“I agree,” Lilias said.
“Fine.” Guinevere threw up her hands as if in defeat, but she was grinning. “Madame Toussant is a French seamstress who makes naughty creations of nightclothes. Asher loves her work!”
“Nash does, as well.” Lilias patted her very swollen belly. “I do believe I was wearing one of Madame Toussant’s creations the night we made this babe.”
“I’ll go straightaway when we’re done here,” Constantine said. “So, do unexpected things, be adventurous, and wear Madame Toussant’s creations. Any other advice?”
“Yes, no questions tonight,” Guinevere cautioned. “His defenses will likely be up still. Later will be for learning the description of the men or a name, and perhaps, if you are lucky, the hurt Kilgore is hiding. You might ask a question in the morning, carefully placed, after another round of husbandly duties.”
“I feel like a soldier being readied for war,” Constantine said, only half in jest.
“Yes, making a man accept that he loves you and accept the vulnerability that brings can be rather like war,” Lilias said.
“I’ll try this first, but if it doesn’t work, I’ll have to find another way.”
“I suspect Kilgore will be asking our husbands to aid him in his cause,” Guinevere said, tapping her finger against her chin. Lilias nodded her agreement. “Which means,” Guinevere continued, “that Kilgore will likely tell them you’re not to be involved.”
Constantine frowned. “I had not considered that.”
“Cheer up, darling,” Guinevere said. “Though I’ve no doubt Kilgore will demand secrecy from our husbands, I might be able to get something out of Asher.” She frowned. “Though he is rather tight-lipped when his word to a friend is involved.”
“Yes,” Lilias added, “Nash is, as well, but I’ll do my best for you.”
“Thank you. All of you,” Constantine said. “I suppose the best thing for me to do now is go to Madame Toussant and then hope Callum is so enchanted by me in the creation that he gives in to his passion, so I can help him help us.”
“Tell Madame Toussant you need a creation today,” Guinevere said. “She’s very fast, and I have no doubt he’ll be enchanted by you.”
Constantine rose, her mind turning to the past as she made her goodbyes and was shown to her carriage. If the actual act of consummation felt anything like the pleasure she’d experienced when Callum had introduced her to her secret spot, then she didn’t think she’d mind being a soldier in this particular battle.
Chapter Twelve
1833
Six years earlier
London, England
“I need to scratch my nose,” Constantine announced from her position on her side in the sunny window seat. She was curled up, as she had been every day for the last two sennights—like a cat.
“Do it as a feline would,” Callum teased, lowering his palette and giving her an irresistibly devastatingly handsome grin. Her heart sped to a gallop. She was falling in love with him. She had started falling for him the first day she’d visited his studio, and fell further every day over talks of the moon, politics, and art. But she was slightly concerned. He had not tried to kiss her since that first day, and she had reached the point when she simply had to know if she was foolishly putting herself in a position to be deeply hurt by him. Maybe he had decided he didn’t find her attractive or interesting enough to pursue, after all.
She needed to discover the truth without asking him, because that would be entirely too embarrassing. “I do believe I’m growing awfully stiff,” she said. “Might I stretch and perhaps you could rub my neck?” She wasn’t practiced at enticing men, but surely if he still desired to court her, he’d want the opportunity to touch her.
He set his palette down, and a heart-dropping, serious expression settled on his face. “By all means, get up and stretch. It was rude of me not to think of you.”
It was rude of him not todesire heranymore, but she refrained from saying that. Instead, she stood, noting the intensity of how he watched her. She didn’t understand men at all. She had thought with their long talks and shared laughter over the last two sennights that he was as intrigued by her as she was by him. But maybe he only found her interesting as a subject to paint. She bit her lip, trying to block out the sound of her father’s belittling words, but they would not be silenced.You will never be interesting enough, pretty enough, never enough to a man.
“Constantine, did you hear me?”
Constantine snapped her gaze to Callum. He looked unfairly handsome with his paint-smudged chin, disheveled hair, cravat dangling from his neck, and his shirt tugged open to reveal a hint of sun-kissed chest, as if he went about a great deal with his shirt off. She would not mind seeing that at all, not that she would ever get the chance. “I’m sorry,” she replied, not wanting to admit she hadn’t heard him but not left with any choice. “What did you say?”
“We need to talk.”
The tone of his voice made her stomach suddenly feel hollowed. This must be the part when he would gently tell her their time in his painting studio had come to an end. She steeled herself against the disappointment that was already flooding her. “Yes?”
“I’m wondering,” he started, then paused, looking irritated. “I’m wondering if you’ve noticed… Well…” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “This is bloody harder than I thought it would be.”
It wasbloody hardfor her, too, standing there waiting for him to break her heart. Perhaps it was best to do it for him. To say the words, that was. “Yes,” she said, forcing herself to sound sensible and matter-of-fact. “I’ve quite noticed that you have not kissed me again.”
