However, Aaron’s intense reaction and the emotion that she had seen fleetingly in his dark eyes made her wonder about the man she was temporarily married to. Connie requested a bath be drawn and spent the better part of an hour soaking in it and pondering that question. What did she really know about Aaron Wincanton?
All these years she had thought him to be one of those superficial but confident types. He had always been at the centre of any social affair, laughing, telling amusing stories and charming everyone from the crustiest old curmudgeon to the most invisible of wallflowers. Such things came so naturally to him. To think that he might have hidden depths beneath all of that ease and swagger, that he also might feel things a little too deeply and be wounded by events, was unnerving.
It was strange and probably showed her complete lack of understanding about war, but when he had come back home a few months ago and been heralded as a hero for all of his brave deeds in the battle against Napoleon, Connie had been dismissive. How like Aaron Wincanton to blithely go off to war and come back the darling of everyone and a hero to boot. The adoration of others had always been something that he appeared to achieve without any effort. She had always envied that about him. How could he be so confident and so charming and so comfortable in his own skin when she found such things so difficult? Aaron Wincanton always gave the impression that he tiptoed through life largely unscathed.
But he hadn’t. Have you ever seen a man go to his death petrified and screaming? Imagining the horror of what he had described was almost too awful to contemplate, but she now knew that he had witnessed such things and that they had hurt him. Deeply. And he still carried all of that hurt around with him. She was sure of it. Connie had seen his pain with her own eyes, felt the power it had over him for a split second before she had watched him cover it as if it did not matter. Almost as if it had not happened at all. Like her, she now had to entertain the prospect that he also wore a face in public that was quite different to the one he wore when he was alone with himself. Oddly, she felt almost privileged to have seen that.
* * *
By the time that she was dressed in a fresh nightgown and sat on a low footstool in front of the fire so that her unruly, thick hair could dry, Connie was feeling quite unsettled. She supposed that it was unsurprising as it had been a taxing day. Despite the revelations about the failing health of Viscount Ardleigh and the new and burning questions she now had concerning Aaron’s experience on the battlefields, at least there was now a light at the end of the tunnel. He had agreed to an annulment, even if she did have to wait a few months for the proceedings to begin. She could make plans for a new life somewhere where she was not a duty or a burden. That had to be a good thing, didn’t it? As her husband was being quite generous, Connie made a silent vow to behave more benevolently towards him going forward. It must be difficult to sit by and watch the demise of a parent whilst pretending that all was well. If nothing else positive came out of this travesty of a marriage, at least she could ease his burden on that score just a little bit. She hated all of this forced inactivity and lack of purpose. It would be better to do something.
Connie tipped her head forward and drew her brush through the underside of her hair. It always took such a long time to dry. If she had had any sense she would have delayed washing it until the morning. Now, she would have to wait up another hour. The light tap on the door startled her at first, but assuming that it was a maid come to see if she needed anything before she retired for the night, Connie did not move from her spot by the fire.
‘Come in.’
She heard the door open and footsteps approach, but the maid never said a word. Flipping her hair back to its proper place, Connie turned towards her with a smile.
Chapter Nine
Aaron had never seen quite so much magnificent hair in all of his life. Unbound, it hung all the way down to her waist in sensual, copper waves that positively glowed in the firelight as if they were burning from within like the hot embers crackling in the hearth. In places it was still slightly damp, he noticed, making some of the heavy tendrils appear almost chestnut brown in a sea of swirling red. Her skin was rosy from her bath and he found himself wondering exactly what lay beneath that chaste and proper nightgown.
‘What do you want?’
Her initial smile had been replaced by a look of bewilderment. Aaron watched her eyes flick towards the cut-crystal balloon glasses he held in one hand, then to the brandy decanter he held in the other. It occurred to him that her hair and the brandy were much the same colour and both were enhanced by the firelight.
‘If I am trying to pretend to my father that I am impregnating you, I cannot do that from down the hall. Besides, my father will be kept informed of our nocturnal habits by the servants. You are going to have to put up with my company every evening from now on. Just to put on a convincing show, of course.’ In an attempt to divert his attention away from the alluring sight of her sat by the hearth and the embarrassing topic of the conversation, he set the two glasses on the small table near the sofa and began to pour a healthy amount of the amber liquid into them. Bizarrely, his hand shook slightly.
‘Yes, of course. That does make sense.’
Aaron made the mistake of turning towards her as she slowly rose from her low position on the footstool. Fortunately, she was unaware of the fact that, with the firelight behind her, the gauzy material of the voluminous nightgown became more translucent. It no longer took his imagination to wonder what lay beneath. The dark silhouette of her lithe body was illuminated like a cameo. Aaron could make out the gentle mounds of her shadowed breasts, the trim waist and the seductive curve of her hip. His eyes moved lower, taking in the unbelievably long, shapely legs and felt his breath quicken. Unwanted images of those legs wrapped around him filled his mind and the memory of the silky feel of the skin on her thigh came back to haunt him, forcing him to take a large gulp of his brandy to cover his reaction. A little startled, he turned away from her and pretended to take in the room.
