“It’s who I want to be,” she answered softly, trying to convince herself as much as him.
“But it’s not who you were. You’ve been different since you arrived. However, I still glimpse the cautious woman underneath. Are you certain you can be the woman you want to be? Are you, in fact, certain that’s what you really want?”
“Yes, it is what I want. Just as I want a child.”
“So I gathered,” he said coolly. “And you shall have your child.”
“Do you plan to visit my chamber again tonight?” She held her breath, wondering if he would, even as tomorrow night’s “lesson” loomed.
He hesitated and, for a scant moment, the anticipation simmering inside her roiled.
“I have a meeting at White’s and will likely be late.” He stood quickly, making the chair wobble. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I purchased some books on horticulture for you and procured the latest issue of Transactions.”
She blinked at him. “From the Horticultural Society?” The organization was little more than a decade old and produced a wonderful periodical with color plates of all manner of plants. “How exceedingly thoughtful of you.”
Indeed, he’d never done anything of the sort. Not in two years. He’d gifted her something on her birthday and at Christmas—handkerchiefs or jewelry. Books about gardening, about which she was passionate, were far more personal.
“Please excuse me. I’ll instruct the footmen to return so you may finish your dinner.”
“I hope I didn’t upset you. Thank you for the books and the periodical. I am very much looking forward to reading them.”
“You didn’t upset me. Have a pleasant evening.” His gaze lingered on her a moment before he departed the room.
After finishing her dinner, she went to the library. There she found the latest issue of Transactions as well as three books. One stood out for its red Moroccan leather cover. It couldn’t be… But it was. A design book by Humphry Repton himself emblazoned with “Repton’s Plans for Hampton Lodge” in gold on the cover.
Sabrina sucked in a breath as she carefully opened the book and drank in the gorgeous watercolor before and after paintings. When he’d said he’d purchased books, she’d never imagined this. Repton was a renowned landscape designer—this was far more than a book.
When had Aldington commissioned this? Did he mean to fund such a sweeping revision to the landscape? Repton had included a narrow lake with a bridge as well as a folly nestled amongst a crescent of trees.
She was overwhelmed by Aldington’s thoughtfulness, as well as his support of the thing that brought her the most joy. And he’d done it well before she’d come to town. Perhaps he was different too, and the change hadn’t been provoked by her arrival.
Closing the book, she stared into nothing, her mind turning back to the dinner they’d just shared. He’d been reserved but not dispassionate, which was how she’d thought of him before arriving in London not even a week ago. It was progress, wasn’t it?
Slow, incremental progress. Yes, he’d been upset about the invitation—whether he wanted to admit it or not—and had left abruptly. He was also championing her to his father, and he’d consented to meet with a courtesan in order to improve the sexual state of their marriage.
Another twinge of guilt stole over her, and she reminded herself that this was a benevolent betrayal, if there could be such a thing. It would be for their common good, and the deception wouldn’t last forever.
This would bring them closer together, as well as give them the child they needed and wanted. That he was willing to go to such lengths told her he wanted things to change. As did the gifts he’d just given her. These were not the actions of a man who didn’t care.
The bedchamber at the Phoenix Club was smaller, more intimate, than the one Constantine had seen before. This one held just a bed with tables on either side and a chair near the hearth. The single candle burning on the mantel produced scant illumination, but that was the point. In darkness there was mystery and anonymity. Constantine found it oddly soothing. As much as anything could be in this moment.
His mind warred with itself, caught between the beneficial outcome he was seeking from this desperate assignation and the guilt that he was doing this behind his wife’s back. She’d invited him to her bed—nay, demanded he visit her there. Shouldn’t he be in her chamber instead?
He’d tried that a few nights ago and while it had been better, it had still been awkward. Tonight, he would hopefully find the audacity to improve their bedsport. Hell, he just needed to find a way to make it bedsport instead of cold duty.
“The lady will arrive shortly,” Lucien said. “You should probably prepare yourself.”
Constantine had already removed his cloak, mask, hat, and gloves and placed them on a narrow bench at the end of the bed. “What else is there to do?” Besides overcome the doubt in his head.
“Er, you might want to doff your coat? Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
“Not being here would make me most comfortable.” And having a wife who wanted him, not just the child he could give her.
Lucien exhaled. “I suppose it’s not too late to change your mind, but only if you can answer the following question in the affirmative.”
“What’s that?”
“Can you go home and shag your wife?”
Constantine clenched his jaw. He could, but he didn’t want a repeat of the other night. He wanted his wife to desire him. Unfortunately, the stark truth of it all was that whatever he learned tonight might not change that. “Just send her in before I do change my mind.”
“A few rules,” Lucien said crisply, pulling a dark strip of cloth from his coat. “You’ll wear a blindfold so she can’t be identified.”
“What about her identifying me?”
“Your blindfold will obscure the upper portion of your face. She has agreed to direct her attention to education only. Don’t worry that she’ll spend time trying to determine who you are. Her goal is to help you—nothing more.” Lucien stepped behind Constantine.
“Wait.” Constantine removed his coat and draped it over the back of the chair. Then he sat and took off his boots, leaving his stockings on. Standing, he turned his back to Lucien. “I’m ready.” The hell he was. His insides were in knots, and he was a breath away from calling the whole bloody thing off.
The moment the blindfold plunged him into obsidian night, uncertainty gripped him hard. He told himself to relax, that plenty of men took mistresses, not that he was even doing that. He was seeking advice of an intimate nature, nothing more.
“I’m trusting you, Lucien,” he said, as though it were necessary that he say it out loud.
“I don’t take that lightly.” Lucien clasped his shoulder. “There is a bell on the bedside table. If at any moment, you want to end this, ring it. She will do the same. She won’t touch you unless you ask her to, and you won’t touch her unless she gives you permission. Those are the rest of the rules.”
A blindfold, a bell, and consent. It all sounded very civilized and orderly. With a hint of carnality.
No, they would only talk. There would be no touching.