Constantine’s fingers clenched around the stem of his wineglass as she tossed back her head, arching that lovely throat. Candlelight caught in the lovely arrangement of her hair, gilding it like fire.

Prentiss could not be funny. Impossible. He had never been amsuing as a lad. He’d been a fussy sort, never one to play games or run about outside with the rest of the children. He also had a penchant for snitching on all their activities, right or wrong, to the headmaster. It had never been originated from any moral sense of justice either. He was merely about currying favor with those in authority.

Constantine did not trust Prentiss then and he did not trust him now. Especially not with the way he was looking at Nora.

The man drank deeply from his glass of wine as Nora talked. He licked the red from his fleshy lips, staring at Nora’s much-displayed cleavage like that was the meal he preferred to be devouring.

Nora was moving her hands a great deal in that way she always did when she talked. It was particularly mesmerizing tonight—her flashing hands in front of the generous swells of her breasts.

He wished to grab her hands and hold them in place—or gouge Prentiss’s eyes so he would cease to ogle her.

No. More than that.

He wanted to grab her and haul her from the room. He longed to strip her gown off her body and bury his face in those breasts, to find and taste her nipples, to discover their look and texture, to watch her writhe under him as he buried his cock deep inside her sweet quim.

It was a wholly animal reaction. Perhaps the tonic had not dispelled entirely? Except he knew that to be only a weak excuse. He’d taken it long ago. It’s power over him had long faded.

Her power over him, however, had not. He wondered if it ever would.

“Mr. Sinclair? Constantine?”

He tore his attention from Nora where she sat down the length of table. Lady Elise stared at him patiently, a kindly smile on her lips.

“Yes?”

“I was asking if you do not care for the fish?” She nodded to his untouched plate. He’d forgotten even placing the wedge of fish on his plate.

“I . . . no.” He picked up his neglected fork. “I quite enjoy it.” Then, unable to help himself, his gaze strayed to Nora again.

“Miss Langley looks lovely tonight, does she not?”

He snapped his gaze back to the woman to whom he should be devoting all his attention. “Ah. I had not noticed.”

She laughed softly, almost inaudibly, and reached for her glass with a shake of her head. Just before she brought the edge of her glass to her lips, he thought he heard her whisper.

Liar.