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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 (#ulink_ead5129a-36ec-5739-b439-e6ab730bed01)
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 (#ulink_734486d4-ae34-552f-8575-61cb62f41504)
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.
