Years of anger and frustration boiled to the surface in Constantine. “You’ve earned something.” He strode forward and sent his fist into his brother’s handsome face, knocking his head back.
Lucien staggered backward, his hand rising to his cheek. “Christ, Con! What the devil are you about?”
“I’m about fed up with your meddling and ‘help.’ It’s past time you minded your own bloody business.”
MacNair stepped toward Constantine, his gaze darting behind him and toward the stair hall. “Ah, Aldington, you may want to continue this in a more private location,” he said quietly.
Constantine turned his head and muttered a curse. A small group of guests had gathered to watch him hit his brother. This would be the talk of the evening, far worse than a dearth of ice or a loose kitten running amok.
If the ball had been a disaster before, it was now a catastrophe.
Cassandra and Prudence had looked at Sabrina in question after Constantine had gone back into the house. After muttering something nonsensical and which she couldn’t even remember a few minutes later, Sabrina had rushed inside and ducked up the backstairs to find a moment’s peace.
She felt terrible about how Constantine had learned the truth. He’d looked so utterly shocked. Beyond that, however, she didn’t know what he’d felt. Was he angry? Hurt? Disappointed?
She felt as if the world was squeezing in around her. No, she would not collapse. Taking long, deep breaths, she stood on the first floor landing and willed herself to remain calm. She just had to make it through the rest of the evening. And then she could face Constantine.
That did nothing to ease her mind or her anxiety.
Though she didn’t feel much better, she couldn’t disappear from the ball. She’d already done that earlier with Constantine when they’d shared that wonderful interlude in her dressing room. Had that been tonight instead of some long ago dream?
She stepped out of the stairwell and moved toward the drawing room. The rest of the evening would move swiftly and without incident. It had to. What more could go wrong?
Her mother walked from the drawing room and intercepted her. “There you are, Sabrina.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “This ball is an absolute tragedy. I fear you won’t be able to hold your head up in Society.”
Tragedy. Much to Sabrina’s chagrin, she flinched.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself? Or your husband?”
Why would she include Constantine? “I realize you’re quite used to denigrating me, but I won’t allow you to insult my husband, especially not here in his home.” His home. As if it weren’t hers too.
“I wasn’t insulting him. He’s the one who created a scene by hitting his own brother.”
What on earth had happened? Before the question even finished in her mind, she knew. Constantine was angry with him about the tutoring stratagem. And he had every right to be angry—with her too.
Except, shouldn’t she be angry as well? He was the one who’d betrayed her with another woman. Another woman who was her. Sabrina’s head began to throb. She massaged her fingertips against her temple. “Please excuse me, Mother.”
Sabrina began to turn and felt her mother’s hand on her arm.
“I wasn’t finished speaking, Sabrina.” The viscountess dropped her hand to her side.
“Well, I am finished listening,” Sabrina hissed back at her. She’d managed to keep herself together all night, and she simply couldn’t do it any longer. Stepping closer to her mother, she let anger and hurt meld into a vitriol she’d never felt before. “Not just tonight but forever. I don’t wish to hear anything more you have to say about me, my behavior, or my husband. And I definitely don’t want to hear anymore snide comments about my lack of a child or my failure as a countess. You’ve never understood me or even wanted to.” Heart pounding and hands shaking, Sabrina moved past her toward the drawing room—she wasn’t going to let her mother distract her from her duty.
Somehow, Sabrina made it through the rest of the ball without retreating to her room, suffering an attack of nerves, or seeing her husband for more than a fleeting moment. Whether Fate had decided to keep them apart for the remainder of the evening or Constantine had just been particularly adept at avoiding her, it wasn’t until nearly three o’clock after the last guests had departed that she found him in their sitting room.
He sat near the hearth, his hand clutching a glass of something that wasn’t wine. She would have guessed gin, given the lack of color, but she’d never known him to drink that. And why would she? A week or so of togetherness did not mean they were close.
“Have you been waiting for me?” she asked, clutching the gloves she’d removed as she’d climbed the stairs.
“Shouldn’t I have been? You indicated that you had some explaining to do.”
“I do, and I will.” She moved toward him. “I heard about what happened with Lucien.”
“All of London has heard by now.” His lip curled before he took a sip of his drink. “There will be a hundred stories as to why.” He looked up at her, his gaze inscrutable. “None of them will come close to the truth, however.”
“I can’t imagine they would.” Sabrina slowly lowered herself into the chair facing his in front of the hearth. The usual twitter of anxiety rattled inside her. She clasped her hands together in case they started to quiver.
“It’s a rather unusual situation.” His voice carried an air of detachment. Sabrina couldn’t tell at all how he was feeling. “My father has ended your sponsorship of Cassandra.”
Though she wasn’t surprised, Sabrina was still disappointed. “Because the ball was such a mess?”
He tipped his head in a slight nod. “And because I didn’t hold up my end of a bargain we made.” Before she could ask him about that, he asked, “Was the tutor stratagem your idea or Lucien’s?”
Sabrina licked her suddenly very dry lips. “Lucien’s. And Evie’s. She suggested it to me.”
Constantine’s nostrils flared. “They worked together then.”
“Yes.”
He speared her with a dark stare. “With you.”
“Yes. You were also involved,” she added quietly, her gaze drifting to her lap.
“Of course I was involved—I was the mark.”
She snapped her head up. “You weren’t a mark.”
“Wasn’t I? You were all in on the ruse while I was the dupe.” He wasn’t wrong, and it was the aspect that had tortured the back of Sabrina’s mind, even while they’d reaped the benefits of the deception.
“You weren’t a dupe. At least, I never thought of you as such. I thought this would help matters, and it did, didn’t it?”
He took another sip. “But I also thought it would help matters. Whether it did or not, perhaps you’ll agree it wasn’t the best idea.” Now, she could see the emotion simmering just beneath the surface of his calm veneer.
“No, it was not. Still, it brought us here, didn’t it?”
“To a place where secrets and lies are revealed and not because we shared them. We seem to suffer a lack of honesty and forthrightness. For myself, I have tried very hard—perhaps too hard—to protect you, to keep you from being overset. I resolve not to do that any longer. And you are going to have to find a way to speak your mind. I know you can do it, as evidenced from the very first night you arrived in London.” The last part carried a hint of derision.