the fact that Calydon had given his blessings, indicated a change of heart on the lady’s part. While Lucan and Calydon had formed some sort of tentative friendship, the man had never once hinted where Constance had traveled to, no matter how often Lucan had demanded. He had wanted to travel the oceans, follow her to wherever she traveled and convince her to marry him. These past three months had been agony for him, where he envisioned several scenarios of the men he had scouring the continent for her, finding her, and giving him her location. He would then kidnap her and take her to his castle in Scotland where he would make love to her for days until she agreed to be his wife. But they had only been dreams, while he had waited for the year to draw to an end.
He glanced at the note a final time and then launched into motion, exiting the library where he had been ensconced for the long morning dealing with several business matters, namely the restoration of his entailed estates. He ordered his carriage around and for his bags to be packed, and sent out several missives alerting his friends to where he traveled, for it would take him a couple of days to reach Sherring Cross to see her.
Lucan prayed like he had never done before.
He prayed Constance returning was a sign in the lessening of her anger.
He prayed it meant she would forgive him. That she still loved him.
And he prayed he would have the strength to let her go if she did not want him.
Because Calydon would hunt him to the end of the earth if Lucan executed his plans of kidnapping her and secluding her at his castle until she married him. He smiled, though it was without humor, for he was fully aware, he would do anything to bind his green-eyed bewitching beauty to his side.
“Your Grace.”
He paused in the act of climbing the final steps of the mansion’s winding stairs and looked down at his butler. “What is it, Alfred?”
“There is a young lady here to see you.”
Lucan glanced toward the parlor, not wanting any delay in his leaving. “Lady Penelope?” he asked drily. Since his retirement to Wynter Park, his ducal estate these past weeks, the young lady tended to travel miles to visit him. She and her mother, the Viscountess of Fordham. It seemed the ambitious mammas of the haute monde were everywhere. He had not the withal to entertain them today.
“No, Your Grace, and this young lady is in the gardens. She said to tell you she is waiting for you. She refused to leave a name, Your Grace.” The butler sounded disgruntled and bemused at the same time.
“She refused to identify herself?” Lucan did not have time for foolish games. “And you did not refuse entry?” he demanded.
Alfred flushed. “Though petite, the lady has the will of—”
“Petite?” Lucan demanded a little too forcefully. For a split second, he felt as if he had been stabbed through the chest and his knees went weak. It couldn’t be her.
“Where exactly is she?” His estate was large with several gardens and lakes.
“She is by the rose gardens, Your Grace, I—”
He bounded down the stairs two at a time, passed the startled Alfred, and ran into the gardens. Lucan’s heart thudded and he forced his mind to be quiet. It could be anyone, but God, he knew.
He broke into a sprint after he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He slowed to a stroll as he neared and entered the secluded gardens as quietly as he could. A lady sat on a stone bench, spine taut, her back to him, dressed in a black crepe that covered her from head to toe. He saw the flash of her hands and a letter in them.
His letter.
The raw fear that filled him was unwelcomed. She was here to give him her answer, a yea or a nay. He held his breath in an agony of anticipation willing her to feel him, to face him.
…
Dear Constance,
My very first memory was seeing my sister Marissa take her first halting step. I had not thought to start this letter in such a manner, but the depth of affection and love I felt for my sister dictated much of my life and subsequent actions. It is not an excuse for the unforgivable way I have treated you. But I hope that in reading my words, you can find it in you to forgive me for hurting you.
Marissa had flaws and I own to them. They were flaws that allowed her to behave recklessly and hurt others with her selfish desires. She was also a warm, caring, and beautiful young lady, a most beloved and cherished sister. We grew up believing we had no ties to nobility or anything to recommend us to the life Marissa craved. When we lost our parents, I became her rock, and she was my solace in the enduring hardship I faced in working and living in London. I was in the Americas when I came into the possession of her last letter. She swore to end her life after being rejected by everyone she thought loved her, after being cruelly abused by her husband. I cannot express how my heart broke in that moment knowing she must already be dead, knowing how much she must have suffered and I had not been there. I traveled to London post-haste to discover she had already been dead and buried for several months. I will not burden you with the sordid details, but I am sure you know by now Marissa had been Calydon’s mistress before and after she was married. I see now they were both misguided, reckless and more than foolhardy in their passion for each other. But before I reached this opinion, I vowed to destroy everyone that played a part in her tragic death. It was the only way I felt I could repay her for not being there when she needed me. It was with this thought sustaining me that I directed my attentions to you when I realized Calydon also had a sister he cherished. I thought to repay hurt with hurt and pain with pain. But I was wrong.
