The Rogue’s Prize (40 page)

everything, my dear. Take this room.

You’ve already brightened the space up

nicely and with little expense.”

Gazing about the room that had

become her tomb, Constance inspected

the gold curtains and papered walls,

along with other added accoutrements —

a vanity, stuffed chair, gilded mirror,

and lamp stand — she’d contributed

from other rooms in the house.

“Continue to busy yourself around

the townhouse. Busy work will do you

good,” Morty said.

Carriage wheels clattered upon the

cobblestones. A door opened and

closed. Constance’s hopes alighted. She

rushed to the window thinking Percy had

returned and peeled back the heavy

damask curtain to peer down upon the

stoop. There, in place of her husband,

dressed in black from head to foot, was

the portly and disagreeable Lord Burton.

Like a puppet led by strings, he raised

his eyes and met her gaze. Hastily, she

stepped away from the sill, the fluttering

curtain left in her wake objecting to her

absence.

“What is it? Has Lord Stanton

arrived? Why are you shaking?” Morty

asked. The woman sauntered to the

window with concern. “Why are you

hiding? There’s no shame in letting your

husband see you await his — oh!” she

snapped. “There’s the end to it.”

“What

is

he

doing

here?”

Constance hissed against her fist.

Sinking back into the room, her face

pale, eyes wide, Morty unnerved her.

Constance

grabbed

onto

Morty’s

forearms when footsteps sounded in the

hallway and stopped outside the door. A

knock sounded and then Jeffers’s deep

baritone called.

“Lord Montgomery Burton has

come to pay his respects, my Lady. Are

you accepting callers?”

Mrs. Mortimer rushed to the door,

yanked it open, and quickly declared her

to be indisposed.

Jeffers added, “The gentleman

suggests it’s a matter of life and death.”

Constance moved as gracefully as

her leaden feet allowed, crossing the

room and gently pushing Morty out of the

way. Jeffers’s disapproved of Burton.

But what had the man meant by “a matter

of life and death?” Was her father in

danger?

“Jeffers. In that case, I see no

reason why I shouldn’t receive Lord

Burton. Show the gentleman into the

parlor. I shall join him momentarily.”

Jeffers tipped his head awkwardly

in surprise. “If I may suggest, my Lady, it

isn’t seemly for a newly wedded bride

to receive gentlemen without the

presence of her new husband and, might

I add, in so short a time. Perhaps I

should tell the gentleman to return in a

few weeks?”

She eyed Jeffers quizzically. He

meant to protect her. She’d been taught

better than to war with servants but,

damnation, she had to know what Burton

meant by life and death.

“The

gentleman

and

I

are

acquainted. I assure you, there will be

no impropriety. He’s more like a father

figure to me.”

She gazed back at Mrs. Mortimer

just as the woman’s eyes rolled back

into her head. The haggard woman

huffed with little effort, causing Jeffers

to raise his brow.

“Very well then,” he replied,

apparently unwilling to upset her. “I’ll

tell the gentleman you’ll be down

presently.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and shut

the door.

Once they were sure Jeffers was

out of range, Morty ranted. “What do you

think you’re doing? That man is nothing

but trouble. Why, he just as much

threatened to harm you if you accepted

another proposal! The danger is in

entertaining him now.”

“That is where you’re wrong,” she

insisted. “Burton is no simpleton. He

would not come here if he knew Percy

was present. I do not know how or why,

but he obviously knows Percy is gone,”

she said. “What if Father is hurt? I must

know.”

“He’s up to nothing but mischief,

I’m sure!” the woman exclaimed.

Constance went to her wardrobe

and pulled out a pale blue dress with

lavender buttons and ribbons. She

waved Mrs. Mortimer to the bedside.

“Here,” she said. “Help me dress

quickly.”

Moments later, gazing into the full-

length mirror, she pinched her cheeks,

hoping to hide the fact that she’d had

another sleepless night. Then, realizing a

sleepless night could very well flaunt

Percy’s prowess, she tugged gently at the

corners of her eyes and giggled.

“If he thinks to belittle my husband

or gloat, I will convince him otherwise

by appearing a vision of sated

contentment.”

“You will only end up getting

yourself into more trouble,” Morty

goaded.

“Nonsense! Percy has come to my

defense and I will not allow that man to

malign my husband if I can help it.”

Pushing her way past her weary

cohort, Constance opened the door and

managed a dignified, studied walk

toward the staircase. The foyer was

silent as she made her way to the bottom

of the stairs. Settling her gaze upon the

parlor entrance and the etched doors

with their artistry and flourish, she

instantly caught sight of a cane tapping

an unmistakably familiar and distinctly

irritating rhythm. The owner preened in

front of reflective glass in the liquor

case. Constance hoped to catch him off

guard, but to no avail. With the hearing

of a skittish rodent, the dour man

whirled, a whitened mask veiling

judicious eyes that scoured her head to

foot.

Maintaining civility, he bowed.

“Lady Constance. Thank you for tearing

yourself away from your — husband,”

he coughed, “to see an old friend.”

