Heiress in Love (39 page)

Sickened, drowning in the horror of it, Jane fought back tears. “
Constantine!
Say something! Why don’t you defend yourself, for God’s sake?”

He watched Trent for many moments before he finally spoke. “Defend myself?” he said slowly. “What on earth would be the point of that?”

Without another glance in Jane’s direction, Constantine turned on his heel and strode away.

Jane felt as if she were falling from a cliff. The world spun ever faster out of control. She simply stood there, reeling, one palm pressed to her stomach. It took some moments to catch her breath.

She rounded on Trent. “It’s not true,” she said in a low, trembling voice. “I won’t believe it.”

Trent tenderly touched his streaming nose, but the light of triumph was in his eye. “Believe it. Frederick told me of it himself. Black as good as admitted it! Didn’t you hear the cur?”

Yes, she’d heard him. Oh, he hadn’t admitted it, not in so many words. But his manner, the things he
had
said, betrayed him.

Even so, for some idiotic reason, she still hoped there was some explanation.

Perhaps she might even forgive him if he showed he understood now how wrong his behavior had been. But he didn’t, did he? How could she love a man whose moral compass was so out of kilter with her own?

“No,” she whispered. “It
can’t
be true.”

She turned to go after Constantine.

“Believe it, Jane,” Trent called after her. “Don’t throw yourself away on him!”

Sobs built in Jane’s chest. Feverishly, she shook her head. She would
not
cry. There was no time for tears. If she wept, she couldn’t keep a clear head for the coming confrontation.

She would make Constantine give her an explanation. He might not love her, but he owed her that, at least.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The walk back to the house seemed endless. Several times, Jane had to stop to close her eyes and take deep breaths to prevent the nightmarish horror from overwhelming her.

Constantine, Luke’s father? She didn’t want to believe it. But he’d as good as admitted it, hadn’t he? And, much as her heart rebelled against the notion, it made an awful kind of sense.

Her father-in-law must have known Constantine was Luke’s father. That was why he’d kept the boy, surely. A compassionate man he may have been, but even the old Lord Roxdale’s beneficence would not have extended to welcoming Luke into his household if someone close to him hadn’t been involved.

Her father-in-law
must
have known of Luke’s parentage. Frederick knew it, too!
That
was why both of them had barred Constantine from the house and sought to disinherit him, not merely because of his indiscretion with Miss Flockton.

But they hadn’t told Constantine he had a son. That might go some way to excusing his neglect of Luke in the intervening years. Yet … had he ever made an attempt to discover whether his activities with Violet had borne fruit?

And then there was the act itself. How could Constantine, a gentleman, have committed such a heinous crime as to seduce a servant girl, one whose will was compromised by her employment?

Jane’s heart rebelled against accepting the notion. Such callous, sneaking behavior did not tally with the Constantine she knew.

Her stomach churned as her mind clamored with conjecture. If only Constantine would tell her it was all a lie.

She’d believe him. She would try.

At the library door, she hesitated. She pressed her fingertips to the oak panels as if to draw strength from the centuries-old wood. Then she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and went in.

She found him standing at the long window where they’d first met.

He squinted up at the sky. “Clouds are racing in. The sun never seems to shine for long in this place.”

He spoke without emotion, but a muscle ticked beside his mouth. He widened his stance, as if bracing himself for a blow he was determined to meet squarely.

With his green eyes dark and steady on hers, the silence grew. She didn’t want to question him about what they’d just heard. She wanted to run to him and hurl herself into his arms and passionately declare she didn’t believe a word Trent said.

Use your wits, Jane.
No other explanation made sense. And there was a look about Luke sometimes …

We were childhood cronies, Frederick and I. But I haven’t laid eyes on him in, oh, seven years.

Seven years. Luke’s six and three quarters plus nine months … Yes, it could have been Constantine.

The anguish in her heart was so great, it made her body weak. She gripped the edge of the desk that stood between them to steady herself.

She swallowed, gathering her courage. Then she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye.

“Is it true?” she said. “Are you Luke’s father?”

His eyes burned into hers. Deliberately, he answered, “What do you think?”

“No!” She rounded the desk to him. “That is not good enough, Constantine!”

“I’m afraid it will have to be. I cannot … I find I’ve no other answer to give you now.”

Did that mean he didn’t know if Luke was his or not? In that case, he must have committed the sin of which he stood accused. He must have bedded a maid in this house.

Oh, God, she couldn’t breathe. Tears sprang to her eyes. Despite her determination to stare the truth in the face, she’d longed for him to tell her it was all malicious falsehood.

She bit her lip. “Deny it and I will believe you. Deny it and we’ll forget this ever happened!”

That stubborn chin jutted out. “I will not deny it.”

“Oh, will you not?” Fury at his obstinacy lashed her. “Then I shall take it as confirmed.”

“That would be one choice open to you,” he said evenly.

“How can you be so unemotional about this?” she cried. “Luke has grown up not knowing you. He has suffered vicious taunts on your account. They called him a bastard, Constantine. They
knew
.”

Did the entire estate know of this startling piece of information, then? Was she the last to remain ignorant?

Jane fell to pacing about the room. Hurt, confusion, and fury all welled up and clashed inside her. How could he be so utterly horrid? Just when she thought she’d found …

What? What had she found? When had Constantine ever made promises to her? She’d not even demanded his fidelity when she’d consented to be his wife, much less demanded his loyalty or his heart. She’d learned to expect very little from a husband.

