Chapter 15
15
Modesty’s palms were sweating in her gloves when Constantine took her hand. She’d just reached the bottom of the stairs. They were about to leave for Lady Virtoux’s antiquarian soirée.
What a shame that her first public event as a duchess coincided with a nasty gossip piece in today’s society pages. It was about the late Duchess of Pryde’s intimate friendship with a country parson. The tone had been innocent enough, but Constantine’s face had gone rigid when he’d read it, and she couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted.
She pushed her worry down and focused on the thought that always lifted her spirits—in two days, Augustus would be home.
Last night, Constantine had slept in her bed for the first time, their limbs entangled after he’d brought her to the peak of pleasure…with nothing but his fingers…twice!
Tonight, she was clad in Pryde indigo. Her hair was expertly arranged and accented with jewels and silk flowers.
Earlier that evening, in the privacy of the drawing room, Constantine had presented her with a long leather box.
“This is for you,” he said. “It belonged to my mother.”
She frowned, staring at the box. “What is it?”
“Please, open it.”
Her gloved hands shook. For her? Something his mother wore?
As she opened the lid, she inhaled a sharp breath. It was the most beautiful necklace of blue sapphires, each of them surrounded by diamonds. They glittered like stars in the candlelight.
“Constantine, this is…this is too much. I could never be so bold as to?—”
He shook his head. “My mother would have loved for you to wear it. Especially to your first ton event. Please… Will you?”
She swallowed as she stared into his dark, liquid eyes. “I just can’t fathom how valuable this must be.”
“It is. But this is your life now. You’re the new Duchess of Pryde, and I’d like you to have it.”
She hesitated. How could she ever wear something so precious? “It must be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Certainly not I,” he murmured. And when she looked up at him, his attention was fixed on her. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The necklace will have found its perfect home.”
A shiver ran over her skin, and she had a strange feeling of flying.
“Very well,” she murmured.
“Please, allow me.”
She turned around, lifting the locks of hair her lady’s maid had arranged to fall over her shoulder. When his fingers brushed her heated skin, she closed her eyes. Tingles rushed through her body—and straight to her sex. She clasped her thighs together. Even from his lightest touch, she became damp, achy, and hot.
The necklace settled into place, and he gently took her by the shoulders and turned her to him.
“Look at you.” His gaze swept over her before slowly, hungrily, returning to hers again.
Serious. Intense. Overwhelming. Like him.
As she looked in the mirror and caught the reflection of them both, she didn’t recognize herself. They looked stunning together—a tall, handsome duke and his duchess.
But inside, she still felt like an imposter.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived in front of Lady Virtoux’s house.
Though most of the ton had retired to their country estates, several prominent families remained in London for various political obligations. Lady Virtoux’s autumn antiquarian auction was a rare social gathering for which many returned from the country for two weeks. Some even stayed until Christmas.
This made it even more crucial for the new Duchess of Pryde to make a good impression.
Constantine supported her as she descended the carriage steps, doing her best not to get entangled in her stunning gown and fall into a puddle. Her knees jittered as she stepped onto the ground, but Constantine’s steady hand never wavered, and she felt his reassurance like a warm blanket.
She looked up at the grand walls. The home had five stories, tall windows, and Palladian architecture. The breeze was slight, the humid air scented with fallen leaves, dying grass, and wet stone. Torches lit every step leading up towards the entrance.
Constantine took her hand for a moment. “Do not be afraid, Modesty. You’re the Duchess of Pryde now. They will all want to be on your good side.”
She licked her lips as her gloved fingers tightened around his briefly before he released her.
His gaze hardened. “And if someone isn’t properly respectful, they’ll have to answer to me.”
She nodded, and he extended his arm. As her hand settled lightly on his forearm, a thrumming energy seemed to radiate from him, coursing through her palm and spreading warmth through her body.
They ascended the steps, and two footmen stepped forward to open the doors. Inside, the butler and two additional footmen efficiently relieved Modesty of her spencer and Constantine of his long coat.
“His Grace, the Duke of Pryde, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Pryde,” the butler announced as they approached the ballroom where Lady Virtoux received her guests.
The change in Constantine was dramatic. He’d been soft with her alone, but now he stiffened and seemed to grow taller with his back so straight it could be a wall. His face became stone-cold, his eyes losing all warmth, just like the day she’d met him. He had been so close, so intimate when he’d brought her pleasure.
And now, it seemed, he’d put on his armor like a costume and stepped into the role he had to play.
The change made her heart shrivel. He felt distant, and even his arm under his fingers seemed as hard as a rock.
