what were you thinking, running off
without telling me where you were
bound?”
“Questions,”
she
tsked.
“All
warranted. I assure you, my dearest
loves, I will answer them all. I truly
have had quite a tiring ordeal, however.
I simply must gather my wits. Will you
not allow it?”
“Byron,” Uncle Simon said.
Constance shot her uncle a scathing
stare. “Please don’t spoil everything,
Uncle,” she whispered.
“I insist you know where Constance
has been,” Simon interjected, shame and
guilt in his penitent eyes. Twisting, he
faced her father, poised for battle.
Wary of the outcome, Constance
placed shaking fingers to her temples.
“That has been my deepest desire,”
her father said.
Her uncle had terrible timing. She
fixed a heated stare upon his person, and
then turned toward her father. “I swore
him to silence, father,” she said,
directing her plea so that her uncle
would not fall further out of favor.
“Please do not blame Uncle Simon for
my insistence on going to see Aunt
Lydia.”
“Lydia!”
her
father
howled.
“Lydia?”
“Byron, I know how much anguish
you’ve suffered over Lydia’s conduct. I
do not wish to cause you further torment,
but I — ”
“What
would
you
know
of
suffering?” her father raged. “You strut
about like a peacock, no care to your
credit, whereas I owe everything I am to
my accountant and no thanks to you,
you’ve narrowed down that field.”
Simon continued unaffected, “The
girl wanted to go see her mother’s sister.
Why do you begrudge her this?”
“Lydia? San Sebastian? Spain, of
all places!”
“Uncle Simon booked passage for
me aboard the
Octavia
, a merchant
ship.” Every pore of her body
anticipated his outburst at the mere
mention of her setting foot on board a
sea vessel, something her father had
sworn never to allow. What little
courage she’d saved for this moment
slowly withered.
“
You
put Constance on board a
ship
!” her father raged.
As feared, her father cast aside all
protocol and lunged toward his brother.
She put herself in his path, hoping to
prevent bloodshed. “He was acting on
my behalf, Papa.”
“Is it bad enough that I must sneak
past my creditors, Simon, without having
to worry whether or not you are putting
my daughter in harm’s way? You said
she’d gone to visit the Carringtons.”
“Try to understand, brother,” Simon
volunteered. “I’ve explained the reasons
for our financial predicament but you
have refused to believe them. Constance
had a plan to tap into Lydia’s
inheritance, to use what is inherently
hers to aid your cause. If you weren’t
determined to keep her under lock and
key, you’d see she’s highly capable of
making her own decisions.”
“Deciding Constance’s future is my
affair, Simon. Not yours. You’ve done
nothing but violate my trust. I suggest
you leave before I do or say something
I’ll regret.”
“Papa, you must listen! Uncle
Simon was only trying to help. I, alone,
am responsible.”
“You are a woman and therefore
not held accountable for the decisions
you make. Simon, however, knew the
risk to himself — and to you.”
The finality in his voice lanced
deep. Constance nodded to Simon,
entreating him to heed her father’s
warning. He’d known the danger and had
sought to aid her anyway. She could only
hope that once she fully explained the
situation, the coals of her father’s anger
would cool.
Ushering her uncle to the parlor
door, Constance urged, “Do as Papa
asks, Uncle. Don’t worry. I’ll explain
everything.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he
said.
“Papa is all bluster. Deep down, he
only desires what is best for me, for all
of us.” Simon shouldered much of the
blame for their misfortune and debt, but
it was enough to know he was innocent
of the crimes her father accused him of.
If only she could find a way to prove it.
“I’ll send a missive to you soon. I
promise.”
“The sight of you returning looking
as you do, has dealt me quite a blow.
Where, by all that is holy, have you
been?”
“In good time, Uncle. In good
time,” she assured, her voice visibly
shaken.
“I will discover the truth.”
“You will, sir,” she said as she
watched Cooper usher him out the door.
• • •
paced the polished marble floor of his
study. He looked down at the crumpled
note in his hand and read it aloud one
more time.
T h e
Striker
docked today.
Frink and his men have been
taken
into
custody.
The
Octavia ’s crew — what
remains of it — have been
escorted to headquarters. I
have it on good authority an
Englishwoman with blonde
hair disembarked the very
same
ship.
Since
Lady
Constance has been missing
as long as the Octavia set out
to sea, it is my belief that she
is the lady in question and
that should you wish it, a call
to
her
residence
would
produce the woman forthwith.
Your servant,
Josiah Cane
Burton threw the missive into the
hearth and hit his hand on the mantle,
drawing forth an exasperated gasp. That
the twit had run from their impending
engagement was an outrage. That she did
so on the
Octavia
, the ship Whistler had
informed them carried valuable cargo,
was another. If she was on the ship when
it had been captured, what had she
learned? Seen? Heard?
