Chapter 17
17
Back at home, in his wife’s bedchamber, Constantine poured port into two glasses and stilled, gathering the strength to face Modesty. He didn’t want to think about the blackmailer and the gossip piece. Didn’t want to think about how to convince Thorne Blackmore to help him.
He wanted to push the whole world to the side for just one night.
Modesty called to him like a siren.
Resisting her would be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he owed her the truth before anything more happened between them. Honor demanded it, even if his body screamed at him to take what she so freely offered.
He’d always wanted to be honorable, but he was a bastard. His very existence was a lie. So his actions didn’t always match his intentions. But something about Modesty made him long to be a better man.
God knew, he was already walking a very thin line. At the soirée earlier tonight, he’d been torn between his duty to the Pryde title and his wish to finally be free of the lie that had burdened him his entire life. Free to allow himself to be happy with his wife. He’d been torn between needing to break his word to Modesty and aching to see joy shine in her eyes as she held Augustus…
So he’d settled on a compromise—he’d take her to spend time with the baby, at least.
When they’d arrived at the town house after the soirée, Augustus was asleep, but seeing Modesty lean over his cot with tears in her eyes eased Constantine’s heart.
Watching her gaze lovingly at the little one as he snored lightly, wrapped in his muslin swaddle, Constantine couldn’t bring himself to tell her they wouldn’t be able to bring Augustus home in two days.
For the first time, he’d seen a glimpse of what could be…a vision of a happy life with Modesty and Augustus.
Now, in her bedchamber, he finally turned to her, and his breath stuck in his throat at the sight of her. Still in her indigo silk gown, she dragged one long, white glove down her arm. Mesmerized, he followed the brush of silk down her forearm.
She slowly removed one glove, then the other, the intimate gesture making her intentions clear. His mouth went dry.
Octavius’s unwelcome words flooded his mind. A redhead…looked so timid but must be fire in bed.
The way her body had responded to his touch, the way she was looking at him now, he agreed.
He needed to speak now, before her seduction stripped away his resolve entirely.
He walked to her and offered a glass.
She took it and smiled. “Thank you.”
She had the most beautiful smile.
He nodded and clinked his glass against hers.
He wanted to tell her everything—about his true parentage, about Augustus’s claim, about the blackmailer and why it was important to keep Augustus hidden longer. But every time he opened his mouth, her trusting gaze stopped him. How could he destroy that trust when it was so new and so fragile?
“How did you enjoy tonight?” he asked.
“I enjoyed some of it.” She chuckled. “Dancing with you…I didn’t mind that.”
Their eyes locked as she sipped her wine, staring at him over the rim of the glass.
He swallowed and chuckled. He was hard just being in this room, where her scent always lingered. “I didn’t mind dancing with you, either.”
It was more and more difficult to think with her so close. But he needed to tell her. He wanted to.
My mother had an affair. I am not my father’s son. Augustus is the real heir because Ophelia was the duke’s daughter. My father left a will issuing his intentions that the title must only pass to a blood heir.
I am not the blood heir.
Augustus is.
After all, all titles were permitted to descend to the next generation at the good will of the monarch. Constantine was sure the Regent would love nothing more than to remove the title and bestow it on the child.
He opened his mouth.
“Perhaps we could have a real marriage,” she said.
Her eyes were bright and sparkling as she took one step closer. She laid her hands on his chest. All thoughts of telling her the truth evaporated like steam. He inhaled her sweet scent, and his blood simmered.
His lips were suddenly so parched he had to empty the entire glass of port down his throat. “A real marriage?”
She cupped his face, her touch soft and gentle, and even that gentlest of touches sent a pull of desire straight down to his groin. “Sometimes, people marry for love. Sometimes, they fall in love with each other after they marry. Why can’t that be us?”
“Love was never part of this marriage,” he managed.
She stroked his cheek. “But it can be.”
A realization struck him.
Damn it all, it already was—for him.
His heart drummed against his ribs, full and light. That ache to make her happy, the need to see her smile, the compulsion to go against his own better judgment and risk losing everything.
All of it was because he loved her.
“I—” he started but couldn’t say another word.
God, he wanted to agree with her. To turn this marriage of convenience into a marriage of love.
But if she ever learned the truth—the secrets he was hiding, the battle he was fighting against the baby she protected…
She’d never speak of love again.
“At first, I thought you were selfish and cruel, but I see now what a good man you really are.”
Every word was a blow straight to his gut. He was still selfish and cruel. Still the most prideful man in England.He was going to destroy her trust—it was only a matter of time.
“I refused you when you came to me on our wedding night,” she murmured, running her other hand up his chest, leaving a trace of fire on his skin even through the layers of clothing. “I won’t refuse you anymore.”
And then the little minx stood on her toes, leaned forward, and kissed him.
Her lips were soft and warm. Her taste, her scent, her touch ignited something deep within. Perhaps it was because he’d wanted her for what felt like forever. Perhaps it was because she offered herself so freely.
Something snapped inside him.
An honorable man would stop her. Explain the whole truth. Tell her he couldn’t let her love some false version of him.
He was not a good man.
He was a bastard in every sense of the word.
But he’d dreamed of having her for far too long.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and took their kiss deeper, claiming her mouth as he would soon claim her body.