Duke by Day, Rogue by Night (29 page)

“Celeste was very dear to me, Constance. I've asked that her name never be mentioned because hearing it brings me great pain.”

Had Celeste been a great love he could never forget? Crestfallen, Constance nodded, incapable of speech. She could not forget how his brown eyes had softened at the mere mention of the mysterious woman's name. How he must have loved her, and loved her still. Suddenly, she felt sick, as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

“Forgive my sharp tongue,” he said, smoothing her cheek with his gentle fingertips. “I've just received grave news which has blackened my mood. My father needs me. I must leave posthaste.”

“Your father?” she croaked, frozen.

“Yes. He's been sick for many months now. I've sent for the best doctors and none have given me hope. Word now is he has very little time left.”

“Percy,” she said, her heart breaking. “If only you'd trusted me with your deepest worry. I had no idea your father was gravely ill, though the papers did mention his accident almost a year ago, wasn't it? Of course, we must go to your father at once. I'm still packed. It won't be any trouble to accompany you,” she insisted.

His brown eyes darkened and his frown pricked her conscience. He did not trust her enough to confide in her and he was right in that regard. They knew so little about each other. Still, she could not help but wonder why he'd never mentioned his father or Celeste before. Everyone had their secrets and she, for one, had a marriage to consummate before it was too late. The sooner the deed was done, the better for her — for her child. She could scarcely afford for him to desert her now.

“Your devotion is quite gratifying,” he offered, in part to soothe her wounded pride. “But this is something I must do alone.”

Constance was near hysteria. She barely heard Jeffers pull the door to. Only one thought ruled her mind — she had to consummate her marriage so that Percy believed her child was his.

“But you cannot leave me,” she implored. “Not on our wedding night! Let me accompany you. I can console you. We can weather this storm together,” she suggested, knowing at some point of his bedside watch, he would have to sleep.

Percy grabbed her elbows, pulling her close. “'Twould only serve to bring sorrow to the man.”

“Sorrow?”

“For all that he will miss, my gel. My father's been brought low by the accident. The fact that he's held on this long is only by his fortitude alone. If any of Burton's accusations follow us to Sumpton Hall, I fear it will cost him his life.”

“Are you saying you believe Burton?” When he did not answer, she ceased to breathe. And then it dawned on her. “You kept our marriage plans from your father?”

His fingers tightened around her upper arms. “Yes,” he said.

Her lungs fought for air. “Why marry me, then? Was it your aim to humiliate me by offering marriage in name only?” Why had she expected anything more?

“If you only knew the lengths to which I have gone to marry you, you'd understand, Constance,” he said. She closed her eyes, unable to face him. “Trust me. That's all I can ask, for I will not divulge anything more.”

“Trust must be given in order to be received.”

Embracing her, he kissed her forehead. “I must go,” he said.

Desperation sank in. She could not allow Percy to desert her. Not now! Not tonight! Tears swept down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pressed herself intimately close to his chest, unwilling to be parted. His heat was a welcome delight. Her hands slid up his sides and then splayed over the planes of his muscular chest with distinctive need. Craning her neck back, she gazed up into his eyes and stretched on tiptoe, eager to taste his lips, to succumb once more to the passionate storm that had once taken her by surprise aboard the
Striker
.

Her mouth inches from his, she said, “Can you not stay long enough to consummate our vows?”

“No.”

Percy's heart thrummed beneath her hands. He drew in a ragged breath and his touch emboldened her, soliciting warmth between her legs. His eyes radiated fire and he stroked her cheek, before bending down to kiss her mouth. Desperate, Constance held nothing back. In Percy's arms, there was no thought of danger, no sounds of cannon or fear of mutinous rebellion. She was married to him, free to give herself, submit her body without fear of repercussion. Pressing her lips against her husband's, she ached with undeniable need. Wantonly, she wrapped her arms about Percy's neck and pulled him closer, pressing her breasts against his rapidly beating heart. She sighed contentedly when one of his hands traced a path from her elbow to her waist, inching higher up her rib cage, slowly toward her breast.

