Connie sincerely doubted it. ‘I shall endure it. It is not done for ladies to sit opposite or next to each other as it ruins the balance of the table. If that is your only objection, Lady Erith can stay exactly where she is.’ Which was as far away from Connie as she could get the awful woman—without seating her out on the terrace or bricking her up in an alcove. She and Sarah had come out at exactly the same time and Sarah had been one of the main protagonists in making Connie feel out of place that first Season. She had too many unhappy memories of pretending not to notice the beautiful, petite Sarah and her cronies laughing and criticising her behind their fans. To add insult to injury, spiteful Sarah had bagged herself a wealthy and titled husband that very first year and had since produced two sons while Connie had been left forgotten on the shelf, her own womb still as empty as Violet Garfield’s head. It was bad enough having to sit at the same table with the woman. Connie certainly did not want to have to socialise with her as well.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked him sharply to change the subject and to hide the fact that she had been worried sick about him. Aaron’s odd behaviour last night, combined with the revelations about his nightmares, had played on her mind all day. Even when she had been at her most stressed, trying to sort out this stupid dinner, Connie had continued to worry about the wretched man.
‘I spent the day with the tenants.’
As he refused to meet her gaze she suspected he was not being completely truthful. If she were his real wife, rather than just a temporary one, she might have pushed him further. She might have also told him that he had made her worry and that he could talk to her about whatever ailed him, should he want to. But saying any of that made her sound needy and theirs was never going to be that sort of a relationship. ‘You look tired. Perhaps you should have an early night?’
‘I would not leave you with all this.’
Connie felt the sudden urge to look after him. He did look tired. In fact, he looked completely exhausted now that she was looking at him properly. There were faint shadows under his eyes and his features were quite drawn. To all intents and purposes he looked...troubled...and she wanted to fix that. Without thinking, and completely forgetting that she was in a bad temper, she reached up her palm and cupped his cheek. It felt a little rough where his whiskers were beginning to show, his skin lusciously warm beneath her fingers. Connie found herself drowning in the intensity of those hypnotic eyes while desperately wanting to chase away all of the ghosts that she suddenly saw there.
‘You need some sleep, Aaron, and I am almost done here. I shall ask Deaks to have a hot bath drawn whilst you have something to eat. The warm water will help you to relax.’ Of its own accord her thumb began to smooth away the tiny lines of fatigue next to his mouth. ‘And then I want you to get some rest.’
He did not pull away from her tender touch. His eyes fluttered closed briefly and she saw him swallow before he opened them again. There was an emotion hidden in their depths that she could not identify. Perhaps despair? Perhaps need? Although why would he look at her with need? And then it was gone. ‘If you insist, Connie, then I will.’
Connie’s hand dropped away self-consciously until she clasped it with the other one, firmly, behind her back. ‘I do.’
The strength of her physical attraction to him surprised her. Her emotional reaction to him had surprised her more. The concern she felt was almost wifely and totally at odds with the way she should be feeling for Aaron Wincanton.
‘Then I will bid you goodnight.’
Chapter Fourteen
Connie could not sleep. There were too many things cluttering her mind. In an attempt to sort her thoughts into some form of manageable order she started to list them, a habit she had developed as a child in order to work through her worries. There was the dinner tomorrow. But all of the preparations, apart from the cooking and actual entertaining, were done so there was no point allowing that to occupy her thoughts now. There was also her natural concern for her family and the estrangement. Realistically, she could do absolutely nothing about that in the middle of the night so she would resume worrying about that problem tomorrow.
Then there was Mr Thomas and her suspicion that he was sabotaging the Wincanton harvest, especially after Aaron had stated that the financial situation was so dire that he had needed to marry an heiress to fix it all. She could not do anything to relieve his financial pressures but she could warn him about his traitorous estate manager. As she had already made up her mind to tell Aaron all, and would have already if he had not excused himself with such speed last night or disappeared for almost the entire duration of today, she could also tick that off of her list of things that were causing her insomnia. At some point tomorrow, she would tell him and then Mr Thomas would be given his marching orders. One problem solved.
Once Aaron’s father was gone, they would hopefully get their annulment and he would be free to marry some other woman who could bring more to the marriage than trouble. In fact, Connie’s insistence on an annulment was actually an act of charity on her part. One that allowed him to save his estate and the people who depended on it, she reasoned, even though picturing him married to another woman made her feel quite jealous. Not that she had any right to be jealous. He had merely been noble in marrying her and she was merely returning that kindness by being noble back and releasing him from the marriage. Any woman would be delighted to have Aaron Wincanton as her husband, so he would no doubt land on his feet. Connie would probably have to change her name and take work as a governess or lady’s companion because an annulment would kill any future marriage prospects stone dead and her father would happily allow her to rot in hell before he helped her. But she was hopeful that her brother would take her in one day, so at least she would end her days in the bosom of her family even though she would be denied any prospect of having her own for ever. And she would not have to be married to a man who could never love her and had made his opinions on her physical attributes quite clear to all and sundry. That was another weighty problem almost solved.
