Kitabı oku: «Regency Rogues: Wicked Seduction: Her Enemy at the Altar / That Despicable Rogue»

Chapter Two

Aaron had seen her face change almost imperceptibly just before she had hurried out of the ballroom and found himself watching the Marquis of Deal with downright disgust. Whilst it hardly mattered to him that Lady Constance was marrying a libertine, he could not help feeling a little exasperated at the man’s behaviour. To consort openly with another woman when your fiancée was in the same room was worse than poor form, in his opinion, especially when the woman you were consorting with did not hold a candle to the one you were apparently betrothed to.

Constance Stuart might well be snooty, disdainful and disapproving towards him, that was only to be expected when they shared such an unfortunate history. But to others she was always the epitome of what a proper lady should be. Yes, she might well be aloof and in possession of one of the sharpest tongues in Christendom, but she had a way of carrying herself that set her apart from so many of the other young women of the ton. And with her height and willowy figure and all of that red hair, she was certainly distinguished. Added to that was her obvious intelligence and innate grace, combined with a rare and spectacular smile that lit up the room. Not that she ever bestowed it on him, of course, nor could he conceive that she would ever have cause to, but he could imagine that such a smile must make the recipient of it feel as if the most glorious sunrise had been created only for him to enjoy. Yet Deal preferred to humiliate the girl by fawning over the Rothman chit. And Aaron had never met a more scheming, manipulative and shallow creature in all of his life than Penelope.

Remembering his purpose, he turned back towards Violet Garfield and feigned interest. If he was going to propose to the girl, he had to at least appear to care about whatever it was she was currently wittering on about. Two hours into the ball and already he could feel his mask slipping. Being Aaron Wincanton was becoming exhausting.

Once upon a time being the charming and slightly mischievous rogue had come as naturally to him as breathing, but he had left that effervescent young man behind somewhere on a battlefield in Spain and he doubted they would ever cross paths again. The new Aaron Wincanton found no joy in balls or parties, nor did he find it in intimate gatherings or quiet solitary contemplation either. He did not deserve to feel joy any more. Most of the time he felt burdened. The rest of the time, if he was lucky, he just felt numb. He caught Violet looking at him as if she expected him to say something. He had not been listening and he did not want to offend her. Out of habit he turned on the charm. ‘Violet, when I am with you I wish the minutes were hours and the hours were days.’ They certainly felt like that.

As he had expected, the inane platitude worked wonders and she started to chatter afresh, with such gusto that all he had to do was listen and nod. A few seconds later and Aaron found his mind wandering again—it made him feel quite unsettled. He had hoped that he could convince himself that he might be content with Violet. There was no doubting that she was very pretty, which was a bonus, but much as he liked her poor Violet bored him senseless. Unfortunately, she was also an heiress—with a staggeringly large dowry—so beggars, like him, could not be choosers. The estate needed funds fast and his father wanted him to start producing the next generation of Wincantons while he was still alive to see it. Therefore, Aaron needed to step up and propose to Violet. And he needed to do it tonight.

But before he did, Aaron definitely needed a bit of peace and little Dutch courage. With nothing stronger than ratafia at the refreshment table he excused himself from the conversation and wandered out of the ballroom to see if he could find something suitably fortifying to drink alone elsewhere.

At the furthest end of the darkened hallway he found the empty library. Empty, except for the full brandy decanter and the one solitary redhead sat on an immense sofa and staring sightlessly into the fireplace. For a moment he considered turning around and looking elsewhere for sanctuary. The very last thing he needed was a dressing down from Lady Constance Stuart, even if he hoped that such encounters would eventually lead to an introduction to her brother, when he would broker the idea of an end to the silly feud that threatened to bankrupt him. His nerves were shot as it was and he needed a rest before he forced himself to become Aaron Wincanton again. But something about the way she sat, with her shoulders uncharacteristically slumped, made him dither. Perhaps they both needed the comfort of a sparring match this evening?

‘How clever of you, Connie,’ he said to vex her, ‘to find a place where we will not be disturbed.’

Her startled head whipped around and Aaron thought he saw tears shimmering in her green eyes but, if he had, she covered them quickly with her usual frostiness. The shocked expression dissolved into a harsh frown instantly.

‘You are like a bad smell, Mr Wincanton, which always seems to follow me around.’ She stood stiffly and glared. ‘I was hoping that, for once, you would leave me in peace.’

‘And where would the entertainment be in that? I look forward to our little exchanges, Connie. I find your disdain refreshing when I am so admired by all wherever I go.’

‘So you seek me out for your entertainment, then? Does your father know that you regularly converse with a Stuart?’

‘No more than your father knows that you engage in discourse with a vile Wincanton, I will wager.’ Aaron gave her a cheeky wink because he knew that nobody else ever dared to flirt with her and he watched her eyes narrow in annoyance.

‘But I do not seek you out, Mr Wincanton. That is the difference. I could happily go to the grave and never exchange another word with you. Therefore, I must conclude that I must hold a particular fascination, or pose a particular challenge, to you. Does it bother you that I am immune to your flirtatious charms? Does my obvious distaste wound your frail ego?’

