Chapter 10
“If I may be permitted to say so, Your Grace, your new bride is positively lovely.”
Constantine gave his valet, James, a sideways glance as the one-and-twenty-year-old freckled-faced man laid out his night clothes.
He had bright red hair, kept short as all the male staff in his home were required to, and although he was usually quiet, the young man had a giddy way about him that evening.
In fact, most of his staff, he noticed, seemed to be in an oddly good mood.
“I suppose she is,” Constantine murmured. “Attend to my cravat, would you, James? It feels rather bothersome tonight.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” James quickly replied, then appeared before Constantine to help him be rid of it.
“What else do you and the others think of the new duchess?” Constantine asked after a moment of silence, his curiosity getting the better of him.
James’s lips lifted at the corners, and he quickly glanced up at Constantine.
“Well, Your Grace, Mrs. York says she is mightily kind and polite. Her Grace spent all day with her, getting to know the estate, and even invited Mrs. York to sit and have tea at some point,” James answered, then pulled the untied cravat from Constantine’s neck.
Good, Constantine mused. Mrs. York is a good housekeeper; she deserves such respect.
He was also glad that Elara had taken the initiative to learn about her new title and responsibilities. She was young, yes, and she annoyed him greatly, but at least when it came to her new title, she was approaching it with wisdom and grace.
“Anything else?” he asked as James began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
Constantine raised a curious brow as his valet’s freckled cheeks turned as red as his hair.
“Well... she is quite fetching, Your Grace,” James answered, his tone timid. “A truly beautiful young lady with her raven locks and ocean-blue eyes. Almost hauntingly beautiful, someone said.”
The image of Elara flashed in Constantine’s mind for the thousandth time that day.
He could not deny she was beautiful. Even though he had left her side at the first opportunity, his mind had stayed on her all day, especially the single kiss they had shared.
The one that had sent fire licking up his veins and had landed them in their predicament in the first place.
“Hauntingly beautiful indeed,” Constantine agreed, suddenly annoyed that the men of his staff would notice. “Who said such a thing?”
James let out a light laugh as he removed Constantine’s shirt next.
“Oh, please do not pay any heed to it, Your Grace. It is just silly chatter among the staff. What matters most, of course, is that she makes you happy. Does she, Your Grace? Make you happy?”
Constantine frowned as he looked down at James, who had knelt to take off his shoes. He was not at all sure how to answer. The circumstances were certainly not happy. And it was clear that the two of them did not enjoy one another’s company. Yet…
A knock on his bedroom door saved Constantine from having to answer.
“Who is it?” Constantine called.
To his surprise, the door opened, and there, in the hall, stood the woman in question. Constantine’s eyes greedily swept over the modest white lace, floor-length robe she wore, and he noted with curiosity that her bare toes peeked out from the hem of the fabric.
Elara’s cheeks flushed as she looked from Constantine to James, whose eyes were as round as saucers as he took in his new mistress. A sudden, surprising frustration flared through him at James’s astonished expression, and he snapped his fingers.
“You may go, James,” Constantine barked.
The valet jolted at Constantine’s gruff tone and immediately bowed low at the waist.
“Of course, Your Grace. Forgive me, I... um. Yes, I shall go,” James stammered. He bowed at the waist once more as he reached Elara.
As James scrambled out of the room, Constantine turned away, irritated—though not at James, if he were being honest with himself.
James was red-blooded and had simply reacted as any young man would to a beautiful woman appearing unexpectedly in a doorway.
Constantine could hardly fault him for that. And yet...
What irritated him was the sudden, irrational surge of displeasure he felt upon seeing another man look at her that way. As if she were his to protect from such looks.
She is my wife, he reminded himself. It is only natural.
But even as he thought it, he was not entirely sure he believed it.
“Your valet seems nice,” Elara mused, turning back to Constantine with a raised brow. “James, is it?”
Constantine grunted.
“What are you doing here, Elara?” he asked, trying to ignore the irritation surging through his veins.
His muscles tightened as Elara drew her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly let her gaze drift down his naked chest while her fingers fiddled with the white bow tied just below the swell of her breasts.
They might not like one another’s personalities, Constantine thought, but it was obvious they both enjoyed the way the other looked.
“It is our wedding night,” she said, her tone coy as she stepped toward him.
Constantine raised a brow as his cock stood at attention in his breeches.
“It is,” he agreed.
“I thought it was customary for the husband to come to his wife’s rooms on the wedding night,” Elara said, walking a slow circle around him. “However, I got tired of waiting, so I decided to come to you.”
“Impatient, are you?” he goaded.
Elara let out a laugh, the sound of it sending heat spiking through his loins.
“Perhaps I am,” she agreed, sliding her fingertips over one of the silk bow’s tails at her breasts. “Perhaps I am simply looking forward to knowing my husband better.”
Constantine swallowed as the sound of his heartbeat filled his ears; his eyes were fixed on Elara’s body and on what she was doing with her fingers.
What is she doing? Is she...
The bow at her breasts unfurled then, and with a slight shimmy of her shoulders, Elara’s robe fell away.
Constantine did not move. Did not speak.
He was not entirely sure he was breathing.
A low growl escaped his tightened chest as Elara revealed her naked form.
The swell of her perfect breasts and the delightfully dark, small nipples made his mouth water.
He curled and uncurled his fingers repeatedly, fighting the urge to close the space between them and trace the delicate lines of her flat stomach, the flare of her hips, and down to the apex of her legs.
Legs, Constantine noted, so perfectly long and formed that he instantly imagined them wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her.
She would let him. He knew she would. And God help him, every part of his body was screaming at him to seize this opportunity.
He thought of how she had felt pressed against him in that study. How quickly her anger had softened into something else entirely beneath his hands. How she had bitten him, and how he had not wanted her to stop. How he had thought about almost nothing else since.
One step. That was all it would take. One step and he could have her.
“Well, Your Grace?” Elara’s breathy tone drew Constantine from his erotic thoughts. “What shall we do?”
Constantine stood very still for another long moment, his jaw tight, every muscle in his body coiled. He let his eyes take her in one final, deliberate look—committing her to memory with the grim resignation of a man who had already decided what he was going to do and hated himself for it.
“Go back to your room, Elara.”
His body instantly screamed in protest at his command. Elara, too, seemed to have trouble believing it. Her deep, icy blue eyes widened as a pink blush spread across her cheeks.
“I... I beg your pardon?” she whispered, drawing her hands up to cover her breasts.
“I told you to leave,” Constantine gritted out, his lust urging him to shut up and take her to his bed. “Put on your robe, go to your room, and lock your door.”
Hurt glistened in Elara’s eyes as she took a tentative step back, but to Constantine’s relief, she picked up her robe, drew it around her, and left. Alone in his rooms, Constantine groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sat hard on the edge of his bed.
She is going to drive me mad.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting the room in dim amber light. He stared at the floor between his feet, elbows on his knees, and said nothing, because there was no one to say it to.
He had done the right thing. He was certain of it.
This marriage had not been chosen by either of them, and she deserved better than to be taken to bed by a man she had married because she believed he was connected to her brother’s death.
She deserved answers from him before anything else, and until he could give her those answers, he had no right to her.
That was what he told himself.
What he could not tell himself was that he had not wanted her. That the image of her standing before him was not already carved so deeply into his mind that he suspected it would be a very long time before it left him.
He reached for the glass of brandy on his nightstand and quickly drained it.
He was in a great deal of trouble.