Page 8 of Impassioned
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.
Thatwas 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 didnotknow 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…dispositionimproved.”
Before he could reply—and really, what the hell could he say at this juncture without sounding like acompleteass—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.
