Chapter 20
“Your Grace, forgive me.”
James’s voice was husky and sleepy as he pulled his tired body from the wide, cushioned, black velvet bench at the foot of Constantine’s bed.
“No need for apologies, James. You may retire for the evening. I shall ready myself for bed,” Constantine commanded in a low voice as he shut his bedroom door behind him.
In the dim light of the candles, Constantine watched as his valet struggled to stand and rub his eyes. Poor fellow. He had stayed behind to help his master, not knowing that he would return so late.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” James murmured, giving Constantine a stumbling bow. “I hope your reunion with Her Grace went well. I shall attend to you in the morning as usual.”
His face still a blank mask, Constantine simply nodded and waited until his exhausted valet stumbled out of his room.
As soon as he was gone, Constantine let out a heavy sigh, sank onto the bench James had just vacated, and cradled his head in his hands.
He had fallen asleep with Elara in his arms, and upon waking, he felt deeply unsettled by the realization.
Did my reunion go well?
He had never been so angry upon seeing a woman, any woman, with a man—the way he had been upon seeing Elara with the Duke of Ravenshaw.
Ravenshaw had a reputation for being a beast. He rarely spoke, rarely showed emotion at all, and when he did, rumor had it that he preferred to show it with his fists.
Constantine remembered him from his younger days, when they were all friends.
Even if it was Evander who was in the brawl, it was Damien who would step in to finish them, always beating their opponents to a pulp.
Damien was a man who was able to take what he wanted, and if he wanted Elara.
.. well. Constantine was not going to let that happen.
In fact, he had just gone to great lengths to remind her who she belonged to.
Constantine stopped the thought as he shook his head and rose to his feet.
“This should not matter,” he murmured to himself. “This is not a love match; this is only a temporary marriage.”
And yet you are distracted by her. By her beauty. By her ferocity and intelligence.
Constantine growled at the thought and began pacing.
He had to refocus and look for a new lead.
Mr. Preacher was still a suspect. He was not at all sure if he believed the story about the messenger, or even Augustus’s losses.
He had to keep investigating. Talk to the other people mentioned in the papers he had found in the hidden rooms Augustus had secretly rented on the main shop street in Mayfair.
What are you hiding, brother?
Yet as he drew in a deep breath, he caught Elara’s scent.
He drew his lower lip between his teeth to worry it and tasted her.
She was all over him. Consuming him. It would not do.
With agitated movements, he ripped off his shirt and breeches, discarded them on the floor, and all but stomped to his washstand.
He poured the clean water from the ceramic pitcher into the bowl and, with both hands, began to scrub his face and body.
He scrubbed until his skin was raw, trying to wash away her sweetness. Yet even after he finished, after throwing himself into bed and screwing his eyes shut, all he could think about was what they had just done to each other—and how much he wanted to do it again.
One Week Later
“Well, do you not look so very poorly.”
Constantine gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes as he heard Mrs. York’s voice behind him.
“Again you enter without a knock, Mrs. York,” he replied, his tone gruff and matter-of-fact. “You seem to be growing bolder by the day.”
Behind him, he heard the housekeeper chuff and watched out of the corner of his eye as she walked around him toward his curtains. Constantine let out a growl of annoyance and winced at the bright daylight as Mrs. York threw the curtains open.
“You need some sun to aid in your poor complexion,” Mrs. York tsked as she fussed with the heavy drapes.
“It is not the sun I need but sleep,” Constantine bit out, smashing his fork into his plate of food. He had not consumed a single bite of it. Instead, he had let his thoughts roam as he mashed the peas and potatoes and stirred them until they looked like mush.
It had been a week since the heated moment between him and Elara, and he wagered he had not gotten more than an hour or so of sleep each night.
He had thought, after not seeing her for the first two days, that he would calm and regain his ability to slumber.
He had been worried that she would come to him cloying for attention, as all the other women he had been with had done, so when she did not, he felt a glimmer of relief.
By the third day of her not seeking him out, however, he became unsettled by her distance.
It was not long before he was roaming the house, seeking even just a second where he could spot her.
He discovered her more often than not spending her time with William, as she had promised she would.
In his nursery, or in the great hall where all the paintings hung.
Or in the gardens. She often had the baby on her hip, talking to him nonstop about whatever it was they were surrounded by.
Mrs. York walked over to him, eyed him up with those sharp eyes of hers, looked down at his plate, and tsked her tongue yet again.
“You will also soon need new plates if you keep that up,” she retorted, reaching for the plate.
“What are you trying to do? Mash the china up with your food? Is it so bland that you desire a new sort of seasoning? Or is it that you find yourself so distracted by a certain new member of your household?”
Constantine glared at her as he tossed his knife and fork onto the plate, and she pulled it away from him.
“Your sass is usually heartwarming, Mrs. York, but I am finding it more annoying as of late,” he replied icily. “You should be more respectful, lest you find yourself searching for new employment.”
Mrs. York met his glare with a challenging gaze and smirked.
