Constantine turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m everywhere,” he said with a grin. “Isn’t that what you used to say when we were at Oxford?”
“Because you were everywhere. And you still are.”
“I am not at Westminster,” Lucien said with a note of pride.
“You could be.”
“I’ll leave that to you. I am far too busy with my club and, as you said, being everywhere. But let us return to the matter at hand: your wife. What did you say to upset her?”
“She’s not upset.”
“Then why did she abandon you before your promenade?”
Constantine let out a pent-up, irritated breath. “You are a meddlesome troll.”
“What a colorful insult. I quite like it, thank you. I thought I was helping you—that requires meddling.”
“That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.” Constantine looked toward his wife. She laughed at something Mrs. Renshaw said, her pink lips parting to reveal her even white teeth. Joy made her even more lovely. “Just look at her,” he murmured.
“I am. But mostly I’m watching you watch her.”
Constantine snapped his attention to Lucien. “She’s different, and she’s trying to be. I don’t understand why.” He thought again of what she’d said—that he didn’t know her.
“Perhaps she was lonely before.”
After stealing another look at her, he glanced back to Lucien. “Have you spoken to her?”
“That would be odd, wouldn’t it?” Lucien surveyed her. “She looks lovely this evening.”
“Very.”
“Have you made a decision about my suggestion?”
Mrs. Renshaw and the countess linked arms, then started to mingle with the other guests. Constantine watched in shock as his wife chatted with people. “She always stood or sat in the corner before.”
“Wouldn’t you rather she be anywhere else?” Lucien mused, a hint of disbelief in his tone.
Constantine didn’t bother answering. He was too focused on her. And on the two gentlemen who were currently standing too close to her and allowing their gazes to linger too long on her bodice.
“Con, are you ready to meet with a tutor? I have just the person in mind to help you.”
“No.” He didn’t divert his attention from his wife. A discomfiting realization washed over him. In addition to her being a completely different person, she’d adopted some sort of air. It wasn’t just confidence. Whatever it was, Constantine felt intimidated. After working up the courage to visit her chamber last night, he’d heard her again, pleasuring herself—to great effect. She clearly knew what she was doing, and how in the hell had that happened? He’d wager Hampton Lodge that she hadn’t known how to do that before.
Before what exactly? What had happened to prompt all this? He wanted to ask. He needed to ask. But as she’d so painfully pointed out, they did not discuss such personal things. They discussed almost nothing. To question her about this would open up a closeness—an intimacy—that would change the dynamics of their relationship forever.
“Con, you look as if you either want to run from the room or toss up your accounts in the corner.”
Constantine barely heard him. He couldn’t think past his wife at the moment. She was changing, and he had nothing to do with it. Anger and disappointment—in himself, if he were honest, and it was probably time he was—coursed through him.
“Do you think she’s having an affair?” he whispered, the words dark and hollow sounding to his ears.
“You can’t be serious,” Lucien hissed, his voice a low burn near Constantine’s ear.
“How else can you explain her newfound confidence, her—” He clapped his teeth and lips together. “Never mind.”
“She would never,” Lucien said with a certainty that drew Constantine’s full attention.
“How would you know?”
Lucien stared at him, clearly aghast. “You mean to tell me that wouldn’t shock you to your very bones?”
“Everything she does right now shocks me.” Constantine turned his gaze toward her once more, but she’d moved on. Scanning the room, he found the vibrant blue of her gown. She was talking to yet more gentlemen, one of whom he knew quite well and who was smiling and laughing with her as if they were old friends. Constantine didn’t think they’d ever met.
And what did that say—that someone with whom he was well acquainted didn’t know his wife? Constantine’s abject failure as a husband was becoming distinctly and bitterly clear.
He’d tried to be a good husband. In doing his duty, he’d given her space and consideration, moving things along in the bedroom as quickly as possible, given her trepidation. He’d ensured she had a beautiful estate, which she could manage on her own without his father’s interference—the duke never visited Hampton Lodge and had “given” it to Constantine to use as his primary residence when he’d wed. Furthermore, Constantine hadn’t denied any of her requests for refurbishment or for the design of the garden. Indeed, he’d gone out of his way to support her. What more should he have done?
The answer seemed suddenly and painfully obvious. He needed to get to know this woman who was his wife. Only he didn’t know how. “The wall between us is too great,” he said, sounding rather like a frog. He coughed, trying to clear his throat.
“Don’t let it be. Isn’t it worth trying to breach it? It’s not as if you can find another wife.” He took a breath. “I suppose you could, but why, when it’s very possible things could work out well between you and Sabrina.”
Hearing his brother use her Christian name provoked something within Constantine. It wasn’t jealousy, like he was feeling toward the men who were flirting with his wife, but it was similar. He felt the need to lay claim to her but didn’t know how. And did she even want him to, or was all of this just to have a child?
“Who is this person you have in mind?” Constantine asked without looking at his brother.
“Someone who used to be a courtesan but isn’t any longer.”
Constantine jerked his head toward Lucien. “Why would she agree to this?”
“Because she enjoys sex. Plus, she has a very kind heart and is happy to help someone in need. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”
“No.” But he was thinking about it. The longer he watched his wife, the more he realized he wasn’t certain how to proceed. She seemed different and had invited his attention, but he couldn’t shake the memory of the nervous bride who hadn’t wanted to marry him and who couldn’t wait for him to complete his “duty” and leave the bedchamber.
“Well, when you do, I am here to help you. Now stop glowering toward your wife and try to have fun. I’m going down to the card room. I’d invite you to join me, but I know you won’t.”
“Correct.” Constantine tried to relax his attention toward the countess. She and Mrs. Renshaw had moved on, their heads bent together in what seemed to be close friendship. When had that happened? Hell, he really didn’t know his wife at all.