Sins of a Duke (4 page)

“You are forgetting her brother is Calydon. And her other brother, Lord Anthony, is a powerful man in his own right, a lion of commerce. They have both used their clout to try and force society to forgive her perceived sins. If not for your interference, they would have surely succeeded.” Ainsley grimaced and moved to lean against the railing. “You have had satisfaction from all the other parties who played a role in Marissa’s tragedy. Have you considered leaving Calydon be? He is nothing like Stanhope.”

Satisfaction? Lucan went cold inside. He would
never
be satisfied. His sister was dead, and until everyone involved had suffered as she must have suffered, he would not be able to sleep, to finally stop having nightmares.

“No,” his response was flat, and he need not say more. Ainsley should understand.

His friend clasped Lucan’s shoulders. “Calydon is a formidable opponent, Lucan. He controls the purse strings of many prominent families through his investments. And he dotes on his sister. It will be a miracle if you escape unscathed. ”

Lucan smiled. The wealth he had brought back with him from the Orient and that which he earned from the club matched Calydon’s fortune, and it was to Lucan’s benefit that he now also held a title the equal of Calydon’s. He could break the man just short of murder, with little repercussion. “I cannot leave it alone, Ainsley. Her death haunts me too much.”

The earl sighed. “The gossip said Calydon murdered Marissa, but we know it was not really so. We have her letter saying otherwise.” His friend continued, oblivious to the emotions tearing at Lucan’s insides. “The greatest blame lies with Stanhope, the man who was entrusted with her care, and you now have him where you want him. The Reverend thinks you are going down a slippery path, Lucan. You are a
duke,
and no longer a common gambler or a shipping merchant. You should be focused on the title, your estate, and on the procurement of an heir. It took the crown four years to track you down. You now have a great responsibility to the realm and to your lands. It cannot be dismissed lightly.”

Lucan’s lips curled in distaste. He cared not one fig about the dukedom he had been given, or in obtaining an heir. The pomp that came with being a duke was useless to him, unless it played a role in his vengeance. That was the only reason he had assumed the outward mantle of a nobleman and stepped into society these few months. With his fortune and his newly elevated status came immense power. It allowed him to execute his vengeance on those who had previously seemed untouchable.

Also, being a peer, even a notorious one, allowed him to persuade other lords to side with him on issues that were important to him. Since the opening of parliament, he’d leveraged gaming debts and secrets when he wanted certain bills to be passed. He had lived a life of poverty in the seedier parts of London, down in the soot and grime, and in the Americas and the Orient. He had known despair and deprivation. If he could use his status to fight for those who lived how he once had, he would.

All other uses of the title were irrelevant.

“The Reverend would do well to preach some sense into you.” Ainsley grunted, then sighed at Lucan’s stony face, and changed the subject. “When are you coming to the club? You have been notably absent all this week.”

“I will be there on Friday,” he said softly, his gaze returning like a magnet to Lady Constance.

She looked so lonely, standing alone in the crush of the ballroom. She was an important key to his final vengeance, and yet, there was something about the girl he had just kissed and danced with that called to him. Just remembering her sweet taste, the lushness of her frame, made his cock twitch.

Silently, savagely, he cursed his unbridled response to his enemy.
I am weak
. He should feel no guilt at the idea of ruining her. Calydon had possessed no compassion for his sister, and Marissa had been everything that was sweet and gentle.

Lady Constance is innocent
, his conscience taunted. The lash of discomfort and guilt bothered him. He ruthlessly banished it. He had worked too hard to sway from his path, to let beauty and innocence get in his way. He allowed icy satisfaction to settle deep inside him. He had already lured in his prey, albeit unwittingly. He would not turn back now. The slipperier the slope, the better. For the harder Calydon crumbled, the more Lucan would savor his revenge.

Chapter Four

Constance felt the thrum of the music deep in her soul. She cradled the violin reverently, caressing the bow against the strings, her heart aching as the beautiful notes spilled into the drawing room. Music had always soothed her, comforted her, and brought untold joy to her life. Of late, the music she produced had been mournful, the notes always too poignant, bringing tears to her eyes. She no longer seduced her strings to play jaunty jigs and warm music. Only powerful songs were played now, the ones that evoked the ache in her, leaving her satisfied, if only for a moment. The last of the notes died away, and she finally relaxed her spine.

