Impassioned Page 3

  Regaining control, Sabrina opened her eyes and moved into her bedchamber. Smaller in space and in the size of furnishings, her room was soft and pale when compared with her husband’s. A palette of light pinks and greens soothed and comforted, reminding her that she was a delicate flower, as her father called her.

  The young woman who’d been promoted to act as Sabrina’s lady’s maid came in through the dressing chamber. Charity Taylor was perhaps a year or two older than Sabrina, with dark, chocolate brown hair and wide, tawny eyes. “I thought I heard you come in. Can I offer any further assistance, my lady?”

  “No, thank you. I do appreciate you stepping in to help me this evening.”

  “It is my privilege,” she said with a bob of her head. “I may not be trained to be a lady’s maid, but I could learn if you decide I suit you. My sister is a lady’s maid to one of the patronesses of the Phoenix Club. In fact, she’s the one who was able to secure this position for me.”

  “And how did she do that?”

  “I suppose it wasn’t her specifically. Her employer, Mrs. Renshaw, and the owner of the club assist people—sometimes with employment and sometimes with other matters. If you need help with something, you go to the owner of the Phoenix Club.”

  That was Lord Lucien Westbrook, Sabrina’s husband’s younger brother. This new information clung to Sabrina’s mind even as she focused on the young woman in front of her. “I’d be delighted to have you train to be my maid, if you are inclined.” Finding a lady’s maid was not something Sabrina wanted to spend time on. Besides, Charity seemed a pleasant and eager sort, so why bother looking? However, that didn’t mean Sabrina knew her or what type of person she truly was. Summoning her newfound courage, she forced herself to say, “I do have one requirement. I don’t tolerate gossip of any kind. Anything I say to you or that you overhear must not leave your lips. Is that understood?”

  Charity’s eyes widened briefly as a shadow of apprehension flashed within them. “Yes, my lady.”

  Sabrina offered her a smile. “Please don’t fret. I’m sure you’ll be discreet. I just find it’s best to communicate expectations at the start.” If only she and her husband had done that. But then she hadn’t known enough about anything to do so and still didn’t. Except to demand a child. That was the single expectation they both shared—or should anyway.

  Shoulders relaxing, Charity nodded. “Thank you, my lady. Good night.” With a curtsey, she departed the chamber.

  Staring after her, Sabrina’s mind went back to what the maid had said about Lucien. He helped people with “other matters.” Sabrina certainly needed help if she was going to make the changes she wanted to.

  The heaviness of her thoughts pulled her mouth down as she strode to the bed and cast her dressing gown to the floor. Responsibility told her to pick it up and lay it carefully across the end of the bed, but she tore the coverlet back and flounced onto the mattress instead.

  She reclined against the pillows and stared up at the canopy, reliving the encounter she’d just had with her husband. The look on his face when she’d demanded a baby… A devilish giggle burst forth, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  That was most uncharitable of her. Did he even deserve her charity? He’d been nothing but condescending and aloof since just before their marriage. Yes, she’d been reserved, but would it have killed him to try to reach out to her? Her mother had said that her new husband would guide her, that she need only follow his direction. How could Sabrina do that when he gave her none?

  You haven’t really tried either. No, she hadn’t, but how could she when she was utterly ignorant of marital relationships, particularly in the bedchamber? Not just ignorant, but afraid.

  She wasn’t going to be afraid anymore. Or shy. No more “Wallflower Countess,” the nickname some had called her last Season. She couldn’t be any of that if she wanted to entice her husband into her bed and have a child. And since he had a mistress, she was going to have to work even harder to gain his attention. She only hoped she could.

  It would require the drastic change she planned. A complete rejection of the woman she’d been, one who lived in the shadows and clung to propriety, wielding it like a shield against, well, everything.

  The new Lady Aldington would be witty, charming, and daring. She would garner attention and admiration, even if it didn’t come from her frigid husband—and she would have a child to love.

  Chapter 3

  The crisp, late winter air bit at Constantine’s cheeks as he thundered down Rotten Row. He’d slept horribly, his mind and body awash with thoughts of his wife’s demands.

  She’d actually demanded he visit her every night until she was with child. He still didn’t recognize the woman who’d arrived at his house unannounced.

  And the thought of bedding her—every night—made him twitch with anxiety. The act was dull and dutiful, and every time he did the deed with her, he felt…empty. Especially when he compared the occasions with the times he’d been with a woman before he was married. Those nights had been filled with joy and sweat and rapture.

  Constantine could imagine his wife’s reaction—horror, revulsion, and perhaps even tears. Not that he recalled her crying on any occasion. She had, however, seemed close a time or two, particularly on their disastrous wedding night. Just thinking of that made him cringe.

  No, he couldn’t envision her appreciating a passionate advance from him. She’d never once given any inkling that she wanted him or felt any attraction or desire toward him. If she had, what would he have done?

  There was no point in wondering. They were currently faced with a duty, and they would meet it. Perhaps now that she was demanding him to visit her, she would be more amenable to the act? He simply couldn’t imagine it. But then he never would have imagined her behavior last night either.

