The Rogue’s Prize (34 page)

contact, a heated excitement spread

throughout Constance’s body. Shocked

by the betrayal, she retracted her arm.

“Is anything amiss?” he asked. His

brow rose quizzically.

“Forgive me,” she said, placing her

hand upon her drumming heart. “I fear

you’ve given me quite a shock.”

His eyes locked onto hers. “By

taking your arm?” he decreed. “I have

done even more outrageous things and

have been called to heel by the ton

because of them. If I have overstepped,

please do not take offense.” The devilish

grin on his face suggested he was not

apologizing and would do it again if

given the chance.

“You give yourself too little or too

much credit. I cannot decide which.”

“Were you in the know, you’d

condemn me most readily.” He winked,

and then bowed low, releasing his scent

of sandalwood and spice. Upon rising,

his eyes held a passionate twinkle.

Earthy and brown, friendly and trusting,

his eyes were laudanum for her nerves.

Though they had only just met, Stanton’s

charm, his casual mocking of the ton, his

self-loathing, and fashionable wit found

her favor. Yet, even as her heart opened

to him, there remained only one man in

her life. Thomas. The man she wanted

but could not have. Stanton’s non-

threatening, mischievous flamboyancy

bewitched, but she could not be parted

from Thomas’s memory and the feelings

she held most dear. Nor could she forget

Burton, a loathsome character bent on

ensnaring her like a ravenous spider. In

both cases, the danger was real to her

person and her immortal soul.

“I take it, from your silence, you

censure me.”

Lost in her musings, she did not

realize a lengthy silence had descended

between them. She quickly apologized.

“No, my Lord. My silence was not a

reflection upon your character.”

Stanton took her hand in his and

stroked his white gloved fingers over

her nimble digits. “I’ve never met a

woman like you,” he admitted.

“Nor I a man like you,” she

affirmed.

Neither had noticed the music had

stopped.

He placed his finger on his nose as

if deep in thought. “How to reveal this

without causing a stir,” he proposed.

“Reveal what? Causing what stir?”

she asked, intensely curious.

“There is no other way to explain,

except straightforwardly,” he said,

taking both her hands in his. “You’ve

captivated me, Lady Constance.”

“How can that be, sir? You do not

know me. Perhaps it’s just the splendor

of the evening, rigorous dancing, great

music, and candlelight that transforms

your mind.”

“One needn’t smell the rose before

acknowledging

its

beauty.”

He

referenced the flower again. A flush

spread upwards from her toes. “Forgive

me,” he said. “I do not know when your

father will grant your presence again.

You have already admitted that he does

not enjoy the formalities of the ton. What

I meant to say is I have studied your

character and I am quite sure you will

make a suitable bride.”

She inhaled deeply. “For someone

… someday.” Tears moistened her eyes.

How could she bear the truth? The night

had grown short. Soon, the whole world

would know she was destined to be

Lady Burton.

“No,” he said. “Not someone. Me.”

Constance blinked, uncertain she’d

heard correctly. “But you do not know

me, my Lord. Surely — ”

“I know no better way to say it than

this. I have already spoken with your

father and he has given me his blessing.

Say you’ll agree to be my bride, Lady

Constance. Give me the pleasure of

announcing that you’ve accepted my

hand.”

Her head spun. He had to grab her

to keep her from fainting dead away. She

couldn’t believe her ears. Stanton had

asked for her hand and her father had

approved? What had happened to his

agreement with Burton? She gazed about

the room frantically. Did Burton know?

If he did, he would turn murderous!

“Do you doubt my character?” he

pressed.

“No. No, my Lord.”

“Do you loathe my fashion sense?

My hideous face?”

He stood nearly a head and a half

higher than she. She gazed up into his

face. He was definitely flamboyant, by

his own admittance, and materialistic to

a fault. He enjoyed wealth and prestige,

but she’d witnessed compassion in his

eyes. His dark brows rose quizzically at

her

close

inspection.

His

high

cheekbones accentuated a sculpted

aquiline nose. His full lips curled ever

slightly as if concealing a hidden,

amusing enigma she would probably

strive a lifetime to solve. Indeed, he was

handsome, almost boyishly so beneath

his foppish resolve and powdered

exterior.

There would be repercussions.

Marrying a man like Stanton would open

her family to ridicule. And there was

Burton to consider. Father’s slight

would enrage him. Could Stanton

effectively protect her, her father, or

himself when the devil found out her

father had chosen another?

“Your silence condemns me,”

Stanton scoffed.

She lifted a trembling hand to her

mouth. His eyes dipped to her bosom

and then drifted up slowly, locking onto

hers, exciting her in ways she could not

define. Out of self-preservation, out of

love for her unborn child, she made a

spontaneous decision. “I admit you’ve

taken me by surprise, my Lord.”

“Life is meant to be lived to the

fullest. I guarantee you won’t be

disappointed with your choice, should

you accept my hand.”

There was something in his smile

that triggered her core. Immediately, she

knew her answer. “I accept.”

