Page 26 of Impassioned
Her brow knitted, her delicate, honey-gold brows pitching toward one another. “I wasn’t just speaking of my attire, although it seems you are troubled by this gown.”
Troubled was not the right word at all. He was bloody aroused.
“It is not what you typically wear. But then you are not at all the woman I thought I had married.”
“How would you really know? It’s not as if you’ve spent a great deal of time with me. The woman you see tonight is the woman I am. I suggest you reconcile yourself to that fact. Please excuse me.” She brushed past him, her skirts swinging against his calf as she walked back toward the group they’d left. Only now, it was just the ladies—Cassandra, her companion, and Mrs. Renshaw.
Constantine stared for a long moment, realizing he’d offended her but not certain of exactly how. He hadn’t spoken ill of her. He’d only told the truth—shewasn’tthe woman he thought he’d married.
But she had also spoken the truth: he hadn’t spent much time with her and perhaps his idea of who she was and who sheactuallywas were not the same thing. His head began to ache.
“That didn’t seem to go very well.”
Constantine turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m everywhere,” he said with a grin. “Isn’t that what you used to say when we were at Oxford?”
“Because youwereeverywhere. And you still are.”
“I am not at Westminster,” Lucien said with a note of pride.
“You could be.”
“I’ll leave that to you. I am far too busy with my club and, as you said, being everywhere. But let us return to the matter at hand: your wife. What did you say to upset her?”
“She’s not upset.”
“Then why did she abandon you before your promenade?”
Constantine let out a pent-up, irritated breath. “You are a meddlesome troll.”
“What a colorful insult. I quite like it, thank you. I thought I was helping you—that requires meddling.”
“That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.” Constantine looked toward his wife. She laughed at something Mrs. Renshaw said, her pink lips parting to reveal her even white teeth. Joy made her even more lovely. “Just look at her,” he murmured.
“I am. But mostly I’m watching you watch her.”
Constantine snapped his attention to Lucien. “She’s different, and she’s trying to be. I don’t understand why.” He thought again of what she’d said—that he didn’t know her.
“Perhaps she was lonely before.”
After stealing another look at her, he glanced back to Lucien. “Have you spoken to her?”
“That would be odd, wouldn’t it?” Lucien surveyed her. “She looks lovely this evening.”
“Very.”
“Have you made a decision about my suggestion?”
Mrs. Renshaw and the countess linked arms, then started to mingle with the other guests. Constantine watched in shock as his wife chatted with people. “She always stood or sat in the corner before.”
“Wouldn’t you rather she be anywhere else?” Lucien mused, a hint of disbelief in his tone.
Constantine didn’t bother answering. He was too focused on her. And on the two gentlemen who were currently standing too close to her and allowing their gazes to linger too long on her bodice.
“Con, are you ready to meet with a tutor? I have just the person in mind to help you.”
“No.” He didn’t divert his attention from his wife. A discomfiting realization washed over him. In addition to her being a completely different person, she’d adopted some sort of air. It wasn’t just confidence. Whatever it was, Constantine felt intimidated. After working up the courage to visit her chamber last night, he’d heard her again, pleasuring herself—to great effect. She clearly knew what she was doing, and how in the hell had that happened? He’d wager Hampton Lodge that she hadn’t known how to do that before.