She gave him a withering look that only spurred him on further. When she was riled those green eyes hardened to cold emeralds and her red hair crackled copper in the firelight. It was a sight to see and one that might send a lesser man running for the hills. But Aaron was made of stern stuff. He had fought Napoleon, for goodness sake, so he could survive a war of words with this fiery redhead. Besides he had an ulterior motive that he could not ignore. He needed to improve relations to put an end to the costly feud between their two families, and so far Constance Stuart was the only Stuart who would deign to speak to him. ‘Why don’t you admit it, Connie? You find my persistence exciting. Too many men treat you like a marble statue with their dull politeness, the rest bore you because they are terrified of your sharp tongue. But I am different. I make your blood run hot. I suspect I might even fire your passions.’

The man was as mad as he was insufferable. In a strange way Connie was grateful that he was here. She could take out all of her hurt and anger on him. At least then she would not feel so utterly despondent and powerless. ‘Do not flatter yourself, Mr Wincanton. You fire my temper, not my passions.’

‘How many times must I ask you to call me Aaron? After all the jolly conversations we have shared these last two months, surely it is time that we dropped the formalities, Connie?’

He knew perfectly well that her name was always Constance—her father disliked informality of any sort—and that she would never, ever give him permission to use it. He was also the only person in the universe who ever shortened her name to Connie. She despised his familiarity even though she quite liked the name. ‘In case it has escaped your notice, Mr Wincanton, we are mortal enemies. Have you forgotten the fact that the Stuarts and the Wincantons have been at loggerheads for nigh on three hundred years?’

‘We have? I confess I have forgotten what all of the fuss is about now. Why should we care about an argument that happened almost three hundred years ago? I would prefer to hold out an olive branch and declare a truce.’

‘Indeed. And I suppose we should simply brush under the carpet the despicable behaviour of your father, only a few years back, where he swindled mine out of land that should rightfully have been his?’

He merely brushed that away with his hand. ‘A misunderstanding, Connie. Nothing more.’

At times his irreverence did amuse her, not that she would ever let him see that. Nobody ever spoke to her like Aaron Wincanton did. No one else dared. ‘Then there is the unfortunate incident that occurred between our grandfathers. What did your foul grandfather do to mine again?’ She tapped her chin as if in deep thought. ‘Ah, yes! Now I remember. He shot him dead in a duel on Hampstead Heath.’

‘To be fair, my grandfather only did that after your grandfather seduced his wife. And it was a proper duel with rules and seconds. It is hardly my fault that your grandfather did not have the good sense to try to dodge the bullet.’

Connie waved away his warped logic. ‘Such things cannot be overlooked. If my father caught me talking to you, he would disown me. Yet here you are again, Mr Wincanton. Bothering me.’

It had been like this for the entire Season. Ever since he had returned from Waterloo, in a blaze of glory, he had sought her out. Despite the bitter and long-running feud between their two families, the Stuarts and the Wincantons had managed to co-exist in society very well by pretending that the other side simply did not exist—despite the fact that their ancestral estates were right next door to each other. They were always invited to the same functions and happily imagined the other to be invisible when in a social setting. Society understood this perfectly. Thus, there were never any public scenes and there was certainly never any attempts at conversation. It was a system that worked very well because it had been that way for centuries. Until now.

Unfortunately, Aaron Wincanton, heir to the house of Ardleigh and all-round blackguard, had no respect for tradition. It had been two months ago when he had first started to speak to her—and to her alone. It was never done openly, of course, or in front of any member of her family or his. But at every function he managed to catch her by herself at some point, no matter how much she tried to avoid it, and each time he did he would flirt a little and try and make her smile. Sometimes he would be loitering near the retiring room just as she came out, other times he would find her in an alcove or he would appear behind a potted palm or at her elbow at the refreshment table. And now he was here, in this remote library where she had sought sanctuary, and he had almost seen her cry. That was a situation Connie found the most intolerable.

Yet he merely shrugged in response, as if all of that bad blood did not matter, and then fixed her with his unusual and intense gaze. Unusual because only when you were up close could you see that his eyes were almost russet brown surrounded by a ring of dark, melted chocolate. Those eyes could be very unsettling at times, as if they saw too much. ‘Has it occurred to you, Connie, that our situation might be similar to that of the Montagues and Capulets? History might dictate that we be enemies, but apparently fate wants us to be friends—or perhaps more than friends?’

‘You are aware, Mr Wincanton, that Romeo and Juliet are fictitious and therefore not really pertinent to our situation? But as I recall, things ended very badly for both Romeo and Juliet because they did not listen to their fathers, so perhaps they should have ignored the will of fate, as you put it. The ending might have turned out very different if they had simply let things be. However, you do seem to be missing the point. Juliet welcomed Romeo’s attentions. I do not welcome yours. And in case it has escaped your notice, Mr Wincanton, I am engaged to be married and happy to be so.’

‘How can you be happy to be marrying a man who has shown more attention to Penelope Rothman this evening than he has to you?’ As soon as the words came out of his mouth Aaron regretted them. He felt even worse when he saw her frown turn into an expression of raw pain before she attempted to cover it. ‘I am sorry, Connie. That was uncalled for. I apologise unreservedly.’

‘Pay it no mind,’ she said with a shrug of bravado that did not ring quite true. ‘The Marquis of Deal has had a little too much to drink this evening and Penelope Rothman is trying to incite my jealousy, and failing. It must be quite galling for her to lose her most favoured suitor to the Ginger Amazonian.’

