“Then you shall have to try to be optimistic. Sometimes believing in something is all we have.”
“You are speaking from experience now?”
“If I hadn’t believed I could come to London and face you, I wouldn’t have done it. But then, my motivation was very strong.”
To have a child. He thought of her demand as well as the fact that they hadn’t discussed it of late. Perhaps last night they’d finally found success. He wouldn’t be disappointed if they hadn’t. That just meant he could keep trying, and he was wholeheartedly committed to that endeavor.
A small but nagging voice in the back of his mind asked if that was all she wanted. Would she simply return to her solitary life at Hampton Lodge once she was pregnant? She clearly enjoyed their newfound mutual pleasure, but that was still a means to an end.
“Constantine, you didn’t tell me!” Her exclamation jolted him from his ruminations. She sprung out of her chair and flew to his desk, setting her glass down near a stack of papers as she plucked up a letter with a red wax seal.
Constantine had risen and moved toward the desk. “Is that a…phoenix in the seal?”
“Yes.” Eyes gleaming with joy, she handed it to him. “Open it.”
He turned the missive over and read the front: The Most Honorable, the Earl of Aldington. It was unmistakably for him. After setting his wine on the desk, his breath stalled in his lungs as he opened the seal. The words jumbled before him, and he had to blink before he could read them.
* * *
You are invited to join the Phoenix Club.
The Membership Committee believes your presence will be a boon and benefit.
Please refer to the enclosed membership agreement and respond in writing at your earliest convenience.
* * *
He looked up from the parchment to see her watching him with unabashed delight. “Why now?”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t been good enough to invite for the past year. Why am I suddenly—” He glanced back down at the invitation. “‘A boon and a benefit’?” He knew why—because he’d asked Lucien to make it happen. Still, he couldn’t quite believe his brother had actually done it.
“Does it matter why? I am just glad you are. Now we can attend the assemblies together. We can even spend Tuesday evenings at the same club. I never imagined that would be possible. Or that I’d want to.”
That begged a question. “Why did you want to? I was shocked when you were invited, but perhaps even more when you accepted.”
She averted her gaze and clasped her hands. His admission had provoked her anxiety. He was beginning to recognize the signs.
He set the letter down on his desk and took her hand. “I didn’t mean to imply that you shouldn’t have. I’m glad you did. And I was an ass about it. A jealous ass, specifically.”
She smiled, and her shoulders relaxed. “It felt good to be included in something, especially a place that specifically includes those who feel excluded or ignored.”
“Is that true?” Constantine hadn’t known that. And why not? Because he’d shown no interest in his brother’s club. He’d followed his father’s lead of disdaining the entire enterprise.
She nodded. “Lucien hasn’t told you?”
“Lucien and I don’t discuss everything.” They actually shared very little—until recently—and Constantine regretted that. “He should have told me. No, I should have asked.” He would do just that at the earliest opportunity.
“Are you going to accept?” She sounded uncertain.
“You want me to.”
“I do.” Now, her voice was firm, and he admired her confidence in the matter. Probably because he didn’t share it. He wanted to accept it. Hell, he’d made a rather delicious cake of himself to Lucien after Sabrina had received an invitation, behaving, as he’d just said, like a jealous ass.
Constantine glanced toward the fiery phoenix, its wings spread, on the seal. “My father won’t like it.” His father wouldn’t like many things about his behavior lately. When the Importation Bill came to a vote, he was almost certainly going to enrage the duke.
“I know how much his opinion matters to you,” she said quietly. “However, you must do what you think is right—for you.”
“I’ll take it under consideration. Know that your opinion matters to me too.”
Perhaps more than that of his father. Isn’t that how it should be with a marriage? His father would likely say no, but Constantine wasn’t sure he could listen to him any longer on the topic of wives. Which befuddled him. His father hadn’t seemed to be a bad husband. In fact, Constantine would have said his parents loved each other. Certainly, his mother had loved her husband. But then, she’d loved everyone.
“Does it?” She lifted her hands to his cravat and loosened the knot of silk. “For instance, I am of the opinion that you are wearing far too many clothes.” She slid the snowy white length from his neck and dropped it to the floor.
“Is that right?”
She nodded slowly as she pushed his coat from his shoulders, again letting the garment slip to the carpet. “Mmm.”
“What of all your clothes?” He slid his arms around her waist and backed her against the side of his desk. “The number of garments a woman is required to don is criminal.”
“Lord Aldington, are you flirting with me finally?” She fluttered her lashes at him, a coy smirk curling her lips.
“Here I thought we’d progressed to first names.”
“My apologies, Constantine.” With one hand, she plucked the buttons of his waistcoat open and with the other, she stroked her hand down the front of his fall and pressed her palm against his rigid cock. “Still too many clothes.”
“You have two choices.” He shoved the items on his desk to the other side, heedless of what was there and what damage he might inflict, and lifted her onto the edge. “You can endure the clothing for a brief while and let me pleasure you here.” He lifted her skirt and pressed his fingers against her sex, drawing a soft moan from her moistened lips. “Or you come upstairs with me where I will likely ruin your clothing in my haste to tear it from your delectable body.”
“Delectable?” The word squeaked forth as she stared at him. “Me?”
He bent his head and kissed the flesh just above the edge of her bodice, cupping her breast through her ball gown and lifting, as if he could force her from the gown and expose her nipple to his greedy tongue.
She thrust her hand into his hair, her fingertips curling into his scalp. “I choose the first. Please.”
That was all the urging he needed. Pushing her back on the desk, gently, he settled her skirts around her waist, revealing her sweet sex and her honey curls beckoning him.
“I told you what I would do next time.” He spread her lips and licked her flesh, drawing a sharp cry. He looked up toward her face, but her head was cast back. He smiled. Then he noticed the bloody door was open.
Hurrying, he closed it firmly and threw the latch. “Privacy is important, lest we terrify the servants,” he murmured as he returned to his delicious task. “Open your legs, Sabrina, so I can taste you.”