Her Enemy At the Altar

by Virginia Heath

  ‘My father has forbidden them from even mentioning my name at home.’ There was sadness in her voice, ‘So I doubt that I will ever be reconciled with him.’

  ‘That is his doing and his loss. At least you know that your mother and brother still care for you.’

  ‘My mother told me that you passed a letter to her through the vicar’s wife. She asked me to thank you for that. She has been so worried about me so it was a great comfort to her to know that I am comfortable.

  Comfortable. Hardly a glowing compliment, but perhaps a clear indictment of the state of their marriage. ‘My brother has assured me that he will allow me to come home when he is the earl. Redbridge House is not lost to me for ever so my future is secure.’

  A childless, husbandless, Aaron-less future that left a bad taste in his mouth, but he smiled for her sake because she appeared pleased with the outcome. ‘Then I am glad for that at least and I am glad that you are able to continue your relationship with your mother and brother, even if it has to be done in secret.’

  They rode home in virtual silence, although Connie kept glancing at him through her lashes when he was not looking. As always, Aaron appeared to be quite calm and content about the state of things, if she ignored the tight lines of worry about his eyes and the complete look of exhaustion about his features.

  He was probably relieved to know that she had a home to go to in the future because she knew that he felt responsible for her. He had already proved himself to be a decent and honourable man. He had married her and given her his name when nobody would have expected him to, sacrificing his own future plans in the process. He had also been an understanding and gentlemanly husband. Not once had he tried to force his attentions on her, although she would probably welcome them if he did, or treated her with a lack of respect. And his selfless behaviour today, whilst he was dealing with so much, had touched her deeply. Each time she gazed at him she experienced a rush of affection, so intense that she wondered if she had deeper feelings for him after all. There was certainly something lurking in the deep recesses of her heart that transcended the obvious physical attraction she had for him. Before, when she had held him close, she had definitely felt more than just gratitude. Her body had practically melted against his with need and she had wanted to kiss him so badly, that for a moment she almost bared her hand and did so.

  What would he have done then? Would he have pulled back in disgust, but disguised it as politeness? Or would he have kissed her back? At times, Connie got the feeling that he might be as tempted by her as she was by him. Once or twice in the last two days she had caught him staring at her with such intensity that it had made the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end with awareness. But those moments were always so fleeting that afterwards she was not entirely sure whether he had actually done it or if she was simply wishing that he would. She also knew that the face he presented to the world was not entirely genuine. Underneath it all, he was troubled and Connie wanted to ease all of those burdens for him, so that his real smiles, the ones that made his dark eyes sparkle and her heart melt, were more frequent.

  * * *

  At the stable, he helped her down from her horse, his hands spanned her waist as he gently lowered her to the ground and she saw it again briefly. That intense look that spoke volumes that she didn’t fully understand or dare to believe. But then he excused briskly himself to go sit with his father, leaving Connie to wonder if she was merely trying to project her own need and desire on to him. Was it possible that she was falling just a little bit in love with Aaron Wincanton?

  As she watched him disappear back into the house, Connie had to accept that there was the distinct possibility that she was.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Connie felt the strain of too much study pull at her eyes. She pushed the ledger away and glanced at Aaron on the sofa. He had been poring over a book on soil cultivation, but clearly it had proved to be too boring to hold his concentration. The book lay open on his tummy, his charming spectacles were askew and he was lost in the land of nod.

  Asleep, his face was free of all of the worries that had clouded it this past week and he looked perfectly content to be snoozing in her little sitting room. Connie considered whether or not she should wake him and decided against it. She was well aware of the fact that he had not been sleeping. She had checked on him several times and had heard the fevered sounds of his nightmares through his heavy bedchamber door, but he had taken to barricading himself in so that she could not enter. Whether he had done that because he did not want to have her anywhere near his bed again, or whether he was too humiliated by his nocturnal rantings, she did not know. But for now he was peacefully asleep so she was reluctant to deny him that.

  Connie went into her bedchamber and retrieved a warm blanket. She carefully removed his spectacles and the book and then covered his semi-reclining body as best she could. After blowing out the candles she took herself off to bed, leaving her bedchamber door open a sliver in case he awoke.

  * * *

  Several hours later, she heard him murmur quietly but the sound was enough to drag her out of a deep sleep and into the here and now. Quickly, she padded back into the sitting room in time to witness Aaron pull violently on his clothes in obvious distress.

  ‘Fletcher,’ he cried, ‘I’m so sorry!’

  Connie knelt beside him and lightly ran her hand over his hair. ‘Wake up, Aaron—you are having a bad dream.’

  But he did not hear her. Whatever scenario was playing out in his mind, it was also physical. He clawed at his waistcoat, ripping several buttons off as he tried to yank it open, all the while muttering to the mysterious Fletcher as if Fletcher were in his chest. Connie tried to stay his hands, but he would have none of it. Fearing for the garment and commiserating with his pain, Connie undid the surviving buttons and spread the waistcoat wide, all the while whispering soothing words to no avail.

  ‘He’s all over me! I have to take it off. I can smell it!’ It was a curious jumble of sentences that she had no understanding of, except that the clothing was apparently the root cause of his distress.