She looked him dead in the eye as she said this and saw him wince. He still felt guilty about calling her that, more so that the nickname had stuck. But he had been young and foolish back then and she had dented his pride. He had never meant for her to ever hear it. Or for her father to respond with such malice. It had come as quite a shock to come back from years of fighting Napoleon to see how dire the situation between their two families had become. His own father had become so obsessed with the feud that he had almost bled the estate dry in his attempts to get revenge on Connie’s father.

‘For what it is worth, I am sorry that I called you that, too.’

She gave him a regal and cold smile that did not touch her eyes and stood slowly. At her full height her face was almost level with his. The woman must be close to six feet in height, he mused, as she loomed in front of him, perhaps a little more. ‘I can assure you, Mr Wincanton, that I have never really given it a passing thought.’

Then, to the apparent and total horror of both of them, she promptly burst into tears right there in front of him.

Aaron felt like a total cad. At a loss as to what else to do with a crying woman who was evidently not usually prone to crying, he rushed towards her and pulled her into his arms. ‘There, there, Connie,’ he murmured ineffectively as she buried her face into his neck and wept noisily, ‘I genuinely am sorry for calling you an Amazonian. It was most ungentlemanly of me.’

‘I am not crying because of that, you idiot!’ Her brief flash of anger was still peppered with tears, but it did make him feel better. At least this rare and noisy display of emotion was not specifically directed at him. The poor girl was clearly upset at Deal’s callous behaviour.

‘I am sure Deal’s flirting means nothing,’ he said, not believing his own words. Deal was a shameless philanderer and one who liked to brag about his many conquests.

‘Hardly nothing. It means that he prefers her charms to mine,’ she sobbed. ‘And who can blame him? Penelope is so beautiful. Everyone says so. And I am pale and plain in comparison, with hideous freckles and my figure is as flat as a washboard. And I have all of this ghastly carrot-coloured hair.’

Clearly, he had inadvertently kicked a hornet’s nest. Aaron could feel her slim shoulders shaking as she wept and felt the most peculiar urge to hunt the Marquis of Deal down and give him a well-deserved punch on the nose. ‘For a start your hair is glorious. Your skin is not pale, as such. Think of it more as alabaster. The freckles on your nose are quite delightful. Really they are. I have never understood why freckles are considered unbecoming. And you are not as flat as a washboard. You have a lovely figure.’ He could feel the gentle flare of her hips beneath his hands and there was definitely something interesting pressed against his chest that his body was responding to—against his better judgement and his black mood. What on earth was the matter with him? This was Constance Stuart. Constance Stuart.

Connie lifted her face from his shoulder and looked at him through puffy eyes, her expression the very picture of anguish. ‘If I am so lovely, then why has he not even tried to kiss me? Answer me that. We are engaged after all.’ She looked positively distraught. ‘The man finds me repulsive. He has as good as said so.’

Further proof that Deal was a blasted idiot, Aaron realised. She felt splendid in his arms. It was nice to be able to look a woman in the eye, for once, rather than have to look down at her. Connie was a pleasant armful of woman who apparently fitted against his big body perfectly. And she had a brain. Nobody could ever claim that Constance Stuart was a dullard. Sparring with her was always one of the highlights of any ball. The sultry smell of roses tantalised his nostrils and overwhelmed his senses, giving him ideas that he had not had in a very long time. How on earth did Deal resist her? Her full mouth was all red and swollen and positively ripe for kissing. If she were his fiancée he would not be able to stop himself... Before he could think about it, Aaron dipped his head and did just that.

The moment his lips touched hers he quite forgot everything else. She sucked in a breath of surprise at his impertinence, but did not push him away, so he brushed his lips over hers again. And again. His arms wrapped around her possessively and he pulled her closer still. Initially, she stood stock still, then he felt her breath catch. But then her lips opened slightly and she sighed. When she pressed her mouth tentatively against his, Aaron lost all sense of reason and kissed her like a starving man.

Kissing Aaron Wincanton was nothing like she expected kissing to be. Not only did she feel it on her lips, but she felt it in her legs as well. They were oddly unsteady. A million tiny goose bumps appeared all over her body and every nerve ending tingled involuntarily with awareness and need. Connie did not notice the passing of time or exactly when the kiss changed into something more visceral, but one moment she was stood in his arms upset and the next she was almost reclined on the sofa, her hands fisted in his dark hair and his large, warm palm sliding over the silk of her stockings until it rested scandalously on the bare skin above her garter. It felt glorious to be wanted this way and by a man who had no interest in her dowry or her prospects.

He was kissing her.

Connie.

And she could tell by the way his breathing was ragged and how his heart hammered against his ribs that he was as lost in the kiss as she was. The feelings and sensations created by this intense passion was so unexpected, so overwhelming, that she was transported by it all to a place that she had never been and never wanted to leave. Finally, she was attractive and desirable to someone. She felt beautiful and womanly and alive.

She had not heard the library door open nor had she heard several people pile in until it was too late.

‘What the hell is going on here?’

