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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.
Aaron found himself glaring at his new wife. Her pale face was pinched and her lips were so pursed they were almost non-existent. And she thought that he would be disappointed not to be invited to her bed! That he might resort to forcing her to consummate the marriage! Quite frankly she would have to drag him there kicking and screaming, no matter how much his father wanted a grandson.
‘Be under no illusion, madam, I am thoroughly appalled to be your husband. To think that I am now doomed for all eternity to spend my days shackled to you till death do us part—God help me, Connie!’ Aaron marched to the door before striding back again to issue his parting salvo. ‘And as for not wanting me in your bed? Pah! What sort of a man would willingly want to bed a shrew like you? I would sooner go into battle again!’ He was glaring down at her, but still she refused to be cowed. When her hands planted themselves on her hips again it was like a red rag to a bull. How dare she? His index finger began to jab the air. ‘You are my wife now and you will do your duty if I decree it. And if I can bring myself to touch you, Lady Constance, you will provide an heir!’
Aaron slammed the door with such force that the windows shook and stalked towards his own bedchamber. Unsurprisingly he did not sleep well. But for once his sleep was disturbed, not by the usual incessant nightmares filled with blood and body parts, but by dreams involving a statuesque redhead who made his blood boil and his loins ache.
Chapter Five (#ulink_596b43bb-c1d7-5ee3-8c34-6164ace524ca)
A maid brought her breakfast on a tray the next morning. ‘Mr Aaron has told me to inform you that he has gone out for the day. If you need anything, Mr Deaks will see to it.’
Connie smiled at the girl politely and accepted the tray while her stomach growled in protest. The hot bacon smelled delicious, despite the fact that it came from the Wincanton kitchen, and reminded her that she had not eaten in over twenty-four hours. Perhaps once fortified she might be able to sort out all of her tangled and mangled thoughts and emotions. At least she was rid of him for a few hours.
Their fight yesterday had bothered her more than she wanted to acknowledge. Some of the things he had said rang uncomfortably of the truth, as galling as it was to have to face the reality she had never resorted to lying to herself. She had kissed him back. And enjoyed it. She could have slapped his face, she could have run screaming from the room, she could have left it the very moment that he had arrived. There were so many things that she could have done to have avoided her current predicament—but she hadn’t. She had stayed, cried like a baby and confessed all of her deepest darkest fears about her lack of attractiveness to the man who had given her that awful nickname. She had let Aaron Wincanton put his arms about her and she had revelled in the security of his warm embrace.
She had been so needy then, so pathetically vulnerable, that it made her want to scream just thinking about it. Then she had surrendered to his lips greedily the moment they had touched hers and practically melted. Whether that surrender was because she had been feeling unsettled and off kilter after hearing the Marquis of Deal reduce their betrothal to merely a financial settlement or whether it was because she had been so grateful to imagine that a man might actually find her attractive, she could not accurately say. Whichever it was, it did not excuse the fact that she had kissed him back and therefore had to take a small portion of the blame for the situation that she now found herself in.
But she would only take a small portion of the blame. Aaron Wincanton still held the lion’s share. He had instigated the kiss. Although, in the cold light of day she was forced to acknowledge he really had gained nothing but grief in marrying her. Marriage was such an extreme thing to do for revenge that it seemed highly unlikely that he had gone to such a length to upset her family. If that was the case, he had been noble and to think otherwise was simply being petty.
And she still hated him for what had happened and how pathetic he had made her feel.
Now she was married to him and living in his house. As staggering and distasteful as Connie found that, there was no getting around it. The realist in her knew that continued outright rebellion was futile. She was his wife. The law dictated that she must abide by his rules. Despite all of his bluster last night, she knew in her heart he would never force himself on her, no matter what the law said about it. His behaviour had, in the main, been more than decent. He was so decent that he might even let her leave, but she really had nowhere else to go.
Her father would never allow her back so there was no point fleeing there. Her father also had a cruel streak that meant that she would not put it past him to punish her mother or younger brother if they offered her sympathy. Connie was not prepared to take the risk.
She had friends. Most of them were long since married and it was unlikely that any of their husbands would condone harbouring the runaway daughter-in-law of Viscount Ardleigh. She had no money, so leaving was out of the question until she could afford to do so. She supposed that she could steal something of value and leave in the dead of night, however then she would be a fugitive and the consequences of that were too terrible to seriously contemplate. That left her with two options. Stay and make the best of it, knowing that she would never be the woman he truly wanted, or stay and continue to fight. Neither appealed.
