Heiress in Love (37 page)

Constantine had never said he loved her. He’d never promised to be faithful, either. He was an unrepentant womanizer, and though she was certain he’d not had another woman while at Lazenby, it might simply be lack of opportunity rather than steadfastness that had prevented him.

From the start, Constantine had proposed a business arrangement between them. He’d never flummeried her on that score. Oh, certainly he had affection for her. She knew he cared. But Frederick had seemed to care for her at the outset of their marriage, yet it had not stopped him keeping a succession of mistresses throughout. That was the way things were in their circle. Wives were expected to turn a blind eye to their husbands’ philandering, and to take their own lovers after they’d produced one or two sons of the marriage.

Was that the kind of arrangement she’d have with Constantine? Pain cramped her stomach at the thought.

Suddenly, she felt adrift, even more vulnerable than she’d been as an unhappy seventeen-year-old. Jane longed to believe in Constantine’s love and in his fidelity. But without his reassurance on those points, she couldn’t face the trip to Town with anything but dread.

CHAPTER TWENTY

As soon as Constantine opened the door to her late that night, Jane fell upon him with frenzied kisses, her hands ripping at the fastenings on his dressing gown.

The feel of her fingertips on his bare skin made him catch his breath, but he sensed a desperate edge to her lovemaking tonight. It unsettled him.

He put his hands on Jane’s shoulders to hold her still. “Whoa, there,” he said softly. “What’s the hurry, princess?”

Without a word, the vixen slipped from his grasp and slid down his body. Caressing his hips with her hands, she pressed gentle, openmouthed kisses to his chest, flicking his nipple with her tongue. His member hardened instantly, but he was determined not to let her take his mind off what he wanted to know.

“Jane…”

She moved farther south, giving his stomach playful licks that felt like tongues of flame.
No, no.
Before he lost his mind completely, he needed to know why she was behaving like this.

He touched the back of her head, trying to recall her attention. In a strained voice, he said, “Not that I don’t appreciate the…” He broke off with a long moan as she took him in her mouth, scattering his thoughts to oblivion.

Something about this picture was wrong, but Constantine was damned if he could puzzle it out while her tongue fondled his cock with the skill of an experienced courtesan. The notion of Jane being the one to do this to him made the blood roar through his body in a dizzying rush.

Shuddering, he threaded his fingers through her hair, his buttocks tensing as she took all of him. He’d taught her the basics, but in the past weeks, she seemed to have perfected the art.

He held on for as long as he could, which, it turned out, was no time at all. Too soon, his mind blanked, and with a guttural cry, he came so hard his head swam.

And they hadn’t even made it to the bed.

When he’d regained his senses, he pulled her up for a long, drugging kiss, then guided her to the bed with a firm hand on the curve of her delectable bottom. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing—another novelty—and though he appreciated the view he was getting, her nakedness plucked another string of unease.

His chest was still heaving when he settled back on the pillows, pulling her down to him. “I’m going to need a minute before I reciprocate.”

She lay in the circle of his arm, biting the edge of her thumb in that way she had. He’d learned the gesture meant she was agitated about something.

So. His instincts at the start of this torrid encounter had been correct.

“Jane, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” She looked up at him through the wild tangle of her hair. “Why should you say that? I … you enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

God, had he enjoyed it? “Of course I did. But you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, you know. It’s not mandatory.”

“I like doing it. I like…” Her lips curved in a secretive smile. “I
love
having you at my mercy.”

He laughed, and kissed her temple. His voice grew husky. “I’m your slave, princess. You know that.”

She fell silent.

And there it was again, that tension. He could feel it in her, even as she snuggled close.

This was the moment in most of his dealings with women where he’d get the hell out of there. He’d leave, or he’d commit some unforgivable sin, and when they tossed him out of their beds he’d heave a sigh of relief and move on.

Now, it was not so simple. Jane wasn’t one of those women. He cared for her. He was going to marry her. He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to. And he
didn’t
want to.

She’d told him she loved him, but she hadn’t repeated the sentiment, and he’d learned better than to believe a woman knew her own heart in the afterglow of sexual release. Even if she truly believed she loved him, it might all be an illusion. He’d been her first real lover, after all. Sometimes women liked to fool themselves that they slept with a man for more altruistic reasons than the sinful pursuit of pleasure.

But he was uneasily aware that if he made a wrong step now, he might well lose everything they had together. And what they had was new to him, precious. He hadn’t allowed himself to care for a woman since Amanda. He’d deliberately chosen lovers as hard-hearted and sophisticated as he was. If they ever developed more tender feelings toward him, he simply left. No danger there.

Gently, he kissed the top of Jane’s head, stroking her bare, lovely arm with his fingertips.

The words “I love you,” which she’d bestowed on him so effortlessly, were not so simple for him to say. An ache built in his throat as he tried desperately to think of a phrase that told her how important she was to him, how uniquely dear. A sentiment that would not seem like a sop to her feelings, a second-best to love.

He couldn’t. And in the end, he reached for her and pulled her on top of him and dispensed with speech altogether.

*   *   *

As soon as he heard of Trent’s return from Town, Constantine was on the man’s doorstep. This time, instead of barging into Trent’s breakfast room, Constantine most correctly sent up his card. After a lengthy wait, he was shown into the library.

Promising. Trent had not barred him from the house, at least. Perhaps he would have, if the notion had occurred to him.

When Trent came in, Constantine walked forward, holding out his hand. Trent ignored it.

“You wished to see me?” The tone was cool, but Constantine sensed the resentment seething underneath.

