Heiress in Love (8 page)

Dusk had deepened into night, until the silence of this profoundly rural setting pounded in his ears. He hadn’t lit candles. Only the flickering firelight provided any illumination or warmth.

Ignoring Lady Roxdale’s express wish that he quarter himself elsewhere, he’d commandeered this bedchamber in the east tower, far from her own apartments. It wasn’t the master suite—that would have been too brash, even for him—but it was a comfortable, spacious room overlooking a set of formal gardens.

Constantine rose and crossed to the window, which he’d left open. The rain had ceased, for the moment, but storm clouds blanketed the sky, smothering the stars and moon. The quiet had an expectant quality to it, disturbed only by the occasional snap of a twig or thump of a log burning down in the grate. He stared into the thick darkness, seeking answers.

He would have to decide. And soon.

Well, of course it made sense to marry her. Of course it did. She had the money, he the property. Yes, it would all be tidy if they wed. His aunt demanded it; George put forward the sale of Broadmere as the only other solution.

They were probably right.

And yet … His pride stuck in his throat whenever he contemplated marrying a woman for her money. Particularly one who so openly despised him.

He’d never met anyone quite like Lady Roxdale. She’d stated her poor opinion of him in no uncertain terms. Clearly, she also believed herself proof against his wicked wiles.

The only vulnerability she’d displayed was when Beckenham had told him about this Luke’s guardianship. Was it merely a pious horror that a man of his stamp might corrupt the young boy? Or did she genuinely care for the lad? What would she be prepared to sacrifice on Luke’s behalf?

Ordinarily, Constantine would spurn the idea, but he was fast coming to the conclusion that his situation was desperate.

He admired Lady Roxdale’s face and figure. He desired her. In fact, nothing would please him more than to tumble the Ice Maiden from her lofty perch and into his bed.

Once more, he thought of her ready blushes, her skin so sleek, so translucent, his fingertips tingled with the desire to stroke it. He wanted to rub against her softness like a cat. He wanted to make her blush again. All over.

But marry her in a bloodless, loveless marriage of convenience? As a last resort, it was preferable only to selling his family home.

The door behind Constantine opened. He swung around to see his valet bearing a fine bottle of burgundy and a new glass on a salver.

“Ah, Priddle. Good timing.” More wine to rescue him from such sobering thoughts.

“My lord.” The valet left the salver on the table next to Constantine. Priddle uncorked the wine and poured.

It wasn’t until he’d taken his first, appreciative sip of the burgundy that Constantine’s eye alighted on the screw of paper that also lay on the silver tray.

“What’s this?” He plucked it from the salver and untwisted it, spreading it out.

“What’s what, my lord?”

Constantine didn’t look up. “Never mind.”

Priddle was superbly discreet. If the note was from a lady who had no business sending Constantine notes (as this one was), Priddle would treat the missive as if it had powers of invisibility.

Constantine spread the scrap of paper, smoothing it with his thumbs. He could barely make out the elegant scrawl, which was heavily marred by ink blots. Obviously, it had been written in haste and sent immediately. The ink hadn’t yet dried. He inspected a smudge on his thumb.

“A clandestine meeting in the chapel. Hmm…” He cocked an eyebrow at his valet. “What do you say to that, Priddle?”

“Not what I would call a setting conducive to dalliance, my lord.”

Constantine fingered his chin. “No. And the chapel at Lazenby Hall is particularly gloomy, if my memory serves right. Quite Gothic, in fact.” He sighed. “I fear one is more likely to be stabbed than seduced in the Hall chapel.”

He ran a fingertip around the rim of his glass. “Ought I to go, do you think? It might be part of a plan to do away with me.”

“One must never disappoint a lady, my lord.”

“Even on pain of death?”

“I’ll get your coat, sir.”

“Don’t bother.” Constantine slipped his stockinged feet into his evening pumps, downed the wine in a couple of mouthfuls and rose.

“My lord!” Priddle’s voice rose in consternation. “You cannot go like that!”

Ignoring his valet, Constantine strode out toward the chapel.

When he reached the meeting place, he found it lit by a single branch of candles on the altar. He set his own candle on a side table and peered through the gloom.

She stood with her back to him, as if examining the stained-glass window before her; a useless activity in the evening with no sun to fire its colors to brilliance. If she’d heard his arrival she didn’t show it.

He took the opportunity thus presented to study her. The erect posture; the somber dress; the tightly pinned hair—no dishabille, even at this late hour, for Lady Roxdale. Only small wisps of auburn hair at her ears and nape escaped discipline.

How predictable of him to wish to unwind all those tightly bound trappings, to reveal the pulsing, flesh-and-blood woman beneath. Predictable, and quite possibly stupid. Yet, the urge beat strongly in his blood, for all that.

“My lady.”

Her neck stiffened. She drew herself up straighter, if that were possible, then turned, her lips parted on a wordless exclamation. Her eyes gleamed pewter; her skin flickered with golden licks of light.

“You summoned?” His bow was all exaggerated courtliness; his voice was a caress.

Lady Roxdale’s eyes widened as she assimilated the full magnificence of his silk dressing gown. With an arrogance that seemed bred into Westruthers, she scanned him slowly, from the top of his uncombed curls to the open neck of his shirt, to the buckles of his black evening pumps.

Her gaze met his and cut away. A trick of the light, or did a flush creep into her cheeks? Not for the first time, he marveled at the fine-grained texture of her skin, so translucent and quick to blush.

He had a feeling this interview was about to turn interesting.

*   *   *

Jane sent up a silent prayer for forbearance. The man was impossible! How could she broach a serious matter when he stood there looking so rumpled and unrepentant and flamboyantly gorgeous?

