The Seduction Of Lady Constance (Returning Grooms #1)

Prologue

The ballroom glittered like a jewel box, every inch shimmering with elegance and opulence. Light from the chandeliers cascaded over the velvet drapes and polished marble floors, casting a glow that seemed to hold the promise of magic and romance. Lady Constance Rivers stood near the edge of the crowd, her pale blue gown a breath of summer amidst the rich colors surrounding her. Her fingers fluttered nervously over the delicate lace at her neckline, anticipation thrumming through her veins.

Tonight was meant to be perfect. Her engagement to Sylvester Sinclair, Lord Ramson, had been the talk of the season—a baron of enviable fortune and dazzling charm, his proposal had marked Constance as one of the most fortunate young women in London. The thought of his warm gaze and handsome smile sent a pleasant shiver through her. She was sure that the surprise he hinted at earlier would only solidify the certainty of their future together.

As the evening progressed, Constance found herself searching for Sylvester among the crowd. At last, she spotted him standing in a circle of gentlemen, his easy laughter floating over the sound of music and conversation. She moved closer, her heart lifting at the sight of him, but as she approached, his words drifted to her ears—a careless statement that froze her in place.

“It was an easy bet to win,” Sylvester said, his voice laced with a lazy drawl. “Constance was all too eager to believe in my affections. A little charm, a few well-placed compliments… women like her always fall for the fantasy.”

The men around him chuckled, and one of them clapped him on the back. “So, is there to be a wedding after all?” the man asked. “Or is it time to collect your winnings and bow out?”

Constance’s breath caught in her throat, but Sylvester only shrugged, his tone indifferent as he replied, “A wedding? God, no. The engagement was merely a means to an end. I’ve never had any intention of tying myself down to a girl like that. She was a diversion, nothing more.”

The truth in his words struck her like a physical blow. Constance felt her face drain of color, her vision narrowing to a blur around the edges. This was no casual jest or cruel jesting—it was a confession. He had pursued her, won her heart, not out of love or even respect, but for the sake of some petty wager. She could scarcely believe that the man she had believed to be her future husband had taken such pleasure in her humiliation.

She took a step back, then another, her slippered feet light on the polished floor as if some unseen force were pulling her away from him. Her pulse roared in her ears, and she wanted nothing more than to escape the confines of the ballroom and its glittering illusions.

But before she could make her retreat, the music faded and Sylvester stepped forward, lifting a hand to command the attention of the room. A hush fell over the crowd as the guests turned toward him, their faces alight with curiosity and expectation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice resonating with practiced charm, “I must beg your indulgence. There has been a change in my plans regarding Lady Constance Rivers.”

Constance’s blood turned to ice as he continued, his tone devoid of any sentimentality or regret. “After careful consideration, I have decided to dissolve our engagement.”

A murmur of shock rippled through the gathering, but Sylvester pressed on, his gaze sweeping over the assembled guests without once resting on her. “I wish her no ill will, of course. However, I believe that this is in both of our best interests.”

The room tilted, the very air turning thin and brittle around Constance. She stood rooted in place, barely able to comprehend the cruelty of his words. Sylvester had not only shattered her trust but had done so publicly, without the faintest hint of remorse. He had taken something precious from her—her dignity, her reputation—and cast it aside as though it were nothing.

Whispers erupted like a swarm of bees, buzzing through the ballroom, and Constance, struggling to breathe, finally turned and fled. She did not look back, nor did she care where she was headed, only that she needed to escape the crushing weight of the betrayal. Tears pricked her eyes as she stumbled into the cool darkness of the garden, away from the prying eyes and merciless gossip.

She had believed herself to be falling in love. Instead, she had been falling into a trap laid by a man whose heart was as cold and glittering as the diamonds that adorned his coat. And in that moment, she vowed to herself that Sylvester Sinclair would not have the final word. If he thought she would simply fade into obscurity, ruined and helpless, he had gravely underestimated her.