Heiress in Love (41 page)

Jane glanced out the window, where clouds gathered once again, disavowing the bright promise of the morning. Spots of drizzle appeared on the windowpane.

She couldn’t go anywhere tonight. There were a hundred matters to see to before she left. She’d have to break the news of their altered plans to Luke, as well. She didn’t want to alarm him with a precipitate journey through the night.

The sense of loss, the despair, threatened to overtake her if she didn’t keep moving, doing. She would not rest until she got him back. She’d wield every ounce of the power she held over him to bring him to his senses. She would make him see …

They belonged together. She couldn’t countenance an existence without Constantine Black in it.

*   *   *

The sick feeling in the pit of Constantine’s stomach grew as he issued last-minute orders to his staff. As he put on his hat, he realized he’d forgotten his collection of curiosities, and swore under his breath. He didn’t want to go back there, and he didn’t ever let anyone else handle them. He’d have to leave them behind.

“Feather, try if you can find Luke, please. I want to see him before I go.”

He’d debated taking Luke with him, but he’d be damnably poor company for the lad. Then, too, he could not take Luke away from Jane, no matter what she’d done.

He looked forward with a grim sense of hopelessness. The trip to London would hardly be the sojourn he’d planned. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to block out the pain. The town house would ache with emptiness without her. Images flooded his mind, vignettes of everything he’d leave behind. All of them featured Jane.

“Where’re you going, sir?”

Constantine looked down to see the face of his ward etched with concern.

Constantine attempted a reassuring smile, but his facial muscles cramped, refusing to oblige him. “There’s been a slight change of plans. I must leave immediately for London. An urgent piece of business has arisen and I must deal with it.”

“You’re not waiting until tomorrow, to come with us?”

“No.” He hesitated. He ought to inform Luke of the imminent change in circumstances. Jane would soon be gone from Lazenby Hall.

“Luke, I…” The words jarred painfully in his throat.

He put his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “I need to go away now, but I’ll be back for you soon. Whatever happens, I will come back.”

His guts twisted at the way Luke screwed up his mouth to keep from showing his disappointment. God, why was this so hard? Before he came to Lazenby Hall, he hadn’t needed to consider anyone else’s feelings.

He bent to give the boy a manly hug, then drew back. “Will you do something for me, Luke?”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re the man of the house now. Will you take care of Lady Roxdale while I’m gone?”

Luke’s chest puffed out a little. “’Course I will.” He tilted his head to one side. Those hungry dark eyes seemed to swallow Constantine whole. “When will you be back?”

Someone besides himself to think of now. Someone to answer to. Someone who cared how long he was gone.

“I don’t know, Luke. Soon, I hope. I will see you soon.”

With a sense of ripping out some vital piece of himself, he set his jaw and climbed into the waiting carriage.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Luke sat cross-legged on the window seat while he watched Jane order the packing. It was such a comfort to have him there, like an elf overseeing his workers. She’d sensed a new air of protectiveness about him. Had he guessed the reason for Constantine’s early departure?

Perhaps Luke was like most children; he simply
knew
when things went awry.

“Lady Arden has agreed, we’ll leave at first light,” Jane said briskly. “I want to get to London as quickly as we can, but we’ll be obliged to stop somewhere along the way. I’ve told Higgins to pack for you, but why don’t you see if there are any special books or games you’d like to bring?”

He hesitated, as if reluctant to leave her, but she smiled reassuringly. “Go on, dear. I’m nearly finished here.”

She stood by the window and looked out over the long, straight drive. In her mind’s eye, she saw Constantine again, galloping up like a prince to rescue his fair maiden from the tower. A dark prince, she’d thought.

How wrong, how deluded, how prejudiced she’d been.

Far from wrecking the estate, he’d made it thrive. His people loved him. He’d met the crisis at the mill with a cool head and a strong, compassionate heart.

He was a hero to his tenants.

He was her hero, too.

Mine.
Pride and possessiveness swelled in her chest until she could barely breathe, until she thought she might burst like ripe fruit.

She’d let him go. Driven him away. She’d not been able to bring herself to trust him, but wasn’t the ability to trust someone implicitly the foundation of love?

Fierce denial rose up within her. It wasn’t too late. She would chase him down and make him see …

And she knew exactly where to go for help.

*   *   *

“Oh, my God,
no
!” Constantine glared at his brother, then sank his head in his hands.

George grimaced. “I tried to fob them off, but they demand to see you. Lady Arden looks like Athena, about to ride into battle.”

“And Montford?”

“How can one tell?” George spread his hands. “The man’s an icicle.”

Constantine groaned.

“I told them you were indisposed,” said George. He threw himself in a chair opposite Constantine. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he mimicked the west country accent, “But I be jest a simple coun’ry squire, at that. They won’t pay no mind ter me.”

Constantine ought to smile, but his mouth seemed weighted down at the corners. Thank God for George. Despite their argument after Frederick’s funeral, he’d rallied around as soon as Constantine had sent word he needed him.

Constantine laid his head back against his chair and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. Once again, he’d fallen asleep at his desk. His neck and back ached and the roof of his mouth felt like the devil’s shoe leather, though he’d scarcely touched a drop last night. He’d arrived in London the day before and spent all his time wrangling with ways and means to make back the fortune he’d lost by breaking his engagement to Jane.

When the news came out—as it would, since he’d sent the tidings to both the Duke of Montford and Lady Arden—he would be a pariah. All the prestige of the Roxdale title wouldn’t save him. The only women of means who might possibly be brought to marry him under those circumstances were wealthy merchants’ daughters on the hunt for a title, any title.

