. She’d bewitched him, unarmed him in the daylight, and charmed him out of darkness. No. This definitely would not do. The yellow-ribboned fluff seated before him, the woman he called wife, was his Achilles’ heel. And woe to them both when his enemies became aware of it. He couldn’t allow her to get too close. For her own sake — for his.

Shifting in his chair, he snatched his hand away. “Cream?”

Nothing scared him more than the slip of a girl perched at his right. He stirred his morning libation and flipped open the
Morning Post
then the
Gazetteer
. She mumbled something under her breath, making him extremely grateful for his sanctuary behind the thin paper barrier. China clanked unceremoniously in the quiet. Putting aside the dailies, he noted the glistening sheen in Constance’s eyes and was once more overtaken with unease. What now?

Removing his ring, he turned it over in his fingers, admiring the facets on the stones as they caught the light. “There, there. Since you’ve shown fascination for my ring, I wish you to have it, my gel.”

Her eyes filled with a mysterious longing.

“No more tears. Take the bauble. It’s my gift. No harm will ever come to you with it on your finger.”

Speechlessly, her gaze flickered from him to the gift and back. Percy reached over and gently closed her gaping mouth with his fingers. Her gaze dropped to his hand and then her lap. “I cannot accept it,” she said.

“Does my gift displease you? I thought ladies trembled with delight at beautiful things.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no — I mean to say, y-yes!” she stuttered. “But I cannot accept your gift. The ring is important to you and your family, Percy. If I should ever
—
”

“I trust you. It would do me great honor to have you wear it. I want everyone to know you are an Avery now.” He wanted to send a silent message to those she conspired with that he was fully aware of their connections. That it was only a matter of time before her identity was revealed, if she was at risk.

“It’s too large for my finger, Your Grace,” she protested.

Clucking momentarily, he said, “Then you shall wear it around your neck as you did your mother’s necklace. Perhaps you will cherish it as much.”

Mrs. Mortimer dropped a serving utensil and her plate abruptly hit the floor. “Oh!” the woman squealed, mortified. “Do forgive my clumsiness.”

“Let me help you, Morty,” Constance said, providing him a delectable view of her derriere as she bent to retrieve the broken pieces scattered about their feet. “No harm done,” she added. She turned and moved closer, revealing two tempting mounds of woman’s flesh for his perusal. Though his eyes fixated on her ample gifts, he didn’t miss her concern. Did she think he would flog the old woman over a broken plate? Frowning that he grew hard watching his wife try to help the woman, Percy shifted in his chair. Clearly she was ignorant of her effect on him.

He fisted the ring in his hand until his knuckles turned white. Constance deserved to be mollycoddled and he wanted to be the one to do it.

“Let Jeffers see to this mess,” he said, shooing Constance’s companion away.

Mrs. Mortimer’s eyes smoldered and her brows furrowed. Bloody hell! The audacity! Was she scolding him? Why he allowed the woman’s displeasure to dig into his pride, he couldn’t be sure, but he suddenly had another problem on his hands. A problem he should have taken care of a month ago.

“All is well! You see, no harm done,” Constance assured an annoyed Jeffers, who’d responded almost as quickly as she.

The two women flashed meaningful glances as Jeffers departed with the remnants of Mrs. Mortimer’s dishes. When the elder woman turned back for another plate, she flashed a penalizing frown in his direction.
Damn!
It was high time he admonished Mrs. Mortimer for continuing to remind him she was onto him.

“Clearly, my dear Mrs. Mortimer, you have got to do something about your nerves,” he jabbed.

The woman had the most unwelcome timing, one of the reasons he’d kept her from Constance aboard the Striker and forced her to serve in the galley. Her foolhardy eyes challenged him at every turn, making him regret not marooning her when he had the chance.

“Morty’s nerves are fine, Your Grace. ’Twas an accident, nothing more.”

“Accident?” He smirked. He wasn’t sure he could allow the woman to be so indulged. Didn’t his dear wife know that Mrs. Mortimer never did anything by accident?

When he spoke again, his voice held no hint of displeasure. “Constance, after we break our fast, I’d like to take you on a ride through Hyde Park. It’s proving to be a beautiful day and we have much to discuss.”

Constance reached for a cup of chocolate, sipping the hot liquid slowly. She exchanged a glance with Mrs. Mortimer, the woman who’d become a thorn in his side. Said woman fixed him with a troubled frown.

“Wouldn’t that be improper?” she asked with deceptive calm.

Checkmate.

Constance knew a
deeper regret than any she’d ever known. Within her womb, she harbored another man’s child. Before her sat a good man, a handsome, compassionate, complex gentleman whose protection was all she needed and more. Rescued from Burton’s machinations and most assuredly a life of derision, she owed Percy everything. Why couldn’t she have met him first? Before she’d fled Burton? Before she’d been captured by Thomas?

“I fear you aren’t paying attention, my dear,” Percy said.

She pulled her gaze guiltily back from the populated road. “Forgive me. My thoughts don’t normally stray.”