She knew all about the male fashion for dressing gowns of the most exotic design. Frederick had owned a version of the garment Constantine Black wore so carelessly, yet the strong hues in the Chinese silk had not flattered Frederick’s pallor.

The garment the new baron wore seemed expressly designed to set off his dark features and olive skin. The riotous swirl of jewel tones emphasized the green of his eyes. A sliver of tanned neck and chest shouted masculinity; the absence of a cravat or a waistcoat to civilize him lent him a reckless, piratical air.

And here she was, wading into shark-infested waters. Her stomach pitched; her hands trembled. Her heart seemed to have slipped its moorings and anchored in her throat.

What was happening to her? She tried to resist, but her disobedient gaze kept homing in on his chest.

“Lady Roxdale?” The amusement in his voice told her he knew exactly the effect he had on her. Her face flooded with heat.

Wrenching her mind from the strength and grace of Constantine Black’s clavicles, she muttered, “You could have put a coat on, at least.”

One black brow quirked. “My state of dress is the least improper aspect of this meeting. Why the subterfuge? Don’t you know I debauch virtuous maidens for breakfast?”

“How you can stand there and boast of your reputation!” she snapped. “I assure you, I am not impressed.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “And yet, here you are.”

He let his gaze wander over her, which she supposed was only fair as she’d just ogled him shamelessly.

The glittering regard of those deep green eyes made her feel hot and uncomfortable and more than a little defensive. She itched to cross her arms over her bosom, even though her gown was made up high at the throat. She was half convinced he could see through her layers of clothing to her naked form beneath. He’d tell her what color garters she wore, if only she gave him the chance.

Her face aflame, Jane hurried into speech. “I need to speak with you on a matter of some import, my lord.”

“Strange place to choose.”

“Neutral territory.” She’d selected the chapel because it was the most prosaic atmosphere she could think of. Yet, as soon as he’d entered it, the air of the place hummed with tension. Her senses heightened. The strangest imaginings danced through her head.

Lord, he was like a perambulating furnace—he took this heat with him wherever he went, filled the room with it. They could meet in a factoring house or a lawyer’s office or … or a cow byre, and still there would be this charge between them.

She forced herself to say something instead of standing there like a dunce. “I need to speak with you privately before my—before the Duke of Montford does. I might not have the chance tomorrow.”

Everyone knew Town beaux didn’t rise before noon. Montford required her presence after breakfast. By the time she cornered Constantine Black, the duke would have settled her fate, allowing her no room to maneuver.

Jane twisted her hands together and raised her gaze to his face. “Frederick left the estate in an awful mess.”

“I don’t see how you are disadvantaged by inheriting a fortune.” Constantine folded his arms and leaned back against a marble pillar.

“Don’t you?” she said dryly. “Then you don’t know my family.”

“I know enough.” More than he wished to, from the dourness of his tone.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but decided to let the comment pass. After all, she needed his cooperation, didn’t she?

“We shouldn’t be alone like this, you know,” he commented. “What if the duke were to come down to say his prayers?”

She snorted. “Montford has no need for prayers. He thinks he
is
God, after all. In any case, I believe my reputation can withstand a moment’s conversation with my husband’s cousin.”

“By God, aren’t you trusting?” He glanced around, and the gold thread in his dressing gown flashed as he moved. “If I were half as black as I’m painted, the surroundings wouldn’t stop me from seducing you.”

In spite of her resolve not to let him intimidate her, Jane’s breathing quickened. Her heart missed a beat, then jumped into her throat.

After a slight struggle, she managed to curl her lip. “Idle threats, my lord. I’m not afraid of you.”

“Ah, but that was not a threat.” His lips curved as his gaze ran over her. “It was more in the nature of a speculation.”

What on earth could he mean by that remark? The amusement in his expression told her she’d be better off not finding out.

Jane fought to focus her mind on her original purpose. “The way the estate has been divided puts us both in a terrible position. My family thinks the only course is for us to wed.”

She waited, but he made no comment. He wouldn’t make this easy for her. She gripped her hands together. “I’m to meet with the Duke of Montford tomorrow to discuss the matter.”

At first, she’d been terrified the duke would require her to marry Constantine Black. Now, she was equally terrified he’d have other plans for her. She could never consent to leave Luke behind but the duke wouldn’t understand that. His objective was solely to increase the wealth and power of the Westruther family. Why should he care about one small boy?

She eyed Constantine, but again, the provoking man said nothing. He didn’t seem surprised by her revelation. Of course, he’d have to be a fool not to consider their marriage as a possible solution to the conundrum Frederick had tossed in their laps. And despite his complete lack of moral fiber, she sensed Constantine Black was no fool.

She tried to read his face but it was maddeningly expressionless. He seemed determined to make this as difficult as possible for her.

Only the need to keep Luke made her battle on.

She took a deep breath, flushing with embarrassment. “Regardless of our …
private
feelings, I believe you and I must marry to make the estate whole again.”

There was a startled pause. His eyebrows climbed. “Ah,” he said softly. “I am honored that so fair and genteel a lady would condescend to propose marriage to me.”

Well, and so he should be! He had every bit as much to gain as she did by this alliance, didn’t he? And nothing at all to lose. He could take her fortune and play merry hell with it, continue to pursue his gaming and his mistresses and his whores and never count the cost. While she struggled to hold her head up and play lady of the manor and pretend her entire world hadn’t crumbled around her.

She swallowed hard. “Of course, it would be a marriage of convenience between us. You must not imagine I expect you to alter your … habits, in the least.”

“My habits?” The words were gently spoken, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye. “How generous of you. I am quite overwhelmed. Deeply flattered, in fact.”