The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,8

ache. “A man doesn’t fall in love simply because his prick finds solace. I believed he could come to love me, though. It was enough to bring us together…for the night.”

Nicholas froze. Then he drew himself up and faced her. “Was it worth it? Was cuckolding me worth your silly sentiments?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Only a wife can cuckold a man.”

Nicholas’s dark brow lowered as he scowled viciously. “Your tongue is as sharp as ever.”

At least he was no longer talking about Oliver or her heart. She thinned her lips in a satisfied smile. “Thank you.”

“My dearest Beth, what a smart mouth you have.” He bared his teeth in satisfaction when she flinched at his pet name for her. “I think you’re a lying little whore. A brilliant one. It would seem that my hands are tied for the moment. I have no proof that Oliver is my son, but you have thirty men who saw me stupidly accept the idea that Lord Constantine warmed your bed. Even I don’t know what to believe.” He loomed toward her. She didn’t retreat, for he’d only enjoy chasing her. “What could have drawn you to a boy, when you’ve had a man under your skirts?” He grasped her shoulders and pulled her to his body.

She recoiled. He’d taken her baby. Brutally, without so much as a good-bye. He’d been crass about his new conquests. Did he not know how thoroughly he’d hurt her with his philandering? Publicly? He’d never given her feelings the least bit of consideration, and now she was to melt into his arms in a state of passion?

Surprise crossed his features. Then they steeled. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, Beth. I know you better than that. One day, you’ll remember you still love me. And then you will bring my son back. I want you to do it yourself.” With that, he released her and crossed the room to leave. At the door, he stopped long enough to glance at her over his shoulder. “I suggest you start remembering how good it used to be between us, because I am going to have my son back. A boy belongs with his father. There’ll be no rest for me until you’ve undone your mistake.”

Chapter Three

CONSTANTINE WENT ABOUT the next few days as though he hadn’t been tossed out of Elizabeth’s townhouse at all. He was the same indolent bachelor he’d always been, and an impoverished gentleman behaved much like a fantastically wealthy one, visiting his coffeehouse, attending luncheons at the homes of friends who had stayed on in the city, and watching the same Drury Lane play each night until he knew the lines by rote. Summer was a decidedly boring time of year in London.

But Devon, and the family seat over which his brother presided, was deathly boring any time of year. The Alexanders preferred Town, and though they must scrape together every shilling required to keep the house they shared here, frugality simply wasn’t worth the boredom of living in the country.

He skipped up the five steps to their door and let himself in to the bachelor residence. Roman, his eldest brother and the marquis, retained a skeletal staff when their mother wasn’t in town. Con preferred that arrangement. He liked to be left alone, and blast it, sometimes he wanted his coat to be right where he left it, draped over the back of a couch or hanging from a chair.

Since their mother was in town, however, he tried to appear dutifully chastened when a footman startled from his post and rushed forward. “Good afternoon, my lord. I would have opened the door if…” Alvey shifted his eyes helplessly. He obviously wanted to make amends, but how could he without pointedly telling Con to rap his fist once in a while?

Con smiled and tossed his hat to the beleaguered servant. “Not to worry yourself. The fault was mine.” Then he put his finger to his lips. “But not so loud, if you don’t mind. I don’t need the excitement of being announced.”

The footman nodded his head in vigorous agreement and held out his hand for Con’s greatcoat. Con sighed as he shrugged out of it and turned it over, after all. When he wanted his coat later, he’d have to ask for it back. But there was a certain standard of living expected of a marquis’ household, and Con had enough brothers who insisted appearances be maintained for their mother’s sake to know when an argument