The angry voice of the Marquis of Deal had her sitting up and pushing Aaron unceremoniously to the floor while she did her best to put her skirts to rights. Her father stared at her coldly from her fiancé’s left and a very smug-looking Penelope Rothman stood at his right.

‘This is not what it looks like,’ Connie stuttered wide-eyed and frantically glanced at Aaron for support. His face was taut as he stood up, but he said nothing as he helped her to her feet.

‘Your daughter has been compromised.’ Deal turned to her father in disgust. ‘I will not have her now.’

Her father turned back to her with something akin to hatred burning in his usually cold eyes. ‘You have disgraced our family, Constance!’

Connie felt nauseous, dizzy, the floor having been completely ripped from beneath her feet, and totally stunned. How could this be happening to her? Several other guests began to spill into the room to watch the dreadful scene unfold and she could hear more outside, shouting for others to come, too. Among their number she recognised her younger brother, Henry, and her mother. Both of their faces were pale with shock. Her mother looked close to tears. Behind them came Aaron’s father, Viscount Ardleigh, the assembled crowd parting like the Red Sea as he entered the room.

No doubt he saw his son’s dishevelled hair and the undone buttons of his coat. Connie did not want to think about how she appeared to their audience—but if it was anything like Aaron then she suspected she looked completely wanton and guilty of acting upon those urges with unbridled enthusiasm. One heavy lock of her shocking red hair hung guiltily against her cheek where he had removed the pins that held it. All around her, women were whispering behind their fans with outraged glee.

The oldest Wincanton took in the scene slowly. After an age his eyes rested upon his eldest son. ‘Well played, Aaron,’ he said with a note of pride. ‘And I thought you did not have it in you.’ Then he threw back his head and began to laugh.

Chapter Three

Connie had a vague recollection of being ushered out of the ballroom. She remembered the carriage ride home with perfect clarity, though. It had been terrible. Her mother had sat in brittle, terrified silence, her brother Henry had been pale and stunned. Her father had been incandescent with rage, spitting out profanity after profanity as he railed against her with more force than usual. In the end, his rantings all boiled down to one thing: he thought her a stupid, ungrateful whore and she was dead to him. She was to pack her bags and leave in the morning and never darken his door again. Even now, several hours later, Connie still felt numb. One ridiculous and ill-conceived moment of weakness and her life was in ruins and she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do or where she was going to go.

As soon as they had returned home, a maid had been sent up to her room to help pack her things and then left her to sleep. Two trunks and a bag were now stacked in the corner of her bedchamber, but Connie had not slept. She had spent most of the night relieving the awful events and could still not understand how it had all gone so horribly wrong. But she was very clear who was responsible.

Aaron Wincanton.

He had purposefully taken advantage of her when she had been vulnerable in some petty act of revenge. The man had clearly gone out of his way to ruin her.

A maid knocked on the door timidly. ‘You are required in his lordship’s study, my lady. I am told to tell you not to dally.’

It was barely past dawn and already her father wished her gone. With a heavy heart, Connie stood and made her way downstairs. The study door was closed so she tapped upon it before entering. Her father had never appreciated being interrupted at the best of times and now was definitely not that. His voice was curter and colder than usual. ‘Enter.’

‘You wished to see me, Father?’ Connie looked down at her hands rather than see the disappointment in his eyes. Even so, his next words were brutal.

‘Do not refer to me as that again. As far as I am concerned I have no daughter.’

Connie’s eyes snapped up and only then did she notice Aaron Wincanton standing stiffly in the furthest corner of the room. She could not work out what emotion was clouding his eyes as he walked towards her and neither did she care. Automatically, her hands curled into angry fists at her side. Were the Wincantons so callous that one of them had to witness her entire ruination? ‘What is he doing here?’

Her father did not look at him. ‘He has come to request your hand in marriage and, under the circumstances, I have granted it.’

‘I will not marry him. I hate him!’ Connie spat the last words directly in her despoiler’s face.

‘That is as may be,’ her father continued, sounding bored with the entire conversation, ‘but your mother prefers that I do not throw you on to the streets, so this solution suits us well enough. You made your bed, Constance, when you lifted yours skirts for him.’

‘I did not—’

Her father cut her off with a raised hand. ‘Half of the ballroom witnessed it. Whether you did, or did not, consummate the act makes no difference. That you would allow this...this...’ his head whipped towards Aaron for the first time and regarded him with absolute disgust ‘...this Wincanton to touch you when I had arranged the perfect union between you and Deal, it beggars belief. But you did and now you must live with the shame and the consequences. He has arranged a special licence and the pair of you will be married within the hour.’

Connie felt her legs give way and staggered backwards to steady herself on the arm of the sofa. ‘No! You cannot make me. I am past the age of majority. You cannot force me to marry anyone that I do not choose to.’

‘Yes, I can, Constance! The alternative is I throw you out on to the streets with nothing but the clothes that you stand up in.’

‘I would rather that than marry a Wincanton.’ Connie stalked to the door, refusing to look at either her father or him. Both men were vile.

‘Then do so on the understanding that I will toss your mother out alongside you. If she had done a better job of chaperoning you, then this would never have happened. You have always been as wilful and difficult as you are unattractive—and she has always given you far more credit than you were due. I have no intention of listening to her bleeding-heart pleas for your safety and I hold her equally as responsible for the disgrace that has been brought on to our family by your actions.’

