Page 31 of Impassioned
Chapter 8
Constantine didn’t know how long he’d lain awake last night, his mind going over—and over—their coupling. Just when he convinced himself she’d enjoyed it,finally, doubt crept back in. Had she actually orgasmed? He wasn’t entirely certain. It had felt like it, but his experience was admittedly thin.
She hadn’t moaned or even touched him, aside from putting her legs around his waist, which he’d suggested she do. She’d made a few noises, but he’d also noted that she put her hand over her mouth. Had that been to keep herself from asking him to stop?
Then she’d done that thing with her hips—moving them in a…provocative way. Now he was back to believing shehadenjoyed herself.
You could just bloody ask.
She would probably say she was doing what was necessary to have a child. That was, after all, why she’d come to London. If she could have an orgasm along the way, so much the better.
He couldn’t spend all day worrying over this; he needed to change for his racing meeting. Hopefully, he wouldn’t encounter her in their sitting room when he went upstairs. They’d managed to avoid each other all day, which was typical and probably for the best.
As he stood from behind his desk, a dark gray…somethingdashed into the study and disappeared behind the blue drapes framing the window. Haddock stepped in through the half-open door. For the first time in Constantine’s experience, the man looked harried.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, did, ah, something run in here?” The butler glanced about the room, his eyes darting wildly.
“Something, yes. What is going on, Haddock?”
“It’s a cat, my lord. Where did he go?”
A cat? What the devil was a cat doing in the house? Constantine went toward the draperies. “He disappeared behind these.” He grasped the thick fabric and pulled it aside only to see the same flash of gray take off back to the door.
Haddock turned and lunged forward. “Grayson!”
Grayson?
The butler’s foot must have caught the doorframe, for he went sprawling forward onto the floor over the threshold into the parlor. Constantine had never seen the man in such an ignominious state.
“John!” The voice of Constantine’s housekeeper was almost unrecognizable as the single word trilled at an impossibly high volume and pitch.
Mrs. Haddock rushed into the parlor and knelt beside her husband. In her late thirties, Mrs. Haddock possessed a small stature, which was at odds with her sense of command. She led the household with a firm but kind hand. She was also pretty, with an engaging smile and serene blue-green eyes that never failed to put one at ease. It was no wonder Haddock had married her three years ago.
“I’m fine,” Haddock grumbled as he got to his feet with his wife’s help.
Lady Aldington came into the parlor, her features a mask of concern beneath the brim of her bonnet, indicating she was on her way out. Her gaze went directly to the butler and housekeeper who stood together. Mrs. Haddock’s arm was around her husband’s waist.
“What happened?” the countess asked with alarm. “It sounded as if someone fell down.”
“Haddock tripped,” Constantine said. “There is a cat in the house.” He turned his attention to the butler. “How did that happen exactly?”
The butler and housekeeper exchanged sheepish looks. “It’s my cat,” Mrs. Haddock said.
Haddock put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and held her against his side. “It’sourcat. We began feeding it a few months ago. It was just a wee kitten.”
“And it was very cold outside,” Mrs. Haddock put in, her features taut. “So we let him come in at night.”
Constantine had never seen his butler and housekeeper like this. And it wasn’t just because of the obvious affection they were displaying toward each other. They were united, facing a situation they knew could get them into trouble, or worse, terminated. Constantine glanced toward his wife and wondered if they would ever behave like that.
“We deeply apologize, my lord,” Haddock said. “We will find Grayson with due haste and expel him from the house.”
Mrs. Haddock’s face paled, but she said nothing.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Lady Aldington said, coming farther into the room, her gloves clutched in one hand. She wore another ensemble Constantine had never seen before. This was a dark blue walking gown with a military-fashioned spencer sporting two vertical rows of gold buttons. “There is no harm in having a cat. Did you say his name was Grayson?”
“He is gray, my lady,” Mrs. Haddock said softly. “And he has been a bit like a son to us.” She looked up at her husband, emotion glowing in her gaze.
“Well, that is just lovely,” Lady Aldington whispered. She moved to stand near Constantine, close enough that he could smell her vanilla-apple scent. Suddenly, all he could think of was last night—the lush curve of her breast, the sweet clasp of her legs around him as he drove into her. “Allow them to keep the cat. Please.”