Lost in his kiss, she was vaguely aware he moved her toward the bed and dipped her backward onto the coverlet. His hands sought the hem of her gown, igniting a fiery path along her calf, her knee, and thigh as he lifted it higher. His fingers caressed her skin, her inner thigh, eagerly searching for the center of her being, while his lips blazed a trail down her neck toward her swelling cleavage. She urged him on, unable to think, unable to control the desperation building within.

A distant knock muddled her senses. Or was it the sound of her heart once again coming to life? He apparently had heard it, too. He paused, and then gazed into her eyes.

“It would give me nothing but pleasure to spend the night in your bed, my gel. Though you will not understand why I cannot, know that what I do now is for you, for my father — for our future. Rest assured, we will pick up where we left off when I return.”

Brushing disheveled hair out of her face, he placed a gentle kiss upon her brow.

“Don't leave me, Percy,” she pleaded. “I need you!” She held him close, but he was stronger of mind and spirit and tore himself out of her arms. He rose from the bed, stepped back, and gazed down at her like a drunkard refusing a drink.

“Don't wait up for me, Constance,” he said.

With a gallant bow, he departed, leaving behind an unsettling silence in his wake. Numbly, she lay on the bed, her hand gently cupping her budding abdomen, until panic took hold. She was horrified that Percy wouldn't return in time for her to suspend his disbelief that she carried another man's child. Every minute she was alone, the solitude swelled into deafening heights.

Percy's kisses were fresh in her mind. She touched her lips with her fingertips and sat up, suddenly aware that she'd desired his coupling for more than the obvious reason.

“If you only knew the lengths to which I have gone to marry you, you'd understand, Constance.”

What lengths had Percy gone to, to ensure their marriage took place? Had Burton threatened him? Had he been forced into a duel? She'd heard nothing about Green Park in the Gazette.

“Trust me. That's all I can ask, for I will not divulge anything more.”

Scanning the bedroom, she rose and righted her skirts, smoothing her hands over the creases, until her misty eyes focused on the ordinary room. As Marchioness, she stood to lose more than her good name. Discovery of her ruse could and would damage Percy's duchy.

If the circumstances were different, she might understand why he didn't want her to accompany him to see his ailing father.

A knock startled her. Had Percy changed his mind? Had he returned?

She rushed to the door and opened it, only to find a maid, who with a nod and a curtsy entered the room quietly, lighting several candles mounted along the wall. With incredible speed and agility, she started a fire in the hearth, curtsied again, then left as soundlessly as she'd arrived.

Constance stared at the light filtering into the room, casting odd shadows upon the walls. Transfixed by the room's transformation, she glanced around the room as it took on a bizarre yet familiar tone of burnished gold. Her eyes settled on a small, oval painted replica glistening upon a night table in the dancing light. She walked to the table and picked up the image, holding it up to the candlelight, startled to find the rendered likeness of a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Thomas. The young woman with dark auburn hair and the bluest eyes stared back with unquestioning trust.

Who was this beautiful girl? She must have had an important place in her husband's life to sit ceremoniously close to his bed. Was this the indomitable Lady Celeste?

The woman's eyes unnerved her. Tamping her jealousy, a feat that would not be as ridiculous had she been given the pleasure of a wedding night to ease her burdens, she placed the woman's picture back on the cupboard and turned it face down. Her life was spiraling out of control. She was weary of digging for a strength she did not feel. Thoroughly rejected, as only a bride without a husband on her wedding night could be, she stepped to the bed and stared at the rumpled coverlet, imagining to the two of them there.

“Don't leave me, Percy,” she'd pleaded. “I need you!”
She needed him to keep her mind off of the rogue whose memory continued to stir her flesh.

Her fingers traced the golden seams flowing through the fabric as if tracking miserable paths her life had taken.

“She toils amiss when giving in to the devil's kiss,” she whispered.