Connie turned to her father in abject disbelief and met his stony stare with one of her own. Was the man truly serious? Surely he was bluffing? Was he truly callous enough to throw them both out in order to get his own way?

Bile rose in her throat when she realised that he was. The Earl of Redbridge’s word was always law and, in matters concerning the feud between the Stuarts and Wincantons, that law was cast iron. Both her mother and she were inconsequential. As long as he had an heir to pass it all on to her father would be content. Connie risked a glance at Aaron. He was still watching her intently, his jaw set and his dark eyes angry, but she did not know if that anger was directed at her or her father.

‘Then bring in the priest and let us get this travesty over with.’ Connie was beaten. He could see it in her eyes. It was as if all of the light had gone out of them. She might be brave and bold for herself, but her loyalty to her mother was too strong to ignore. Aaron wondered what that bond felt like. His own mother had died shortly after giving birth to him so he had never grown up with the unconditional love of at least one parent. His own father and the Earl of Redbridge had a great deal in common and both were apparently hard on their children. He had almost stepped in to defend Connie, but realised that her father would likely throw them both on to the street immediately and if that happened she would never marry him. He could not leave her to the harshness of such a life on her own.

Connie’s father marched to the door and spoke quietly with a footman, so Aaron took the opportunity to speak to her.

‘It will be all right, Connie. I promise,’ he whispered quietly as he gently clasped her hand with his own. She snatched it away as if she had been burned.

‘Do not touch me! I despise you, Aaron Wincanton. That will never change.’

Whilst the words hurt he could not blame her for them. This whole, sorry situation was all his fault. He should never have gone into the library in the first place. He had made her cry. And he had instigated the kiss that had ruined her. No wonder she hated him. He hated himself as well—but that was nothing new. He was supposed to have proposed marriage to Violet Garfield and saved the future of the Wincanton estate. Instead he had made another huge mess and ruined yet another innocent person’s life.

From the moment his father had patted him on the back in front of that room full of people, and congratulated him for getting one over on the Stuarts, Aaron had vowed to make amends for this latest transgression. But when he had seen Connie stumble out of that library with her life in ruins, the guilt he had felt had been so overpowering that he could barely stand in the same room as himself.

‘I knew my heir would not let me down,’ his father had crowed when they were finally left alone. ‘Now no man will want her.’

Aaron recognised the truth in those words. Society was fickle and the transgressions of a woman would never be overlooked. If he did not make it right, then Connie would be shunned and doomed to an empty life of spinsterhood. ‘I will marry her,’ he had suddenly declared.

‘You will not. I forbid it. I will not have my bloodline sullied with a Stuart!’

‘It cannot be helped. I ruined the girl. It is my responsibility to marry her.’ Aaron went to walk to the door.

‘It is not your responsibility. The world is full of ruined women who should have known better. Once the dust has settled you could still propose to Violet Garfield. You are too good a catch for her to ignore.’

For the briefest of moments Aaron seriously considered the wisdom of his father’s words. Violet Garfield’s money could save them. Just as quickly he discarded the thought. He might well be a Wincanton, but the army had taught him about his responsibilities. It was his duty to do right by Connie. He had wronged her and he would not let her pay the terrible price alone. Aaron had ruined enough peoples’ lives already, he did not need another on his conscience. The guilt from all of his previous sins was already too heavy to bear.

‘I will offer myself as Constance Stuart’s husband and let her decide.’ He sincerely hoped she would turn him down—despite her unfortunate family connections she deserved a better man than him, but it had to be her choice.

‘If you do, then I will...’

‘You will what, Father?’ It was a familiar threat that he had lost patience with long ago. ‘You cannot disinherit me. The estate is entailed. You can throw me out until you die, which we both know will happen sooner rather than later, and I will survive well enough until then.’ Aaron stalked towards his father and loomed over him. ‘Take comfort that I inadvertently ruined a Stuart, Father. It is the only satisfaction that I will allow you to take from this whole sorry mess.’ Aaron turned to leave.

‘You are soft, like your mother. She had no backbone either. But, as I have always said, bad bitch—bad pup. And now you would bring another bad bitch into our house.’

Aaron spun around and practically growled into his father’s face. ‘If Connie will have me, then she will be my wife by tomorrow and you will treat her with the respect that position deserves. I promised you a grandson within the year. What difference does it make whose belly he comes from?’

He had stepped away then, frightened by his own need to cause the man who had sired him physical pain, and had stalked out into the street in search of a cleric senior enough to issue him with a special licence. Only then did he seek out her father. He had been surprised that the man had so readily agreed—but now, seeing the way the earl treated his only daughter, he was not surprised at all. The earl was determined to make Connie pay for the shame she had brought down upon their family. To add insult to injury, the Earl of Redbridge only agreed to the match if Aaron agreed to take her without a penny—which of course he had. He might desperately need the money, but that was hardly Connie’s fault. What better way to make her pay than to make her marry the enemy and disown her completely? Like his own father, the Earl of Redbridge was so fuelled with bitterness and hatred from the feud that he could not see past his own nose. Both men were tyrants. Both men made his flesh crawl.

