Page 11 of Lady Constantine & the Sins of Lord Kilgore
He didn’t know what he had expected her to look like, but as his gaze settled on her, he realized he had not expected what he was seeing. She was not beautiful in the sense of the current fashion of petite women with hourglass shapes and gowns of the latest styles with perfect oval faces. She had a long, graceful neck, and she held herself regally, which accentuated the fact that she was taller than any woman he’d ever met, though he judged she’d only come to his chin. And she had a determined jawline, offset by high, delicate cheekbones. Her lips were lush—some might say too much so—and he immediately imagined what they’d feel like under his. Her skin was unfashionably tanned, as if she strolled in the sun quite regularly without a bonnet or shawl.
Her dark hair, which reminded him of the color of his favorite brandy, was piled haphazardly atop her head, revealing the likelihood that she’d thrown it up on the way out the door, as if she were the carefree sort. Her gown was very modest—also not in fashion—and covered every inch of her from her neck to her slippers. And yet, the swell of her breasts was something even her modest gown could not hide.
He let his gaze travel over the rest of her. She was thin, if her shoulders were any indication, and her hips were undetectable despite her gown being fairly straight. He’d wager she was all long arms and legs, which he happened to prefer. The better to wind around his waist in the middle of—
Damnation. He jerked his gaze upward to her eyes, and his ability to think logically departed. Dark, thick eyebrows arched over honey-colored eyes that brimmed with warmth and hope. Her eyes actually shone bright, as if to guide him to her.Thiswas her most exquisite feature, wrapped in twin packages of sooty-lashed bliss. Those eyes could beckon a man to her and then get him to do all manner of things. And by God, they smoldered, but with knowledge. Cold Talbot had undoubtedly been drawn to Lady Constantine’s heat, and she’d most definitely refused to warm him. Good for her. He felt an immediate inclination to like her from what she’d revealed so far and that would not do at all if he was to proceed with callous disregard for how he would wreck her future.
Please, God, let her speak again and say something deplorable.
She smiled at him, and the desire to grin back like a green schoolboy was nearly impossible to resist. Her smile was the thing poets wrote about, and his gut told him that she did not belong in this group. Damn his gut. He needed her to belong here. They were a black-souled lot, and she needed to be, too, if he was going to live with himself for what he had to do to her. Her gaze flickered to Lady Cavendish. Ah, sweet, innocent Lady Constantine was waiting for a proper introduction.
Lady Cavendish let out a disgruntled sigh. “Lady Constantine, may I introduce you to the Marquess of Kilgore,” the woman purred and gave him a look of pure anticipation.
Damn it all, she knew of the wager, and she was eagerly awaiting him consuming his prey.
Lady Constantine dropped into a curtsy, which was perfectly ungraceful, and her red ears and flushed neck told him she knew it. He found he liked that she was not perfect. She was human and interesting. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Kilgore.” She had a low, silvery voice—clear, light, and pleasant—and two perfect dimples.
In his life, he had been foolish, prideful, roguish, and yes, even wicked at times, but he had never been dishonorable to a woman. Valentine was right. This act would sink him to a new low, but if he didn’t go forward, he’d likely lose his father’s land. He inhaled a long breath and said, “The pleasure is all mine.” And disentangling himself from Lady Cavendish he offered Lady Constantine a slight bow. “Did I hear you speaking of the moon?”
“Oh, yes!” she said, her face lighting to an almost blinding loveliness now. “I just read the most fascinating article.”
“No one wants to hear any more about the moon, Lady Constantine,” Lady Cavendish snipped.
Now was the chance for his prey to show her claws. He hoped she raked Lady Cavendish good and displayed just how harshly she could bite back with some hurtful comment. He needed her to be just as vicious—no, more so—than Lady Cavendish.
