She understood what he meant. She’d had the courage and nerve to demand he bed her every night to have a child, but she hadn’t been able to set aside her apprehension to facilitate that. Not until she’d become the tutor. Thinking about it from his perspective made her understand how he would feel—hurt, upset, perhaps even that she was afraid of him.
“I’m sorry for that,” she said softly. “It took me a long time to gather the courage to come here, to…change, to be the countess I need to be.” And so far, she’d utterly failed—from the ball tonight to sponsoring Cassandra, to being a wife.
Lines furrowed around his eyes, and suddenly he looked sad. “I’m sorry you saw me as such a fearsome person that you had to work so hard to approach me. I should have done more when we were first married to put you at ease. Perhaps we are not well suited after all. I am a focused…dispassionate person. You are easily upset, anxious.” He finished his gin and stood, the empty glass dangling from his fingertips. “Let us hope you are with child by now so that we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”
She stared up at him, words freezing on her tongue before she could utter them.
“I apologize for ruining your ball by hitting Lucien.”
A humorless laugh spilled from her lips. “It was ruined before then. I’m sorry it all went so badly. I hope it won’t reflect poorly on you.”
“It will likely reflect poorly on both of us. It’s a good thing neither one of us really cares for the social whirl.” The emptiness in his eyes made her shiver. Was this the same man who’d run to her defense earlier? Who’d seduced her in her dressing chamber? Who’d shown her that love wasn’t only real but that it was possible for her to feel?
He strode past her to the cabinet, swept up a bottle on the way to his chamber, and closed the door firmly behind him. She heard the lock catch.
Did he mean for them to go their separate ways? He’d certainly implied that by saying he hoped she was already with child. She smoothed her hand over her belly.
It was very late, and she was exhausted. There would be time for them to talk, to move past this…unpleasantness. Did he really think of it like that? The past days had been the happiest of her life, far surpassing pleasant.
She had to think they could find their way back to that. Unless he was right, that they weren’t truly suited for one another.
Pressing her hand to her midsection, she thought, at least I got what I came for. Probably.
Only that was no longer enough.
Chapter 20
In the past, White’s had served Constantine as both a refuge and an opportunity, a place where he could relax and conduct business. It was not where he came to gamble or carouse, as most of the members did. Tonight, those activities seemed especially noisome as he sought out Horace Brightly.
After a fruitless search, during which far too many members queried him about his altercation with Lucien the night before, Constantine relegated himself to a table where he could see the door and hopefully catch Brightly as soon as he arrived. A footman delivered a glass of port, which Constantine accepted with gratitude, despite having over-imbibed the night before.
Thoughts of his wife crept into his brain, but he didn’t want to think about the mess of their marriage. He didn’t blame her for taking such drastic measures to ease the strife between them—he’d done the same bloody thing. That they’d both felt they had to betray and deceive in order to break down the walls between them made him distinctly uncomfortable. In fact, he preferred not to dwell on it. What had happened was in the past now, and he would continue on as he always had.
Taking a long drink of port, he refocused his mind on Brightly. They’d only briefly spoken about the passing of the Importation Act at the ball last night, and Constantine wanted to continue their conversation.
Perhaps, given their defeat yesterday, Brightly preferred to spend the evening at Brooks’s. Or even the Phoenix Club.
Thinking of that establishment drove Constantine to drink more port. He’d actually thought his relationship with Lucien had improved due to the support he’d offered. All the while, his brother had deceived him as surely as Sabrina had. It was unconscionable. Constantine was glad he hadn’t accepted the invitation to the Phoenix Club. He didn’t want to be anywhere his brother was.
Another of their colleagues from the Commons walked by Constantine’s table. He waved his hand toward the man. “Wilson, have you seen Brightly this evening?”
Wilson came to the table and took a chair, his expression intense. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked in a low tone, as if he were about to impart a secret. Which begged the question, if it was secret, why would Constantine have heard about it?
“No.” Constantine despised this sort of gossip nonsense.
“Brightly’s been expelled. You won’t find him here tonight. Or ever.” He arched his brows, inhaling so that his chest puffed. He looked quite proud of himself for delivering the awful news.
“When did this happen?” Constantine lifted his glass for another much needed drink, thinking he was going to need a refill in a moment.
“Just today, I believe. I’m surprised you don’t know. Rumor has it your father was behind the expulsion.”
It hadn’t been an empty threat. Or perhaps Constantine had provoked him to act by reneging on their agreement.
Fury spiraled through him. He hastily set his glass back on the table lest he break the stem and cut his hand open again. No, he would not think of that night when Sabrina had sauntered into town and changed everything.
He wanted his routine and his comfort back.
Wilson leaned toward Constantine, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he were hunting prey. “Is it true you may call Lord Lucien out?”
“No!” Constantine unleashed the word with an excess of contempt that he immediately regretted. He was angry with his brother, but dueling with him? “You really need to step away from the gossip, Wilson.” Rising, he bid Wilson good night and left the club.
Outside, he looked in the direction of the Phoenix Club, situated so close that he could be there in a few short minutes. There was an assembly tonight, and though it was early yet, Sabrina would be there. Constantine could go, accept his membership on the spot, and whisk his wife upstairs where he’d blindfold her and show her what it felt like to be in the dark.
Scrubbing his hand over his face, he slammed on his hat and strode toward home. He hated that he felt like such a fool. He knew Sabrina, Lucien, and Mrs. Renshaw hadn’t been laughing at him. They’d concocted the ridiculous stratagem to help him and Sabrina. That was what Lucien did—he helped people. Still, in this case, Constantine thought there had to have been another way to bring him and Sabrina together.
But was there?
She’d been so afraid, so nervous. Which had made him nervous. And uncertain. Perhaps there hadn’t been another solution, and did it matter when what they’d done had ended up working in their favor?
It had led him to court her, to behave as he should have done when they’d first married. Only, he’d thought she’d loathed him. He made a low, frustrated sound in his throat. This was all too damned complicated. He did want his orderly life back. It was easy and simple.