Connie was now sat hunched on the sofa, looking defeated and disgusted in equal measure. Aaron had no idea what to say to her, so he sat in a chair close by and waited. Neither spoke. What was there to say? They were doomed to be stuck with one another now and neither one of them wanted to be with the other. Fortunately, they did not have to wait long. A very nervous-looking vicar arrived. He blinked awkwardly at the pair of them through the lenses of his thick spectacles. ‘May I see the licence?’

Aaron handed it over and the man scanned it quickly. ‘Everything appears to be in order. However, I cannot help but notice that the two of you do not look quite so keen.’ He was peering kindly at Connie, but it was her father who answered him.

‘That is simply natural bridal nerves. My daughter is as keen as I am to begin the wedding formalities.’

The priest did not look convinced and was still looking from Aaron to Connie with concern. ‘We will need some witnesses.’

‘They are waiting in the next room,’ the Earl of Redbridge said curtly. ‘I shall fetch them and you can get it over with.’ He walked towards the door and then slowly turned back and spoke to Aaron directly as if his daughter was not there at all. ‘I shall not be returning. Once the ceremony is over with, get that girl out of my house. I wash my hands of her. She is your problem now. And she will be a problem. She always has been.’ And with that he left.

‘It might be prudent to wait a bit.’ The priest rested his hand gently on the back of Connie’s. ‘Perhaps in a few days all will seem clearer. This marriage is particularly fast.’

She shook her head without looking at the man and then retreated back into herself. Several ashen-faced servants filed in and stood uncomfortably in the room. Connie stood next to Aaron stiffly, staring off into space and struggling not to cry.

‘Do you, Constance Elizabeth Mary Stuart, take this man, Aaron Phillip Arthur George Wincanton, to be your lawfully wedded husband?’

Aaron held his breathe until Connie nodded once.

‘I need you to say the words, Lady Constance.’

There was a long pause. Aaron watched her hands fist at her sides and a myriad of emotions cross her face. After an age she turned to him with an expression of complete hatred.

‘I do.’

She mumbled the rest of her vows as if in a trance. In his haste, Aaron had forgotten to buy a ring and was forced to use his own signet ring as a wedding band. It swamped her delicate fingers and looked completely wrong on her hand, as he supposed he did too. Everything about this marriage was wrong. At best they were strangers, at worst sworn enemies.

As the first rays of the sun filtered into the study the vicar declared them man and wife. He did not suggest that Aaron should kiss his bride. Even the vicar realised that Connie would rather kill him than kiss him. But it was done. What had possessed him to follow her into that library last night he could not say, only now they both had an entire lifetime to regret his impulsive decision.

‘Come, Connie,’ he said with a sigh of resignation, ‘it is time to go.’

Chapter Four

Aaron did not sit in the carriage with her as they travelled directly to Ardleigh Manor, instead he rode his horse alongside. While she was grateful that he had the good sense to realise that she really had nothing whatsoever to say to him, and probably never would have, it meant that she was left alone with her own thoughts and fears for hours on end.

Ardleigh Manor.

Whilst she had seen it almost every day of her life from her bedchamber window, the Wincanton estate was completely unfamiliar to her. It might well neighbour her father’s land, but that might as well be the moon now, it was so far away. She was completely and irrefutably estranged from her family. Her father had made that quite clear. Never again would she while away the hours chatting to her brother, Henry, or her mother, nor would she ride her own beloved horse again, nor would she experience the comfort, smells and cosiness of her childhood home. Although she doubted that she would miss her father—she had been a disappointment to him from the moment she had been born—each of those losses was a cruel blow. Connie felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest and shredded, and there was not a thing she could do about it. She felt raw and broken, wronged and ashamed.

And so very angry that she felt as if she might burst from the way it boiled and curdled in her gut. She had let her mask slip in front of Aaron Wincanton, of all people. The man who had cursed her with that dreadful nickname, had seen how much it had hurt her, how it continued to hurt her because she had never been the kind of woman that men fancied, and that the only husband she could get was either bought or trapped into marriage.

Connie heard the sound of gravel under the wheels of the carriage and forced herself to look out of the window at her new home. Up close, Ardleigh Manor was larger than she had realised. The symmetrical, classically designed front appeared stark white against the night sky, the windows glowing warmly with candlelight. If it had belonged to any other family than the vile Wincantons, she might have considered the house pleasing to look at, rather than menacing, but as the carriage came to slow stop outside Connie physically steeled herself to go inside.

An austere butler and a small round housekeeper stood waiting just outside the open front door. Connie rudely ignored her husband’s proffered hand and made her own way down the short steps to the floor, all the while staring up at the enormous double-front door looming menacingly from ahead. To all intents and purposes those doors represented the gates of Hell, although in this scenario Ardleigh Manor was Hell and Aaron Wincanton was the Devil incarnate. Connie had no idea if she was a lost soul or a genuine sinner. The truth was she was likely a bit of both. Aaron had instigated her ruination, but she had welcomed his touch, silly desperate fool that she was. It was galling to have to acknowledge her part in the incident, but she would not meekly accept her fate. Aaron Wincanton would rue the day he had used her to get revenge. Of that, she was certain.

The stern butler stepped forward. ‘On behalf of the staff, may I offer you our congratulations, Mr Aaron? I am Deaks. This is Mrs Poole. Welcome to Ardleigh Manor, Lady Constance.’