  He had to admit he wanted to shut his father up about having an heir. The duke had recently begun to badger him about whether his countess was capable of giving him a son. He’d also noted that she and Constantine didn’t spend enough time together to give the matter the appropriate attention and effort.

  Oh hell, was the duke behind Lady Aldington’s sudden change of behavior?

  Constantine slowed his mount as he reached the end of the track. His father was an overbearing, meddling authoritarian. Of course he was behind this. Constantine should have seen his manipulation straightaway. He’d simply been too astounded at her sudden arrival. And by the way she’d cared for him. Seeing her never failed to steal his breath, and her touch had driven a stake of keen yearning straight through him.

  He’d been too long without a woman. If only he’d been able to alleviate his needs last night with the courtesan.

  Scowling to himself and eager for another bruising ride along the track, he turned his horse only to see his brother riding toward him.

  “Morning, Con,” Lucien greeted with a wide smile that always seemed genuine, no matter the time of day or occasion.

  “I’m exercising.” He sounded terse, and he didn’t care.

  “As genial as ever. I’ll race you to the other end then.”

  They’d been competitive about a great many things throughout their lives, but riding was something at which neither was better than the other. Sometimes Lucien won and sometimes Constantine did. “Yes.”

  The word barely left Constantine’s lips before Lucien raced forward.

  Muttering a curse, Constantine kicked his horse into a full gallop. It took him nearly the entire length of the track, but he ultimately overtook his younger brother and emerged the victor.

  “Feeling better?” Lucien asked after they’d walked their horses for a few minutes.

  “Yes, thank you. It always feels good to win.”

  Letting out a sharp laugh, Lucien cast him a sidelong look from atop his horse as they walked beside each other. “I let you win to improve your mood.”

  Constantine snorted. “You never let anyone win, not even for the sake of someone’s men
tal state.”

  “Do I need to be concerned about your mental state?”

  “No.” Despite the fact that his mind could not fully comprehend his wife’s sudden change in behavior. Or that she wanted him to bed her every night. For the purpose of having a child—he mustn’t forget that was all she wanted.

  This predicament wouldn’t confound Lucien. Hell, it never would have happened in the first place. Lucien would have successfully seduced his wife on their wedding night, if his reputation as an accomplished and sought-after lover was to be believed. Constantine tried not to pay too close attention. Such things should be private.

  Aside from his reputation, Lucien was known for helping people. Constantine knew that from personal experience since he’d been eager to provide assistance when Constantine had decided to take a mistress.

  “Are you certain I needn’t be concerned?” Lucien asked, keeping his voice low, since there were other riders about, not that any of them were close enough to overhear them. “I heard what happened last night. I apologize for the confusion.”

  “Confusion? You promised me secrecy and absolute discretion. Now I must worry whether Overton or his young ward will tell anyone they saw me.”

  Lucien shook his head with a half smile. “You’re daft if you’re worried about that. Why would they endanger their own reputations?”

  While Constantine assumed they would not, the encounter still didn’t sit well with him. “I don’t like that they know I was there. It will make things extremely uncomfortable. Especially since I saw what they were doing. I can’t believe Overton has fallen so far as to take advantage of his ward.”

  “They are in love, actually,” Lucien said with more than a hint of exasperation. “And currently on their way to Gretna Green where they will be wed.” He pinned Constantine with an expectant stare. “Don’t you possess even a tiny shard of romanticism in your cold, black heart?”

  His heart wasn’t cold or black. It just wasn’t terribly…alive. Not since he’d lost the only person who’d ever loved him fifteen years ago.

  “I do,” Constantine said defensively, even as he felt the tiniest tinge of envy for Overton and his ward. “Lady Aldington arrived last night.” He blurted the revelation without any thought.

  Lucien blinked in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were expecting her.”

  “I wasn’t.” Constantine sealed his lips together lest he share anything else without thinking, such as the reason for her arrival.

  “You don’t seem enthused,” Lucien observed. “Would you rather she’d stayed at Hampton Lodge?”

  “Of course not. She should be in London for the Season.”

  “I should think she ought to be in London to be with her husband.” Lucien spoke lightly but with an edge of concern that only dredged up Constantine’s sour mood. He hated when his brother tried to meddle—it was bad enough when their father did.

  “Mind your own business,” Constantine muttered.

  “There’s my surly brother.” Lucien laughed. “One of these days I’m going to wedge that stick out of your ass, and you are going to feel so much better.”

  “I need to get to Westminster.” Constantine turned his horse.

  “Have a splendid day!” Lucien called after him.

  As he rode from the park, Constantine pushed his brother’s cheerfulness out of his mind. For a man who’d fought in Portugal and been sent home after being injured, he was particularly pleasant. And that was in spite of their father’s badgering. The duke looked for every opportunity to question why Lucien wasn’t still fighting, since his injury hadn’t caused any lasting effects.

