Page 86 of Impassioned
“The Apothecaries Act is of the utmost importance to me, and I will do whatever is necessary to see regulation of medical practice in this country. If I have to vote against an act that was in no danger of failing in order to gain support for my efforts, so be it. I would have thought you would do the same. You taught me to be cunning and strategic.” He glared ice at his father, daring him to find fault with what he’d done.
“You lied tome.”
“I made a deal to get what I needed. The fact that you demanded such a thing for a matter as simple and uncontroversial as allowingmy wifeto act as my sister’s sponsor says far more about you than it does me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a ball to manage.” Constantine started toward the door, his body thrumming with anger and determination.
“You do that,” the duke said coldly. “The bloody thing is a disaster as it is. Even if you hadn’t deceived me, I’d have to reconsider the countess’s role in Cassandra’s Season.”
Constantine looked back at his father. “You’re going to remove her as Cass’s sponsor, aren’t you?”
“After tonight’s failure? Of course I am.”
A movement outside the window on the terrace drew Constantine’s attention. The light wasn’t very bright, but he could make out the unmistakable gold and ivory gown of his wife and…a gentleman touching her in a way that was beyond the pale.
His father all but forgotten, Constantine threw the door open and stalked through the gaming room to the open doors leading out to the garden. The world seemed to glow red as he came upon the man whose arms were curled around Sabrina’s struggling form. Before he could pull the miscreant away, he heard a grunt, which was followed by the man doubling over as Sabrina backed away from him.
The lantern hanging on the exterior of the house illuminated Sabrina. Instead of looking terrified, she appeared furious, her brows pitched into an angry V as her eyes seemed to glow with cobalt fire.
He rushed to her side. “What did you do?”
“I punched his groin.”
“You what?” Constantine stared at her, utterly enthralled—and in love—with his wife.
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s the only thing a woman can do when a scoundrel oversteps.”
Overstep was a massive understatement as far as Constantine was concerned. Several gentlemen from the gaming room, and a few ladies, had swarmed onto the terrace, including Lucien.
“What happened?” Lucien moved past the man who was on his knees groaning.
“He was too forward,” Sabrina said, brushing her hands together.
“Are you going to demand satisfaction?” someone called.
“There’s no need,” the man croaked, lifting his head to reveal his identity—Mr. Franklin Crimwell, a fellow member of Parliament who appeared to be well into his cups. Not that his state forgave his behavior in the slightest. “I offer my most sincere apologies. I did not realize this was Lady Aldington.” The man’s color was gray, his features squashed with pain and humiliation.
“That’s true,” Sabrina said quietly. “He kept calling me Mildred. I think he is out of his wits.”
Lucien bent to help the man up. “Come, Crimwell, let’s get you into a coach to your house.” Looking toward the group of people, Lucien inclined his head toward one of his friends, Dougal MacNair, who quickly moved to lend assistance.
“Thank you,” Constantine said, grateful for his brother’s help.
When Crimwell disappeared into the house between Lucien and MacNair, conversation picked up as people filtered back into the gaming room.
It was at that moment that Cassandra rushed onto the terrace, straight for Sabrina, followed by her companion, Miss Lancaster. “My goodness, Sabrina, are you all right?”
A familiar scent washed over Constantine—a tropical fragrance that swept him into the darkness and overwhelmed him with sensation. He stepped toward his sister and sniffed. Itcouldn’tbe coming from her. Turning his head slightly, toward Miss Lancaster, he inhaled. And nearly staggered backward. It was her.
“That scent…”
“Oh, yes, my apologies,” Cassandra said, looking toward Sabrina. “I’m afraid we helped ourselves to your fragrances before the ball. I forgot to don some at home, and this tropical scent is absolutely divine. Pru and I couldn’t resist.”
So the perfume didn’t belong to Cassandra or Miss Lancaster, but to…Sabrina?
Constantine turned toward her, shock coursing through him. “It was you?”
Her eyes had lost their heat and were now round with distress. “Constantine, I can explain.”
“Later,” he ground out, his mind spinning at this astonishing revelation. His brain simply couldn’t process this information—it didn’t make any sense. Yet, he knew it was true. “We’ve a rather disastrous ball to oversee.”