“I am invisible this morning,” he complained. He winked. “Quite discombobulating. Perhaps we should not have ventured out to the park, after all.”

She laid her hand on Percy’s forearm, welcoming the spark of heat shooting through her as she absorbed the heart-rending tenderness of his gaze. Beneath the fine fabric, his muscles flexed, reminding her he was stronger than he looked. He had a playful charm, a resilience she adored. He was her husband now in every way, the future father of her children, for she had no doubt there would be more. She had decided to pledge her life and love to one man and one man only, Percival Avery, Seventh Duke of Blendingham.

Constance gazed into Percy’s dark, brown eyes and knew peace. He would do anything to please her. And today he posed a fanciful specimen in russet and gold. His perfectly tied cravat — his signature — gave him a regal air. Posture erect, his congenial stare gave no clue as to his thoughts.

“It is good to be out and about again,” she admitted, though it was highly irregular for a newlywed couple to leave the seclusion of their lodgings for at least two fortnights. But because Princess Charlotte had generated a huge scandal by going to church one and twenty days after her marriage, Percy had assured her they were in good company.

“Tell me you do not fear this breach in etiquette,” he said, the brim of his hat hooding his eyes.

“No. I do not.” Indeed she didn’t. Anyone who saw her with Percy would question the validity of the rumors circulating about her circumstances.

He exhaled a pleasurable sigh. “There is nothing more vital to a man’s existence than an adventurous woman.” His gloved hand, warm and strong, squeezed hers. “We are a good fit.”

“Indeed, my lord,” she said, breathing a relieved sigh. “I am a very lucky woman.”

“Do tell,” he requested, coaxing her into making more compliments. He smiled roguishly, an infectious, devastatingly handsome grin.

“I’m proud to be your wife, Percy.”

“And I am happy you consented to be my bride.” His voice deepened, taking on a familiar husky tone that teased her senses. The sun disappeared behind the clouds, darkening the carriage. “We have a lifetime to build.”

Her mind spinning with bewilderment, Constance’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart thrummed excitedly. It couldn’t be! Thomas? She placed her hand over her trembling lips. Impossible! Percy was clean-shaven, keenly dressed, completely unlike the blackguard who haunted her dreams. His stiff-necked aura exuded high intellect. His masculinity, however effeminate, was ridiculously appealing. A peer of the realm, he was everything Thomas wasn’t. Wasn’t he? A faint hysteria dizzied her senses.

Percy inclined his head out the window, quieting her dispirited thoughts. “Good afternoon, Lady Fleming, Duchess,” he nodded in greeting. She studied his profile, baffled.

“Your Grace.”

“Allow me the pleasure of introducing my bride, Lady Constance Avery, Duchess of Blendingham.”

The two women nodded politely, but said nothing. Percy nodded, said, “Good day,” tapped on the ceiling, and urged the driver forward.

Constance focused on a set of trees framed by marble architecture and to the meadow beyond as they continued their leisurely ride through Hyde Park. She tore her eyes away from the splendorous green lawn unfolding around them when she heard, “Your Graces!”

A lone rider galloped past, tipping his round hat in greeting.

Percy nodded. “You should know I’ve spent a lifetime fighting the machinations of the
ton
. Better to live truthfully than to regret never having lived.”

She couldn’t argue. He’d spoken honestly. But her husband’s sentiments were not steeped in reality. “Only a man is given freedom to behave in such a way. ’Twould be scandalous to suggest I do the same. The world I walk in does not parallel yours.”

“You misunderstand, my gel. I merely choose to make a stand for what I believe in. It is for those unimportant to me to decide what they wish. I care not for the result. I have been and always will be true to myself and those I love.” He added, “And by the bye, you are part of my world now.”

Her heart quivered at the prospect, inadequacy settling on her head like a thorned crown. “As a member of the House of Lords now, how can you be so removed from the dictates of society?”

Tapping the ceiling, Percy hailed the driver to stop the carriage. Once the vehicle halted, he slid closer, keeping his voice low and direct. “My father understood exactly who and what I am.”

“I never meant to imply
—
”

“You did not have to.” He took a deep and steady breath. “It is there in your eyes,” he said, pointing a gloved finger at her brow. “Do not think me incapable of taking care of you, of filling my father’s seat. Does my appearance,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “confuse you? Or do you dare me to show you the kind of man I really am? I thought I had already done that by protecting you from that self-obsessed Cretan Burton.”

Her hands trembled at the reminder of the man who made her skin crawl. She bit her quivering lip. What was he implying? Percy was fully attentive now, making no effort to hail passing carriages or those on horseback who tried in vain to gain his attention. His eyes remained fixed on hers, pleading her to plunge into the depths of his soul and know him completely.

He stroked her fingers. Desiring to be comforted, she looked down at his gloved hand, visualizing a tanned one in its place. Aware of her fixation on the barriers between them, he removed his glove and hers, and intertwined their fingers. Immediately, she was shocked at how easily he broke social politesse. He could afford it, she couldn’t. She would have cried out in shame if the need to pose happily married weren’t so grave.

