The Reverend sighed. “Marcus has uncovered the other interests Calydon has invested in and who owns the majority. There are several that are in debt to us and can be manipulated.”
Lucan walked over to the table, where his friends showed him reports of holdings and schemes many did not know Calydon owned or was involved in. Lucan wanted to know everything about the reclusive duke. He would not rest until he completed his revenge. Only his vow felt hollow, his heart too shredded to be invested deeply. Constance would haunt him for months. The memory of her taste on his tongue, her hot moans, her eagerness, and the tight clasp that had nearly choked his fingers. Hell. You could have her forever, an insidious voice whispered. Her passion, her laughter, the hope, the future in her gaze.
He slammed the shutters down, and directed his attention to the conversation around the table. A few minutes later, his friends departed, and he availed himself to all the liquor in the cabinet. For the first time in years, he got roaring drunk. There was no sense of triumph that he had hurt Constance at all, only shame that he had sought to destroy someone so refreshingly pure and beautiful.
For a sin that was not hers.
…
Dressed in her light blue morning tea gown, Constance sat in the chair near the window in the drawing room and gazed out into the gardens. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, but it did not bring the warmth she expected. She doubted anything could thaw her. It had been a week since she’d last seen Lucan, and she was still not at peace.
She could not seem to sort out the conflicted emotions bubbling inside her with such viciousness. She raged at him, hating him with such passion she trembled. Then it would switch so fast to deep yearning, tears would come to her eyes. She resented both feelings. She preferred to dwell where there was no pain, only coldness.
I fantasize what it would be like to walk beside you, laugh with you, to have children with you. How could he have said such words and then walked away? The notion that she had been wrong about him all this time was too staggering to contemplate or accept.
A spasm of anguish snaked through her. She had trusted him. How naive she had been. But it was her own foolish daring and desires that made for such an outcome to be possible. She could not shy from that, no matter how painful the acknowledgement was. She now believed Lucan was as wickedly unprincipled as society said, despite being the only man to ever make her heart stutter. She only had to think his name, and the memory of his taste, the feel of his lips on hers, on her breast, and the feel of his fingers between her thighs would spiral heat wicked and hot through her. She was confounded by it. He had devastated her and she still thought about their kisses, about the pleasures he had bestowed on her.
She had always dreamed about romance, a dashing prince charming sweeping her off her feet with dances and picnics, strolls by the waterfront and stolen kisses. Constance wanted love, family, laughter, a togetherness that had been missing from her childhood. She had felt foolish hope that her illegitimacy would not deter a suitor. After all, she was wealthy, and she was without illusions about her beauty. It was hard to credit that it was her bastardy that drove him away. He had known before he called upon her. What had changed his mind? The strolls by the water fronts, the picnics and outings could not have been in vain on his part. Something had happened, and she needed to know what. She could deny no more that unless she knew, it would forever haunt her.
The day passed in a grim kind of blur as she made her plans. Only Charlotte seemed to pick up on Constance’s despondency. Charlotte had been outraged when Constance explained all that happened. She had seen the looks of concern from her mother and father, and had been grateful they had not probed.
The evening dinner was a quiet, informal affair. She lingered for what seemed an appropriate amount of time that would not rouse concern, before she excused herself. An hour later, she felt as if she had walked a hole into the carpet in her chamber.
She vacillated between talking herself into seeing Lucan and demanding answers, and berating herself for even thinking of being so bold, so reckless. She had been too shocked at Lady Beaumont’s ball to demand he give her an appropriate answer. He had not officially declared his intention to her family, but she refused to accept that his attentions had meant nothing. With that firm thought, she launched into motion.
She rang for a bath and ordered a gown to be readied. She knew it would take a while but she did not care. She would see him tonight. She asked her maid to be circumspect and Constance could see the concern in Anne’s eyes. It was not hard for Constance to keep the anger alive while she completed her toilette. She did not even flinch when her corset was drawn tighter than necessary. Nothing would dissuade her from her path.