And he realized that was how he would end up if he allowed his emotions to overrule his common sense. He was the one who had set out to seduce Constance, and yet he’d accused her of some sort of offense when he hadn’t even bothered to listen to her explanation. It didn’t help matters that Sir Isaacson was his hated enemy, the man who had destroyed his life, and who had blatantly admitted to murdering Annalise. However, that didn’t mean Devin hadn’t been in the wrong. He’d lashed out without thinking of the consequences, or how it might have hurt Constance.
After last night, he’d believed that something could evolve between them, but he might have just wiped all of that away with a few harsh words that were impossible to take back.
He shoved a hand through his hair and stared at the floor, considering the best way to fix this mistake, and praying that his actions didn’t cause her to run to the baronet just to spite him.
Suddenly, the solution hit him. While it might not completely repair the rift he’d shoved between them, at least it would prove to Constance that he wanted to earn her forgiveness.
He headed off in search of Luke and found him back in the library, sitting in a chair by the fire and staring absently into a glass of brandy. Not until he explained his plan to the older man did Luke stare at him as if he’d lost his mind.
But then, he shrugged. “God moves in mysterious ways, and I admit that I would like to see it.”
“Good.” Devin clapped him on the shoulder. “Because you get to come with me and pick out the material for the dress.”
Luke groaned, but he got to his feet, nonetheless. “I ’ave th’ feelin’ ye’re goin’ t’ be a hideous woman.”
Several days passed before Constance actually allowed herself time to think about Devin. She arose each day with the dawn and returned well after supper when she was sure they wouldn’t encounter one another. The countess had remarked that she was spending so much time at her townhouse that perhaps she should just move back in, whereas Constance had remained silent and said nothing in return.
But what could she say?
It wasn’t as though she could unburden herself upon the lady, who had enjoyed more than her fair share of peccadillos after her husband’s death. In fact, Constance was quite sure that her friendship with Count d’Orsay went beyond a chat in the parlor and might well extend to that of his wife as well, although Constance had never asked, as it wasn’t her concern.
Lady Blessington, however, seemed particularly curious about Constance and her love life. But since she wasn’t willing to share what she couldn’t quite explain, except for the fact she had been hurt by her argument with Devin, she was generally successful in diverting the lady’s attention by turning the subject back around to the upcoming metamorphosis ball. Invitations had been sent out to all the higher echelons of society and most had already accepted, quite eagerly as it would seem.
She had also attended several ladies’ salons with Lady Blessington, where the majority of the women in attendance spoke of little else. They were quite excited about the prospect of dressing in trousers and buckle shoes from the golden age of Marie Antoinette, before the Revolution had absconded with her head. But mainly, they tittered over women’s fashions of the day and how marvelous it would be to see their husbands in a sack back dress and tall, powdered wigs.
“I’ve already chosen the material for the marquess,” one lady mentioned. “A lovely puce to go with my grandmother’s amethysts. He shall be the belle of the ball, I’m quite sure!”
A round of laughter erupted as another woman chimed in. “The duke is trying to act as though he detests the idea, but I’ve nearly convinced him that orange is his color! I’m sure he will look ripe for the plucking with his red hair!”
Constance enjoyed the merriment around her, although her thoughts began to drift as she sipped from her tea and listened to more ladies extol their husband’s ‘virtues.’ She was struck by the vision of Devin’s dark eyes flashing as he donned a gown of silver embroidered satin with a row of bows trailing down his front. But it was the seductive scene that followed that tantalized her the most. She clearly saw the moment when her hand trailed up the inside of his muscular thigh and she grasped the hard manhood between his legs. She flushed just thinking of disappearing beneath his skirts…
Such wicked musings were her constant companion, and even though she was still angry at him, each night she still burned with fiery desire for him. It was why she didn’t return home until she could be assured that exhaustion would finally overcome her, because she couldn’t allow herself to give in to the passionate hunger that tested her resolve. Although she had allowed certain aspects of Madame Corressa’s personality to reappear, Constance refused to lose everything to her.
Again.
Thus, she concentrated all of her energy on ensuring that this ball was a success for the countess. If it was, her position within the upper echelon would be further ensured. Even if Sir Isaacson was successful in bringing Constance down, at least her friends would be spared from his maliciousness.
As Constance rode beside the countess in her open landau, enjoying the warm summer day as they made their way to the tailors to be fitted for their masculine attire for the ball, she briefly lifted her face to the warmth of the sun. She wasn’t one of those ladies who had ever worried with gaining a freckle or two on her skin. In truth, Alessandro had claimed she looked rather appealing with a bit of color. She had always found the bright rays went far to soothe a melancholy spirit.
“Isn’t that your cousin?”
Constance turned to where Marguerite had indicated and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Devin walking along the street with Luke. She frowned, as she couldn’t imagine why they might be on Bond Street—
But then she noticed the box he held from a popular ladies’ establishment.
The furrow between her brows deepened. “Why would he go there?”
Constance hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Lady Blessington leaned across and said dryly, “Perhaps he had some shopping to do?”
Her lips twisted. “At the modiste?” Instantly, her stomach dropped to her feet, as she imagined him buying something for a new love interest. But even then, she had to wonder where he’d gotten the funds for such an extravagant purchase. Constance only went to Madame Elodie’s when she was looking to buy something extra special, and it was nearly impossible to make an appointment for an exclusive fitting, as most of them were already reserved for the elite class and members of the royal household.
“Constance?”
She whipped her head around to her companion. “Yes?”
“My, you really are quite besotted with your house guest, aren’t you?”
She instantly flushed, her face warming considerably, although she waved a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