“Well, Your Grace, I may need an employer who is not so utterly besotted with his wife but will not admit it, so he stomps around his house like a wild bull, thrashing his horns and forgetting to eat properly,” she replied coolly, then pointedly looked down at the plate in her hands.
Constantine opened his mouth for another warning, but as Mrs. York lifted her brows in expectation, he snapped it shut and sucked his teeth as he shot his glare to the carpet. Devil take the woman, but she read him like an open book.
Constantine cleared his throat, let his temper cool, and looked back up to Mrs. York with a tired expression.
“And pray tell, where is said wife?” he asked.
Mrs. York gave him a smug smile, then walked to the window.
“Ah, there she is,” Mrs. York said. “In the gardens with William on this beautiful day. She either spends her time with him or with her family. Her cousin, Miss Mason, and the Duchess and Dowager of Redgrave visit nearly every other day now.”
Unable to help himself, Constantine rose from his seat and joined Mrs. York at the window.
His heartbeat quickened as he watched Elara tickle William’s nose with a yellow tulip, making the boy laugh wildly.
She was smiling too; the sight of it made his stomach do a flip, and a grin twitched onto his face.
“Go ahead,” Mrs. York said in a dry, cheeky tone. “Tell me once more how you have no feeling for her.”
Constantine rolled his eyes, but he could not help the small smirk on his lips as he turned to face his long-time housekeeper.
“Your point is made, Mrs. York, thank you,” he replied tiredly.
Mrs. York’s smile was smug as she slightly shimmied her shoulders.
“Good. So what shall we do then?” she asked.
“I suppose it is time she and I have a more serious conversation about our... agreement,” Constantine confessed. “Invite her to dine with me this evening, here in my private quarters. We shall sit down and—”
A knock on his door interrupted him, and both he and Mrs. York turned to it.
“Who is it?” Constantine demanded, instantly annoyed at the interruption.
“Your steward, Stephen Cottle, Your Grace,” a man’s voice stated from the other side of the door. “I believe I have found some more information regarding Mr. Harcourt.”
Constantine’s thoughts shifted immediately to Augustus.
“Enter,” he said hurriedly, taking a few steps toward the door as it opened.
“Your Grace,” Stephen greeted, bowing. “How do you do?”
“Enough pleasantries, what have you found about my brother?” Constantine demanded.
“I conducted another search of your brother’s apartments as you requested, Your Grace, and discovered the name of a man who books passages on ships.
A Mr. Merlot. It took a few days, but I finally discovered who he was, and I reached out to him.
He claims that he does indeed have information on Mr. Harcourt.
He has requested you meet him this evening at midnight in the rose beds of Vauxhall Gardens. ”
“Vauxhall Gardens?” Constantine echoed. “Strange place for a meeting.”
“Oh, another clue!” Mrs. York said excitedly, her eagerness alarming Constantine. “Her Grace is going to be most happy to hear about this!”
“You are going to tell her?” Constantine asked as Mrs. York hurried—quite fast for her age—to the door.
She paused at the doorway and gave him an odd look. Suddenly, he understood. Mrs. York was still loyal to him, yes—but now her blind loyalty was directed toward Elara.
“Of course I am,” Mrs. York replied with a dry chuckle. “She will need plenty of time to get ready. If you are meeting in Vauxhall Gardens, she must look exquisite.”
“I never said she was coming with me,” Constantine stated, taking a step toward her.
Mrs. York let out a cackling laugh, the sound taking him by surprise.
“I would like to see you try and stop her, Your Grace,” Mrs. York said, shaking her head as she grinned. “It would be quite the spectacle. I will have her ready by half-past six. You may receive her at the bottom of the stairs.”
“You have turned into a traitor, Mrs. York,” Constantine called after her as she hurried into the hall. “I am disappointed in you!”
“You are not!” Mrs. York called back, and Constantine chuckled as he shook his head.
“Thank you for the information, Stephen,” Constantine stated as he turned back to his steward. “It is greatly appreciated. Please go back and continue to look for another piece of information that might... what are you grinning like that for?”
Stephen’s grin widened, and he swept into a bow.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” the steward offered. “It has just been ages since I have seen you so lighthearted. It is a good sight to see indeed.”
Constantine’s brows furrowed in confusion, questioning if what the man had just said was true. Moreover, if it was, it was undeniable that Elara, the sister of the man who had ruined his brother, had somehow brightened his heart.
“Right,” he murmured, gesturing for Stephen to leave.
With another bow, Stephen left his room, leaving Constantine alone with not just his person but his thoughts.
As his mind churned, he walked back to the window to look for Elara.
He saw her just as Mrs. York approached, and his blood warmed as the two women suddenly took hands and began to bounce excitedly on the balls of their feet.
William, sitting on Elara’s hip, laughed again, and although the baby had no idea what was happening, he seemed happy to celebrate with them.
Constantine watched them for a long moment, his hands clasped behind his back.
Mrs. York is a meddler and a traitor, he told himself. An absolute traitor.
And yet, as Elara threw her head back and laughed, he found he could not bring himself to mean it. At least, he was glad he would not have to invite her himself.