There was one potential light at the end of the tunnel. An annulment. But for that she would need Aaron’s consent. Granted, she would still be a scandal and an outcast from her family. Her father was unlikely ever to consider taking her back—but he could hardly put her mother on to the streets if Aaron dissolved the marriage. It would simply be another vile thing that the Wincantons had done—as long as her father believed that the situation was not her fault. If her father still refused to mend the breach, she supposed that she could earn a living somewhere. Perhaps she could teach in a school for ladies or become a governess? If she changed her name and went very far away, she could manage.
Connie had only married Aaron because she had been forced to do so and he had only married her out of a sense of duty after he had compromised her. If that alone was not grounds enough for an annulment, then failing to consummate the marriage would guarantee it. And she would be free of seeing the disgust and disappointment on his handsome face at being tied to such an unattractive, giant of a woman—if she could convince her new husband to start the process.
The most sensible course of action would be to ask him. There was the slight chance that he would be quite open to the suggestion. He had called their union ‘a marriage of great inconvenience’ so she seriously doubted he would want to remain married to her for ever, any more than she did him. Especially as he had had his sights set elsewhere. But an annulment would bring about another dreadful scandal and he might be reluctant to weather another. And he was hardly going to agree to anything sensible that she suggested whilst they were at loggerheads. He would dismiss it out of hand just to vex her.
Neither was she prepared to apologise for her behaviour towards him last night. The only thing that she had left was her pride and he had said some very hurtful things, too. He might not have called her unattractive, but his angry words had confirmed how unappealing he also found her. Hadn’t he stated that he had no desire to bed her and he had called her a shrew? Even more humiliating was the fact that while he was shouting at her she found herself quite excited by his temper. Nobody ever stood up to her and most men avoided her. Aaron had gone toe to toe with her, his face mere inches from hers, so close that she could feel the heat of his body. The intensity and passion whirling in those dark eyes lit a fire within her that burned slowly, causing her body to hum with awareness and her mind to recall how wonderful it had felt when all of his passion had been directed at her in another way.
Her lips even tingled at the thought of touching his again even though she was outraged by everything that came spewing out of his mouth—until he had demanded that she would have to do her duty by him. Then she had been suffused with a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room and everything to do with the way that the sheer presence of this man was making her feel. Had he kissed her right then, her traitorous body would have happily let him. Perhaps her needy heart would have, too?
But he left then, abandoned her to her own devices in a strange house surrounded by strange people consumed with equally strange thoughts. What if she did have his baby? Would that be so terrible? A family of her own to love and care for?
Of course it would, because he had already made it quite clear that he didn’t actually want her. He was stuck with her. She was a burden to him, too, just as she had been to her father and to her indifferent fiancé. Nobody, it seemed, really wanted her at all. Like the Marquis of Deal, Aaron had reminded her that she was not the sort of woman that roused a man’s passions and Connie was not prepared to let him see that she desperately wanted to be that woman for someone—even if that someone was him. The longer she was forced to stay here, the harder it would be to hide that need from him.
That meant that the only course of action left to her which left her with her pride intact while freeing him of his terrible burden was a mutually agreed annulment. Maybe later, when all was calmer and less fraught between them, could Connie bring up the subject?
* * *
By the time the maid brought her a lunch tray, Connie’s small private sitting room was beginning to feel like a dungeon. Her new husband had failed to materialise all morning and Connie had had enough of waiting for him. Despite their fight, she would have thought that basic good manners dictate that he should show her around the house and introduce her to the staff. Seeing as he had failed in even that simple chore, she decided to acquaint herself with her surroundings in spite of him.
There was nobody on the landing when she finally plucked up the courage to leave the room. Connie allowed herself a brisk snoop around upstairs, quickly opening doors and poking her head inside. There were a great many bedrooms, although the majority were not in use. At the furthest end of the east wing there was a monstrosity of a bedchamber that smelled of acrid tobacco smoke. The enormous four-poster bed was draped in a gaudy tartan fabric. Staring out from every angle around the walls were the stuffed heads of many animals. Stags, boar, badgers and even a lone wolf’s head watched her with their glassy, lifeless eyes and Connie shuddered involuntarily. This was a not a room where a decent person could get a good night’s sleep and she sincerely hoped it was not her new husband’s room.
