Wicked Mourning (5 page)

Constance
experienced a moment of divine pleasure when the fish-skinned bully looked ready to cast up his accounts. The whole world knew to fear the cold-hearted marquess’s displeasure.

“Yes, my lord.” Medley fled.

The fair-haired marquess advanced and, once Medley was beyond the drawing room doors, turned to the hearth to consign the rudely penned note to the flames.

As firelight reflected off the large, diamond cravat pin Ettington always wore,
Constance
struggled to control her envy. Lack of money was a problem Jack Overton, Marquess of Ettington, would never have. He could easily afford the expensively tailored coat and breeches that defined his lean form. And if memory served, he’d commissioned yet another carriage he couldn’t possibly need just this last week. The absurdly handsome man, blessed with more wealth than
Constance
could comprehend, paused before the fire. He watched the paper burn with one booted foot perched on the hearth, and then he sauntered out the door. Was he born knowing exactly how to draw attention or had someone taught him?

As
Constance
drew in a full breath, she realized that the duke’s twin sister Virginia, Lady Orkney, had said nothing during the exchange. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks with heat, and she turned to find
Virginia
white-faced and shaking. Concerned, she set aside her problems.
Virginia
’s nerves were never very sturdy on the best of days. The display of aggression from the men appeared to have frightened her considerably.
Constance
crossed the room and grasped
Virginia
’s hands to rub some warmth back into them. The pale beauty’s breathing slowed, but then a great shudder jerked her hands from
Constance
’s grip.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted again, didn’t I, Pixie?”

Constance
smiled at the use of her nickname. “I told you your nervousness didn’t bother me.” But she bit her lip to keep her anxiety under control. “Do you know I pity your brother’s intended? He can truly be terrifying when he’s displeased. I almost felt sorry for Medley.”

“Medley doesn’t deserve your pity. My brother is nothing but hot air. Though I agree with you—Jack’s wife will have a hard time keeping him happy.”

“That she will.”
Constance
shuddered. “Would you like some tea?”

“I have already requested tea,” Ettington replied, strolling into the room as if nothing unpleasant had occurred a few minutes earlier.

Given the rate her heart was beating,
Constance
could not understand how the man could appear so placid. Perhaps, beneath that elegantly expensive exterior, he was a hard soul who gave no thought to the distress of the lower classes as her friend, Cullen Brampton, claimed. Cullen thought the marquess an insufferable prig.

She did her best to give the appearance of looking at Ettington, but avoided meeting his gaze. Although his familiar arrogance irritated, being at complete odds with her friend’s fragile state, she had no wish to resume their old feud in front of
Virginia
.

Virginia
’s smile returned. “Thank you, Jack. We would like tea very much.”

When Ettington sat beside the box of unpaid bills,
Constance
’s heartbeat sped up. She had left the overall figure refolded on the cushion, but the final bill for her past man-of-business’s services was face-up for him to view.

Ettington glanced to the side, appeared to read the amount, and then turned a bland face their way. “So how was your morning?”

Virginia
answered promptly and the marquess soon had her chatting about their conversations as if it were the height of entertainment.
Constance
gritted her teeth. Ettington had a knack for managing his sister’s mood, but if he ever treated
Constance
as such a brainless ninny, she would dump the contents of the teapot on him.

“The tea is taking too long, sister, could you hurry the servants along? I really am very parched.”

Like a marionette at a traveling play,
Virginia
hurried off to do his bidding. When his sister was out of sight and earshot, Ettington stared hard at
Constance
. She met his intense, blue gaze nervously.

“I apologize for my sister’s response to your plight,” he told her in a low voice. “She doesn’t handle confrontations well.”

“Your sister cannot help but react as she does. She is trying.”

Ettington’s weary sigh rattled though the room. “You mean unlike me? Did I step on your toes again, Miss Grange? Should I have allowed that overpaid oaf to insult a woman under my own roof?”

Her heart thumped. “What do you mean overpaid?”

Ettington unfolded the paper and ran his finger over the scrawled figures. “His bill holds some inaccuracies that he should be taken to task over. I do hope he hasn’t cheated you of more than just this one amount. He has either done it in a very clever fashion, or it is an excellent example of incompetence.”

Constance
leapt up and snatched the note from his fingers. “I will go over them all myself.”

“There are a great many papers in that box,” he remarked.

Did he think her first glance hadn’t terrified her enough?

She didn’t care for his interest, so she grabbed up the box and moved it away. “Then I may ask
Virginia
to assist me. I’m sure that between the two of us we can ferret out any further inaccuracies.”

Ettington’s deep, rumbling laugh chilled her, but she’d not let him cower her. She glared at him until he stopped.

He wiped his eyes. “Surely you’re not too young to remember the last time
Virginia
tried to fathom the exact distance between your home to ours. It took her a week and, judging by the headache I acquired as a result, I fear she will not volunteer to tally sums again.”

“Oh, what a terrible thing to say about your twin. I doubt you suffered.”

“My sister has many talents, but mathematics is not one of them. She outshines me in many other, far more important arenas. One of them includes having an acknowledged, warm heart.”

Constance
fidgeted. Secretly she thought his nickname, the Cold-Hearted Marquess, well deserved. But hearing him joke about being cold-hearted, and challenging her to deny it, made her extremely uncomfortable. “One of them includes having the tact to stay out of other people’s affairs.”

Ettington leaned close. “My, my, have your affairs become interesting?” He held her gaze. “What has changed?”

Constance
bit her lip. She had not informed her friends of her recent attachment. Not that the decision should interest Ettington one way or the other. But she’d held her tongue to avoid upsetting
Virginia
when her health remained delicate.

Unfortunately,
Constance
had never been a proficient liar, and was unusually unsuccessful with Ettington. The marquess would hound her until she confessed. It would be best to get the discussion over and done with. “I am engaged to be married.”