“We have unfinished business, do we not?” he asked, his voice as cool and clear as ice water. “Things unsaid that must be brought into light? Though this is not the right place for revelations, I dare not wait. Some things have come to my attention that cannot be dismissed.”

Fearing he meant to reveal he believed the rumors, Constance tore her hand from his. She raised her chin a notch. The time had come at last. He was going to announce he was well aware that she was carrying a bastard’s child. Was that the reason he’d brought her to this public place? To ensure she wouldn’t cause a scene? Hyde Park, of all places, the social hub of the
ton
! Surely the entire town would know of her indiscretions if his voice raised an octave or she departed the carriage in tears to escape his accusations.

“Before you continue, let it be known that I never sought to deceive you, Percy. I
—
”

“Your Graces! What an agreeable happenstance! Imagine my surprise to see you out and about, and so soon, I might add.”

Percy stiffened as though struck. Constance peered over Percy’s shoulder to see Lieutenant Guffald astride a magnificent black horse. Had she known better, she could have sworn Percy cursed under his breath before he turned to face the lieutenant.

“Guffald, you dashing fellow,” Percy said with applaudable finesse. “What a marvelous surprise! I was just telling my beautiful bride how fortunate I am that you were aboard her vessel. Had you not been of assistance, I’m sure I would not be the luckiest man in Town.”

Guffald nodded, planting his blue-eyed gaze on her. She couldn’t be sure of it, but the lieutenant exerted an awkward caginess, as if none too pleased Percy sat so near. His nod brokered a confidence she hadn’t witnessed before and his handsome uniformed figure, complete with resplendent sword, polished to sparkling sheen, bespoke a formality she wasn’t accustomed to where he was concerned.

Percy noticed the addition as well. “My good man, have you made post?”

Guffald’s teeth flashed white, and for the first time his eyes lit with fervor. “Indeed. Thanks to Lady Constance’s
—
I mean the marchioness’ uncle
—
I’ve been awarded my own ship.”

“Many pardons, Guffald. Have you not heard the news? My dearest wife is Lady Blendingham now.”

The news must have come as a shock. Guffald blinked. His back straightened. “No, I had not heard. It appears I am remiss in offering my sympathies, Your Grace. Forgive me. The duke was a very good man.”

“As are you, good sir.”

Guffald’s eyes became flat and unreadable as stone. He bowed and adjusted his bicorn.

“When do you sail?” Percy asked, matter-of-factly.

Guffald narrowed his eyes. “One week
—
”

“On your own ship?” Percy inquired. “By Jove, this is indeed cause for celebration.” Rising, Percy reached out to give Guffald a proper congratulatory handshake and a slap on the shoulder.

Constance grabbed onto the carriage as it jostled under Percy’s weight.

“I know how much this means to you, Guffald. You’ve worked extremely hard to get where you are. No one knows that more than I.”

Guffald’s eyes gleamed. “Indeed.”

“Which ship do you command, Captain Guffald?” As she spoke his name aloud, pride emanated from his eyes.

“I’m curious as well, Captain. Which ship?” Percy asked.

Guffald ignored Percy. Instead he stared into Constance’s eyes with a longing she recognized, a child savoring the taste of his first sweet. She tempered the warnings that sounded within her and gazed back at him to prove she was immune.

“Your ship, man.” Percy’s voice scored the air. “What is she called?”

Had she not known otherwise, she would almost be convinced Percy was jealous. A strange satisfaction warmed her at the thought. Perhaps now was the time to test her husband’s devotion, to force his hand, to keep him from casting her aside.

“Please don’t leave us suspended, Captain,” she insisted, encouraging the gentleman’s attention, quite pleased by her nonchalant tone. “I’m eager to learn all about your ship. As you well know, I’m a quick study.”

Percy shifted noticeably in his seat, a frown apparent on his face. She’d found her mark. Might the jab to his ego convince him to tread carefully where her reputation was concerned?

“Yes,” Guffald declared boldly, “you are quick witted, Your Grace. As to your question, I’m proud to announce I command the Stockton, a three-masted, fully outfitted, Brig.”

She avoided Percy’s terse frown as she continued her pretense. “Have you been assigned a crew?”

“Yes,” Guffald said.

“A crew?” At last, Percy spoke, his annoyance transparent.

“A ship cannot sail without a crew, Your Grace. You cannot claim ignorance of this,” Guffald baited.

What was it about the man’s voice, a nagging discrepancy in his tone that triggered disquiet within her? What had she just witnessed between them? It was almost as if they were speaking of things she couldn’t fathom.

The thought quickly dissipated as Guffald tipped his hat, teeth flashing eerily white against his weathered skin. “My men await orders,” he explained. “I expect the road ahead to be a challenge, but I’ve no doubt in my mind as to the outcome.”

Charmed by Guffald’s confidence, Constance said, “May success guide you, Captain.”

Guffald touched the brim of his bicorn, positioned fore-and-aft, and dipped his head. “‘Tis what I pray for every day, Your Grace.”