The next problem was a tricky one. Connie wanted to be able to understand her unexpected feelings for Aaron. Despite all of the reasons why she probably shouldn’t, she had to concede that she could not help liking the man. In fact, as the days wore on she found herself liking him more and more—which was worrying. He had a pleasant, easy way about him and she enjoyed his company. But was it more than that? Were her blossoming feelings growing out of friendship and concern or, heaven forbid, was she starting to think of him as a wife should think of her husband? That would not do at all in their unusual situation. He had happily agreed to annulment and without too much of a fight. Clearly he was as keen to be rid of her as she was him. Only now there was the tiniest chance that she was no longer quite as keen as she had been. She definitely found him attractive, but as he was a ridiculously attractive man, what woman wouldn’t? And then there was that kiss that still popped into her thoughts and those thoughts made her body react in a completely improper way. But he could not know that she desired him. That would be mortifying and, as he had quite rightly pointed out, what sort of a man would willingly want to bed a shrew like her?
With a sigh of frustration Connie decided against analysing it all. Whatever was going on, she was not yet ready to face it. Everything was so new and so up in the air that it would be foolish to try to understand it just yet. The most probable explanation was that in this strange house, cut off from her family and friends, Aaron was the only ally she had. Therefore, it would make sense that she cared about him. It stood to reason that her sense of fealty towards him might then be misconstrued as affection. Perhaps in a few weeks, when everything was calm, she would lay out her feelings and examine them properly in private. Rationally.
Dispassionately.
That was definitely a more sensible course of action, she decided, so now would be a good time to finally go to sleep. Conn
ie turned her pillow over, rearranged the bedcovers and settled down. Less than ten seconds later she sat bolt upright again. How could she sleep when she was now so worried about Aaron and his nightmares? She had, after all, promised Mrs Poole that she would keep an eye out for him. And Aaron had not been himself last night; hardly surprising when the poor man had so much on his plate. A dying father and a failing estate would be enough to keep the most hardened of souls from sleeping soundly. Perhaps her own sleep would come once she had reassured herself that Aaron was all right?
Decisively, she climbed out of bed and hurried out of her bedchamber towards his without bothering with a candle. The house was still and quiet, although the servants had left one or two lamps burning dimly near the stairs and they cast unfamiliar, eerie shadows up the walls. When she got to Aaron’s door she pressed her ear against it, listening carefully. All was, thankfully, peaceful.
Reassured, she hovered outside for a few moments before turning back towards her own room.
‘No!’
The single shout cut through the silence like a surgeon’s scalpel and stopped Connie in her tracks instantly. She darted back to the door and put her ear against it again. There was no screaming or murmuring, but there was definitely movement. She could hear the sounds of the mattress shifting violently and bedcovers moving. Neither sounded anything like a person turning in contented sleep. For a second she debated whether or not to go in and check on him, mindful of how she had been told Aaron had reacted to Deaks’s intrusion, until the sounds beyond became more agitated.
Connie cracked open the door and peered inside. The first thing that struck her was the cold. Every window and curtain in the room was open, allowing the bitter winter air to rush in unchecked. The only light came from the weak moon outside. It was enough to make out the shape of the bed until her eyes adjusted and she could see Aaron lying on his back atop it.
Although he appeared to be asleep, his body was twitching and flailing uncontrollably. Both arms were flung above his head, one gripping the pillow in his closed fist as if his very life depended on it. For some reason she seemed to remember being told that you should not wake a person up when they were in the grip of a nightmare, which left her standing impotently just inside the door, watching his distress. When he cried out pitifully once more, Connie decided that was nonsense. She had to wake him up and stop his torment. Leaving him to suffer through it was simply cruel.
Carefully, she tiptoed towards the bed. Up close, the pale moonlight revealed the blankets and sheets had been pushed away. They lay tangled around his straining hips and legs, effectively imprisoning his bottom half as he writhed. Above the waist he was quite naked. Aaron’s eyes were clenched tightly closed, yet the expression on his face was of complete terror.
‘Shh, Aaron. It is just a bad dream.’
Instinctively, Connie reached out her hand and lightly touched his shoulder. His smooth skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, but was icy to the touch. Instantly, his hands came down to his chest and he began to almost wipe himself down, flicking at some imaginary stain while his breathing became more erratic. More laboured. His voice was barely above a whisper, but she could hear him repeating the same name over and over like a mantra: Fletcher. Fletcher.
Connie bent her head and crooned close to his ear. ‘Wake up, Aaron. It is just a dream. Just a dream.’ She brushed her fingers softly over his damp hair and forehead. ‘Please wake up.’
All at once, his body stilled and his eyes shot open. His breath came out in sharp, gasping pants and she watched him struggle to focus. Connie ran her hand gently through his hair in an attempt to bring him some comfort. ‘Everything is all right, Aaron. You were just having a nightmare.’
‘Connie?’