And even then, they would only choose him as a last resort.

He ran his hand over his jawline, feeling the stubble that had grown overnight rough beneath his fingertips. He ought to shave and wash and dress. But he couldn’t seem to summon the will to move.

His weaker self screamed at him to go back to Jane on bended knee. He needed her. What kind of master, what kind of man could he be without Jane at his side? When she’d looked up at him, so trusting and confident, he’d felt like a god, not the lout she’d once called him.

Ah, but she didn’t trust him, did she? Her admiration was for his looks and his skilled caresses, not for his character. Her love had been a lie.

And now he needed, more than anything, to show himself he could survive without her. The first step was to prove he didn’t need her money.

There was one way. But George, George … How could he do it to his brother? He couldn’t sell Broadmere from under George’s feet.

“Whatever you need to do,” said George quietly, clapping a hand on Constantine’s shoulder, “I’m with you.”

Constantine bowed his head. His brother’s steadfastness never failed to amaze and humble him. “Thank you.”

“You know, I’ve often thought of moving to Gloucestershire,” began George.

“Don’t. George, you will
not
lose Broadmere. I have … a number of irons in the fire. All will be well.”

“Don’t tell me you’re speculating again! Constantine, that’s almost as bad as turning to the gaming tables to win your fortune!”

He didn’t need to hear these doubts. He had enough of his own. “Only if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

What Constantine didn’t tell George was that he’d borrowed against his expectations while still betrothed to Lady Roxdale. His bankers had been all too willing to accommodate him. No one had mentioned his forthcoming nuptials, but of course that had been the reason for the loan, granted on such generous terms.

He’d managed to double the money since then, but a large part of those funds had gone in the service of the estate.

Once news spread about his breaking the engagement, the bankers would call in the loan, and he’d be left with nothing. He had to do something, and quickly.

But first, he must face the unpleasantness downstairs.

*   *   *

“My dear Lady Arden,” said Montford. “Calm yourself. All this agitated pacing is most wearying to watch.”

She rounded on him. “I don’t know how you can be so cool! He has
jilted
her, Julian!”

“Yes. If this gets out, you’ll never show your face at the Ministry again.”

“What do you think I care about that? Constantine has ruined himself. I had such hopes for him, and now…” Lady Arden turned her back, one hand clenched at her side, the other gripping the mantelpiece.

Montford felt in his pocket for his handkerchief. Moving to stand next to her, he proffered it, but she waved it away. Her eyes, when she turned her head to look at him, were bright with unshed tears, but she seemed mistress of herself again.

Her face took on a look of determination he knew from old. “We must do something.”

“We will. When we find out how matters stand.”

Truthfully, he was not so calm as he appeared. He wanted to rip Constantine Black limb from limb with his teeth, but if he showed that murderous impulse to Lady Arden, she’d fly to Constantine’s defense. He didn’t want that. When Arden set her mind to something, she usually got her way. She wasn’t above exploiting her feminine appeal to do it, either.

It was one of the reasons he found her so … stimulating … as an opponent.

This time, however, the stakes were too high for such games.

“They are in love,” he said.

“Yes.”

“That was something I’d never bargained for.”

She raised her brows. “If you had, you wouldn’t have lent your support to the match, I suppose.”

“Of course not.” One side of his mouth raised in a cynical smile. “Nothing good ever comes of excessive passions. This fiasco proves it.”

She swallowed and looked away. “I warned them. Constantine told me it was a business arrangement, but I knew otherwise.”

“And what has their so-called love brought them?” he replied. “Scandal and disgrace.”

“Not yet, it hasn’t!” Her ladyship’s delicate jaw firmed. “I won’t let it.” She whirled away from the mantel to take up her pacing again. “Where is the stupid boy? Making his toilet? Anyone would think he’s one of the dandy set!”

“Heaven forbid!”

The rasping voice came from the doorway, where Roxdale himself stood.

Montford studied the man carefully. He appeared much as he had that day after the flood: pale, drawn, unutterably weary. His mouth turned down slightly at the corners. There was suffering in those heavy-lidded eyes.

“You look burned to a socket,” said Montford. “Been dipping deep, have you?”

Constantine stared at him with a touch of hauteur. “I’m not answerable to you, Your Grace.”

“You damned well are, and you know it.” The words were spoken without heat, but Constantine took a hasty step toward him.

“Give over, both of you.” Lady Arden rushed to take Constantine’s hands in hers. “
Why,
Constantine? How could you
do
such a thing?”

The hard, drawn features softened a little as Constantine gazed down into Lady Arden’s face. “You know I can’t answer that.”

Between his teeth, Montford said, “Then let me inform you, sir, that I do not take kindly to your besmirching Lady Roxdale’s name. Her cousins are baying for your blood, but I have reserved to myself the satisfaction of spilling it.”

A gasp came from Lady Arden. “Julian, don’t!”

“I regret your presence, my dear,” he said gently. “Perhaps it’s time for you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not going to fight. That won’t solve anything!”

“He is a blight on his family’s name,” bit out Montford. “My lady, you ought to thank me for removing this thorn in your side.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” said Constantine, folding his arms. “It’s no use trying to provoke me.”

The duke raised his brows. “You think the difference in our ages sets me at a disadvantage? Let me assure you otherwise. Besides, I believe you said you were not a swordsman.”