“Your new wardrobe has arrived,” Charlotte said.

Constance had momentarily forgotten Charlotte was in the room. Staring out the window into the gardens, Constance was unable to dredge up any excitement in this season’s fashionable apparel, something that had previously brought her happiness. She had been numb as she traveled with her mother, and sometimes Jocelyn and Phillipa, to the different shops on Bond Street, ordering dresses, hats, slippers, and so many other fripperies without any real interest. What use would they be?

In anger Constance had ordered daring colors—dark blue, gold, chartreuse, colors very unusual for a young debutante like herself. Her mother had not objected once. But now that they were here, Constance had nowhere to go. No friends to walk with, to picnic with, to attend the opera and theatre with. She winced. That wasn’t quite true. Charlotte was her friend. She was really Lady Ralston, a widow whose husband had died two years past. Constance had initially rebelled when her mother had suggested hiring her a lady’s companion, someone from a genteel family who needed employment. It had stung, to accept that they had to hire someone to speak with her. But Charlotte had become her staunchest ally and closest friend.

She laid the violin on the music stand with tender care and sighed. She stood and went over to sit beside her friend on the sofa by the pianoforte. Charlotte handed her a glass of lemonade and Constance pressed the cool glass to her cheeks. The sunlight pouring in through the open windows made the room feel unusually warm.

“Would you like to take a walk in the gardens? Today is so sunny and glorious. It would be lovely,” Charlotte asked, realizing no doubt that Constance did not want to speak of the multitude of gowns she had ordered.

She took a sip of her lemonade. “In a bit. I would look at the parcels. I’ve decided to attend Lady Beaumont’s ball. I do have the most perfect Venetian evening gown for it.” The only reason she now felt some excitement in attending was because she would see Mondvale. Though she felt in her heart nothing good could ever come from placing herself in his path again.

Charlotte smiled at her in approval, and Constance realized she needed to make a greater effort to not seem so morose.

After a soft knock, the door opened and the butler, Mr. Harris, strode in.

“You have a visitor, Lady Constance,” he announced without preamble.

“
A visitor
?” she asked, sure she’d misunderstood him. No one had called on her in over six months.

His kind brown eyes smiled along with his whole face. “Indeed,” he said and handed the card to her with a flourish.

She took it from him and stared at the calling card in shock.

“Who is it from, Connie?” Charlotte asked, shifting in her seat to see.

Constance reread the name several times until she was certain she had not misread the name printed on the thick cardstock. His Grace, Lucan Devlin Wynwood, Duke of Mondvale waited for her in the parlor.

She looked at Mr. Harris in somewhat of a daze. “Did you make it known that Mother is not home?”

“Yes, milady. I was informed he was here to call on you, Lady Constance.”

She gave a weak nod. Mondvale knew who she was? How had he found out? Since her return home from last night’s ball she had been conflicted. She had written to him over a dozen times, only to discard the rumpled notes. Each one had started with an apology for lying to him before revealing her name. Each time her nerves had attacked her, and she had started over. She had then resolved to attend Lady Beaumont’s midnight ball, and if she saw him, she would be truthful about her identity—and then hope he would not condemn her for lying. But how had he found out that Miss Desiree Hastings and Lady Constance were one and the same?

She dismissed the question instantly. She had felt his eyes on her last night after she had returned inside. That same awareness, hot and almost uncomfortable, had simmered through her. Since he had been watching her, it was very probable he had asked someone about her.
Drat
.

Constance wondered if he had called on her to express his disgust. She suddenly felt ridiculously vulnerable. She gave Mr. Harris a half smile. “Please tell Mrs. Pritchard to have tea and cakes in the parlor, and inform His Grace I will be with him shortly.”

Mr. Harris bowed and exited.

“The Duke of Mondvale?” Charlotte demanded anxiously. “The man everyone refers to as the
Lord of Sin
?”

