Constance turned away, lest he see the indecision upon her face. It was a question that she’d been asking herself this entire time and had yet to find an answer for. But to satisfy his curiosity, she shrugged a shoulder and said, “Perhaps I wish to prevail upon your good nature, so that when you are recovered you will leave me in peace.”
A slow, seductive smile spread across his face. “That, sweetheart, is highly unlikely to happen, as I haven’t been ‘good’ in quite some time.” He closed his eyes, likely knowing that his next words would surely disrupt her. “And what’s more, you’ll be glad I’m not.”
Chapter 7
“Isn’t that so, Mrs. Hartford?”
Constance snapped to attention at the sound of her name, although she realized she’d missed the entire conversation that had been buzzing around her. She offered a tight smile to Sir Isaacson and didn’t miss the twitch on Lady Blessington’s lips. It was as if the countess knew exactly where Constance’s thoughts had been wandering.
“I’m sorry. I fear I was woolgathering. Would you mind repeating the question?”
He inclined his head, but she could tell by the lines bracketing his mouth that he wasn’t pleased at being ignored, however unknowingly. “I was inquiring about your ill cousin and wondered how he was faring. The count assures me the prognosis is good.”
Constance slid her gaze to the baronet, because she didn’t miss the slight inflection in his tone when he recalled that her “relation” was male. “He is doing quite well. Better every day.”
In truth, she had yet to check in on Mr. Blackmore ever since their card game that had ended with him closing his eyes and relaxing in silent repose while she stood there for several minutes wondering if he was truly going to sleep when she had finally agreed to his ridiculous kiss. In the end, she’d left feeling frustrated as if she’d been the one who had been denied a prize. When she’d looked back at the bed and saw him smile—she’d shut the door soundly behind her.
But that hadn’t kept her from picturing that coy little grin.
Not only was that annoying, but the man truly was sin personified. She must have not been thinking clearly at all when she’d come up with such an asinine plan as to allow him to recover under the same roof where she slept. For the past two nights since she’d left his side, she’d certainly done little of it.
“You’ll be glad I’m not.”
Those taunting words had haunted, not only her waking hours, but her dreams as well. A dark mist full of sensual promise would invade her sleep and she would wake up aching for male fulfillment. But instead of rushing down the hall and giving in to Madame Corressa’s demands, she had just slipped her hand under the bedcovers and brought herself to completion. While it brought a temporary relief from the raging passion burning through her body, it wasn’t long before she was left empty and wanting.
But whenever she thought of using another man for her needs, the fire within her quickly burned out. She wasn’t that woman anymore and she couldn’t believe that this man that she barely even knew affected her in such a strong way.
Unlike Sir Isaacson.
Even though she knew he would be a willing participant should she just say the word.
As the orchestra struck up a waltz, the baronet smiled at her and said, “I believe this is our dance, Mrs. Hartford.”
“So it is.” She inclined her head and allowed him to escort her to the floor where several other couples had taken their position.
Constance kept her chin high and a curve to her lips, as if she was enjoying every moment of attention in this man’s arms. Considering this was a moment she’d waited for several years—the approval of society and a suitor who could be a lifelong partner so that she could have some sort of respect after her alter ego, Madame Corressa, had nearly destroyed her self-worth—she found that instead of being filled with satisfaction, she was just as empty inside as she’d ever been.
Once the set was over, she struggled to maintain her composure when all she wanted to do was scream. Instead, she managed to request a moment of air from her companion and headed for the terrace.
Outside, in the warm evening, she gripped the iron railing with her pristine, white gloves. She didn’t care if they became ruined. She needed something sturdy to cling to, feeling as if she was floating somewhere in the clouds and no longer tethered to the earth.
She closed her eyes against the sight of the familiar London landscape with its tendrils of smoke climbing into the heavens and gas lamps that flickered in the night and concentrated on her breathing. Alessandro had taught her much about the Indian culture and the pranayama method of how to focus to calm one’s mind. She brought her hand up and held one side of her nose, and then the other, inhaling through one side and exhaling through the other. She did this for several moments until her shoulders began to slacken and her heart rate had begun to return to normal.
It wasn’t until her final exhale when she opened her eyes that a deep voice murmured, “That was quite intriguing. Dare I even try to decipher what you just did?”
Constance spun toward the opposite end of the terrace where a figure stood among the shadows. But she didn’t have to see his face to know who he was. Devin Blackmore. “How dare you! That was a private moment.”
“Was it?”
“Yes! Why do you think I was out here alone?” She put a hand to her stomach where the butterflies she’d just calmed had begun to beat against her ribs with a renewed flurry. “It was a breathing exercise to help calm my nerves.”
A snort. “I generally just have a scotch.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m not a drunk. In truth, I’ve never really preferred spirits. I’ve known too many men and women who abuse the privilege.”
A brief pause. “How did someone as beautiful as you become so cynical?”
She narrowed her gaze. She wasn’t sure if she was being complimented or insulted, but she didn’t care to hear either. “You might imagine I’ve had an easy life, but trust me, women have more trials to hurdle than men ever will. While some women have suffered worse than I, it has only been through my cynicism that I am still here today.”