“I’m sure you’re correct,” Lady Constantine said in an embarrassed and apologetic tone, to both his dismay and irritation. She better not dare try to be good. Inconvenience him by being considerate. Be so bold as to be one of the few kindhearted women of the aristocracy. Fate could not be that cruel. “I apologize, Lady Cavendish. I tend to prattle on when things interest me, and I assume everyone is as fascinated as I am.”
“Your mother should have taught you better,” Lady Cavendish bit out like the jealous harpy she was.
“Oh, she did try,” Lady Constantine said in a pleasant voice that surprised him. His eyes met the lady’s once more, and he saw amusement there.
So Lady Constantine was not a lamb to the slaughter; she was a butcher in her own right. Good for her, but bad for him. All indications so far were that the woman was not lacking in principles or fortitude, and he’d prefer her lacking in both for his purposes—or rather Talbot’s.
There was still hope. He searched his mind for some topics to discuss that might reveal her avarice and cold-heartedness. Ah, yes… “What do you all think of the proposed tax by Lord Doherty for a new women and children’s shelter?” he asked.
“I think it preposterous that we should be expected to pay for those too lazy to work to have a home,” Lady Cavendish said.
That answer, that attitude, was one of the main viewpoints that made Lady Cavendish, though beautiful, so very ugly. Unfortunately, the attitude was shared by all in the group, as immediate agreement came in the forms of “here here” and “quite right.” Well, everyone seemed to be in agreement except Lady Constantine, who was silent.
“Lady Constantine,” he said, turning his attention to her and willing her to say something he could cling to that would allow him to go forward without complete self-disgust. “You are particularly quiet.”
“I, well, yes,” she said, sucking her plump lower lip between her teeth. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, and he knew before she ever said another word, that she did not agree, that she had a heart filled with sunshine and not shadows. “I’m afraid I hold the sole opinion that weshouldhelp provide shelter for those who are less fortunate. It’s our moral duty, our Christian duty.”
“I agree,” he surprised himself by saying.
Lady Cavendish scowled at him, then focused on Lady Constantine. “If you’re going to speak of morality and God in the middle of a ball, you should find another group.” The woman’s tone was like acid.
“Yes,” he agreed. “This group is far too simpleminded to speak of such weighty matters with someone who is as clearly of superior intelligence as you are.”
He received multiple irate looks, but the only one that concerned him was Lady Constantine’s. She looked surprised, then grateful, then utterly amused. “I appreciate the advice,” she said directly to him, offered another one of her graceless curtsies, and then turned and started away.
Lady Cavendish spoke to him, but he could not have said about what. His attention was focused on Lady Constantine. She moved with dignity, posture stiff, nose in the air as if she thought herself better than everyone here, as Talbot had said. Callum tensed with realization.God,it was herarmor. She was no “Ice Queen.” It was how she protected herself against the world, against those who had and would hurt her. And he knew a thing or two about donning shields. Hadn’t he donned the shield of unrepentant rogue and possible reprobate so that his father’s disappointment would no longer cut like a knife? Somewhere along the way, though, the act had become the truth of who he was—or very nearly was—now.
When Lady Constantine paused at the edge of the dance floor crowded with laughing guests and stood there looking frozen, like a sculpture, like an “Ice Queen,” he had the sudden urge to go to her. And it had nothing at all to do with seducing her to get his land back. “Excuse me,” he said and turned away, not waiting to let anyone respond.
He came up behind her, so close that he could see the curls lying perfectly against her neck, strands of hair that she had not managed to pin up. He was so near that her scent, a heady, intoxicating one of—Whatwasthat scent?
Before he could truly ponder it, someone knocked into him from behind, and he, in turn, knocked into her. She gasped and staggered forward, but he caught her by the elbow and steadied her. She turned toward him, an expression of surprise on her face. He dropped his hold on her arm but not because he wanted to. His damn fingertips felt hot from the mere contact with her silk-clad arm. He’d released her because it was proper, and it seemed incredibly important at this moment to maintain the utmost decorum with all eyes in Talbot’s little group upon them.
