The Rogue’s Prize (37 page)

fears as to my nature.”

“This is unnecessary, my Lord.”

“Dearest, my sole purpose in

speaking out about this topic now,

before we are inundated with servants,

is to bring you comfort. I will not pursue

you unless you welcome my advances. I

may be many things, but I’m not an

unfeeling cad. Rest assured you are safe

with me.”

Someone had once promised her

safety but had taken advantage of her the

moment she’d given in to her base

desires. Did Percy find her attractive?

Did it matter? No. She needed to cover

up the parentage of her child. She

needed to consummate her marriage, and

with great haste, or her crop would bear

fruit without proper cultivation. And yet

she couldn’t appear too hasty or her

husband

might

suspect

Burton’s

accusations were well-founded. Mrs.

Mortimer, bless her, had instructed her

in ways to prevent such a discovery.

Deceit did not come natural to her, but

she was desperate. Unless Percy sought

to claim her as any normal man would

on his wedding night, everything she’d

strived to prevent could become undone.

“You have shown me nothing but

kindness, my Lord. I have every

confidence that you will be a good

husband — in every way,” she added,

eyelashes fluttering for affect. With a

slightly noticeable hesitation and an

awkward tilting of her head, she

employed every flirtation in her arsenal.

“Splendid!” he said, enjoying the

intertwining of their gloved fingers. “I

predict we shall get along famously.”

His delighted grin convicted her.

But there was no turning back now. What

she did from this time forth, she did for

the safeguarding of her child.

“Yes, Percy. We shall get along

famously.”

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

The ride to Herford Street seemed

interminably long. Enclosed in the

carriage, their conversation had taken a

more personal tone, one that had him

imagining Constance lying nude in his

bed, swathed in perspiration after hours

of ardent lovemaking. Minute by minute,

he dreamed of tutoring her in artful

foreplay. So much so, that by the time

they arrived at Number Seven, he was

restless.

He was thoroughly captivated with

his new bride. She was young, fertile,

and strong. Beautiful to behold, she was

conscientious and intelligent, with a

spirited streak and sassy determination

that would take him a lifetime to

understand. Indeed, she fit the Avery

mold well and he welcomed this new

light into the darkness that had pervaded

over his life.

The carriage slowed to a stop and

Percy gazed fondly at the stoop of

Number

Seven.

Celeste,

draped

resplendent

in

a

morning

gown,

materialized, smiling fondly upon his

return.

He

blinked,

instinctively

confident she meant him to know she

approved of the new addition to their

family, but when he opened his eyes, she

was gone. Jeffers stood in her place. Or

had he been standing there all along?

“Are you ready to take your place

by my side, my gel?” Constance did not

speak.

“You

haven’t

forgotten

I

promised you safe haven? Put aside your

ghastly experiences, financial dilemmas,

Burton, and this so-called pirate,” he

said with a flick of his wrist. “Henry’s

unease proves you have not been ill-

used. Burton’s insistence on marrying

you confirms you are desirous. And,” he

added with bravado, “life as my wife

will surely put many a dowager’s

wagging tongue to rest.”

“You are too generous, my Lord. I

do not deserve you.”

“Odd’s fish, my dear! Do not erect

a marble pedestal beneath my feet —

yet. ’Tis only what any man of merit

would do or say,” he said, tapping the

end of her nose. “And fancy my luck.

I’ve won a beautiful bride in the

bargain.”

He winked conspiratorially. Her

eyes

teared

and

she

smiled

appreciatively. Jeffers approached.

“Your staff. Do they know the

particulars of our marriage?”

He leaned in and whispered, “They

know only that I’ve picked the cream of

the crop.” Picking up her hand, he kissed

it, then added, “Lady, your name and

beauty have preceded you. My staff is

most delighted to meet their new

mistress.”

Jeffers lifted the latch on the coach.

The handle clicked loudly, interrupting

the sparks igniting between them. Once

they stepped across the threshold of

Number Seven, there would be no

turning back.

“Welcome back, my Lord,” his man

offered.

Percy exited the vehicle with ease,

and then turned to politely offer

Constance his hand. She reached out

trembling white-gloved fingers, trusting

him to make things right. If she knew his

part in this charade, would she smile so

trustingly then?

“Jeffers, my good man,” he saluted

with abject pleasure. “May I introduce

my new bride, Lady Constance Avery,

Marchioness Stanton?”

“At your service, my Lady,” he

bowed. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thank you, Jeffers,” she offered

with a shy smile. “I hope to become

better acquainted with the entire staff

’ere long.”

“’Twill be our pleasure to help you

feel settled, my Lady.”

“See that my wife’s belongings are

put in the master bedroom, Jeffers. I’ll

give her Ladyship a tour of the house so

she doesn’t get lost.”

Jeffers nodded and stepped aside,

allowing them access to the threshold.

