Chapter 1

One

London

April 1818

L ady Constantine Hartley scarcely thought of herself as a lady at all.

That she lacked the necessary refinement was but one of her many shortcomings. Having spent most of her life sequestered away in the country without the benefit of a mother had left her ill-prepared for London society.

No-one would argue that many shortcomings plagued her. And yet, she was a lady. The absurdity of social rank and standing was beyond her. How one could be a part of society and yet not be wholly accepted boggled her mind.

Constantine glanced down the length of the dining table, her gaze taking in the elegantly dressed lords and ladies seated around her.

Her own gown was every bit as elegant as theirs. Jewels circled her throat and hung from her ears, and her hair was expertly styled in a fashionable chignon with a few loose curls framing her face.

Indeed, Constantine looked every inch the well-bred lady she was. She sighed. Regardless, her appearance was irrelevant compared to her lack of deportment, and she well knew it.

That she looked to be elegant and refined didn't matter a wit when she truly wasn't. There was no use trying to fool herself, Constantine knew the truth—she was no lady.

If she'd had any doubts about that, last season had served as undeniable proof. She'd made a cake of herself on multiple occasions, breaking rules that she didn't even know were rules, and making a fool of herself in the process.

Worse, the more mistakes she made, the higher her anxiety climbed, which only led to more errors.

By season's end, Constantine wanted nothing more than to return to the country and spend the rest of her days as a recluse, or marry a country gentleman and settle into a quiet life. Either way, she hadn't wished to return to London society.

Constantine's gaze stilled when it reached the head of the table.

Aunt Dorthy, the Dowager Viscountess of Chadwick, sat proudly reigning over her dinner party, and a pain of regret struck Constantine. She wished for her aunt's sake that she hadn't proven such a disappointment. After all, Auntie had gone far above what was necessary to give Constantine a season.

And Constantine had ruined it at every turn. Her growing unease leading to more and more missteps and faux pas as the season progressed.

She'd wager if not for Auntie's social standing that no-one in fashionable society would allow her into their homes.

Just as Constantine had the thought, Aunt Dorthy met Constantine's gaze and offered a warm smile.

Such was the way of the Viscountess—kind, sympathetic, and evermore encouraging.

It was why, despite Constantine's failures, Auntie had insisted she return for another season. And Constantine loved her for it, even if she wasn't overjoyed at her return.

Constantine released a breath, then returned her auntie's smile before reaching for her soup spoon.

She would do her best to behave for Auntie's sake, but she was equally determined not to allow her mistakes to rule her.

This season would be different.

If she must endure another season, she might as well endeavor to enjoy it. Which meant that Constantine would do her best to follow the many rules of well-bred young ladies, but she would not chide herself for her missteps.

Constantine swirled her spoon around in the dense, brown soup before her. She detested turtle soup but had learned that it was rude to let on about her dislike.

Auntie had explained this to her after Constantine rejected a soup course last season. ‘It was 'the height of bad manners' , Auntie had informed her. ‘Just play with it so it appears as though you are eating it' , Auntie had said.

It seemed rather silly to Constantine. All the same, she melodically slid her spoon through the soup as she waited for the next course.

"You are using the wrong spoon," a deep voice interrupted her, and Constantine turned toward the gentleman on her left.

Her mouth went dry as she assessed him. He was a debutantes dream—tall, dark, handsome—and for a moment, all she could do was stare.

Hair, the color of ink, framed his face, his sapphire blue eyes looked at her with warmth, and he possessed a straight patrician nose and strong jawline.

Most captivating of all was the devil-may-care sparkle in his gaze and tip-tilted half-grin pulling at his full lips.

Constantine swallowed, ignoring the heat in her face, and said, "Is that so?" She arched a challenging eyebrow, willing her nerves to remain at bay.

The gentleman's grin widened. "Indeed, it is."

Constantine stiffened her shoulders. "I suppose this is the part where I blush madly with embarrassment as I correct my mistake and offer you my thanks?" She ignored the warmth flooding her face and the slight tremble in her voice. She would not allow her anxiety to overcome her.

"As it happens, you are blushing." The man's smirk turned to a broad smile full of amusement. "And that would be the usual response."