“Yes, I wished to see you. And I’ll tell you now, I have not come to pick a fight.” He looked around. “Do you mind if we sit down?”

“You won’t be here long enough,” said Trent. “State your business and go.”

Constantine regarded Trent with a small measure of sympathy. Perhaps he ought to let the man vent his spleen. “DeVere gave you a dressing-down, did he? I am sorry for it.”

“He held
you
up as an example. To
me
!” Trent’s square jaw hardened.

“He must be in his dotage,” said Constantine lightly.

“That’s what I thought! There’s madness in the deVeres and his lordship has it in spades.” With a start, Trent seemed to catch himself, perhaps remembering that he was (a) himself a deVere on the distaff side, and (b) speaking to a Black, the natural enemy of the deVere clan.

Trent cleared his throat. “Never mind that. What are you doing here?”

“I came to inform you of the work that is going on up at your mill.”

“I know what’s going on!” Trent snapped. “I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? Rode past there this morning.” He gave a short laugh. “If you’re stupid enough to foot the bill for improvements on my land, then more fool you.
I
shan’t stop you.”

“No, I’m not fool enough to do that,” said Constantine. “Lord deVere is footing the bill.”

He paused, relishing the astonished consternation on his neighbor’s face. Trent might wriggle out of repaying Constantine, but he didn’t have the guts to deny his formidable uncle the funds he’d expended on Trent’s land.

Recovering, Trent blustered, “At all events, Bronson holds the lease on the mill. It’s no concern of mine what he does with the place.”

His temper rising, Constantine said, “But your tenants are your concern, Trent. And you have a duty to them not to abdicate responsibility to a man like Bronson. A man who has been conspicuously absent in these parts.”

Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know those weavers’ wages were barely enough to keep them alive? Do you know what hours those men and women and children were expected to work? Do you even care?”

Trent sent him a contemptuous look. “Don’t come over all high-and-mighty with me. I’ll not take lessons in my duty from a blackguard like you!”

The fury that exploded inside Constantine needed an outlet, but he’d promised himself he would not lose his temper today. Panting with the effort of holding back, he shook his head.

“No,” he managed. “That, at least, is clear. You’ll
never
learn, will you, Trent?” He narrowed his eyes. “I always knew you for a golden-haired hypocrite, Trent. But I never dreamed you would stoop to fraud.”

A flash of emotion crossed Trent’s features before his face shuttered. “What?” he said coldly.

“Mr. Greenslade did a little digging for me,” said Constantine. “And do you know what he discovered? That you, Trent, are a director and principal shareholder of Bronson and Company. There is no Bronson. You made him up.”

Trent’s hands were balled into fists. His knuckles were white. His face betrayed nothing at all. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”

“I don’t know,” said Constantine. He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Shall I hazard a guess? You persuaded Frederick to run his mill as you run yours—like a business. In your capacity as Bronson and Company, you lent Frederick the funds to buy the very latest expensive machinery for the mill, then you made sure the mill foundered, by damming the stream that powered it. What was the plan then, Trent? The interest on that loan was crippling. Did you intend to bleed Frederick dry?”

Trent curled his lip. “What a nice little fairy tale you’ve concocted, Constantine. I hardly think—”

“When you dammed that stream, you lost this estate three seasons’ worth of earnings. We had to pay
your
mill to weave
our
wool. And not only that, but our weavers had no choice but to accept work from you under harsher conditions and for fewer wages than they’d ever known.”

“This is pure fabrication!” said Trent, but sweat beaded his upper lip.

Constantine leaned forward, planting his palms on the desk. He spoke softly. “And do you know what the worst part of this whole business is, Trent? You didn’t even have the
guts
to perpetrate this villainy in your own name.”

Constantine drew a paper from his waistcoat and threw it down. “Here is what I calculate you owe me in damages and lost earnings. You can instruct your solicitor to communicate with mine.”

Trent barely glanced at the sheet of foolscap. “I admit nothing! None of this is true. But whatever I did, Constantine, you owe Bronson and Company a damn sight more money than this! You have one week to find those funds or you can say good-bye to your mill.” He sneered. “You won’t be such a hero to your people then, will you, Lord Roxdale?”

Smiling grimly, Constantine said, “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be saying any farewells any time soon.”

Trent’s face whitened. “How? How could you possibly find the money? Frederick left you with nothing but land.”

“That’s right. He did.” Constantine gave him a feral smile. “But Lady Roxdale has done me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage. Didn’t you know?”

*   *   *

“Aunt Jane, Aunt Jane!”

Jane expelled a breath in a quiet
oof
as Luke cannoned into her. He wrapped his skinny arms around her and squeezed her tight. Then he released her to caper about the room. “Guess where we’re going?”

She pretended to think. “To … the moon?”

He gave a gurgle of laughter. “No, silly! Guess again.”

“Hmm … I know! Timbuktu.”

“Timbuktu?” He hooted in derision. “What would we go there for? No, better than that.”

She tapped her chin. “No, I’m afraid I simply can’t guess. Why don’t you tell me?”

“London!” Luke took her hands and swung them to and fro. “Can you believe it? Lord Roxdale says he’ll take me to Astley’s to see the performing horses, and Tattersall’s, too. And to the print shops, so I can see all the latest cartoons. And Somerset House, and oh, all manner of places.”

“Did he? That’s wonderful,” said Jane, perhaps a little too heartily.

Oblivious to her disquiet, Luke chatted away about London and its attractions, peppering his conversation with the phrase “Lord Roxdale says.”