“I will.” Lucien flicked a glance toward Constantine’s study. “Father just went in there. What’s going on?”
“He’s about to unleash his rage upon me.” Constantine felt rather numb about the prospect, which normally would have upset him. He hated to disappoint his father. However, in this case, there was no help for it.
“Do you want me to come along?” Lucien asked quite soberly.
“No, but I appreciate the offer. I can withstand his anger.” He continued on to the study and closed the door behind him.
The duke stood near the hearth, his arms crossed over his chest. “You voted against the act today.”
“Yes.” Constantine walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy. He offered one to his father, who only narrowed his eyes further. Shrugging, Constantine returned the glass to the cabinet and sipped from the second.
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” the duke demanded.
“What else is there to say? The vote is done, the act has passed, which is what you wanted, so why do you care how I voted?”
“Because you told me you would vote for it. We had an arrangement.”
Yes, they did, and that arrangement was the only thing that had given Constantine pause. Ultimately, he hadn’t been able to vote for the act, even if it meant his father removed Sabrina as Cassandra’s sponsor.
Constantine strode to the window, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes we must vote a certain way to gain political capital.” He cast his father a perturbed glance. “I know you are aware of this from your vast experience. In this matter, it benefitted me to vote against the Importation Act in order to gain support for the Apothecaries Act.”
“You’re a fool because that is dead.”
“No, it is not, and I won’t let it die, as you did my mother.” Constantine had not chosen those words. In fact, he couldn’t believe he’d said them.
The duke’s eyes widened to a seemingly impossible degree. “I did not—” He snapped his lips closed, pressing them so hard that they turned white with his fury.
“The Apothecaries Act is of the utmost importance to me, and I will do whatever is necessary to see regulation of medical practice in this country. If I have to vote against an act that was in no danger of failing in order to gain support for my efforts, so be it. I would have thought you would do the same. You taught me to be cunning and strategic.” He glared ice at his father, daring him to find fault with what he’d done.
“You lied to me.”
“I made a deal to get what I needed. The fact that you demanded such a thing for a matter as simple and uncontroversial as allowing my wife to act as my sister’s sponsor says far more about you than it does me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a ball to manage.” Constantine started toward the door, his body thrumming with anger and determination.
“You do that,” the duke said coldly. “The bloody thing is a disaster as it is. Even if you hadn’t deceived me, I’d have to reconsider the countess’s role in Cassandra’s Season.”
Constantine looked back at his father. “You’re going to remove her as Cass’s sponsor, aren’t you?”
“After tonight’s failure? Of course I am.”
A movement outside the window on the terrace drew Constantine’s attention. The light wasn’t very bright, but he could make out the unmistakable gold and ivory gown of his wife and…a gentleman touching her in a way that was beyond the pale.
His father all but forgotten, Constantine threw the door open and stalked through the gaming room to the open doors leading out to the garden. The world seemed to glow red as he came upon the man whose arms were curled around Sabrina’s struggling form. Before he could pull the miscreant away, he heard a grunt, which was followed by the man doubling over as Sabrina backed away from him.
The lantern hanging on the exterior of the house illuminated Sabrina. Instead of looking terrified, she appeared furious, her brows pitched into an angry V as her eyes seemed to glow with cobalt fire.
He rushed to her side. “What did you do?”
“I punched his groin.”
“You what?” Constantine stared at her, utterly enthralled—and in love—with his wife.
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s the only thing a woman can do when a scoundrel oversteps.”
Overstep was a massive understatement as far as Constantine was concerned. Several gentlemen from the gaming room, and a few ladies, had swarmed onto the terrace, including Lucien.
“What happened?” Lucien moved past the man who was on his knees groaning.
“He was too forward,” Sabrina said, brushing her hands together.
“Are you going to demand satisfaction?” someone called.
“There’s no need,” the man croaked, lifting his head to reveal his identity—Mr. Franklin Crimwell, a fellow member of Parliament who appeared to be well into his cups. Not that his state forgave his behavior in the slightest. “I offer my most sincere apologies. I did not realize this was Lady Aldington.” The man’s color was gray, his features squashed with pain and humiliation.
“That’s true,” Sabrina said quietly. “He kept calling me Mildred. I think he is out of his wits.”
Lucien bent to help the man up. “Come, Crimwell, let’s get you into a coach to your house.” Looking toward the group of people, Lucien inclined his head toward one of his friends, Dougal MacNair, who quickly moved to lend assistance.
“Thank you,” Constantine said, grateful for his brother’s help.
When Crimwell disappeared into the house between Lucien and MacNair, conversation picked up as people filtered back into the gaming room.
It was at that moment that Cassandra rushed onto the terrace, straight for Sabrina, followed by her companion, Miss Lancaster. “My goodness, Sabrina, are you all right?”
A familiar scent washed over Constantine—a tropical fragrance that swept him into the darkness and overwhelmed him with sensation. He stepped toward his sister and sniffed. It couldn’t be coming from her. Turning his head slightly, toward Miss Lancaster, he inhaled. And nearly staggered backward. It was her.
“That scent…”
“Oh, yes, my apologies,” Cassandra said, looking toward Sabrina. “I’m afraid we helped ourselves to your fragrances before the ball. I forgot to don some at home, and this tropical scent is absolutely divine. Pru and I couldn’t resist.”
So the perfume didn’t belong to Cassandra or Miss Lancaster, but to…Sabrina?
Constantine turned toward her, shock coursing through him. “It was you?”
Her eyes had lost their heat and were now round with distress. “Constantine, I can explain.”
“Later,” he ground out, his mind spinning at this astonishing revelation. His brain simply couldn’t process this information—it didn’t make any sense. Yet, he knew it was true. “We’ve a rather disastrous ball to oversee.”
Whatever her explanation, it had to include Lucien. Constantine spun about and stalked inside, making his way to the entrance hall where Lucien was just walking back into the house. MacNair followed behind him.
“Crimwell is on his way home,” Lucien said. “I believe MacNair and I have earned a drink.”