The Rogue’s Prize (41 page)

night, and though she wished his father

well, she’d not heard from him since the

wedding. How much longer could she

hold on? What was she to do now that

Burton wanted her to lobby for him?

Surely Percy would find her sudden

interest and support of Burton odd. But if

she didn’t become Burton’s pawn, her

father would be charged with piracy and

locked away. And if Burton ever found

out she was with child, everything she

had sacrificed for her security would be

over before it had ever begun.

A comforting hand settled upon her

shoulder, startling her. She looked up to

the figure standing in the half-light.

“Forgive me,” the light-enshrouded

shadow said. “I should have introduced

myself but you were so engaged by the

fire, and so enchanting to watch, that I

hated to disturb you.”

Disappointed the voice did not

belong to Thomas or Percy, Constance

peered up into Lieutenant Guffald’s face.

If ever there was a face other than her

husband’s or Thomas’s she’d be happier

to see, it was Guffald’s. He’d promised

her rescue on the
Octavia
. Perhaps she

could rely upon him now. She smiled

cordially and, with a gesture of her hand,

indicated for him to sit near her by the

fire.

“Lieutenant.” She sighed. “How

good it is to see you again. And so

soon,” she exclaimed, hoping he would

understand the dilemma he created by

visiting her at this time.

“You appear slightly disheveled,

Lady Stanton. Is something wrong?”

She detected kindness and respect

in Guffald’s voice, something terribly

missing in Burton’s. Constance exhaled

and tried to regain her confidence.

“Lord Burton was just here.”

“I know. He let me in the house,”

he said, gauging her reaction. “I found

that quite odd. He gave no reason, only

that he was in a hurry to leave. Did he

do anything untoward?”

“No,” she lied. “He had some news

to relate about my father.”

Alarm flickered in his blue eyes.

“Forgive me. You seem, well …

agitated. Did he harm you, threaten you

in any way?”

“No,” she replied hastily. “Indeed,

no,” she reassured. She smiled at

Guffald, hoping to ease his concern.

“The man simply will not let his

grievance

against

my

family

go,

however.”

“Your marriage to Percy, for

instance?”

Her head snapped up and she

studied Guffald. His use of her

husband’s proper name alerted her

defenses. But then she remembered. The

two were famous friends. She had no

need to worry about the familiarity

between them.

“I’m afraid so,” she admitted.

Guffald leaned closer. “If I may —

why did you receive him? Certainly that

was not a good idea, given Burton’s

derision. I’m sure Percy will be most

unhappy. You should not be so eager for

honey when the bee’s sting might be

fatal.”

“Burton’s behavior is none of your

concern, Lieutenant,” she objected,

angered that he thought her silly. His use

of the strange metaphor did not help

matters. “My husband, should he choose

to, will deal with Lord Burton.”

If only he were here.
She sighed.

So few moments with the man

condemned her to continue making

mistakes like these.
She gazed down

upon the gloved hand of the gallant

lieutenant who’d fought pirates in order

to save her life and narrowly escaped.

The man who’d almost singlehandedly

succeeded in getting them off the Striker

before the storm had prevented launch of

the gig. The golden-haired man’s fingers

twitched. She peered up into his

crystalline blue eyes and noticed a hint

of a smile playing upon his lips. Was he

aware of something she was not? The

idea did not sit well with her. She

popped up out of her chair and put

distance between them.

“I fear the day has grown old and

I’m rather tired. Thank you for coming to

call, Lieutenant. I’ll be sure to relay your

good tidings to my husband when he

arrives.”
Damnation!
She hadn’t meant

to let that slip.

“So he has deserted you!” he

exclaimed. “And so soon? I cannot

fathom the man’s stupidity. Were our

situations reversed, I assure you no one

would see my face for at least a

fortnight.”

“Lieutenant.”

“What could have possibly pulled

Percy away from your arms?”

She quickly rose to her husband’s

defense. “Lord Stanton,” she said, trying

to bring formality back into the

conversation, “has gone on an errand.

For me, in fact. You see, he recently

discovered I have a passion for sweets.

He insisted upon seeing that we were

fully stocked. Surely you would not

begrudge him this kindness.”

Would Guffald believe her lie?

Why she chose not to reveal the truth that

Percy had rushed to his ailing father’s

bedside, she could not fathom. Her

relationship

with

her

husband,

mysterious, precarious even, put her on

jagged ground. ’Twas best she did not

sharpen the dagger too soon. She was

keenly aware, without a consummated

union, how quickly she could find

herself on the street should her

reputation gain another blemish and her

husband become the laughing stock of

the ton.

Constance moved to the open door

and spied Jeffers in the hall. Holding a

tea service in his arms, he had never had

any intention of her meeting anyone

alone.

“My Lady,” he said, tilting his nose

haughtily when the Lieutenant sauntered

out of the room. “I have brought tea.”