She dashed back down the hallway to the other side of her suite of rooms and began to look into the rest of the rooms. Just two doors down from her was another bedchamber that was obviously in use. Next to the neatly made bed was a pile of books. The one on the top had been laid face down, open. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles were discarded next to it. Thrown over the washstand was the very coat she had seen Aaron wear yesterday. Realising that this must be his room and burning with curiosity, Connie stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind her.
This room smelled pleasantly of bay rum and fresh air. Despite the wet cold of autumn, one of the windows was cracked open, but a fire burned in the grate. His personal items were stood in a tidy row on a tall chest of drawers. Idly she ran her fingers over a comb and picked up a pair of cufflinks. They were plain gold and unfussy. Aaron Wincanton was no dandy. She slid open the top drawer. The first thing that struck her was how organised it all was. Small, open boxes were filled with an array of items. One held tie pins, again, plain and not ostentatious, another more cufflinks. The drawer beneath was filled with plain, white cravats. All lightly starched, suggesting that he had no time or patience for some of the complicated and frothy knots that were currently all the rage.
The enormous oak wardrobe beckoned and, without considering whether she should or shouldn’t, Connie pulled open the doors. A pristine line of snowy white shirts sat on one side. Stark black and navy coats on the other. He was always immaculately turned out and his austere clothing tended to make the more adventurous outfits of other gentlemen look a tad foppish. She might dislike a great many things about Aaron, but she could not fault his dress sense or the way he filled out his clothes.
Connie wandered towards the stack of books and read the title of the one he had been reading: The Complete Farmer or General Dictionary of Agriculture and Husbandry: Comprehending the Most Improved Methods of Cultivation... It hardly promised to be a riveting read. She picked it up and scanned the open page. As the title suggested it was indeed a dictionary, although the definitions of each term covered several pages and were accompanied with diagrams. The open pages were explaining, in great and laborious detail, the concept of ploughing. The spectacles were a surprise and she could not help wondering what he looked like in them. Knowing Aaron Wincanton, he no doubt looked quite splendid in them. He had a tendency to look splendid in everything. The wretch.
As she went to put the book down she noticed the name of the book beneath. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. There was a bookmark slotted between some pages so Connie opened them. Then her eyes narrowed. The words ‘For I am born to tame you, Kate!’ stared mockingly up at her from the top of the page. The rogue was reading The Taming of the Shrew!
* * *
Aaron ignored the light rain and slowly rode around the furthest perimeter of the estate. Feeling cold and damp was preferable to marching back into battle with his new wife. His father often accused him of avoiding confrontation or adversity—and perhaps that was true—but in this case it seemed the prudent thing to do. Besides, Connie was only one of his mounting problems.
The estate was another one. The fields were all empty of crops, something that did not really surprise him seeing as it was the middle of November, but they were also choked with weeds and something about that really did not seem right. Surely they should be ploughed like the tenant farms already were?
Not for the first time, he wished he had paid more attention when his grandfather had tried to teach him about estate management. The old man might well have been a vindictive and tyrannical man, but he had known everything there was to know about farming—especially how to turn a profit from the land. His father had always preferred to delegate the task and Aaron had been so determined to leave and join the army that he had never shown any sort of interest. Now he was back, and would soon be in charge of the estate and wholly responsible for the many people who depended on it, his lack of knowledge bothered him.
What Aaron could not quite get to grips with was the fact that the price of wheat was fixed, yet they were falling deeper and deeper into debt every year. Obviously, he had asked his father. Unfortunately, Viscount Ardleigh was so arrogant and so absorbed with besting the Stuarts next door that he failed to acknowledge there was even a problem. He was happy to leave all responsibility for the farming to his estate manager while he plotted and planned and schemed against the Stuarts in his study. Mr Thomas, the estate manager, was as elusive as fox and probably just as wily. Aaron did not warm to the man at all. Unfortunately, his father would not have a bad word said about him.
