She was so utterly still that he could feel her breath on his skin when she finally whispered:
“Yes.”
Chapter 11
Never, in her most private moments, among her most wicked thoughts, had Constance ever wanted something like she wanted Apthorp to touch her.
It was undignified, and she didn’t care.
The servants were noisily cleaning the hall outside, and she didn’t care.
He was no doubt making her feel this way out of pure spite—enjoying her discomfort—and she didn’t care.
Her whole body was one long ache. She wanted to take his thumb into her mouth.
She wanted him to move his hands down to her breasts.
Next time, just tell me what you want.
“Perhaps you might—” she whispered.
A sharp rap sounded at the door.
She froze. So did he.
He cleared his throat. “Yes?” he said pleasantly.
“The countess has arrived, my lord,” Tremont said.
Curses. She had become so wrapped up in his demonstration she had forgotten to tell him the rest of her surprise.
“What countess?” he asked, stepping away from her.
There was a pause. “The Countess of Apthorp, my lord?”
He shucked the silk scarf off her lap, threw it into the nearest box, and stormed out into the hall. “My mother?”
“Yes, with Lady Margaret. Lady Constance said you were expecting them. Mrs. Haslet is laying out tea and refreshments in the parlor.”
“Ah. Of course,” Apthorp said smoothly. “The date slipped my mind. Thank you, Tremont. I shall be with them momentarily.”
He closed the door and whirled around and he really did look like a highwayman, with that expression in his eyes. Not the kind who would tie you up for your enjoyment; the kind who would cheerfully kill you for your jewels.
“Explain yourself,” he barked.
“I arranged for your family to visit. As a surprise. Aren’t you pleased?”
She tried for an infectious smile. Perhaps if she evinced enough happiness for both of them, he would simply absorb it and stop glowering at her.
“Pleased? I’m the very furthest thing from pleased.”
This was not the reaction she’d hoped for.
“But you heard Lady Spence. Inviting your mother here will show her we are seeking to follow her advice. Besides, I’ve arranged for a fabulous visit—balls and the theater and a trip to the Ridotto al Fresco and new gowns from Valeria Parc. At my expense, of course. Don’t you want them to have a little merriment?”
He was staring at her like she had replaced his fake pistol with a real one and shot him in the stomach without warning.
“I don’t know how I continue to let myself be shocked by you,” he whispered. “What was I thinking?”
“Why are you so upset?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he threaded his hands through his hair like he wanted to rip it from his skull and marched out of the room without another word.
“Wait,” she hissed, following him. “Can we just—”
But she stopped, because a small child came toddling down the hall and nearly collided with her shins.
“Why, good evening … ,” she said to the little, golden-haired moppet, perplexed. “Who might you be?”
The little girl smiled up at her, flashing dimples and an angelic smile exactly like Apthorp’s. He turned around at the sound of her voice and, taking in the sight of the child, whispered something that sounded very much like fucking Christ.
The little girl launched herself down the corridor, landing in a pile at his ankles.
He removed the tortured expression from his face with visible effort, like he had to peel it off, and bent down to scoop her up.
“Annie, my love,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek. The little girl wriggled delightedly in his arms.
“Anne?” A thin young woman came dashing up the stairs.
“Up here,” Apthorp said, turning toward the voice.
Lady Margaret rushed in and her face broke into a smile. “Julian!”
Without setting the child down, he held an arm out to embrace his sister. “Margaret. It’s been too long.” He glanced at Constance. “Lady Constance, you recall my sister?”
“Of course I remember Lady Margaret. I’m so pleased you were able to visit.”
Lady Margaret curtsied. “You were so kind to suggest it. We had no idea Julian had taken up residence in this old place.” Her smile turned wry. “My brother can be such a sparing correspondent.”
Constance knew that feeling well.
“And who is this charming creature?” Constance asked, gesturing to the child, who was now playing with Apthorp’s hair, obviously thrilled to be near him. Her joy reminded Constance of herself on the rare occasions her brother had allowed her to visit him as a little girl.
“This is Miss Anne Haywood,” he said, handing the girl to his sister. “My ward.”
Constance glanced up at him. “I was not aware you had a child in your care,” she said lightly.
“Miss Haywood is the daughter of our late cousin,” Lady Margaret explained quickly. “She lost her parents to illness and Julian offered to serve as her guardian. Mama and I look after her.”
Margaret’s face had a strained, apologetic kind of look. The kind of expression one might wear were one in the position of having to pass off one’s brother’s child to his betrothed.
“How kind,” she said to Margaret. But how scandalous of Apthorp, who was always so long-winded on the subject of masculine honor.
Was this why he had not wanted his family to visit? Because she’d find out he had a by-blow? Was there no end to the scandalous things that he’d managed to keep hidden?
The countess came into the hallway, following the commotion. “Oh, my dear child,” she said, setting her eyes upon Constance. “Julian, how beautiful she is.”
She folded Constance into a hug. Her bones felt frail beneath Constance’s grip. Both the countess and her daughter were painfully thin, and she could not help but notice that the lace of their gowns was dingy from frequent laundering, and looked mended many times.
She had known Apthorp’s coffers were not full, but this was far worse than she’d expected.
“I hope your journey was not too uncomfortable?” she asked the countess, trying not to stare at the pilling edges of her woven shawl.
“No, dear, the carriage you sent was positively decadent.” The countess beamed at her. “My son is blessed to have a woman as considerate as yourself as his future countess. How blessed we all are to welcome you into our family.”
“I’m so happy to be part of it,” she said, swallowing around an uncomfortable pang of guilt at her dishonesty. “I hope I will be a good—”
From behind his mother’s shoulder, Apthorp’s eyes shot daggers at her.
“A good friend to you,” she finished wanly.
“Let’s become better acquainted,” Lady Apthorp said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I can’t wait to know everything about the woman who has so utterly charmed my son.”
Apthorp noticed a small smile playing on his sister’s lips the next day as they sat in the parlor of his town house drinking tea with Constance.