Simply Voracious (22 page)

Paul knelt beside him and grabbed him around the throat. “Now that I know who you are, I will be watching you very carefully, as will my friends. If you so much as glance at my wife again, or attempt to see her, I
will
kill you. And if you mention this matter to anyone, I will make sure that you can never show your face in London again. You might be second cousin to a viscount, but I am the heir of a
duke
. Do you understand me?”

Roland managed a feeble nod, and Paul dropped his hold on him. Roland’s head thumped down on the floor, and he appeared to lose consciousness.

“Lieutenant, Seamus and I will take care of Mr. Roland,” Ambrose said. “I suggest you take the letter to Mr. Taylor and ask him to deliver it to your wife when she contacts him. Lieutenant?”

Paul swallowed hard. “I want to kill him, Ambrose. I want to beat him to a pulp, rip off his prick, and stuff it in his mouth.”

“Quite understandably, sir, but we have to give him at least one chance to make things right.”

“Why?” Paul stood up and put his knife away. “He is an abomination and he hurt my wife.”

“Because, unfortunately, he is too well born to disappear without an outcry, and neither Seamus nor I wish to be taken up for assisting in a murder. And, if you admit to killing him, you would destroy your wife and her family’s reputation, which defeats the whole purpose of this exercise.”

“Damn you for being so reasonable, Ambrose.”

“Isn’t that why you brought me along, sir? To stop you from doing something you’d regret?”

“I suppose that’s true.” Paul regarded the prostrate form of Mr. Roland. “You’ll take care of him, then?”

Ambrose glanced at Seamus, who winked. “Indeed we will, sir. Now why don’t you go and deliver that letter to Mr. Taylor.”

Paul paused at the door to look back over his shoulder. Seamus was hefting Mr. Roland over his shoulder and wrapping him in his cloak. “You’re going to give him the beating he deserves, aren’t you?”

“Aye, sir. When we get him somewhere more private.” Seamus cracked his knuckles and grinned. “But never fear, sir, we won’t let him die.”

17

“W
e’re here, Lieutenant Colonel,” Miss Ross announced, and Con came around to help her out of his carriage, leaving his driver to walk the horses. It was already starting to get dark, and the wind held the promise of a frost. A nearby clock struck five times.

“Isn’t it a little late to be making a call?”

“Oh, no,” Miss Ross said airily. “Lucky told me I could visit her whenever I wanted.” She glanced up at the imposing façade. “They are still living at Haymore House. I assume they will be finding a place of their own at some point. The duke and duchess are very nice, but it must be a little difficult living with your in-laws.”

“I agree, Miss Ross.”

She glanced up at him. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all, Miss Ross.”

“You didn’t want to escort me today, did you?”

He grasped her elbow and steered her up the impressive steps. Of course he hadn’t wanted to come. What did she think he was? A man who enjoyed being hurt? Unfortunately he could hardly say that, so he concentrated on knocking on the door and summoning the butler.

“I think it is important for you to see Lucky and Paul together.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you will soon become accustomed to it, and then it won’t upset you so badly.”

He smiled down at her. “I’m hardly upset, Miss Ross. I think you are imagining us as star-crossed lovers when the reality is far different.”

She sighed. “I scarcely think it is romantic, sir. Lucky looks at you as if you are the embodiment of all her dreams, and you look at Paul in the same way. That is more tragic than romantic.”

When had Lady Lucinda ever looked at him like that?
“I see you have a pragmatic streak, Miss Ross.”

“Well, somebody in our family has to have
some
common sense. The others are always flying into alt.”

“Especially the Delornay side,” Con suggested as the butler opened the door and ushered them into the palatial entrance hall. “They are French, after all.”

Miss Ross smiled and squeezed his arm. “Exactly.”

The butler returned and escorted them up the stairs to what appeared to be a separate wing of the house. He opened a set of double doors and announced them.

“Miss Ross and Lieutenant Colonel Delinsky, my lady.”

Lady Lucinda put down her book and rose to her feet, her smile dazzling. She came toward them and held out her hands. She wore a green flowered muslin dress that complemented her eyes and porcelain skin. Her long dark hair was curled and piled on top of her head.

