The Rogue’s Prize (35 page)

would know her shame. Why prolong the

inevitable?

Burton’s eyes gleamed with feral

delight.

“Guffald,”

Stanton’s

voice

deepened. “Do not take part in this

grievance.”

Guffald’s gaze slanted toward

Constance, where it lingered. His eyes

glazed with unreciprocated desire. He

appeared lost in emotion. When he

finally spoke, an odd smile broadened

his face and his words cut deep.

“I was on the
Octavia
when she set

sail with Lady Constance aboard.

Midway to Spain, we were brutally

attacked. My life was spared,” he said.

“And while I was allowed to move

freely about the ship, Lady Constance

spent her days and nights in the captain’s

cabin.” He paused. “I have no

knowledge of what transpired there.”

Constance stiffened but Stanton’s

reaction buoyed her spirits. His grip on

her upper arm offered silent support. But

the damage was done. Her reputation lay

in tatters. All the doors her father had

strived to protect slammed forcefully

shut. Time alone would reveal the

product of her days and nights in a

pirate’s cabin, a swollen belly. Soon

everyone would know she was a harlot.

She was a fool to believe, even for a

moment, that she could find happiness.

“It is plain Lady Constance has

been compromised,” Burton erupted.

“You appear to have done that

yourself, Burton! Need I remind you that

is not the mark of a gentleman?”

Burton sneered. Stanton’s hand

flexed.

Higgins

and

his

fellow

politicians gathered at the edge of the

crowd to shield Constance from further

disgrace.

Stanton spoke. “I’ve known Henry

Guffald for many years. He is an honest

man. A man who speaks about things he

has firsthand knowledge of, unlike some

who would disparage the innocent on

gossip alone.” Guilt registered on

Guffald’s face. That he appeared

shocked by Stanton’s support proved he

regretted his participation in the fiasco.

Constance stared incredulously at

Stanton, once more perplexed by the man

who had asked to become her husband.

“Does this vision of loveliness

look ill-used?” Stanton asked the crowd.

Guffald

didn’t

need

further

prodding. “No,” he volunteered.

“Privilege masks deceit,” Burton

said.

“Indeed it does,” Stanton charged.

“Look in the mirror, sir.”

Burton’s eyes hardened. Above his

cravat, his neck reddened. His chest

heaved and Constance feared he would

combust.

“I

do

not

believe

Burton’s

deception,” Stanton continued. “As the

future Duke of Blendingham, I have a

reputation to uphold and my father’s

legacy to protect.” Turning toward

Constance, he lifted her hand and placed

a chaste kiss upon her trembling fingers.

“It is still my wish to marry Lady

Constance, if she will accept my hand.”

The crowd broke into applause.

Someone screamed as Burton advanced,

a vicious scowl marring his face.

“I will see you in Green Park,” he

growled.

Guffald sprang forward, blocking

Burton’s path. “Lord Burton, it’s my duty

to inform you that Stanton is not a man to

trifle with on the field. He’s quite

skilled with powder and steel. You will

not find victory in the park.”

Burton hesitated, and then spat,

“You’ll regret this, Stanton. You cannot

outwit a fox.”

“Fox?

What

a

peculiar

comparison,” Stanton noted.

Stanton’s gaze flitted to Guffald,

but the lieutenant, Constance noted, had

disappeared. He turned back toward

Burton with a smile, and in one graceful

action, flipped his quizzing glass up to

his eye.

“I do believe you’ve outfoxed

yourself, sir, for you’ve lost said lady in

a pitiable attempt at the cut direct.

Inopportune and badly done.”

Burton smoothed his rumpled

jacket, scanned the frowning faces

focused upon him, and turned his rabid

gaze upon her. She shivered. Stanton

chuckled. As she turned to gaze into her

husband-to-be’s eyes and found they did

not mirror his mirth, she was led to

believe he fought terrible demons to

maintain his poise.

“Mark my words, Lady. You will

be mine,” Burton professed, hoping to

make her tremble head to foot. He

succeeded.

Simon swiftly ended Burton’s

tirade. He escorted the man toward the

exit where Cooper stood ready with

Burton’s coat, gloves, and hat in hand. “I

always get what belongs to me,” the

braggart boasted as he marched through

the large oak doors.

Though

Stanton’s

merciful

deliverance

had

diminished

her

mortification, Constance worried that

she’d woven a more intricate and

deadlier web than Burton could have

spun. She had given herself to a pirate,

was pregnant with said pirate’s child,

and was now in jeopardy of losing a

duke’s trust and compassion.

Burton wanted her. Denied his

chief desire, he’d attempted to ruin any

happiness she might have found.

How long before Lord Stanton

sought to do the same?