Her voice sounded strangled as she looked at Constance with ill-concealed alarm.

Constance leaped to her feet and paced for a few seconds.
Should I change out of my morning dress?
The simple pale pink dress and the chignon her hair had been gathered in now seemed wholly understated to see the duke.

“When were you introduced?” Charlotte asked, taking the card from her, examining it as if she doubted it really came from him.

Constance could not prevent the heat that climbed her neck to her face, as the circumstances in which they had spoken and danced roared through her mind. Their kiss had been the most exciting thing that had happened to her since her debut. All day, it had been a difficult thing to keep from Charlotte. Constance had vibrated inside to share their magical night in the conservatory with someone, but had chosen to hold it close instead. Now it seemed her secret was out.

“Good heavens, you are blushing, Connie.”

She sighed. “I met him last night. We were not introduced. Oh, Charlotte, I lied to him about who I was, and now I cannot credit that he is here.”

“You spoke, but you had not been formally
introduced
?” Charlotte demanded, her voice bordering on exasperation.

Constance clasped her hands and forced herself to stand still. “Yes.”

“I gather from the redness of your face that something more happened,” Charlotte said wryly.

With a groan Constance flung herself into the depth of the sofa. “We danced in the conservatory under the stars, and then he kissed me.”

“Constance Isabella Desiree Thornton!”

She sat up, and laughter pulsed from her at the appalled look on Charlotte’s face.

Constance hugged herself. “Oh, Charlotte, he did not know it was me. Well, of course he now knows because he is here. What do I do? Do I change out of my morning gown?”

Excitement and trepidation glowed in Charlotte’s turquoise colored eyes as she cupped Constance’s cheeks. “You look beautiful. Come now, it is best to not keep him waiting. Changing your gown and redoing your hair would take too much time.”

She inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and swept through the door. Charlotte walked with her, and Constance could not work up the courage to ask to meet with the duke alone. Charlotte would not allow it anyhow. And Constance doubted she had the capacity to face him alone.
Is he angry? Disgusted?

The walk through the hall past the library to the parlor was nerve-racking. She opened the door and entered with a serene calm she did not feel. He was standing by the window, his back to her. Charlotte entered, Constance gently closed the door, and he turned around. She heard Charlotte’s soft gasp beside her and Constance fully understood. Mondvale was very handsome, in a dark and exotic manner. His raven hair was held in a queue at his nape, and his spectacles did not detract at all from the piercing quality of his silver eyes. He seemed so tall, lean and hard. Dressed in dark brown trousers, a matching morning coat, and a white shirt, he looked supremely confident and at ease. Not as if he was confronting someone he felt deceived him.

His mouth curved into a faint smile. “Lady Constance.”

“Your Grace, how good of you to call.” She was pleased with the steadiness of her voice. “May I introduce you to Lady Ralston, my friend and companion?”

He strolled over with easy grace, and executed a small bow over Charlotte’s hand.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Ralston,” he murmured.

Charlotte responded in kind, her voice a little shakier than she probably intended.

“Please, let us sit,” Constance said, apprehension and a good deal of excitement clamoring inside her.

Charlotte sat in the sofa nearest to the window away from them. Constance sank into the seat opposite from him, wondering how to breach the topic of her obvious lie and apologize for it. The rattle of the china alerted her before the door opened, and Mrs. Pritchard wheeled in a trolley with teas and cakes, and with efficient movements, laid them out on the center table.

Constance dismissed her and then poured two cups of boiling water onto the Earl Grey leaves. She carefully prepared the tea, feeling his eyes watching in speculative silence the entire time.

“Thank you,” he murmured, when she handed him his cup.

She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “Your Grace, your presence indicates that you are aware of my ruse at Lady Lawrence’s ball. Please forgive my prevarication.”

He relaxed into the sofa. “Prevarication is forgiven, Lady Constance. I learned your identity later that night.”

She was sure he had heard the rumors as well, but he was still here. Hope surged inside her, hot and sweet. “Why are you here, Your Grace?”