“Such a pleasure to see you both. My book was failing to interest me, and I was almost settling in for a nap.”

Constantine stood back and waited until Miss Ross hugged her hostess, and then bent to kiss her hand. As he straightened, he noticed a faint bruise on her throat and immediately pictured her with Paul, wondered whether he’d marked her when he came as he’d done to Con. . . .

“Lady Lucinda, a pleasure.”

She blushed when she looked up at him, and he considered Miss Ross’s casual remark that Lady Lucinda wasn’t indifferent to him. For a moment he wondered what would have happened if he’d not found Miss Ross for her in the garden and had, instead, taken care of her himself. Would they now be heading toward marriage?

He pushed that thought away. With his own marital status still unclear, he had no right to speculate or dream about another man’s wife, especially Paul’s wife.

“What was the book that failed to keep your interest, my lady?” Con inquired as they took their seats around the fireplace.

“Oh, something about crop rotation, I think. My father is very interested in the newest farming methods, and I was just trying to keep up. It makes for far more interesting dinnertime conversation if one can occasionally ask a relevant question.”

“I’m impressed that you even made the attempt, my lady. I must admit to knowing little about farming. I’ve spent most of my life in the army or in the city.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Paul is the same, Lieutenant Colonel. But, because he is my father’s heir, he is having to learn far more than he ever wanted to about the management of a great estate.”

Miss Ross chuckled. “I keep forgetting that Paul is your father’s heir. I can’t imagine him as a pompous old duke. He’s always defied authority.”

“I should imagine Lieutenant Colonel Delinsky knows that rather well,” Lady Lucinda said.

Con nodded. “Indeed, he was not the easiest of officers to manage. He always had a thousand questions as to why I phrased an order in a particular way. I had to remind him quite frequently that an order was supposed to be instantly obeyed and not questioned in the first place.”

Both of the ladies were still laughing when the door opened again and Paul appeared. He halted in the doorway. Con suspected he wanted to bolt, but he mastered the desire and advanced with a smile.

“Miss Ross, Lieutenant Colonel Delinsky, what a delightful surprise.” He bent to kiss the top of his wife’s head. “I apologize for my absence. I was busy with some correspondence.”

He took a seat opposite Con, and matters turned to ordering tea for the ladies and spirits for the gentleman. Con couldn’t help but stare covertly at Paul. He seemed different somehow, and it wasn’t just that he was out of uniform. His face looked older, and the laughter in his brown eyes was somewhat subdued. Con blinked as those eyes fixed on him, and he hurriedly looked away.

He didn’t want to sit here and make polite conversation. He wanted . . . Con took a deep breath. What he wanted wasn’t a subject he could air in this setting or anywhere. Perhaps he should have taken Thomas Wesley up on his offer after all. Then Paul would hate him, and the healing process would begin. But he didn’t want Paul to hate him, he . . .

He realized Lady Lucinda was asking him a question.

“No, my lady, I own no property here in London. I rent my rooms.”

“Do you still have property in Russia?” Miss Ross asked.

Con accepted a glass of brandy from Paul, avoiding his gaze. “There are some family holdings that survived Napoléon and his troops. I receive the occasional letter from my mother. I rely on her excellent guidance for my decisions about the property there.”

“Do you receive an income from those properties?”

Paul cleared his throat. “That is scarcely any of your business, Emily.”

She shrugged. “I know, I’m just being curious. I’m sure the lieutenant colonel doesn’t mind.” She turned back to Con. “I hear your family was very high in the Tsar’s favor, and that we really should be calling you
Prince
Constantine.”

Con smiled. “That title has a different meaning in my country. It is almost as common as a baronet is here.”

“Oh.” Emily looked quite disappointed. “I was quite looking forward to dancing with a real prince.”

Con had to smile at that. “Not quite so pragmatic after all, Miss Ross, if you dream of royalty?”

“A girl can still dream, sir, even a practical one.”

The tea arrived, and Lady Lucinda and Miss Ross busied themselves with the cups, leaving Con staring at Paul. To his surprise, Paul rose to his feet.

“Lucky, would you mind if I took Delinsky down to my study for a moment? There is a trifling matter about my military papers that he might be able to settle for me.”