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Within in a few short weeks, the Sunday

bans were read and a special marriage

license had been obtained through

Constance’s father’s business solicitor

at the offices of the Bishop of

Canterbury. There were fittings and

meetings, little time to learn each other’s

likes and dislikes. A local clergyman,

Reverend Hastings, commissioned to

marry Constance and Lord Stanton in

Throckmorton House, officiated at the

ceremony with her father, uncle, and

Mrs. Mortimer in attendance. Shortly

after reciting their vows, a breakfast

feast awaited of various sweet breads,

buttered toast, tongue, stewed oysters,

eggs, fruit, tea, and chocolate. At

Constance’s request, a beautiful fruity

cake, to commemorate the occasion, sat

on Aunt Lydia’s side-table in the parlor.

Bound in matrimony, Constance and

Stanton ate in silence while newly

bonded brothers, her father and Uncle

Simon, caught up on various financial

prospects. With little else to occupy her

time,

Mrs.

Mortimer

cast

her

unwavering attention upon Constance’s

new husband, meticulously observing his

mannerisms and character, as if eager to

find just cause not to let Constance out of

her sight.

I do not like it, Constance. He’s a

strange man with unruly desires!

Constance had little to reassure

Mrs. Mortimer. Though Stanton had been

quite amiable, sending flowers, edible

sweets, and notes promising his undying

devotion, his visits had been infrequent

since the ball. And then there was the

matter of having lost her most precious

possession — her mother’s necklace.

The house had been scoured three times,

servants interviewed, but no clues as to

its whereabouts had been revealed.

Constance had been devastated.

Inconsolable, she’d longed to be

comforted by Stanton. But along with the

necklace’s

disappearance,

she’d

suffered cruelly from his inattention. No

matter apologies to the contrary, an

unwelcome chasm had grown between

them. Now they were practically

strangers.

Gazing quizzically across the table

at her new husband, she wondered if

he’d even taken notice of the extra care

she’d taken with her toilette. A man of

distinct

tastes,

he

was

dressed

immaculately from head to toe in a black

double-breasted coat, silver waistcoat,

and gray inexpressibles that reached

downward to his stockings and shiny

black pumps. His stiff collar flattered a

flawlessly tied cravat, in keeping with

Percy’s dramatic élan. Lace peaked out

from beneath his linen sleeves, caressing

the tips of his long, lean fingers, and

bold family ring. His hair, pulled tightly

away from his face, accentuated his

features, making his powdered face

appear dashing. Perhaps it was wishful

thinking on her part, but without the

immaculately tied cravat at his neck,

which gave his lips a sensuous fullness,

somehow he reminded her of Thomas.

Constance

shook

off

the

preposterous thought and dabbed a

napkin to her mouth, moistening her lips

with the tip of her tongue to summon her

courage. She quickly buried thoughts of

Thomas’s kiss, the babe growing in her

womb, all that reminded her that her

marriage was built on deceit. Lowering

her gaze, she cringed at the thought of

losing Stanton’s affections, which she

reasoned would be an inevitable event.

A man was a man, after all. Her new

husband would not find pleasure in a

broken bride or another man’s bastard.

Somehow, as if sensing the

downward turn of her thoughts, Stanton

reached across the table and tilted her

chin toward him. “What thoughts disturb

the lines of your beautiful face, this day

of days, my gel? You look as though you

are about to melt into tears.”

His smile was infectious, but could

not banish a wash of tears threatening to

spill down her cheeks. She felt unworthy

to have won such a temperate man.

“Tears of joy, no other,” she lied.

“You have nothing to fear. Ours

will be a perfect union,” he insisted,

striving to calm her nerves. He took her

trembling hand in his and brazenly

placed a kiss upon her fingers. The heat

of his breath warmed her flesh, a

startling sensation. He peered over her

hand with eyes promising a lifetime’s

devotion.

“No one is perfect, my Lord,” she

said. “Do not place me on a pedestal.”

Squeezing her hand affectionately,

he yielded, “Enjoy the heights. I predict

you shall reign over my heart forever.”

His brow perked and he added, “Don’t

you think it is high time we dispense

with formalities, Constance? You are my

wife, after all. Percy, will do quite

nicely, henceforth.”

She opened her lips to comply, but

then hesitated. More than anything, she

desperately wanted to mouth the one

name she could never utter before him

— Thomas.

“Come now, I promise it will not

hurt,” he jested.

“Very well … Percy,” she blurted.

Saying his name was not the

struggle she expected. Percy, of course,

sounded much better than Lord Burton,

for she was sure that man would never

have allowed her use of his given name.

An overpowering chill crept up her

spine. Though destiny had steered her

away from Thomas, she thankfully had

not been forced to promise her undying

devotion to such a one as Burton.

“You

have

nothing

to

fear,

Constance,” Percy said with an uncanny

way of reading her thoughts. “Life in

Sumpton Hall will bring you the peace

and solitude you seek.”

Solitude was not exactly what she

desired. She wanted her child’s father.

Yet, that was impossible. However,

there was solace in knowing her babe

would have a decent upbringing. With a

binding marriage contract, her next feat

would be to ensure Percy believed the

child was his.

She smiled what she hoped was her

most becoming smile. “With you at my

side, Percy, what more could I want?”

• • •

Constance, dressed in a white

muslin gown with the faintest pale green

floral accents, looked good enough to

eat. Her hair, swept back with pale