“It is Lady Stanton now,” she

reminded him.

“Ah, so it is. My apologies,” he

said, wrinkling his nose as if the effort

cost him dearly.

“Is it not customary to refrain from

visiting a newly married couple until

after their first outing?” she asked, taking

a seat on the opposite settee.

His bushy brow perked high. “Isn’t

it customary for a bride to refuse an

audience?”

She was caught. She nodded.

“You’re — ”

“Quite right,” he admitted, taking

his seat. “Yet here you are, making me

quite curious as to the nature of your

relationship with the Marques.”

“You did mention it was a matter of

life and death. You can hardly blame my

distress. And my marriage is none of

your concern. I seek only to know the

true reason for your visit. As we have

not been on the best of terms,

pleasantries need not be exchanged.”

He tilted his head, his impertinent

tongue wetting his large, bulbous lips.

“Do you doubt my affections?”

“I think you made them abundantly

clear the night of the ball.”

His cane hit the ground with a

thump, making her jump. She rose and

moved behind the settee, using it as a

barrier between them. He stood, and

stepping toward her, his eyes riveted

upon her bosom.

“You ridiculed me before an entire

ballroom, madam. I am still the laughing

stock of the ton. As a means of making

amends for my behavior, I came here

today to merely seek if you were well

and settled.”

“I am,” she confided. In truth, she

was. Percy had saved her from this man.

She knew now that was enough. One

month of marriage to Burton would have

found her in a freshly dug grave.

His beady eyes squinted, but, she

thought, in an effort to ease her

suspicions, he smiled like a cat

concealing claws. “Does Percy suit? It

galls me to think that even now you are

filled with his seed,” he spat.

“Sir!” She turned to leave. He

moved closer and cut her off. “Control

yourself, Lord Burton,” she ordered.

“This is my husband’s home.”

“I lost control of myself when I lost

you, madam!” he spat.

She

side-stepped

him

and

approached the door, anxious for

Jeffers’s rescue. Wily and skilled,

Burton eased up behind and grabbed her

hand, turning her back around, giving her

no chance for escape.

“Did you moan like a cat in heat in

Stanton’s arms? Did you sate his

appetites the way I’ve dreamed of

happily planting my seed in your

womb?”

Shivering, Constance spat. “You’re

disgusting!”

He jerked her back to the sofa and

forced her to sit. “I applaud your little

charade. I know Stanton left your

bedside before he could have ever

claimed you. The fool! Only a simpleton

would put off consummating marriage to

a woman of your — talents. ”

“You’re insane,” she gasped.

“And you should be mine!” he

grunted. “Do not expect me to recede

into the shadows without a fight.”

“After the lies you told my father,

you cannot believe that I would ever

consent to anything you have to offer.”

Burton was a madman! He believed

he could control her, even now, which

was simply preposterous. Even when

she’d been promised to him, she had

never

approved

of

her

father’s

agreement. It took little effort to recall

the terror that made her flee home in the

middle of the night, putting her life at

risk aboard the
Octavia
. A sly smile

turned up the corners of her lips, the

irony of it all plain. In some way, she

owed Burton a debt of gratitude for

steering her toward Thomas — and

Percy.

Burton’s eyes narrowed. “Were it

not that it would be too quick, I would

strangle the life out of you now.” He

stood before her, gazing down at her

with an evil glint in his eyes. “I will

never stop wanting you. Accept that

fact,” he vowed. “And when I want

something, I have ways of getting it.”

He paused, allowing his words to

sink in. Constance trembled. She knew

he held his anger in check only by sheer

force of will. Her only saving grace was

he could not hurt her, not here, not in

Percy’s home, especially when Jeffers

and Mrs. Mortimer knew of his

presence. There was solace in that fact,

however small, however short-lived.

Burton’s

menacing

laughter

promised that no matter what happened,

there would be no reprieve. She stared

into her accuser’s alabaster face,

realizing with certainty she would never

be rid of him.

“What is so urgent?” she asked.

“If you don’t want your father to

spend a day in debtor’s prison, you will

find a way to get me into Stanton’s good

graces.”

“You cannot be serious,” she

gasped incredulously.

“Oh! But I am. I can arrange for

certain papers to pass through legal

ranks, papers which will most assuredly

point to your father’s involvement with

smuggling in a feeble attempt to

replenish his dwindling funds.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she gasped.

“Wouldn’t I?” he asked. “I could

arrange to prove it to you.”

Fortuitously, the door knocker

pounded on the front door. Burton

grinned. With a grand tap of his cane, he

whirled through the door without a

backward glance, leaving her to sag into

the cushions, her fist against her mouth.

Muffled voices permeated the air in the

atrium as she stared at the fire in the

hearth. Placing her hand over her heart,

feeling its beating rhythm finally steady,

she inhaled a deep breath. She’d never

felt so alone.

She’d been forced to watch her

mother die. Thomas had exiled her from

his ship without any promises. Her

husband had left her on their wedding