Lady Lucinda paused to look around at them. “Of course not. Please go ahead.”

Paul bowed and walked toward the door, leaving Con to follow meekly after him. He tried to keep his expression neutral as Paul ushered him into his study and shut the door firmly behind him.

“There really is something I need your signature on, sir, and then I’ll be free of the military once and for all.” Paul searched on his desk for the relevant paper and then passed it over to Con. “Here you are.”

Con signed his name and then his attention shifted to Paul’s outstretched hand. “What happened to your knuckles?”

Paul glanced at them and then thrust his hand into his coat pocket. “A minor skirmish.”

“You
fought
someone?”

Paul’s smile was cold. “Well, I didn’t exactly let him fight back.”

“That is not like you.”

Paul sat on the edge of his desk and looked up at Con. “I always fought well when I had reason. Surely you remember that.”

“Then you must have had a very good reason.”

“The best.” Paul hesitated. “In truth, you might be pleased to hear what I did, seeing as I understand from Ambrose that you were peripherally involved in the whole affair.” He raised his gaze to meet Con’s. “Of course, anything we speak of here is in the strictest of confidence.”

“I’m not generally accounted a gossip.”

“I of all men know that.” Paul glanced down at his bruised knuckles. “I found the man who accosted my wife at the ball a few weeks ago.”

“Did you kill him?”

“God, I wanted to, but wiser counsel prevailed. I merely told him to leave my wife alone or I would ruin him. I left him to the tender mercies of Ambrose and Seamus Kelly.”

“Not
entirely
to them, I see.” Con gestured at Paul’s fist.

“I couldn’t resist. He was a nasty, bloodsucking little weasel, but he was also ‘gentry,’ so I had to be careful.”

“I would’ve killed him for you.”

Paul met his gaze. “I know.” He sighed. “Con, I had no idea that you already knew my wife. I have to tell Lucky about our relationship.”

Constantine stiffened. “We have no relationship.”

“I promised to be honest with her. She knows me very well. She knew about Gabriel long before I had the guts to tell her.” He hesitated. “If I am in your company, she will guess how I feel—I mean, how I
felt
about you.”

Con frowned. “She married you knowing that you had male lovers?”

“Yes. We promised to be honest with each other. I knew about the rape, and she knew about my . . . complicated love life.”

“But not about me.” Con stood up and headed for the door.

Paul grabbed his arm. “I couldn’t tell her about you.” Con tried to pull away, but Paul persisted. “If I’d mentioned you, she would never have agreed to marry me. She would have insisted I
stay
with you, and I could not do that to her. She needed me.”

“More than I did?”

“Yes.”

Con yanked his arm free. “Then tell her whatever you damn well like.”

He opened the door and started up the stairs, aware that Paul was following him.

“Will you stop for a moment and listen to me?”

Con kept going. “I think you’ve made your point, and as I have a great deal of respect for your wife, I’m not going to start a brawl with you in her house.”

He reached the top of the stairs and turned left. There was no sign of the butler, but he remembered the drawing room was about three doors down. Before he could reach his target, Paul came up behind him and shoved him through one of the doors into an empty room.

“We had only just begun our association,” Paul said, his breathing as irregular as Con’s. “I had no idea if you were interested in being with me for more than a few quick fucks.”

“Just because Gabriel treated you like that does not mean I would’ve done so.”

“
Most
people treat me like that.” Paul glared at him. “I have always been expendable. Lucky had no one else to turn to, and for once in my life, I could do something unselfish and save my friend and her parents from disgrace.”

Con gave into the temptation to cup Paul’s chin. “I thought I could love you, Paul. I apologize if I didn’t make that clear. I, too, have learned to be cautious about expressing my feelings.” He managed a shaky laugh. “And this is neither helping, nor an appropriate place to discuss such an intimate matter.”

Paul stepped back and shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Con.”

“Don’t be. You have married a courageous and wonderful woman who obviously loves you for yourself.” He hesitated. “Would it help if I asked to be assigned elsewhere?”

“No!” Paul went pale. “Please, don’t do that. If I can just see you occasionally, know that things are all right with you, I swear I won’t ask for anything more.”