From the moment I met you, you captivated me body and soul. Your beauty, your kind and generous mannerisms, even your scent stirred and enraptured me. When I realized my feelings for you were interfering with my vengeance, I tried to push you away. In the end, an end that may be too late for us, I now know you are more important to me than anything else.
When you return to London, I will be waiting for you. If you find it in your heart to forgive the pain I have caused you, I ask you to put me out of my misery and consent to be my wife. I see us having a most content and fortuitous future together. If not, I will endeavor to not trouble you with my unwanted affections. I await your response.
Lucan
Constance folded Lucan’s letter with tender care. Thunder rumbled overhead and a slight chill nipped at her. As rain started to drizzle, she rose and turned to hurry inside the conservatory, for she would not make it into the main house before the deluge. There was a sound of movement, she spun toward it and froze. Lucan. Her breath caught, everything seemed still in that moment. She could not move for the feelings washing through her. He is here.
He stared at her in silence, his chillingly beautiful eyes piercing as arrows. The profound relief in his gaze had the tension melting from her frame. She had missed him so.
Dressed in dark brown trousers and jacket, a white shirt, and riding boots, he looked splendid. A drop of rain splashed on her forehead, rolling into her eyes, but she did not blink, fearful that if she did, he would disappear.
He pushed his spectacles firmly onto his nose. His endearingly sweet, nervous gesture.
“I…Lucan, I am here,” she said softly. “I received your letter.”
His eyes blazed with emotions and raw tension emanated from him. He took a shuddering breath. “Will you have me, Constance?” His voice came out as a low rasp.
No statement of love or a reaffirmation of his earlier proposal, but she knew what he asked. The sky darkened and more rain wetted her. The strong column of his throat convulsed at her silence, and he swallowed. Tenderness pierced her deep at the vulnerability she never imagined she could see in his eyes. She ached to touch him, to hold him, to be held by him.
“Yes,” she whispered, but the flare of powerful relief, then desire in his gaze made her aware he heard, even over the distant rumble of thunder. A fork of lightning speared through the sky, a dark cloud blotting out the remainder of the sun, but neither of them moved. Constance felt trapped, weak limbed, yet e
nergized from the need that poured from him, wrapping her in heat, although he did not touch her.
A sob of want and anticipation escaped from her lips as in two strides, he was there drawing her closer. The look on his face caused her pulse to flutter wildly. It was love—stark and agonizing. Yet Lucan’s touch as he cradled her face was gentle. He kissed her lips, the corner of her mouth, and then her eyelids with tenderness. “I missed you,” he said with aching gentleness. “Your laugh, your taste, your scent, even the fire that snaps into your eyes when you are angry.” His hands tightened on her cheeks. “I cannot exist without your forgiveness. To know I have caused you such pain torments me.”
Her breath caught, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder, inhaling his warm heady scent. And she could not exist without him. Before she had even received his letter she had begged Anthony to return her from Naples. She had needed to get away from the hurt that had ravaged her, as the pain of Lucan’s actions had cut unimaginably deep. But as she had journeyed through the vineyards and ruins of Italy with Anthony and Phillipa, she had pictured Lucan with her. As they had dined in moonlit open-air restaurants, she had imagined it had been with him. In the nights she ached for him, dreamed of him. Every night. She knew he had tried to atone and restore what he had deliberately shattered, and she respected him for it. The haute monde had forgiven her perceived infractions, but Constance had discovered she did not care for their forgiveness, and that it was hers they needed to earn.
In her weeks away, all she had thought about was the pain that must have driven Lucan to act as how he had. She had regretted not caring more about that pain, not understanding what drove him, for she adored him completely.
“Constance?” The raw uncertainty in his voice had her lifting her head.
A soft smile curved her lips. “You have all of me Lucan. My forgiveness, my—”
He took her lips in a primal kiss. Crushing her to him, his lips roved over hers, all passion unleashed. She felt his raging desire and instead of fear filling her, she rose on her toes and met his kiss with untamed passion. The letter fell as she slipped her hands over his shoulders and gripped him as he lifted her.