Guffald

exclaimed,

“What

a

delightful idea. That is just what Lady

Stanton needs to refresh her spirits.”

Turning back to her, he offered, “Pardon

me if I take my leave. I fear I have

overstayed my welcome.” With a dutiful

nod, Guffald bowed stiffly and made a

hasty exit out the front door.

“Will you be taking your tea in the

parlor, my Lady?”

Her

mind

picked

apart

the

lieutenant’s conversation. Try as she

might, however, she did not know what

to make of the man, nor could she

understand what he and Percy had in

common.

Jeffers cleared his throat. “My

Lady?”

“Jeffers, are you familiar with Lord

Stanton’s estate, Sumpton Hall?”

Jeffers displayed annoyance. “I do

not speak of his Lordship’s affairs.”

“Yes, that is commendable. But

what I desire to know is if I can travel to

his estate in a day’s time. A man should

not be solely responsible for his father’s

care, especially at a time like this. I

should like to help. In fact, I want to

surprise my husband.”

“As it so happens, madam, his

Lordship will be returning soon. I’m

sure he will be quite pleased to learn of

your willingness to come to his father’s

aid, but I fear there will not be a need

for you to do so.”

Jeffers’s eyes creased at the

corners, confusing her as to what

emotion he held in check. Was he

laughing at her or did he want to throttle

her? With Jeffers, one never knew. The

man obviously lived and breathed to

serve one master and one master only.

She held back her excitement and

dread. “Percy returns soon?”

“Indeed, your Ladyship.”

“When did this news arrive?”

“I received a missive only moments

ago. I’m hesitant to admit that is what

delayed your refreshments, an act in

itself that calls for no excuse and my

dismissal.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,”

she confided.

Walking to the front door, she

gazed idly through the etched glass to

stare out upon the bustling street. It was

noonday, yet the city pulsed with fervor

— each soul that passed, whether

concealed in conveyances or strolling

about, was eager to arrive at their

destination. Alone, save for a few

servants and Mrs. Mortimer, Constance

took a deep breath and welcomed a

triumphant peace. Her husband meant to

return, and soon. Time offered her

another chance to shape the destiny of

her child.

“I’m afraid the news isn’t good, my

Lady,” Jeffers said.

“Pardon me?” She pulled away

from the window. “What did you say?”

Jeffers continued to hold the tea

service as though it weighed not an

ounce. “The missive contained dreadful

news. That is the reason I was detained.

It has hit us all very hard.”

Constance grew frightened. What

could the message possibly contain?

Was Percy all right? “You must tell me.

What has happened?”

“His

Grace,

the

Duke

of

Blendingham is dead.”

• • •

his beautiful bride on her wedding night.

Guffald clapped his hands together in

glee. She could still be his — his!

Though she wore the Marques’s ring,

she was not truly married.

He held his elation in check. He

had not suffered privation, humiliation,

or Burton’s irrational demands for

nothing.

Bounding up the street, love’s

powerful force fueled him. Liberating,

tangible love pushed him beyond his

limitations. For Constance, he’d sworn

to uphold only one law, a law as old as

time — to each his own. Years of his

life had been sacrificed for this — for

her. Like a ship drawn to port, his life,

his morals were forever coupled to a

road that would surely lead him out of

obscurity into the dream he envisioned

for the two of them.

Devil take Percy, Burton, and

Frink!

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Constance tossed and turned in Percy’s

behemoth bed where ghastly images of

Burton and his threats plagued her

dreams. Beneath her head, her pillow

was still moist from her tears. She’d

spent hours crying for the future of her

child. She was afraid, more afraid than

she’d ever been in her life. Afraid of

what Burton would do to ruin her father

and what she would be forced to do to

betray her husband’s confidence. Guilt-

ridden, she was also mourning the loss

of Percy’s father, the duke. She couldn’t

imagine life without her father and had

no idea how she would console Percy

when he returned. She’d been selfish to

think only of herself and her child when

her husband’s father lay dying, selfish to

think consummating her marriage was

more important.

“Tears do not become you.” A

masculine voice penetrated the night.

She bolted upright. Had her dreams

of Burton materialized? Was he even

now in her bedroom, prepared to exact

his revenge?

Real or imagined, someone was in

her room. Her flesh tingled and her eyes

searched the darkness, noting a slight

movement near the window. Focusing on

the gold curtains, she watched them

dancing nervously in the breeze. Why

was the window open? She distinctly

remembered latching it. She did not

sleep well with a chill in the room and

always made certain the window was

closed before she went to bed. But now

that she thought of it, she seemed to be

waking up at night gazing at an open

window more often than not this past

week.

“Who — ” she squeaked, unable to

control her fright. “Who’s in my room?”

“Are you always this demanding in

bed?”

She sank back into the sheets,

unsure how to behave. Percy? When had

he returned?

“Am I dreaming?” she asked.

“No,” his voice was close now,