She had been conflicted upon returning to London, as it had held nothing but heartbreak and loneliness for her through the years, but at the count’s insistence that she join them, she had finally relented—only to meet an intriguing man her first night there which stirred the sensual paramour trapped inside.
“Bollocks,” Constance muttered under her breath as she rose and rang for Lady Blessington’s maid.
It was time to dress for the day and put the previous night’s encounter behind her, because truly, what were the odds that she would see the stranger again?
A grin formed on Devin’s face when he saw the lady riding toward him on the Rotten Row path. He had never chosen to partake of the sights during the fashionable hour before, but something had told him that the siren with the seductive, green eyes would be here today.
While he’d caught up with Luke the night before, he had glossed over his interaction with the lady, even though he wasn’t sure why. Devin used to tell the man everything because he knew he could be trusted. Perhaps it was his time in Australia or just the past five years that had separated them that had caused his reticence to discuss everything now. But then, some of the events that had occurred on that island were best kept there. He certainly didn’t wish to relive certain moments.
However, he did wish to make the further acquaintance of a particular woman. He would choose his moment wisely, because he didn’t wish to jump out in the middle of the path and frighten her horse or have to suffer a haughty glare from the woman at her side, for he could tell she was the type who would consider someone of his ilk ‘beneath’ her notice. And although Devin had swived his share of society matrons, those days were behind him. For a man who’d been forced into hard labor the past five years, it made you appreciate life a bit more, and he found that there was still much he wanted to do.
Right now, he intended to find out the name of his obsession.
Keeping to the shadows of a large oak, he kept that plum velvet riding habit in his sights. When her companions decided to take a different route and she headed off alone, Devin grinned. She was almost making it too easy for him.
She paused before the bronze Statue of Achilles. Sir Richard Westmacott sculpted it from the cannons captured by Wellington’s campaigns in France and dedicated it to the duke himself. Originally, the sculpted giant was completely nude with sword and shield in hand, but a fig leaf was added after society considered it to be too risqué. Devin had been twenty-two when it was unveiled and had nearly laughed at the size of the poor phallus. In his opinion, the Trojan hero’s only weakness hadn’t just been his heel.
But as he stood and observed the lady, he saw that instead of blushing or pretending to just glance at the chiseled male form, she quite openly studied it. But it didn’t seem that she considered it with admiration or even a bit of desire in her gaze, but even so, her lips were twisted somewhat sardonically.
It wasn’t until another rider paused beside her that Devin had to roll his eyes. It had been five years, but he knew the baronet quite well. In fact, he’d had several altercations with Sir Brooks Isaacson in the past and none of them had ended in the gentleman’s favor. In fact, he was the bastard responsible for ensuring that Devin was sent away from England to pay off his crimes with servitude once he was spared the noose. Devin wasn’t sure how he might repay that kindness as of yet.
He considered striding forward and interceding when the baronet attempted to gain the lady’s favor, but he waited to see what she might do. Something told him that he didn’t have to send the gentleman on his way, that she was more than capable of doing so. And after a brief conversation, whereas the gentleman did his best to cajole her with a wide grin, flashing white teeth that vied for equal attention from the puce shade of his waistcoat, Devin noticed that she didn’t seem to fall prey to his charms as easily as other women had—those that had lived to regret it. There were likely several of Sir Brooks’ bastards running about the city by now, likely engaged in the same line of work that Devin had partaken of for so long.
Nevertheless, something like pride flashed through his chest when the baronet inclined his hat briefly before he continued on his way, and Devin could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and jawline that he hadn’t been pleased with whatever the lady had said. Which just made Devin even more intrigued.
Adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, he walked out into the bright light of day.
“Not particularly enjoying the view?”
Constance barely refrained from sighing aloud. Thinking that the smooth, deep voice belonged to another worthless swain attempting to impress her, she glanced over at the speaker and instantly, her body felt as if it was lit from within. Heat swept over her and she gripped the reins a bit tighter, causing her borrowed mount to prance a bit nervously under her. But then, she hadn’t been prepared to see the man from the previous evening striding across the lawn toward her.
While the enhanced version of the statue had failed to impress her, even after all these years when she had been present for the unveiling, there always seemed to be some man around who liked to think that they were just as monumental. While she had never met the baronet who had boldly introduced himself to her, she knew his sort and they were never without a few misdeeds to their credit.
Gentlemen on the outside but slithering snakes behind the façade.
But looking at the man standing a few feet distant, she admitted that she had trouble reading his character. Oh, she had no doubt that he was someone to watch out for, and yet, something told her that his character didn’t extend to the physical. He was more of a silent weapon, a man who had honed his skills over the years and would strike only when necessary, but the power in that moment would be severe, if not deadly.
Constance resisted the shiver that wanted to travel up her spine and lifted a delicate brow. Instead of saying that the view had just turned decidedly in her favor, which is what she was thinking, she noted dryly, “I suppose you are going to tell me what a waste of good bronze this is.”
He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Not at all. In truth, I would have made him twice the size, so that he could be seen above the trees.”
She laughed at the absurd picture he painted. “And why, pray tell, would you do that? To offer additional boast to Wellington’s brilliant achievements?”
“No. For mine.”
Her lips twitched and her nose scrunched, and she suddenly seemed much younger. And flirtatious. He particularly liked this side of her—until she spoke and her tongue quickly shredded him. “Do you have a certain… issue with size?” She glanced down at his trousers and his cock stirred with interest, although his pride was rising up with fists clenched.
“Hardly,” he chuckled. “Perhaps if you’re lucky you’ll find out sometime that when it comes to size, it’s not something I’m concerned about.”
Constance had to turn away, lest he see the lustful lady lurking beneath the elegant exterior. If he only knew the way Madame Corressa wanted to take him up on his tempting offer… “Then I suppose I will have to take you at your word, for you have come to the wrong conclusion about me.”
She turned her horse away, hoping that put an end to the conversation, but it was what he said that caused her to hesitate.
“I propose an exchange.”
Constance reluctantly turned her mount around, even though she told herself to keep moving. She adopted a bored tone. “For what?”
“The man that you shot last night may lose the use of his leg. He’s not very pleased about the fact.”