  Constantine guided his horse into the mews and dismounted. “Excellent ride, Zephyr,” he murmured before declining the groom’s assistance. He generally liked to care for his horses when he had the time, which wasn’t often when he was in town. Since his encounter with Lucien had cut his riding time short, he took advantage. Brushing Zephyr soothed Constantine’s agitation, and by the time he walked into the house, he was feeling better than he had all day. He’d just go upstairs to change before heading to Westminster.

  Haddock met him in the foyer. “Good afternoon, my lord. Your gig will be ready shortly.”

  With a nod, Constantine started toward the stairs. “I’ll be back down directly, Haddock.” He looked over his shoulder to see the housekeeper, Mrs. Haddock, walk into the foyer, her gaze on her husband. Haddock pivoted, his brows arching slightly before his features softened.

  Constantine had never noticed the butler doing that before, but then they didn’t realize he was watching. Their mutual attention was entirely focused on each other as they spoke in low tones that Constantine couldn’t overhear. Were they discussing a household matter or something more…intimate? Constantine was reminded of how his marriage didn’t have similar moments.

  With an abrupt turn, he climbed the stairs and at the top nearly collided with the countess. As usual, he was momentarily stunned by her beauty. Because he didn’t see her regularly, he reasoned. Her honey-gold hair was only visible under the front brim of her bonnet, and a rather plain, pale walking gown draped her figure. She was just pulling on her gloves.

  He swept his hat from his head. “Are you on your way out?” Constantine was surprised, for she didn’t often venture from the house, and certainly not the morning after she’d arrived.

  “I have errands.” Her voice carried that haughty edge he’d detected briefly last night.

  “What sort of errands?”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly, and he wondered if she’d ever done that in the history of their acquaintance. “The sort that would bore you.”

  Constantine straightened. “I see.”

  Her gaze dipped. “How is your hand?”

  “It still hurts. More than I would have expected, actually.” It didn’t really, but if he could postpone the resumption of his marital duties until he’d sorted his thoughts, he would seize the opportunity.

  That was prompting his delay? Sorting his thoughts?

  “Perhaps you should not have gone riding,” she suggested. “You might put more salve on it. That would ease the pain. Unless you prefer to be uncomfortable.” Did she think he was using the wound as an excuse?

  Which he was, dammit.

  He did not know what to make of this woman. “I’ll do that before I go to Westminster.”

  “Will I see you later this evening?” Now she gave him an expectant look, her hands clasped before her.

  “I will likely be late.”

  “Of course you will,” she murmured before summoning a slight smile and then abandoning it. “I’ll wait up. Should you find your…disposition improved.”

  Before he could reply—and really, what the hell could he say at this juncture without sounding like a complete ass—she’d started down the stairs. He stared after her, wondering again who this new Lady Aldington was and what had happened to provoke this stark and bewildering change.

  Perhaps he should visit her tonight. If she was so changed, she might be different in their marriage bed. She certainly didn’t seem to be anxious or tense around him as she had before. Was there a chance she wanted to participate?

  Making his way to his chamber, Constantine stopped abruptly in the sitting room as he caught the scent of apples and vanilla. His wife smelled like that, he realized.

  For a moment, he tried to think of doing things to her that would make her scream with pleasure. He couldn’t envision it. All he saw was her pale, mortified face.

  He should speak with her plainly—ask if she was still going to quiver with apprehension and turn rigid until he left her. But to speak of such things gave him tremors of anxiety. And she thought him dispassionate. Her description had pricked him, made him question whether it was true.

  Of course it was.

  For fifteen long years, he’d worked hard to keep every emotion bottled tight. Before that, he’d only revealed them to one person, to the mother who’d loved him and assured
him his father did too. Constantine wasn’t sure he believed that. The duke was proud of him, but that was not the same thing.

  How he wished he could talk to her now, ask her what he should do and whether he was completely wrongheaded about his wife or, hell, about everything. Since he could not, he went into his chamber and carried on with his day.

  The thrill of saying exactly what she’d wanted and the resulting expression of shock and uncertainty on her husband’s face was still thrumming through Sabrina when she met Charity downstairs. Together, they left the house and went to the coach, where a groom helped them inside.

  “Where are we going, my lady?” Charity asked with an edge of excitement. This was her first time leaving the house as a lady’s maid, and she’d confessed that she was a trifle nervous.

  “Just a few errands,” Sabrina said vaguely. Though she’d received Charity’s assurance that she wouldn’t gossip, Sabrina wasn’t going to freely offer information about certain things. And their first stop was one of those things.

  When the coach entered Piccadilly, Charity asked if they were going shopping.

  “We may.” That depended on what happened next.

  A few minutes later, they rolled into St. James Square and then onto King Street, where the coach stopped in front of a small terrace house.

  Sabrina turned her head to the maid who was staring out the window. “Now, Charity, you are going to remain in the coach while I pay this call. I shan’t be long.” With a brief smile, Sabrina left the vehicle and stopped short when she encountered the person she’d come to see.

  “Lady Aldington?” Lord Lucien Westbrook squinted briefly as he came toward her. He removed his hat and offered her a bow. “What a delightful surprise.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.