“To see if Brutus can help solve the mystery of Montfree’s.”
Luke’s gaze narrowed. “Wha’ do ye got cookin’ in tha’ ’ead o’ yers?”
“Nothing but my instincts which seldom steer me off course.”
“Hmm.” Luke reached for his jacket and shrugged it on.
“What are you doing?” Devin frowned.
“Goin’ wit’ ye,” Luke returned with that stubborn mien he recognized quite well. “I can’t let ye take th’ chance o’ gettin’ caught out in th’ open again.”
Devin snorted. “Granelli might have gotten lucky the first time, but it won’t happen again, I assure you.”
“All th’ same.” Luke clapped him on the shoulder and waited.
With a heavy breath, Devin lead the way outside where he hailed down a hackney to take him to the East End.
Chapter 21
Constance rolled over in bed with the early morning sun’s rays, expecting to encounter a warm, male body, but instead, her eyes opened when there was nothing but a cold, flat sheet beneath her hand. Disappointed, she decided it was probably for the best, in the off chance her maid might walk in and find them together. She certainly didn’t need that sort of scandal right now when Granelli was breathing down their necks and causing trouble of his own.
She rolled over on her back and thought of the night ahead. It was the metamorphosis ball and the last thing Constance wanted to do was rub elbows with the upper echelon. While she didn’t have to put on a false mask of her own, since one was being provided, the idea of encountering Sir Isaacson again after what Devin had told her wasn’t appealing in the least. From the beginning she hadn’t considered him to be trustworthy, and it seems it was for good reason.
Although it cut her to think of Devin with any other woman, sharing the same intimacies they had done just hours ago, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of empathy for the Countess of Tyne. After losing the love of her life, and then a steady companion in Devin, it was likely very difficult to turn to someone as cold as the baronet. Granted, Sir Isaacson had treated Constance gallantly at the beginning, but it hadn’t taken much to reveal his true nature. Once she’d spurned him, she realized the sort of monster he was beneath all that gallantry.
She threw back the covers and got out of bed, fully awake now. She had been enjoying pleasant dreams of being with Devin until images of the baronet had intruded to fill her with disgust. It also didn’t take long for her to admit that she couldn’t allow him to continue moving about society with no repercussions for his actions. Surely there was a way she could trap him into ruining his own reputation…
After a moment, a coy grin spread across Constance’s face. She walked over to her writing desk and sat down to pen a quick missive to Lady Blessington. Not only would the metamorphosis ball be a night to remember, but she was quite sure that Sir Isaacson would never forget it.
Sealing the letter, she threw on a robe and headed downstairs to find a footman to post it as soon as possible. Once that was done, she decided that she would check in on Devin. She bit her lower lip in eager, girlish anticipation, finding that it had been years since she’d been so excited to see a certain male face, but when she knocked on his door and received no answer, she dared to peek inside. It was empty.
With a concerned frown, she checked the kitchens, where the cook offered her a warm greeting and attempted to ply her with several fruit tarts. Constance didn’t wish to be rude, so she paused in her search and bit into the flaky crust with a murmur of delight. After a compliment that made the buxom woman gleam, Constance continued on, although she told herself that even when her lease was up on the townhouse, she intended to employ the cook at her next residence—wherever that might be. In truth, she hadn’t yet decided if she wished to remain in London, especially if her relationship with Devin began to fall apart.
She hadn’t wanted to admit it, had fought against it as long as possible, but there was no denying the yearnings in her heart anymore. After last night when she’d finally allowed herself the freedom to love him with her body, her heart had also been freed. She’d kept her emotions locked tightly inside for years, but Devin had managed to find a way past her defenses, and they had crumbled to dust at his feet. She wasn’t quite sure how to tell him, or even if she should, as that was how nightmares became reality. She’d witnessed it time and time again.
Pushing her admission aside for the time being, she stood in the middle of the hall and looked at another empty bedchamber, the one Luke used, and wondered what was going on. Apparently, they had taken it upon themselves to take off to God only knew where, while she was left behind to cool her heels.
With a frustrated huff, Constance tried the last male guest in the house. She was relieved when Drennan looked up at her entrance and offered her a friendly smile. “Finally!” She threw up her arms. “I was starting to wonder if I was here alone.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of meaning in that single syllable.
“You know something, don’t you?” She walked over and set her hands on her hips. “You better start talking.”
In turn, he held up his hands in mock surrender. “I had nothing to do with it. Mr. Blackmore merely paid me a visit this morning. After our discussion, he decided to go speak with Brutus.”
“At least he had the sense to take Luke with him.” She exhaled heavily and sank down in the chair next to the bed.
There was a pause as Drennan eyed her steadily. “I’ve never seen you this upset over anyone before. This must be serious.”
“You could say that.” Constance chose to stare at her intertwined fingers rather than meet his knowing gaze. Being so unsure of herself was another sensation she wasn’t quite familiar with. Madame Corressa had always known the right things to say and do, her flirtatious nature swooping in to assume control when Constance faltered. But it appeared that the lady was finally sitting back and letting her take over. Unfortunately, that was where she began to allow those terrible insecurities of the past to slide in.
“It’s all right to let yourself love, Constance.”
She glanced up at the softy spoken assurance. “Is it?” she asked just as quietly.
“It’s a risk we must all take if we truly wish to experience life.” His smile was melancholy. “It might be sad or disappointing, but if it wasn’t for the regrettable occurrences we face, the good days wouldn’t be worth celebrating as much.”
Her lips twitched. It was either laugh or cry and she had never been a watering pot. “Since when did you become so philosophical?” she teased.