It was the first time she had been referred to as a Wincanton and hearing her new name made Connie feel queasy. Out of ingrained politeness she inclined her head towards the servant. It was hardly his fault that she was here.

‘I have prepared the suite of rooms that you requested, Mr Aaron. I hope they meet your satisfaction, Lady Constance. There is also a light supper ready if you are hungry.’

Connie shook her head and then remembered her manners again. ‘Thank you, but I am not hungry. Mr Deaks... Mrs Poole.’

‘It has been a long day,’ Aaron interjected, ‘If you could have my wife’s luggage brought up, Deaks, I believe she would prefer an early night.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ The butler turned to Connie with a smile and she knew exactly what was coming. ‘Excuse my impertinence, madam, but you are tall, aren’t you?’ Mrs Poole, to her credit, rolled her eyes at this and nudged him unsubtly in the ribs.

Connie glared at him in response until he withered. Usually she would endure the crass stating of the obvious with a brittle smile. Tonight she did not have the strength. Aaron stepped in and rescued the butler from the frigid atmosphere she had created. ‘Thank you, Deaks, Mrs Poole. That will be all.’ The butler bowed stiffly and then stood to one side.

Without touching her, Aaron guided Connie into the house and up an ornate and sweeping marble staircase. ‘I am sure that you are finding all of this very daunting. I know I am.’ He smiled at her a little awkwardly. His face fell when she remained stoically silent. ‘I have put you in my mother’s old rooms. They look over the gardens. Attached is a small sitting room. I thought you might appreciate a little privacy whilst you become familiar with your new home.’

They were walking to the end of a long hallway. Aaron opened the double doors and stepped back to allow her to go inside first. The feminine parlour was actually very pretty. A roaring fire had been set in the fireplace, around which were arrange a cheerful old-fashioned sofa covered in boldly striped satin brocade and two comfortable matching chairs. The walls were papered in a subtle lemon-coloured stripe while a large picture window dominated the wall. Connie nodded, grateful that she would have a place where she could sit away from this awful family. Away from the man who knew that she hated being tall and ugly. The man who had seen her cry. The man who had married her out of pity when no one else would because she was so unattractive.

‘I have arranged for my father to stay in London for the next week so that you can settle in.’ Aaron might have told the old man to stay away, but there was no guarantee that he would comply. ‘As the new mistress of Ardleigh Manor, some of the staff will expect to take instructions from you. Mrs Poole will introduce you to the cook and the staff tomorrow.’ He could not help noticing that her green eyes were hard emeralds again and her mouth had begun to curl into what appeared to be a snarl. ‘Unless, of course, you would prefer to postpone that until you feel more comfortable.’ Despite the fire, the temperature of the room felt as if it had dropped several degrees since she entered it.

‘Through here is the bedchamber.’ Aaron opened the internal doors for her self-consciously, aware that he was rambling to fill the excruciatingly painful silence, and then his voice trailed off as he saw that the servants had already turned down the bed. Both sides of the bed. They barely knew each other and now they were stood alone in a bedchamber. The big, canopied mattress mocked him from the centre of the room. It was designed for two people to share, yet he had no idea if they would be sharing the thing tonight. A wedding night was the expected conclusion of a wedding day, he supposed, but as theirs had been so acrimoniously arranged with such speed he would not blame her if she wanted to wait a bit. They were little more than strangers.

‘You have your own bedchamber,’ she asked abruptly, staring at the bed as well.

‘It is down the hallway.’ Good grief—was a conversation ever more uncomfortable and stilted as this one?

‘Good.’ She turned her face towards his and he saw the venom in her pretty face. ‘You are not welcome in this one.’

Aaron slowly nodded in sympathy, oddly relieved that he would be spared the ordeal tonight. They were both still so shocked to find themselves married, they hardly needed the added burden of enforced intimacy now. ‘I did not think you would want me here just yet. I believe we should get to know each other a little bit first, before we...ah...’

‘I will never want you here. Be under no illusion that those feelings will ever change. They won’t. The thought of your hands on my body makes me feel ill. The only way it will happen is if you force me and even then I will not lie meekly under you like a dutiful wife is supposed to. I will scratch and claw and scream my hatred for you so loudly that all of the servants will hear it!’

Well, that certainly left his position in doubt, Aaron thought, reeling, although he supposed he deserved it. He had a particular talent for ruining lives. ‘I am sorry for the way things turned out, Connie. I never meant for this to happen.’

Her hands fisted and for a moment he thought that she might strike him, so vivid was her anger. ‘How dare you lie to me? Do you seriously expect me to believe that a vile Wincanton would not seize the opportunity to ruin the only daughter of his sworn enemy? You planned it, Aaron Wincanton! You came to the library intent on compromising me. Intent on revenge.’

The woman clearly had a penchant for the fanciful if she could think that, although she was overwrought, so he replied calmly in the hope she would see reason, ‘I most certainly did not. I will admit I went into the library because you were there, and with hindsight I realise that was a reckless and stupid thing to do, but I never intended anyone to know about it.’

Her hands went to her hips. ‘Oh, really? And I suppose you expect me to believe that your seduction, followed by the convenient arrival of my fiancé and both of our fathers, was also accidental? I am not a fool, Aaron.’