He sensed when she came up alongside him. The fragrance of her perfume wafted under his nose, exactly the same heady fragrance he had first smelled that fateful night in the library where they had lost their heads. The sultry undertones of rose were more intoxicating than the alcohol he held clenched his hand. Quite why she was having such an effect on him, he could not say. His body had shown no interest in any woman in the better part of a year. Apart from her. That one time. But now, apparently, it had decided to reawaken. Aaron hastily sat in one of the large armchairs to disguise the fact that half of the blood in his body had suddenly just rushed to his groin.
How inconvenient. For the sake of appearances, he would have to visit her here almost every evening for as long as was necessary to maintain the ruse. Was he now doomed to suffer through these visits in a state of complete and unwelcome arousal as well? He had promised the girl an annulment so he could hardly take her to bed. But he wanted to.
That came as a shock. He wanted to bed his wife and he couldn’t. Fate certainly had a warped sense of humour.
* * *
Connie picked up the other brandy glass and perched in the chair opposite him, feeling at a distinct disadvantage. He was perfectly dressed, as usual, without a single dark hair out of place. She was naked under her nightgown, with all of her own unruly hair twisting into its usual tangle of brambles all around her shoulders. If she hastily plaited it now it would appear that she was bothered to been seen in such a state and he would find her vanity amusing. He would assume that she had wanted to improve her appearance just for him. Therefore, she had to appear as unaffected by this intimate intrusion into her private quarters as he was, despite the fact that she had never been so aware of her own body before or wished that she was wearing several protective layers of protective clothing under her nightgown. To cover her embarrassment, she took a sip of her brandy and felt the liquid burn a warm path down
her throat. When the brandy hit her stomach she found the warmth it created there strangely calming, so she drank a little more. ‘If we are going to be thrust together like this for the next few months, we might as well get to know each other better.’ Clearly the drink was also making her bolder as well.
Connie watched fascinated as he cupped the bowl of the glass in his palm and swirled the golden liquid around. ‘I agree. We can hardly spend the next few months arguing. That will soon become quite wearing. Shall we begin by asking each other some simple questions?’ He was smiling that lazy, slightly flirtatious smile again. ‘Shall I begin? What is your favourite colour?’
Connie answered without hesitation, ‘Emerald green.’
‘Like your eyes.’
He thought her eyes were like emeralds? Flattered, Connie took another quick sip of her brandy to cover the silly smile that threatened. ‘What is your favourite colour?’
‘I am not altogether sure that I have one—but I have become rather partial to red of late.’
The bubble of laughter escaped from her lips before she could stop it. ‘You really are the most shameless flirt, Aaron. Do you practise it? Or does it come naturally?’
She watched him lean back into the chair and make himself comfortable before he answered. ‘In the spirit of honesty, I will admit that I used to practise it a great deal when I was younger. Now, I think most of it just spills from my mouth naturally. Out of habit’
‘Do you ever mean any of it?’
She could see that her question surprised him because there was laughter in his eyes. Laughter in his eyes? What on earth was the matter with her to suddenly be so poetic? It was probably the brandy scrambling her wits. Just in case, she put down the glass.
‘I mean everything that I say. Usually. As I am sure you do to.’
‘Touché. Perhaps it is better if we ask questions about more practical topics. What did you win your medals for?’
For the briefest of moments his face clouded and then the clouds dispersed. ‘Surviving.’
He did not elaborate and quickly changed the subject. ‘What do you enjoy doing, Connie, when you are not railing at me, of course?’
‘I like to read. Not the sort of learned tomes you do, but I enjoy novels. I also love to ride.’
A devastating smile split his face. ‘You do? That is splendid. So do I. Perhaps we should ride together tomorrow?’
The suggestion pleased Connie immensely and she forgot to behave in a uninterested and haughty manner. It would feel so wonderful to get out and enjoy the fresh air. She felt herself grinning in return. ‘I would love that! I am curious to see the Wincanton estate.’
He told her then of all of the best places to ride on his land and of his great love of horses. She told him about how she had learnt to ride and described her favourite parts of her father’s estate next door. In doing so, Connie felt suddenly homesick and desperately floundered for something else to talk about that was not as personal or as sensitive to her.
‘Do you love Violet Garfield?’
He actually laughed at that. Amusement crinkled his eyes as he poured the last of his brandy down his throat. ‘No, Connie. I tried to care about her and I actually find her sweet but, no, I do not love Violet.’
‘Then why were you going to propose to her?’
There was an over-long pause before he answered and Connie noticed that he did not meet her eyes. ‘My father wants a grandson and therefore I needed to marry someone quickly to ensure that it happened in time. Speed was of the essence and Violet appeared to be open to the idea. Why did you agree to marry the Marquis of Deal?’
‘He asked me.’ As soon as she uttered the words she regretted them. The brandy was loosening her tongue. Aaron sat forward in his chair, his dark eyebrows drawn together as he regarded her with undisguised interest.
‘Really? That was the only reason?’