The marchioness and the marquess stood near the doorway, as was proper for the hosts. The marchioness’s impressive height and proud bearing made her seem to tower over the other guests. Her modern, imperial cut gown set her apart from the more conservative ladies of her age. She assessed Modesty with sharp eyes.
“Your Grace.” Lady Virtoux curtsied to Constantine then to Modesty, her smile never faltering. “And our new duchess. We’ve all been quite desperate to meet you. The one who claimed the heart of the most desirable bachelor in England.”
Modesty inclined her head at the precise angle she’d practiced countless times with Lady Buchanan and the dowager—just deep enough to show courtesy to a marchioness, while maintaining the dignity of her ducal rank. “Lady Virtoux, thank you for including us in your gathering.”
“But of course.” The marchioness’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I do hope you’ll find my little antiquarian event engaging. Though I daresay it’s nothing compared to the duke’s own collection at Pryde Manor.”
“Lady Virtoux,” murmured Constantine as he leaned closer to her, “once you have a moment, I’d very much like a word alone.”
Modesty wasn’t sure if she’d heard him right. Why would he want a word alone with the lady?
Before she could dwell on it, Lady Virtoux was already turning to greet the next arrivals, having given them exactly the appropriate amount of attention.
“Ah, there you are,” said Eccess, who appeared from a group of guests, looming over most of them, and yet moving surprisingly quick with an animal grace about him. He quickly crossed the space towards them, a shadow of worry passing over his features.
“Octavius?” asked Constantine, collected and cool, a stark contrast with the storm in Modesty’s chest.
Eccess stepped closer to his friend. “I must warn you, His Royal Highness is here.”
Constantine paled slightly despite his stern expression. “Didn’t you say he was otherwise engaged?”
“He was at one of his country estates. But he returned, declaring the country was boring in October, and the antiquarian auction, though not enticing, was the only decent gathering to attend.”
Constantine’s lips flattened, and his gaze hardened. “Very well. Sooner or later, I’d have to introduce him to my duchess. Let us go, Modesty.”
He was going to introduce her to royalty. Her—a poor vicar’s daughter! Her mind raced as they made their way through the ballroom, and her chest tightened even more with anxiety. She recited everything she could remember her two fairy godmothers having taught her about greeting a royal.
“Is there something amiss with the Regent?” she asked. “Should I be aware of something?”
“Nothing,” Constantine said as they followed Eccess through the world of glittering jewels, shimmering silks, straight backs, curious gazes, craned necks, and fluttering fans.
She maintained a polite smile, though she wished she could return to Pryde House and curl up in the library. She had just come upon a book filled with fascinating research into the Picts and theories about their social structure. The author had even drawn recently discovered ancient stones, which were covered with simple yet beautiful carvings.
Instead, she tried to keep her head high and her back straight as Constantine presented her to this lord and that lady.
While they stood talking to one group of people, she noticed whispers and stares from the other groups in the room. A fragment of conversation reached her: “…his mother’s indiscretion…”
She frowned, remembering that morning’s paper. And Constantine stiffened every time he caught a whispered word.
Finally, they stood in front of His Royal Highness, the Regent of Great Britain. Make the deepest curtsy while keeping your eyes modestly lowered until addressed , she remembered Lady Buchanan’s instruction. The Regent must be allowed to speak first.
He was in his early fifties, though his excesses had aged him beyond his years. His round belly strained against an elaborately embroidered waistcoat—the evidence of countless elaborate meals and bottles of fine wine. Despite his size, he carried himself with the natural authority of one born to rule. His face, though full-cheeked and florid, retained traces of the legendary handsomeness of his youth, and his blue eyes were sharp with intelligence beneath their heavy lids.
“Your Royal Highness.” Constantine bowed deeply.
The Regent’s eyes swept over them coolly, lingering on Modesty in a way that made her skin crawl. “Pryde,” he acknowledged, then turned his attention to her. “And this must be your new duchess.”
“Indeed, Your Royal Highness. May I present Her Grace, the Duchess of Pryde.”
“Your Royal Highness,” Modesty murmured, executing the deepest curtsy of her life.
“You certainly have good taste, whether it’s in horses…or in women.”
Modesty smiled politely at the jab.
Constantine inclined his head. “I suppose I do.”
“I’m disappointed I wasn’t consulted.”
Constantine remained perfectly collected, but his eyes sharpened into shards.
The Regent looked at Modesty’s stomach. “A special license was acquired in a rush, I heard?”
Constantine shifted very slightly towards her. “The rush was because we are in love and could stay apart no longer.”
“Ah. Of course. Love.” He assessed her carefully. “When love is so strong, no other considerationsare allowed. Family. Wealth. Lineage. Where is your family from, Duchess?”
She shivered and wished she could disappear.
“My wife’s family is unreproachable,” said the duke.