He
watched
the
burning
communiqué disintegrate and pictured
his life doing the same. He’d grown
accustomed to the finery he’d procured
since first venturing into the smuggling
business. Siphoning his funds through
various accounts and businesses, he’d
been successful enough to prove himself
proficient. Prove himself skilled enough
to work his way into influencing the
House of Lords, the seat he’d been
deprived for nearly a quarter century.
It would take more than finances
and notoriety to aid his cause. Lady
Constance held the key to his desires.
With her at his side, he was bound to
ascend in social status. But one word
from her could nullify his endeavors.
Once Constance and her family were
aligned with his, he’d have everything he
ever wanted, a wife to spoil or abuse at
his whim, control of Throckmorton
House, a more positive role in
government, and power beyond his
wildest imaginings.
A lopsided smile parted his lips.
What was left of the note smoldered like
an ancient blood pact, fueling his will.
Pouring himself a heavy libation, he sat
down in his leather desk chair and
leaned back, curling his finger in the
chain of his pocket watch, content as a
sated parlor cat.
He would get what he wanted and
he’d use anyone in his path to help him
do so, even if it meant spilling innocent
blood. Yes, a jolly good plan.
CHAPTER TEN
“You nearly drowned when the
Octavia
was attacked,” her father croaked, “and
were kept prisoner in a pirate’s cabin?”
“Yes, Papa. But I’m also only here
with you today because that pirate
captain saved my life.”
“And did this
pirate
have his way
with you for his trouble?” he snarled.
Tears rimmed her eyes and she
looked away guiltily, unable to give her
father the assurance he craved.
Her father reached out his hand and
turned her face toward him. “Answer
me, Constance. I lost your mother years
ago and nearly lost you at the same time.
I could not bear to lose you now, no
matter what has happened.” He paused,
swallowed and then began again. “You
are all I have left.”
“Papa.” She sighed, hating herself
for the disappointment she brought him.
“Let me finish,” he said, nodding
and squeezing her hand. “I abhor pirates,
but I wish your rescuer no ill will unless
he did something we shall all regret.”
“The only regret I have is that I did
not make it to Aunt Lydia to rectify your
financial problems.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. The
time she’d spent in Thomas’s arms had
felt natural and right. But now, safely
comforted by her father’s touch, the
intimacy she’d shared with the rogue
seemed a vulgar slight against everything
she’d been taught to hold dear. If only
she’d met him on her way back from her
aunt’s villa. Perhaps then, armed with
what her father needed to remedy his
plight, her descent into madness would
have not come at so great a cost.
“Did he touch you, my dear? No
matter how distasteful, I urge you to tell
me the truth. It is certain you had no
choice in the matter.”
But she had chosen. What would
her father think of her, if he knew the
truth? She could never admit, least of all
to him, that she’d fallen in love with a
rogue.
“I’m no longer marriageable, Papa.
Is that what you want to know?”
Her father’s spine uncoiled. His
brows furrowed. Face reddening, he
scowled and his next words cost her,
and she suspected himself, dearly. “Is
there any chance you could be with
child?” he asked.
Constance paled. Other than from
Mrs.
Mortimer,
she’d
had
little
counseling in these matters. “I don’t
know.” Her voice sounded weak and far
away and a heated flush crept up her
neck.
Father’s eyes burned raw and
volatile. “Do you mean to tell me that I
now have to find you a husband, who’ll
also be duped into thinking any resulting
child will be his?”
Constance reached for him but he
broke away. “Surely we can find another
way to rectify our debts than forcing me
to marry, Papa. I am quite sure my
beloved aunt would be more than
willing to help, if we would but ask.”
“Lydia,” he snapped, “has never
forgiven me for not being on board that
damned ship. I suppose she would have
rather seen me die defending Olivia’s
honor.” His voice broke. “Which is what
I would have gladly done, if given the
chance. It was only by the hand of God
that you didn’t follow your mother to her
grave!”
Keenly aware of his distress,
Constance gazed into her father’s eyes.
She understood his agony. She’d
watched him grieve.
“No matter what the future unfolds,
know that I do what is in your best
interest, Constance.”
“Or do you mean the best interest of
Throckmorton?”
“
You
are my only family.
Your
heirs
stand to inherit all that I own.” He
embraced her, as if that one act could
make up for what he had in store for her.
Constance tore her hands away
from his eager embrace to prove a point.
“You mean my husband will inherit.”
His lack of sensitivity struck deep. The
rules of succession were firm. “What do
you suggest?”
Rising, her father left the divan and
strode over to a crimson decanter sitting
on an embossed side-table imported
from Spain, ironically a wedding gift
from Aunt Lydia. “You have only one