She had just admitted her desperation and her lack of suitors to Aaron Wincanton. Connie felt incredibly stupid and gauche, but tried to cover it with her usual haughty disdain. ‘My father chose him. He thought it would be a good match. I am a pragmatist. I know that I am not the sort of woman who appeals to the majority of men and I had no desire to remain a spinster. Deal suited that purpose well enough.’
‘So your heart was not engaged?’
‘Not in the slightest.’ It was then that she remembered how he had seen her cry when her fiancé had made his ambivalent feelings towards her plain and knew that Aaron did not believe her blithe words at all. At his look of disbelief, she deflected. ‘Your father said that he was relieved when my betrothal was called off. Why would he care who I married?’ That odd comment had niggled her all day. Ardleigh had laughed because her father must be spitting feathers. An odd turn of phrase that suggested that she was missing something.
Aaron had been about to take another sip of his drink, but the glass paused midway. There was bemusement in his expression. ‘Did it not occur to you that your father had arranged your marriage to spite my father? You do know that the Marquis of Deal’s estate borders the Wincanton estate to the south. Or did you think that was simply a coincidence?’
The awful reality was that she had never even considered it. She had been so relieved to have received an offer of marriage from a handsome and titled gentleman that she had never considered that her father had arranged her future so strategically. That realisation was accompanied by an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Not just at her own pathetic stupidity in being so hopelessly flattered by it all, but also in the way her father had manipulated the situation to benefit himself. No wonder he had urged her to ignore Deal’s philandering. He had put his own desire to get one up on the Wincantons above the happiness of his only daughter. Once again, Connie had been made to look a fool in front of Aaron Wincanton, who had the nerve to be wearing an expression of pity. It suggested that he, too, knew that she was pathetic. She wanted to slap it off his face.
‘How much longer do you need to stay here? It has been a very long day and I am tired.’ The words came out without any real venom, but fortunately he took his cue and stood.
‘I did not mean to upset you again, Connie.’
‘The only thing upsetting me is your continued presence. Whilst I have agreed to your request to maintain this charade for the sake of your father, do not take that to mean that I think any better of you, Aaron Wincanton. I still dislike you and would prefer to spend as little time in your company as possible until this marriage is annulled.’
Connie turned and walked swiftly towards her bedchamber door without a backwards glance. Only once she was safely on the other side, her back pressed against the wood, did she allow the tears of shame to fall.
Chapter Ten
The maid woke Connie early with a breakfast tray. ‘Mr Aaron said that he will meet you in the stable yard at eight, Lady Constance.’
Connie considered sending the maid back with an excuse and then rapidly decided against it. She would not be cowardly and avoid him. At some point today she would have to face him so she might as well get it over with. Besides, she was desperate to get out in the fresh air again and did not want to squander the opportunity to go riding. He might never ask her again and she was not convinced that it was an activity that she would be allowed to do alone. She ate quickly, allowed the maid to pin her hair to within an inch of its life and then donned her favourite forest-green riding habit before she hurried outside.
Aaron was waiting for her in the stable yard as promised, a lively looking chestnut mare already saddled next to his horse. She watched his eyes scan the entire length of her body before he smiled lazily and wished her a good morning. He was probably thinking how gigantic she looked. The habit was cut to show off her willowy figure to its best advantage, but whilst she did like the way it made her appear to have curves, it also emphasised he
r extreme height. Her father had been most critical of the outfit, claiming that in it she appeared to be all legs and no bosom and that no man wants to be seen riding with a giraffe. Connie would not lower herself to crouching beneath the folds of the skirt in order to look more feminine. She already knew that he did not find her the least bit attractive, so why bother? Theirs was a temporary marriage, thank goodness. Nothing more. Defiant pride made her smile back with equal cheerfulness and Connie deliberately pulled herself up to her full height as she strode purposefully towards her horse.
He looked a little sheepish then, but fortunately made no mention of her former fiancé. ‘I thought that we might have a side saddle, but alas we do not. Ardleigh Manor has been a house of solely men for too many years.’
A robust and proper gentleman’s saddle was strapped on the mare’s back and Connie blinked at it covetously. She had always wanted to ride astride. It always appeared to be so much more fun. On a side saddle she could never truly gallop fast and always had to be conscious of her balance and her ladylike posture. Riding astride was more daring, and thus far more appealing, however, for appearance’s sake, she regarded the thing with distaste. ‘I am sure that I can manage well enough.’
A groom scrambled forward with a riding block, but Aaron shooed him away. With a smug grin he cupped his hands so that he could bolster her foot. Connie purposefully ignored it. At times, there was great benefit in being so tall. One of them was that she certainly did not need anyone’s help to get on a horse, especially his. Boldly, she placed one foot in the stirrup and then hoisted herself on to the back of the horse. Only once she was sat astride the saddle did the limitations of the tight riding habit present itself. The skirt had been designed to have as little bunched fabric as possible when she was perched on a side saddle. Therefore, there was precious little extra fabric to accommodate the width of her splayed legs on the top of the animal. The hem of the skirt had risen in protest, giving her new husband an excellent view of her calves, whilst the top of the skirt was stretched tight across her thighs and bottom. Desperately she tried to wiggle it down to no avail.
Her Enemy At the Altar Page 8