She’d thought him unemotional, but when he did speak, each word seemed to cost him dearly. “I’d thank you not to say anything about this to Luke until I’ve … until I’ve managed to sort a few things out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No, as his
father,
I’m sure you have the right to tell him whenever you choose.”

What a noble papa you have, Luke!
How blind she’d been not to see it, not to guess. She kept moving, moving. If she didn’t move, she’d disintegrate into tiny pieces.

His voice interrupted her thoughts. “Stimulating as it is to watch you storming about the room like this, I beg you will not keep me in suspense.”

She jerked to a halt. “Suspense?”

His gaze flicked upward. The strong column of his throat convulsed as he swallowed.

“Our betrothal. I assume you wish to end it.”

Jane laughed rather wildly. “Why should I do that? I knew you for a scoundrel when I agreed to the match.”

“So you did.” That fierce look was back in his eyes. “How …
reassuring
to know you haven’t allowed any romantical notions to fill that elegant head of yours. Particularly after all the nights you’ve spent in my bed.”

Her face flamed at the reference. For a few heated moments, she was back in his bedchamber again, trembling in his arms. A sense of loss welled up inside her. Not for the pleasure he gave her, but for the precious intimacy of those moments they’d shared.

Grief threatened to overcome her ire, but she thrust it away. Her dark prince had vanished, but the fairy tale had always been an illusion, hadn’t it? She ought not to repine. Montford had warned her from the start what sort of man Constantine was.

She began to pace again. “Everyone cautioned me against you, but they all agreed on one thing—given that will, the most logical course is for me to wed you. Duty demands it, in fact.”

“And you are, of course, a most dutiful lady.”

“You’re
damned
right I am!”

Constantine blinked. “Did you just swear?”

“Yes!” And Lord, it had felt
marvelous
.

She took another turn around the room, gripping her hands together, trying desperately to dredge up some semblance of calm.

Yes, she was sensible of her duty, but even so, she might well have fled the house then and there, were it not for Luke. She needed to help him grow accustomed to the shocking news of his parentage. She needed him to know she’d be there for him through thick and thin, even if his care-for-nothing father had not.

Finally, when she thought she’d managed a little control, she stopped to face Constantine. In a trembling voice, she said, “Our betrothal will go ahead.”

She shivered, thinking of that poor maid, cast out of her workplace, heavy with Constantine’s child. She did
not
want him in her bed tonight. Or ever again.

“But I’m not forgiven,” he said.

Anger and sorrow flared within her. Was he truly so oblivious to the real victim in all this? Didn’t he understand at all?

“It is not my place to forgive you,” she said quietly. “It is Luke’s.”

*   *   *

Regret ripped at his insides as Constantine watched Jane leave him, her head held high as a queen’s. The urge to go after her, to tell her everything, made him take several strides toward the door. Then he stopped, changed direction, and headed for the drinks tray.

Brandy scalded its way down his throat but did nothing to dull the pain.

Viciously, he swore.

Snagging the brandy decanter by the neck, he moved to an armchair and sat down to think. He sloshed more drink in his glass and set the decanter down on the table beside him. His hands were shaking.

Damn it to hell! He ought to have known this feeling of contentment would be short-lived. Happiness had always presaged disaster for him.

He slammed down the glass and put his head in his hands. So many incomprehensible pieces of his life made sense to him now. Part of his frustration had been a failure to understand the reasons behind all that had happened those years ago.

Now, with this latest revelation, it was as if past events fell into place. Like that kaleidoscope he’d shown Luke, just one small twist and the same fragments changed shape, revealed a new pattern.

And the truth, when he saw it at last, slammed into him like a fist.

Constantine surged to his feet. His uncle, his cousin, his father, his sisters, all of them had believed this of him, while he’d remained ignorant that the accusation had been made …

And now, Jane.

For that, he had himself to blame. If only he’d had the presence of mind to deny Trent’s accusation at once. He need never have seen the condemnation in Jane’s eyes.

Rage rose within him, tearing at his brain, seething in his chest. He picked up his glass and hurled it into the fireplace. It exploded into glittering shards, drenching the air with the scent of smuggled cognac.

But there was no satisfaction from smashing expensive crystal. No way he could turn back the years and make it all right.

Three men had gone to their graves believing the worst of him. He’d never asked their forgiveness. Too late to seek it now.

But how could he live without Jane’s good opinion? How could he marry a woman who thought so little of him?

Ah, Christ, why did
she
have the power to suck all those feelings to the surface? He’d existed for so long in this state of numbed denial. Nothing could hurt him because he wouldn’t let it. And now she came along, and his defenses crumbled at her touch.

What the hell was he going to tell Luke? He knew Jane well enough to realize she would do it for him if he didn’t make the decision soon.

Time. He needed time to think and plan what to do for the best. He couldn’t allow Luke to be hurt by all this.

Constantine drove his fingers through his hair. The pain of it was almost more than he could bear. But he needed a clear head to resolve this mess. He wouldn’t achieve that if he stayed here. He needed to get away from her. He needed to get out of this house.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“What are you doing?” Jane stood at the doorway of Constantine’s bedchamber, watching him pack his bags.