By marrying Percy, she'd been given a chance to publicly mend her reputation, to prove Burton's accusations unsound. Why then, when she'd married a man of taste and repute, a man willing to put his reputation on the line for her, did she find herself wishing for the devil's unruly fire? Yes, even now, on her wedding night, surrounded by evidence of Percy's protection and a promising future, she longed for the father of her child. For Thomas, the man who'd taken and given love before expelling her from the
Striker
like discarded cargo.

Climbing onto the bed, Constance gathered her knees to her chest. To be sure, Percy was the better choice of the two men. He represented everything Thomas was not. So why, when she had everything a woman could want, did she pine for a scoundrel's touch?

• • •

The dank interior of the outer room overpowered his senses. Percy crept low, bent over at the waist in order to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling of the darkened hallway leading into a labyrinth of underground tunnels. Jacko and Ollie moved soundlessly behind him. Neither spoke. Both understood the sacrifice it took to leave a willing bride alone on her wedding night. Both knew what was at stake if Burton succeeded in killing Percy before there could be no question where his wife belonged.

Percy held up his hand. Motioning to his lips, he urged his men not to make a sound. Voices drifted through the corridor, leading them forward. Josiah Cane had finally spoken to the wrong man, a man willing to receive a hefty price for leading them to his whereabouts. Jacko, inventive in gathering pertinent information, never steered him wrong. On this night, however, he should be lying in Constance's arms, a fact that sat in his gut like sour meat. But some decisions came at great cost and tonight, he was moments away from learning what he'd spent nearly a year striving to find — the name of Celeste's killer.

Ollie's two fingers pointed toward the opening, prodding him forward. Percy retrieved a silver blade, and then quickly lowered it to his side to keep any reflection from warning the enemy of his approach. Wind whistled through the narrow passage, carrying with it conversation identifying the men they sought.

“I warned you never to … unnecessary questions. Your employ is void whenever … say … ”

“ … they continue to search … Fox. You cannot expect … ”

“But I can!” the answer erupted, echoing clearly throughout the tunnel.

Percy crept low, his face tilted against the stone wall at his back. Jacko and Ollie drew close, each brandishing knives. Motioning his men to the right, Percy veered left. But all too soon, the voices dissipated, warning their window of opportunity had closed.

Stepping into the light, Percy shouted, “Hold where you are.”

Jacko and Ollie appeared from the shadows. A small man, quicker than expected, slithered off into the night with Ollie close at his heels.

“What do you want?” Cane supplied, his hands upheld, offering no resistance.

Percy nodded, indicating the bundle in Cane's hands. “Hand it over.”

“There's nothing in this bag that would interest you.”

Percy's eyes narrowed. “That is for me to decide.”

Jacko stepped forward, ripped the leather pouch from Cane's hands and stepped back to Percy.

“Open it,” he ordered. Then nodding at Cane, he said, “What is the name of your employer?”

“That's none of your business.”

“Who's pulling your strings?” Percy thundered.

Jacko shuffled various documents within the satchel, and then pulled out a silver trinket. Percy held it up to the light. The oval jewelry piece shimmered in the moonlight, glistening with familiarity. Shock registered on his face when he opened the silver locket and a familiar face stared back at him. Constance's mother!

“Where did you get this?” he questioned Cane.

Cane staggered backward. Percy quickly had the man in his arms, his blade slanted menacingly close to the man's neck, gouging rivulets of blood that slithered down, disappearing beneath his collar. Cane howled in pain.

“I asked you where you got this locket!”

Jacko offered a word of warning. “Better answer the man, Cane.”

“I've … ” Cane strangled out until Percy released pressure on his throat. “I've never seen it before. All I know is what it means.”

“And what does the locket mean?” Percy asked, the knife pricking the man's flesh. An answer was already beginning to formulate in his mind, though he resisted.

Cane squirmed, trying to wiggle out of Percy's grip. “Don't,” Percy pleaded. “Don't move!” But it was too late. His sharp blade had done its work.