He blinked up at her and she smiled reassuringly down into his face. She saw the exact moment recognition dawned, then his strong arms wrapped around her and hugged her tight to his bare chest, dragging her shamelessly on top of his body, while he buried his face in her hair. Sensing that he needed the contact, Connie wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close, feeling the strangest wave of protectiveness. She could feel his heart beating frantically against his ribs, the chill of his body through the thin fabric of her nightgown. His hands felt like ice against her back.
‘You are freezing cold!’
Without breaking the contact, Connie rummaged around for the edge of the bedcovers and hauled what she could over them both. Despite the intimacy of their position, she made no attempt to move away. She held him and whispered words of reassurance until she heard his breathing calm and felt his heartbeat slow to normal. His skin began to lose its chill, absorbing her body heat slowly, as they huddled beneath the covers. Soon, his arm about her waist began to feel heavy and she realised that he had fallen back into sleep.
With infinite care, Connie disentangled herself from Aaron’s arms and gently rolled off his chest. No sooner had her body touched the mattress beside him, he turned on to his side, curling his arm possessively around her waist again and snuggling around the curve of her back.
‘Don’t go, Connie,’ he mumbled sleepily against her neck. ‘Not yet.’
Unsure of what to do under the odd circumstances, Connie stayed exactly where she was. In a minute or two, once he was back in the arms of Morpheus, she would move. But his arm remained locked around her while his body warmed hers under the covers. It felt solid, and so lovely, that without thinking she allowed herself to adjust her own body so that she was more comfortable, curling her knees up into her favourite sleeping position. His own legs immediately followed suit and she was cocooned by him. The steady rise and fall of his chest, and the feel of his warm breath against her hair, was more soothing than a lullaby. For the first time in her life, Connie felt dainty and protected, wrapped in those strong arms. Was it so wrong to allow herself a minute or two more to revel in the feeling, allowing herself to drift momentarily in the safety of his embrace?
* * *
The next thing that she realised, from her nest under the cosy blankets, it was light. Straight after that came the awkward realisation that her head was nestled against a very warm, very solid male shoulder and her hand was resting intimately on the bare skin directly over his heart. Connie stiffened instantly. At some point in the night they had changed positions and she was completely, shamelessly, draped over him. Her nightgown had risen up slightly, so now her bare leg was hooked over his equally bare calf. Even more shocking was the feel of something very large and very firm pressing insistently against her hip. With both of his arms and legs accounted for there could only be one other explanation for what that thing was. Judging by the deep sound of his breathing, Aaron was fortunately still asleep. Unfortunately, his arm was wrapped loosely around her waist, his palm rested possessively on her hip. Escaping without him waking was not going to be particularly easy.
She twisted her hips slightly, carefully lifting the weight of her wayward leg off him, until his hand slid off her hip. She waited a beat and then gingerly raised herself up on to one elbow. The movement caused her heavy hair to brush his shoulder and Aaron shifted slightly, flinging his free arm over his head and out of the covers. Frightened even to breathe in case it disturbed him, Connie froze.
His face looked so peaceful in sleep, all signs of the anguish he had displayed last night banished. His features were relaxed, his dark lashes forming sooty crescents against his skin, all evidence of the tightness she had seen about his mouth yesterday had completely vanished. Her heart clenched at the sight.
As unwelcome as the situation was, it was also most enlightening. Connie had never seen a man quite so...natural before. This close, she could clearly see every tiny whisker beginning to sprout from his chin and the tiny pulse that beat at the base of his thick neck. She was tempted to touch it, out of blatant curiosity, and then feel the shape of the intriguing muscles now visible on the one arm
that was uncovered. Those same muscles did not appear to be confined to just his arm. They ran across his shoulder and down over the very top of his chest. Connie could just make out the way they curved in towards the flat plane of his breastbone before her view was hampered by the top of the blankets. The sight threw up more questions about the male anatomy than it answered.
The light dusting of hair she could just see on his chest, for example. Did it go all the way down his body? Were those interesting muscles something that only appeared on the arms and shoulders? She could definitely feel them under the palm of her hand where it still rested above his heart, so perhaps there were more there to discover? And what exactly did that proud bulge under the bedcovers look like? She had seen statues of male nudes—but on those that particular part of their anatomy had been presumably at rest. Aaron’s was apparently at the ready and she had no idea what that really meant at all.
Frustratingly Connie did not know the answer to any of her questions but, scandalously, she was desperate to find out. Her fingers positively itched to explore him. Feeling very naughty and a little bit daring, Connie slowly lifted her hand from his chest, raising the blankets as she did so, and allowed herself to take a guilty peak. The dark dusting of hair fanned out across his pectoral muscles in a very pleasing fashion, two flat male nipples suddenly pebbled as the cold air whispered over them and drew Connie’s eyes lower. The hair tapered then, feathering across his flat stomach, down past his ribs where it arrowed through his navel and disappeared into the darkness. His skin was so much darker than hers. She was almost a ghost in comparison, although she liked the contrast they created together. Dark and fair. Solid and soft. Female and male. Definitely male. That hot hardness briefly grazed against her hip again.
Her Enemy At the Altar Page 12