Mr Thomas was responsible for the enormous parcel of land his father had bought while Aaron was fighting in the Peninsula. The viscount refused to allow Aaron full access to the estate accounts—not that it had stopped Aaron from snooping in the ledgers when his father was not around—and as far as he could make out, things were now very dire indeed. The unnecessary purchase had created a massive void in the coffers that they had not recovered from. The land in question did not even border the Wincanton estate. It sat to the south of the Stuart estate, which probably explained why his father had paid ten times what the plot was worth just to get it. That the Earl of Redbridge had also desperately wanted the land had made his father even more reckless with his money. He was so pleased to have snatched it away from the Stuarts that he had apparently failed to notice that all those additional, ridiculously expensive acres were good for nothing. The soil was so thin it was barely a film upon the hilly rock beneath, so nothing would grow upon it. It had been a total waste of good money that had set them on the road to ruin. Each year since, they had failed to turn a healthy profit. Or, for that matter, any profit at all.
Aaron turned his horse towards the small hill. From the top he got a good view of the Earl of Redbridge’s estate and there all the fields were dark brown from ploughing. A fortnight ago he had seen men sowing seed in the land ready for next year. Why were his fields still idle? Perhaps the fact that they did this task so much later was the reason why their wheat crop had been so sparse last season?
It irritated Aaron that he did not know the answer to these questions. It irritated him more that he had no control over any of it either way. Not yet at least. Until his father died, he would not relinquish his control and Aaron could do nothing but watch the decline and wait. Except now, when his father did die, Aaron would not have the funds to fix things or to branch out into more modern investments. Thanks to his disadvantageous marriage.
Just thinking about Constance Stuart put him in a bad mood and he had no idea what to do about her. He had tried to be pleasant yesterday and had hoped that she would realise that they were both now stuck in the same boat and that she might come to appreciate his noble gesture. He had hoped that they might, in time, find a way to be able to co-exist without wanting to kill each other. After last night, he found that prospect less likely. The woman had no intention of making any form of compromise and trying to get her to see reason was exhausting. After hours of soul searching he had come to the conclusion that the best thing that they could do for the time being was avoid each other. At least until the dust had settled.
To that end, Aaron had been actively avoiding her all morning. He had ridden over every inch of the estate, was cold, soaking wet and the beginnings of hunger was gnawing at his belly. He wished he had had the foresight to bring some food and a blanket out with him, so he could have camped outside all night. He had slept quite soundly under the stars in worse conditions than this. Unfortunately, Connie would see such behaviour as cowardice rather than a tactical retreat and he was not prepared to give her that satisfaction. Clearly too many people had kow-towed to Constance Stuart for far too long and he was not going to be one of them. He had never run away from a battle in his life. Reluctantly, he turned his horse towards home and hoped for the best.
Chapter Six (#ulink_6c25c90b-1119-5189-b7e9-bcff698182eb)
Connie whipped around, startled when the bedchamber door suddenly opened, but she was too angry with him to apologise for invading his privacy. Without thinking, she tossed the leather-bound volume of Shakespeare at him and it hit him squarely on his sopping wet head.
‘What the devil!’
Her hateful husband glared at her murderously as he rubbed his temple and Connie glared right back undaunted. ‘You were reading The Taming of the Shrew! The Taming of the Shrew! Did you hope it would provide you with a few pointers on how to deal with me?’
Connie stalked towards him, wielding another book. To his credit he did not back away from her. Far from it, in fact. He met her in the middle of the floor and stared right back at her with his hands planted on his hips as if she did not frighten him in the slightest. His confrontational stance reminded her that he was significantly larger than she was, something that was uncomfortably unfamiliar and quite intoxicating. He topped her by a few inches in height, but in width there really was no comparison. The dark, caped greatcoat that he still wore made him loom even larger and his expression was thunderous. Connie felt like a brittle sapling stood next to a mighty oak tree and was forced to raise her chin to look him in the eye. And they really were magnificent eyes. Her mouth went dry as she stared into the outraged depths of them.
‘The thought crossed my mind.’ Up close, she could see flecks of gold shimmer in the irises. ‘Why are you in my bedchamber, Connie?’
How could she admit to wild curiosity about him without sounding pathetic? ‘I like to know my enemy!’
His dark hair was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck where it was wet. For some inexplicable reason Connie felt the urge to brush the droplets of water from his skin, but stopped herself. What on earth was the matter with her? This man thought her a shrew. Why did she desperately want to touch him?
‘Did you find anything useful?’
His expression had changed. He no longer appeared quite so angry at her behaviour, more amused. As if he knew that she had wanted to know more about him. His arrogance, combined with the awkward realisation that he had seen through her bravado, rankled far more than his temper did.
