Constance’s stomach clenched at the image of one of Devin’s former lovers teaching him such an intimate set that had likely led to something even more sensual in the bedchamber. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Oh.”
There was a moment of silence, and then he added, “She died a few years ago.”
She wasn’t even sure what to say to that. But when his hand tightened ever so slightly on hers, she couldn’t resist looking back at him. “She was a widow who was mourning her husband. We were only together for mutual companionship.”
“Did you love her?” Constance cursed her suddenly loose tongue, because she hadn’t meant to blurt out such a personal question. It certainly wasn’t like her to act so jealous over a past relationship. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had her share.
Although, when Devin nodded his head, her heart sank. “Yes, I did, but not as you might think. It wasn’t because of an all-consuming passion. We had a shared respect for each other.” His eyes were fixated on her face, holding her captive as he spoke. “I owe my life to her. She saved me from the noose but lost her own life by making a bargain with the devil himself.”
It didn’t take much for Constance to put the pieces together, especially considering his hatred for the baronet. “Sir Isaacson.”
“Yes.” His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “He married Annalise after I was sent to the colonies, and then recently confessed to me that she’d suffered a nasty spill down the stairs. He took particular joy in telling me that she’d been carrying our child when she died, and I can only assume he’s been enjoying the wealth he gained from their union.”
Constance ceased to breathe as her eyes filled with tears. For a woman she had never met, she felt empathy for her plight. “Oh, my God, Devin… I had no idea he was such a monster.” She shook her head as a drop of moisture fell from her lashes. “And here I was taunting you about him—”
He halted their movements and gently lifted her chin. His gaze was fervent as he searched hers. “You did nothing wrong. There was no way you could have known. But I am glad that you stopped entertaining him.”
Her jaw hardened. “I should like to give him a piece of my mind.”
His face relaxed. “There’s no need for that, my angel.” He kissed the tip of her nose and drew her back into the dance. “I plan on taking care of Sir Isaacson in my own good time.”
She gasped. “You don’t mean to—?”
“Trust me, I won’t do anything that takes me away from you.” He looked away. “I certainly don’t want to spend another five years in the colonies.”
She recalled the scars on his back. “Did you suffer terribly?”
His focus turned distant. “Worse than you can imagine.”
Constance hated to see the pain in his gaze. And although she had never spoken of Sir Timothy to anyone, she wanted to ease the suffering in Devin’s eyes now. “I was in love once too.” When he glanced back at her questionably, she added, “The squire and I met at a hotel in London. He was a widower and missed his wife terribly. I was there to offer comfort, much like your time with the countess. I was only a vessel for his grief. What we shared was deep and abiding, but more of a friendship and a way to heal his wounds. It was his kindness to me that I shall always remember with the most fondness.”
When there was a lull in the music, Devin took her hand. “I want to be alone with you,” he said huskily.
Whether it was the mutual pain of the past, or the heady moment of the present, Constance found that she couldn’t refuse him. She nodded, her vow broken, but she couldn’t find it within her to care. Being with Devin seemed… right and she was tired of fighting her attraction to him any longer.
She wanted to be this marauder’s mistress.
It was all the encouragement Devin needed for him to lead her up the stairs to her chamber. The moment they were inside, he shut the door and caught her against the wall, capturing her lips with his own. It was a gentle kiss, but there was enough pressure there to let Constance know he was claiming ownership.
And she wasn’t inclined to care.
Chapter 20
Devin hadn’t meant to allow the ghosts of his past to interfere on his time with Constance, and most especially on her birthday, but for some reason the words just poured forth. For the first time since he’d returned to London, he’d been able to open up without any hesitation. He hadn’t even told Luke everything, most notably what the baronet had revealed about Annalise. Instead, he’d chosen to keep it all locked inside, but he’d known from the beginning that Constance had the ability to change him. She’d always been different.
Unique.
His.
Devin slid his hand down her bodice and cupped her breast. Her lungs hitched and he growled. Her response was more heady than the finest brandy, and he wanted it all. “If you don’t want this to go any further tell me now.”
“I want you, Devin.”
He closed his eyes, her words the sweetest music to his ears. He kissed her passionately, toying with her breasts until her legs began to move restlessly beneath her skirts. He knew what she really wanted because he wanted it too.
He gathered a handful of material in his fist and with his other hand, he reached between her thighs and began to caress her. She laid her head back against the wall and moaned lightly. “Faster…” she commanded.
He readily complied, but before he could slide a finger into her passage and bring her to completion, she laid a hand on his arm, ceasing his actions. He blinked, wondering what he’d done wrong, but she merely grabbed his jacket collar and, with eyes that seemed to be illuminated from within, she said, “I don’t want this to be one-sided.” She urged him backwards until the backs of his knees touched the mattress of her bed. “Lay down.”