One of his brows lifted in an arch. “I am inviting you to take a carriage ride with me in the park, Lady Constance, if you are available. Possibly a picnic by the lake? It is a beautiful day out.”

Her pulse jumped in her throat. No man had invited her to ride with him since she had been back in London. What was going on? Constance thought it fair to warn him, even though she loathed doing so. She placed her tea on the walnut table with a soft clink. “Are you not familiar with the scandal swirling around my name, Your Grace?”

“I am,” he intoned smoothly, taking another sip of his tea. “Are the rumors true?”

She held her breath, confounded he would be so brash. “If they are, would you retract your invitation and depart from me?”

His eyes roamed over her, and she wondered if she imagined the possessive way he did it. It was evident what he noted—the hues of her blond hair, the vivid coloring of her green eyes, the trademarks of Viscount Radcliffe’s line.

“Depart from you?”

“Many friends turned cold when they saw the truth of my shame.” That was the most she would admit.

“It is not your sin,” he said gently.

She smiled in spite of her nervousness. “Are you saying you are not repulsed?”

“I do not subscribe to such notions, Lady Constance. The circumstances of your birth are not a reflection of your character, but a reflection of those of Lord and Lady Radcliffe’s.”

Relief soared through her, but she could not allow him to be ignorant. “Everyone looks at me with morbid curiosity, and
everyone
speaks ill of me. If you are seen riding with me it will excite the most malicious speculation.”

He smiled, barely. Then it was gone, but she had noticed.

“I thank you, Lady Constance, for being concerned with my reputation. Hardly necessary, I assure you. Tongues will already be wagging, as my carriage is parked outside.”

She took a delicate sip of her tea, unable to credit that he was so calm about her illegitimacy. It absolutely made no sense to her. “And you do not care if society gossips about your visit to
the Beautiful Bastard
?”

“You are aware of your moniker.”

She swallowed. “I would be a fool not to be.”

He watched her with something akin to admiration, and a response thrilled inside of her. Memory of their dance and how he had touched her filtered through her.

“I do not care.”

Joy suffused her. “Then I would gladly take a carriage ride with you, Your Grace.”

“Lucan.”

Constance hesitated, then glanced at Charlotte, who was studiously looking toward the garden, her hands flying as they clenched her knitting needles. But Constance knew her friend had heard every word spoken. She cleared her throat delicately and Charlotte looked up. Her friend saw her unspoken request and rose to her feet.

“I will have Anne prepare your carriage dress and have the cook prepare luncheon for the picnic. If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” Charlotte murmured, then gave a small curtsy and departed. She left the parlor door open, and Constance suppressed her smile at the stern glance Charlotte had given her before disappearing.

Constance steeled herself, then met his eyes. “Now we can converse more freely. I am truly regretful I lied to you. I feared you would have turned away if I had revealed my name.”

He waved his hands and relaxed deeper into the sofa, assuming a very casual pose. “It is forgotten, Lady Constance. Gossip is not something that would prevent me from inviting a young lady such as yourself to drive on such a day.”

Her hands trembled, and she placed her tea cup on the walnut center table in fear she might spill it on herself. Did he want to court her? She wanted to blurt the question to him so badly her jaw ached from keeping quiet. “Then I thank you for your kind consideration, you will not regret my company.”

His lips curved into a charming smile, and the need to feel his lips on hers again welled inside of her. She gritted her teeth and pushed the images away.

“It is I who should thank you for your willingness to drive and picnic with the Lord of Sin, the debaucher of all things innocent, and with such enthusiasm, too.”

Constance laughed lightly, a giddy sense of happiness unfurling within her. He wanted to court her. It was the only explanation. She searched his face for any sign of tender regard or interest, but the cool manner in which he observed her had insidious doubt creeping in. If he wanted to court her, he would have been clearer. Was it possible he saw her as an exotic forbidden fruit one must indulge in, as Lord Nelson had said to her at last week’s picnic? Her stomach hollowed at the thought. It would not do at all for her to get her hopes up. She needed to proceed with caution, no matter how tempting it was to throw her fears into the wind.