‘You read boring books.’ What an utterly pathetic and insipid response. Connie felt her cheeks redden at the banality of the insult. His eyes flicked briefly to the weighty tome on farming still on the table before the ghost of a smile touched his lips, mocking her.
‘That particular volume is spectacularly dull, I will grant you that, but monstrously heavy. I suppose I should be grateful that you had the Shakespeare so readily at hand. The Complete Farmer might have killed me.’ He rubbed his head for effect and then shrugged out of the heavy wet coat. After depositing it over the arm of the washstand Connie watched in alarm as he made short work of also removing the wringing, limp cravat around his neck. He had started unbuttoning his waistcoat when she stopped him.
‘What exactly do you think you are doing, Mr Wincanton?’ Surely he realised that undressing in front of a lady was grossly improper. Part of her hoped he would continue.
‘I am taking off this wet shirt, Lady Constance Wincanton. This is my bedchamber after all. All of my dry shirts are in this wardrobe here, although I dare say you know that already seeing as you have been rifling through my things.’
Connie opened her mouth to refute everything he had just said and promptly closed it again when she realised he had a point. She was in his room and she had been poking through his things. And much as she hated being Lady Constance Wincanton, that was also now her name. Instead of a pithy set down, more banality spewed from her mouth. ‘I was merely familiarising myself with the house because you had failed to do so.’
‘I would be happy to give you a tour of the place as soon as I put on a clean shirt.’ To her utter dismay he was already untucking the one he was wearing. She caught the briefest glimpse of the skin of his abdomen and it was dusted with dark hair. Her eyes fixed to that area in the hope that she would see more of his body before she tore them away, disgusted at her own wayward thoughts.
‘Then kindly wait for me to leave. I have no desire to watch.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if you did. You might find it entertaining. Or educational.’ He shot her such an astute glance, his dark eyes practically smouldering, that she felt herself blush even hotter. He had known that she was looking at him wantonly. How mortifying was that? But then again, he was probably quite used to women looking at him and lusting after him. Not that she had been lusting exactly, it was more out of curiosity. Perhaps it was lustful curiosity? The man was devilishly handsome and knew it. In that wet shirt he looked delicious. It clung to his broad shoulders and chest, giving her a tantalising glimpse of the strength and power of his body. In places the fabric was almost transparent so she could definitely see that there was more of that intriguing dark hair that her fingers ached to explore.
Again she found her eyes drifting below his neck, but as she dragged them reluctantly back to his face the arrogant wretch was grinning unashamedly. Connie wanted to cover her burning face with her hands and curl up into a ball. She managed to paste a haughty expression on her face before she turned around and prepared to exit the room with as much fake dignity as she could muster. Lost for any suitable words, she stalked towards the door and yanked it open. She could still hear his deep chuckle after she slammed it shut behind her.
* * *
Constance did not blush prettily, Aaron realised. She positively glowed with abject mortification. Every inch of her visible, milky white skin had turned a most florid shade of pink. Two circular crimson spots had formed on her cheeks, as if they had been painted on with a brush, and her delicate, swanlike neck was covered in angry blotches. And with her vivid red hair already escaping the confines of its pins, tiny strands floated around her head like sparks rising from a bonfire. She had managed to create an entire spectrum of red above her neck in just a few seconds. Aaron had never seen anything quite like it.
She certainly had not looked anything like the ice maiden he had taken his vows next to or the firebrand he had fought with last night. Nor had she sounded like one. The woman who had just stormed out of his bedchamber was a completely different Constance altogether and one he doubted many people had ever seen. Rumpled, flummoxed, innocent Connie was a delight and Aaron could not help wondering if she blushed all the way down those glorious long legs of hers to the tips of her toes. Now that was a blush he would pay good money to see. To think he had brought about such an unexpected transformation just by attempting to take off his shirt—well, that was just too funny. He had only done it in the first place to remind her that she was overstepping boundaries and to get her to leave. Who knew that regal, haughty, argumentative Miss Stuart was easily embarrassed?
Not Miss Stuart, he corrected, she was Lady Constance Wincanton now. She had been positively outraged to have been called that, too. Those were two little things he would squirrel away as ammunition for the future. Aaron had a feeling he was going to need it. When he had sneaked past her room earlier, in a rare display of complete cowardice, he had just congratulated himself on his stealth. Then she had thrown the book at him.
Literally.
He had not expected that. The irony of that book’s title was not lost on him either. Connie could be quite shrewish when she put her mind to it.