He could understand that it looked bad. ‘I did not go to the library with plans to seduce you, Connie.’

‘Then why did you?’

It was a fair question and one he was not sure he could properly answer without admitting how precarious his financial situation was. He ran a hand roughly through his dark hair in frustration. ‘I suppose I kept seeking you out because I hoped that it would eventually lead to a conversation with your brother. I want to build some bridges between our families. I thought that, in time, as the next generation we might find a way to end this petty feud. I never meant for anything more than that.’

‘Of course you didn’t.’ She was flouncing around, her long legs making short work of the distance from one wall to the next, and dramatically gesticulating as her mouth dripped sarcasm. ‘You spouted all of that Romeo and Juliet rubbish and it inadvertently gave you romantic ideas. Then you kissed me, because you were so caught up in the magic of the moment and so dazzled by my obvious beauty—and then invited an audience to witness it, you snake!’

His own temper was roused now. Likening him to a snake was uncalled for. ‘You kissed me back, as I recall, and with a great deal of enthusiasm, too. You are not completely without blame in this. My waistcoat did not undo itself, Connie. As for the audience, I was as shocked as you were when they all turned up.’ It was then that he had realised that his own carefully laid plans for the future had been shattered as well. Now they were destined to be penniless and miserable together.

She planted her hands on her hips and gave him one of her imperious glances. ‘How very convenient for you.’

Aaron saw red. Literally. He had never understood that expression until that moment. But to see her stood there so piously, as if she had not kissed him back with so much fervour that they had both lost their heads, while throwing ludicrous accusations at him, then sarcastically discounting every explanation he tried to make—well, it was too much. That ill-timed kiss had ruined much more than Constance Stuart’s reputation, it had ruined the lives of every impoverished tenant on the Wincanton land.

‘Convenient? Have you gone quite mad?’ He found himself marching towards her and looming over her in a way he had never, ever done to another woman in his life. His hands were fisted tightly at his sides to stop him from grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until her teeth ratted inside that smart mouth of hers. ‘You think that this marriage is convenient for me? Of course it isn’t. This is a marriage of great inconvenience to me, Connie. In fact, it is an unmitigated disaster. I was about to propose to Violet Garfield! Now I am stuck with you instead.’ Violet might well be as dense as a suet pudding, but at least she had a cheerful disposition and looked at him with glowing admiration. Constance Stuart was tart as a lemon and looked at everyone as if they were beneath her. Especially him. Well, he was quite done with it.

‘Answer me this, Miss Sanctimonious: if I constructed this whole ruse, in an attempt to bring about your ruin in petty revenge against your awful family, then why the hell did I not leave you to suffer it alone? Surely that would have been the greatest revenge possible for a vile Wincanton? Leave you compromised and doomed to endure the censure of everyone alone. Yet I did not. Against my father’s wishes, and against my own better judgement I might add, I left that ballroom straight away and procured a special licence. And then I married you. I gave you my name and my protection. I gave you a home. A truly vile Wincanton would have seen you thrown on the streets, as your own father planned to, and laughed at you in the gutter!’

She gaped at him then, lost for words, but he was not done and she had it coming. He could not remember the last time he had unleashed his temper with such unchecked fury. He had long ago stopped feeling personally aggrieved at anything, instead he accepted everything thrown at him as just punishment for all that he had done. But in this instance, although he knew he was largely to blame as he was in everything, she had to take her share of it. Yet she was still staring daggers back at him, completely unrepentant and totally aggrieved. Her self-righteous martyrdom enraged him further. Again he seriously considered shaking some sense into the woman or putting her over his knee and spanking her like the spoiled child she was.

In an attempt to calm his turbulent thoughts, Aaron started to pace backwards and forwards at the foot of the bed. Unfortunately, the more he paced, the more outraged he became at her accusation. His only crime had been a desire to end their expensive and destructive feud so that he could live in peace next door. He did not want to waste his life looking over his shoulder, like his father and grandfather had, waiting for, or plotting, the next attack. He had had a gutful of war and did not want to continue to fight one on his own doorstep. The only thing that came out of war was death and destruction. It was a pointless and futile state to be in. And expensive. Very expensive when the estate was practically broke.

He had harboured the ridiculous notion that by befriending Constance, and then in turn her brother, the silly feud would be done with once their fathers died. Meanwhile, he could use Violet’s dowry to bring the estate back into profit, so that future Wincantons could live happily ever after even if he had to sabotage his own happiness to do it. Not that his happiness really mattered. Once he might have considered it important, before he had the ruined lives and shattered the dreams of his men and their families, now he had to make amends as best as he could wherever he could. And right now that meant protecting the livelihoods of all of the people that relied on the Wincanton estate. If that meant he had to marry for money and spending a lifetime married to a woman he was incapable of loving, then he had been prepared to do it.

But that lofty plan had backfired spectacularly. Violet and her dowry were lost to him for ever. Worse still, Connie’s father would unleash fire and brimstone now that his only daughter had been ruined by Wincanton. Instead of healing the rift between their families he had created an even greater chasm, yet had no way of clawing his way out of debt. Aaron had taken Constance without a penny. No, indeed, there was nothing convenient about this marriage. Everything was considerably worse because of it. The very least she could do was muster up a bit of contrition.