“Forgive me, could you please bring me a glass of punch, Pryde?” asked the Regent, staring at him coldly. “I’m suddenly very parched.”
Constantine stared straight back. “I am sure there are much more competent punch bearers here than I.”
“I insist.”
They glared at each other like two wolves, bristled and growling.
Finally, Constantine gave an obedient nod and left after very covertly squeezing her gloved hand.
As he hurried through the crowd towards the tables that held punch, Modesty’s heart beat hard in her chest.
“Would you like a tour around the room?” asked the Regent.
“Certainly, Your Royal Highness.”
“Very well,” said the Regent and indicated the direction with his arm—opposite of where Constantine had gone. What was going on between the two of them?
“Where did you come from, oh innocent rose?”asked the Regent.
Oh innocent rose? She resisted the urge to snort. If he knew she’d spent her days studying ancient burial practices and Roman battlefield tactics, he might reconsider his assessment. “I come from Shepherdsbrook. My father is a clergyman, since you asked about my family. So, indeed, the duke married much below his station. But, well, as he said”—she swallowed—“our love couldn’t wait.”
“I cannot blame the duke. Had I met a beautiful rose like you, I couldn’t have resisted snatching you away.”
She chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. Was this how the ton was? The Regent had a reputation for being reckless and for overindulging. But openly flirting with a married woman in public, while her husband was in the same room? What in the world could she say so that she didn’t offend the Regent, but also removed herself from his attentions?
“You honor me.”
“I would like to do much more than honor you. Much, much more. In fact, you have an open invitation to visit me in private. Whenever you please.”
Modesty couldn’t believe her ears. Surely, he wasn’t propositioning her with something so intimate, so base within minutes of having met her. If this was the life of the ton, she wanted no part of it.
She longingly thought of Augustus’s warm, slight weight in her arms, of the books and the artifacts in Pryde’s library. And most of all, she thought of her husband, longing for him to return and take her away from this odious man.
“I am sure that is much too generous a way for you to spend your time.”
As they continued to walk through small groups of ladies and gentlemen, she caught more conversation fragments that made her heart pound: “…the late duchess’s letters…” and “…that country parson…” and “…the affair…”
The whispers seemed to follow them like shadows through the room. But why would anyone question Constantine’s mother’s reputation?
“Your refreshment, Your Royal Highness,” said Constantine, appearing with a glass of punch in each hand.
His voice rang with steel, his face impenetrable, and yet Modesty saw fury blaze in his chestnut eyes. Constantine passed him both glasses of punch.
“If you’ll excuse me, my wife has promised me a dance.”
He extended his hand to her, and she placed hers in it with such relief she could fly.
His eyes were warm on her, the fury extinguished. And she melted at the protective way he wrapped his fingers around hersand led her towards the dance floor. The couples formed two lines, one of ladies and the other of gentlemen. She felt all eyes on her—heavy, sharp, penetrating. Everyone seemed grander, more elegant, and more deserving to be here in this glittering world of beauty and riches than she.
Yet, when she looked into her husband’s eyes, staring at her like he saw no one else, the world around them dissolved.
And she felt like the most deserving one of all.
Then the music began.
She remembered the steps he’d taught her and followed them. Coming together, hands touching, gazes locking, scents mingling. She found herself smiling at him, grateful for how he’d trained her. The hours they’d spent together in the private ballroom were now put to the test. But all she felt was joy at the rhythm of their bodies moving with the music, their steps, touches, turns. It was flirtation itself.
When his fingers found hers, she remembered them touching the most intimate part of her body. She remembered the bliss he could elicit from her.
That pleasure, that connection, that tenderness was now in his every touch and every turn of his body—in the way he held his neck, the way his torso turned to her, the way his lips were settled in a small, private smile.
As they came together, palm to palm, and made a circle around each other, he murmured, “You’re the most beautiful woman in the room, Modesty.”
Her breath hitched, color flooding to her cheeks. They stepped back and made a figure eight around the people standing to their sides. No. A duke could never truly appreciate her, admire her—she who was born to a simple clergyman, who was never anything spectacular, who existed only to help her father.
“You flatter me,” she responded when they came together again.
“No. I am proud to call you my wife.”
Heavens, how wonderfully those words tickled down her spine.
There it was again, the heat, the longing. Her body always betrayed her when he touched her. She wanted more of him. More of his body. More of his soul. More of the way his chestnut eyes had warmed and glimmered last night when he’d brought her such pleasure.
He didn’t know it yet, but she’d be selfish tonight and wouldn’t let him sleep in his own bed. The next time their hands met, she looked straight into his eyes, sank in them. Her heart, she knew, was beating in unison with his. Heaven help her.
Who was this woman he was awakening?