Ascending the steps, Percy stopped

abruptly as if he’d forgotten something.

And, indeed he had. Constance bumped

into him and very nearly tumbled down

the stairs. He caught her about the waist.

Her face was inches away, her breath

sweet as nectar. It took everything within

him not to draw her close and kiss her

sweet lips before the entire street.

Thankfully, she broke the spell.

“My apologies, my Lord. I was

admiring the exquisite architecture

above our heads.”

Her apology endeared him. “No,

my gel, I owe you an apology.”

“You, my Lord?”

“Yes. It occurred to me that I

cannot allow you to enter our home.”

Indeed, he could not — not this way.

“No?” Her green eyes widened.

“May I ask why?”

“This is wrong,” he said, his face a

blank slate. “Entirely wrong.”

The expression on her face

withered. “What do you mean —

wrong?” She stepped backward, nearly

toppling down the stairs.

“Only this,” he said, reaching to

stop her. He swept her off of her feet and

carried her through the entrance until

they crossed the marble foyer.

“Percy!” she exclaimed, righting

her askew hat, giggling.

“Nicely done! Did you enjoy your

first ride?” He snickered, placing her

upon her feet by the banister railing. Her

cheeks flushed crimson and it pleased

him that he’d put the color there. “There.

There. None’s the worry,” he said,

brushing the wrinkles out of her sleeves.

“I dare say this shall not be your last

surprise.”

That was an understatement. He

remembered all too well the sight of

Constance beneath him, panting with

desire, soft where he was hard, a hot

coil around his — it took every ounce of

his strength to keep from taking her here

and now. She was made for love and he

wanted to please her. They were a well-

matched

pair,

both

independently

minded, willing to sacrifice everything

for the people they love. And yet, they

couldn’t be more different. She would

discover that difference one day. The

idea petrified him.

Would she ever be able to forgive

him for deceiving her?

• • •

None of his schemes had been successful

in outwitting Stanton’s plan to wed

Constance. Time and again, he’d sent out

lackeys

to

discover

Stanton’s

whereabouts, learn his habits —

persuasions. He’d even gone so far as to

hire a highwayman to give the man his

due, but had been thwarted at every turn.

The man was lucky and that vexed to no

end. Night after night, he’d taken his fury

out on one of the young female members

of his staff. Unfortunately, even sating

his immoral thirsts had not eased his

frustrations. In truth, they’d only

multiplied.

His dream of accumulating enough

power

to

influence

governmental

decisions slowly dissipated. Gone were

hopes of power, infinite wealth, rank,

and the privilege to appease his

particular cravings any way he saw fit.

With the Avery name attached to

Danbury’s accounts, further access into

said accounts posed an impossible feat,

particularly since Stanton had set his

barristers onto the books. Having

invested what he’d pilfered, after

depending on marriage to Constance to

weight his purse, he now found himself

at a crossroads, unable to attain the

funds needed to finance his most

cherished cause — smuggling.

Writhing with fury, he slung another

glass of brandy into the fireplace.

Without means of defeating Stanton, his

plans ebbed. Without Constance, he

would never have the kind of influence

he wanted, craved.

“Damn Percival Avery to hell!”

• • •

Percy’s

bedchamber

and

stared,

completely aghast. Though she did not

doubt her husband’s abilities to perform

his marital obligation, she’d drawn the

conclusion that he was infinitely more

absorbed in the tedious diversions of

fashion and style. The room now

opening before her cast doubt on her

previous impressions, however, further

illumining the mystery she now called

husband.

Unlike the opulent marble floors

and papered walls in the foyer below

and the intricately etched glass on

Percy’s library doors, this room bore no

signs of wealth. Dark lapis draperies

shrouded corners of the four-post bed. A

dark blue coverlet with tiny threads of

gold flecked throughout adorned the

large, imposing canopied bed that

practically owned the starkly lit,

sparsely furnished room. Where were

Percy’s flourishes of style and vice?

“Does this room not meet with your

approval, your Ladyship?” Jeffers

queried.

The room did have a few comforts

but she was quite confused. Quickly

realizing that he must think her idol-

headed for blocking the doorway, she

hid her puzzlement and stepped into the

room. “Yes, of course. I … well, that is

to say I … I expected more,” she said,

shoulders slumping.

The corners of Jeffers’s mouth

curled upward slightly as he brushed

past. “His Lordship is a very busy man

and has only just returned from a two

year sabbatical. He does not sleep here

often, which explains why this room is

sparsely furnished. I would have

arranged for something more,” he

searched for a better word, “
appealing

to a young woman of your stature but

was informed decisions of décor were

to be given by our new mistress.”

Her eyes quickly met his. “
New

mistress?” she asked. New — as

opposed to old?

“Indeed,” Jeffers stumbled over the

word with obvious mortification. “You

are the new mistress of this house, my

Lady.” He cleared his throat and began

again. “Forgive my faltering tongue. A