Fifteen minutes later, she slowly closed the file, her heart beating so hard she feared she would faint. She had never meant anything to Lucan. The torment that had followed her since last year had been orchestrated by him.
The anger that gripped Constance was better than the cold pain snaking around her heart. What a fool she had been. With a distant sort of calmness she walked to Jocelyn and Sebastian’s chamber, entered, and replaced the folder in the top drawer of the chest. She returned to her room, and sat in the high wingback chair looking out the window that faced the small but beautiful garden.
The tears would not come. She felt incapable of crying. The hurt was too much. She felt as if a dagger had been plunged inside of her and was still knifing through her with vicious intensity. She had been filled with much romantic idiocy of a prince charming wooing and sweeping her off her feet. A prince charming she had been so sure was Lucan. Constance vowed then, never would she allow her heart to be open to another man.
…
Lucan alighted from his carriage, not liking the feelings of nervousness wafting through him. He was not the type of man to be affected by nerves. Bloody hell. He’d been unable to sleep after leaving Constance and had spent better part of the night boxing bare knuckle with Ainsley, and then Marcus. Yet tension still wound Lucan tight. While he had all intention of offering for Constance, he would not call on her father, until Lucan had unburdened all to her. It was damn tempting to bind her in marriage to him, then reveal his complicity in her pain. But the thought of once again deceiving her left a sour taste in his mouth. He would first speak with her and beg her forgiveness for his past actions, then he would speak to her father and Calydon.
Lucan had glimpsed her blond hair from his carriage, pacing in the gardens. He avoided the front of the townhouse and walked to the side gate where he quietly entered. Luckily the gate was unlatched. He walked on the stone path toward her. Dressed in a peach day dress, and with her unbound hair rippling to her waist, Lucan thought she had never looked more ravishing.
“Constance.”
She jerked and spun around to face him, her hand pressing against her chest.
“Forgive me if I startled you.”
“What are you doing here?” No excitement lighted her eyes or her voice. She sounded bland. She looked behind him to the gate and then back toward the house.
He frowned. “I am to call on your father, but I first wanted to speak with you on an urgent matter.”
“And you did not think that you should call at the front?”
“I wanted to converse without any interruption from your family. I understand they are all here?”
She closed her eyes almost as if in pain and walked farther into the garden. When it seemed as if she determined they were far enough away to be accorded full privacy, she looked at him.
“My brothers and their wives are not here. However, my father is in his study and my mother in the parlor.”
Her stare was filled with a curious state of detachment. Concern curled through him. “Are you well, Constance?”
“Why would I not be? Tell me, Your Grace, what is this urgent matter you wish to discuss? ” she asked icily.
Your Grace? Whatever happened to referring to me as Lucan? He took a few steps closer to her. “Before I start I want you to know how much I love you and—”
“Love?”
She looked at him as if she had never seen him before. It was not the look of sweetness and want that he was used to seeing from her.
“Yes… I do, more so than I thought possible, but before I speak of the affections I hold for you, I need to confess my sins and hope that you will forgive me. Then if you will have me, I—”
“Your Grace, I—”
“Let me finish—”
“I cannot!”
Her hands fisted at her side and what flashed in her eyes was pure rage. His gut knotted in a way it had never before, and the cold chill that slithered through Lucan was alarming.
She took a deep breath and firmed her shoulders. Her head tilted and she met his gaze. “I cannot listen as you spout to me sentiments of love and affection, Your Grace. It would be cruel for me to allow you to express yourself and lay your heart bare when I have no intention of returning your regard ever.”
Lucan felt the ground shift under his feet, and he crushed the hat in his hands. Had he been mistaken in her affections for him? He could not have been. She had expressly told him of her love, kissed him, and surrendered her passion to him so ardently. Did she believe he was crying off?
“I have all intention of asking Lord Radcliffe for your hand, Constance. I wish to marry you. If it is that you doubt I—”
“Marriage? What makes you think I could ever be persuaded to marry you?” she asked with such withering scorn it drew him up. “Your Grace, I beg of you to leave and forget the conversation we had yesterday. I will not tell my family you called. I am too ashamed of my naivety to tell the truth of my situation to anyone.”