"Perhaps I am unusual, for I won't apologize. Neither will I switch spoons," Constantine retorted, ignoring the fact that he had noticed her blushing.

"Without a doubt, you are most unusual," his voice held an increased interest as he continued, "Miss…" he stared at her expectantly.

"Hartley," she supplied, "Lady Constantine Hartley." Drat! She'd broken another rule, and they were not even past the soup course.

How was it she'd been seated beside a gentleman she'd not been introduced to, at any rate? This was hardly her fault. Right?

"Lady Constantine Hartley…," his words trailed off as he studied her, his long fingers smoothing his cravat. "The name suits you."

Constantine gave a slight smile, the faintest curve of her lips, then returned her attention to her soup. She did her best to ignore the knot that had taken hold in her belly as she pushed the offensive brew around her bowl. Odd that, and she couldn't decide ifher reactionwas caused by nerves, or something else entirely.

"Lord Gulliver." His deep timber sent pleasant chills through her.

Constantine turned her head to look at the handsome stranger. "W-What?"

"My name. It is Lord Gulliver. Seth Mowbray, Marquess Gulliver, to be exact." He sat his spoon aside, his full attention on her. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Yes," Constantine said on a sigh, her stomach suddenly fluttering as though a sparrow were inside flapping its wings in a desperate attemptto escape. She concluded that what she felt had little to do with nerves. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, then gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

With her cheeks burning, Constantine returned her attention to her food. She was more than a bitembarrassed and confused at the reactions her body was having.

She was grateful for the silence that reigned through the fish course,as well as, the mutton and beef. However, when the salad was served, Lord Gulliver turned his attention back to Constantine.

"Where do you hail from?" He asked.

"Carlisle," she replied without making eye contact. "I've spent my life in Carlisle."

"A country chit, then."

She turned narrowed eyes on him. "Do you find something distasteful about country girls?"

"Not at all." He shook his head. "In fact, I find you rather refreshing."

She suppressed a groan as heat flooded her cheeks. Why did this man keep making her blush? Constantine feigned indifference as she returned her attention to her meal.

"Why have I not seen you around London before?" His voice sounded closer, and her pulse ticked up as a result.

She took her time chewing the piece of cheese she'd placed in her mouth a moment before. After swallowing, she met his gaze. "You must not have been looking."

She turned away, chastising herself for the snappy reply. She should watch her tongue more closely. Auntie had cautioned her of the fact many times, but in some cases, Constantine simply could not help herself.

Lord Gulliver unsettled her in a way no one ever had. He made her pulse increase, and her stomach flutter. Not to mention the blushes that suddenly plaguedher.

This was more than anxiety, and it was unsettling to be sure. She feared that if it continued, she would not survive supper.

Perhaps her impertinent reply would repel him for the remainder of the meal, and all would be well.

It didn't take long for her hopes to be dashed, for along with the deserts, came Lord Gulliver's renewed attention. As she poked her fork into her last bites of baked custard, he leaned toward her and whispered. "I once brought a frog to dinner and released it during the final course."

Constantine turned wide eyes on him. "You didn't," she exclaimed.

He gave a firm nod. "I most certainlydid. And what's more, the creature jumped directly into my sister's lap, sending her running neck-or-nothing from the table."

"Haha." Constantine brought her hand to her lips to stop her laughter. She should blush and show remiss for her unladylike outburst. But somehow, she was not embarrassed at in the least.

Enthralled, she set her fork aside and turned slightly toward Lord Gulliver. "Tell me more. How old were you? Did you get in trouble?" she asked, one eyebrow arched curiously.

Before he could answer, the Viscountess's voice filled the dining room. "Ladies, do join me in the parlor while the men enjoy their brandy."

Constantine sighed as she stood, then stilled at Lord Gulliver's slight touch to her wrist. She met his sapphire gaze, her lips slightly parted in shock. No man had ever touched her so boldly—so intimately.

"I will answer your questions the next time our paths cross." He dropped his hand from her wrist and turned away, a mischievous smile curling his lips.

Constantine had the sudden urge to ensure their paths crossed sooner rather than later.