His lips curled into a chivalrous

smile. Instinctively, she moistened her

lips and parted them suddenly longing to

know if he would taste as sweet as the

man who haunted her dreams.

“There you are!” Burton barked,

pushing his way toward them, breaking

the spell. “It’s time,” he said, grabbing

her by the hand. He jerked her toward

him.

Stanton caught Burton’s arm. He

lifted his quizzing glass and inspected

Burton head to foot. “I see you’ve

righted yourself, sir. To your credit,

Throckmorton’s servants have proven

most adept.”

“No thanks to you,” the surly man

barked. “Take your hands off me.”

“You appear to have forgotten your

manners. Or is it customary for you to

manhandle your hostess? I will let you

go when you drop your arm and refrain

from behaving in such an objectionable

manner.”

“Objectionable? You’re the one

who cost me hours of shameless

upheaval!”

“I was only doing you a service,

sir.” Stanton pointed, with his looking

glass, at Burton’s cravat. “And see what

an improvement Throckmorton’s valet

has made to your person?”

Constance

forgotten,

Burton

released her hand and advanced on

Stanton. “How dare you!”

“I dare what I will, sir. Who are

you to say otherwise?”

“I am … I am … ” Burton stuttered.

“Boorish, sir! If there’s one thing I

cannot stand, it’s a bore.”

Bowing, Stanton put his arm

protectively upon Constance’s waist

and, thankful to flee Burton’s hostility,

she allowed him to lead her toward the

orchestra. Stanton nodded to her father,

who silenced the musicians. Stanton

leaned toward her, patting her back. He

smelled of sandalwood and freedom and

wore a victorious grin. Winifred and

Eleanor rushed to the forefront of the

crowd gathering around their host.

Her father began to speak. “My

distinguished

guests,

I

have

an

announcement to make.”

Burton shoved his way through the

crowd until he stood a few feet away.

Constance’s stomach coiled. But no

matter how much Burton scared her, she

finally felt as though she had a say as to

which direction her river forked.

Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer

that the dreadful man would not make a

scene.

Her father continued. “Tonight, I

would like to announce the engagement

of my daughter, Lady Constance

Danbury, to — ”

Burton stepped forward, a look of

satisfaction

illumining

his

face.

Unperturbed, Stanton cocked out one

hip, took out his snuffbox, dabbed his

nose, and inhaled. Raising his quizzing

glass toward the offensive man, he

winked as Throckmorton finished.

“ — Percival Avery, Marques

Stanton,

heir

to

the

duchy

of

Blendingham.”

Applause erupted. Burton turned

redder than the punch. Unsure what he

would do next, Constance braced

herself.

“This is an outrage!” the man

blurted, eyes bugging, lips hideously

stretched thin.

Simon grabbed Burton by the arm

in an attempt to guide him away from

Constance as guests questioned his

breach of etiquette.

“This is an outrage,” he repeated.

“Throckmorton and I had an agreement.”

“Thank you for your interest in

Constance, Burton, but Lord Stanton is

Constance’s choice.”

“Who cares what the chit wants?

You and I had a deal,” Burton charged.

“Throckmorton only cares about

what is best for Lady Constance,” Simon

stated for all to hear.

“You’ll regret this!” he yelled.

“Lady Constance is used goods!”

“How

dare

you

malign

my

daughter’s good name!” Throckmorton’s

voice silenced the crowd. Constance had

seen her father this enraged on only one

other occasion, the night she’d returned

from the sea without a mother.

“You know I speak the truth!”

Burton fumed.

Stanton pushed her behind him,

protectively. Constance was grateful for

his sheltering presence but she feared for

her father. “Ladies and gentlemen, do not

listen to this fool,” he said.

“Fool? Who’s the fool?” he

accused, his eyes scrutinizing Stanton up

and down. “Lady Constance boarded the

me r c ha ntma n
Octavia
,

which

was

attacked by pirates and now sits at the

bottom of the Channel. She is alive only

because pirates took an interest in her

and then brought her back to London.”

A low rumbling ignited the crowd.

Constance

nearly

swooned

with

humiliation.

“How conveniently you disperse

this information when you think the lady

out of reach.” Stanton’s unusual pitch

silenced the crowd.

“I offered for the lady’s hand to

keep anyone from knowing she was

spoiled goods,” Burton complained.

Stanton spread his arms wide.

“And yet now, when she is out of reach,

you besmirch her character? What idiocy

is this?”

“Do you dare insult me?”

“I dare to ask you for proof,” he

exclaimed.

“Oh, proof exists!” Burton vowed.

“Do not doubt it.” His eyes scanned the

crowd. “Lieutenant Guffald. Come

forward.”

The crowd parted as the uniformed

man approached. Guffald would not look

Constance in the eyes, but kept his gaze

riveted on Burton.

“Tell everyone here what you

witnessed.”

An awkward silence followed.

Guffald cleared his throat as Constance

took a step forward, but Stanton’s hand

stayed her. Living the life Stanton

offered had been a fanciful notion. She

knew that now. “It’s all right, Lieutenant.

Tell the truth,” she said. When her belly

swelled with a pirate’s child everyone