  ‘Let me help you then. Can you sit up for me, Aaron?’

  Miraculously he did, his eyes suddenly open wide although still gripped by the terror of his dream, and Connie pulled the waistcoat off his arms and then dragged the damp linen shirt over his head. Fortunately, that did appear to calm him a little although his breathing still sawed in and out. After a few moments she watched his eyes focus just before he dropped his head in his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry, Connie.’

  His words sounded so desolate that her heart broke for him. She rose up on her knees and curled her arms around his neck, pulling his head to her chest and kissing the top of it.

  ‘They are just nightmares, Aaron, and nothing to be sorry about.’

  He allowed her to comfort him, nestling against her sorry excuse for a bosom and wrapping his own arms around her possessively. Connie combed her fingers leisurely through his thick hair, marvelling in the silky texture and enjoying the intimacy of being able to touch him. For several minutes he seemed quite content with this, then his hands moved. Slowly they roamed over her back, his fingers trailing a lazy path down her spine before his palms traced the twin curves of her hips.

  ‘You seem to be able to make me forget, Connie. It is never as bad when I am with you.’

  He sighed against her ribs. Just that made her skin heat. A prickle of something, she suspected it was desire, made her more conscious of her body. Connie tried not to read anything into it. He was upset and in need of human contact, the motions of his warm hands meant no more to him than that. Did they? With aching slowness, his head nuzzled upwards into the crook of her neck and she felt her pulse begin to race with misguided anticipation. She was definitely mapping her desires on to his innocent actions—wasn’t she?

  When
she felt his lips press against the beating pulse at her throat she shivered. That had definitely not been innocent, nor was the way his hands were snaking up the sides of her ribcage, or the feel of his teeth tenderly nipping their way towards her sensitive ear lobe. Hoping that he would see it as an invitation, Connie arched her neck to give him better access and the whisper of a sigh escaped her lips when he placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss on her cheek.

  When his lips finally touched hers she was practically vibrating with need. Every nerve in her body was tingling. As his hands brushed the side of her breasts, her nipples puckered against the thin cotton of her nightgown, aching to be touched. Connie shamelessly pushed them against the solid wall of his chest, while her hands began exploring the muscles of his shoulders and chest of their own accord. Oh, how she needed this. It didn’t matter if it was only temporary. Right now, right this minute, this just felt right. Beneath her palms she could feel his own heart racing, felt the force of his own desire and sensed that he was holding it back for her benefit. Under his skin, she felt the tension in his abdomen as she touched him.

  It was Connie who deepened the kiss, but he followed her lead, hoisting her off the floor and into his lap so that he could plunder her mouth with his own. One big hand cradled her head while the other ran down her leg until he found the hem of her nightgown and burrowed under it, sliding his palm over her knee, her bare thigh, her naked hip until it found her needy breast.

  The sensation of his thumb stroking the taut bud of her nipple was almost too intense, and she made a sound deep in her throat that she had never heard herself make. It spurred him on further, so that he relinquished her mouth and used his lips and tongue to torture her breast through the fabric of her nightgown until she was certain she could stand no more.

  ‘If you want me to stop then you had better tell me now,’ he growled, rolling on to the floor and dragging her on top of him. She ran her hands over the flat plane of his chest and stomach then, enjoying the feel of the crisp hair under her fingers and the way he trembled when she touched him.

  ‘I don’t want you to stop.’ Her voice sounded breathy. It quivered slightly from both the hot passion that consumed her and at the fear of the unknown.

  He pushed her back then, so that she sat straddled his hips. She could feel his hardness straining beneath his breeches and undulated against it because that is what her body told her to do. His eyes closed in response and his own body tensed. Connie could see the veins in his neck and arms protrude slightly. His dark nipples had hardened to points and she ran her thumbs over them as he had done to her. A growl rumbled deep in his throat as he gripped the hem of her nightgown and yanked it off her body in one swift, fluid motion that she had not expected. All at once she felt exposed and inadequate, covering her small breasts with her arms, conscious that her figure was lacklustre at best, downright disappointing at worst.

  His hands came up to circle her wrists and he gently prised them away. Connie watched him stare at her and hoped that he would not be too horrified by her lack of womanliness. She was not entirely sure what she expected him to do next, but it was certainly not reaching up and slowly unbraiding the heavy plait that fell down her back and then spreading her wild hair all over her shoulders.

  Wordlessly, he sat up and kissed her with such tenderness that it took her breath away. She did not notice at what point he reversed their positions so that he was leaning over her, but she definitely noticed his lips and hands drifting all over her body—kissing, nibbling, touching every part of her until her limbs were quivering and an intoxicating heat had spread up her thighs and now burned between her legs.

  And Aaron was looking directly at that most secret part of her, a slight smile on his face that was all that was male and potent, before he brushed the dark auburn curls with his fingers. ‘I did wonder if you were a true redhead,’ he whispered, lowering his mouth on to hers again. She tensed instinctively when she felt his fingers dip between her legs, but soon forgot about the intrusion when he found a part of her that felt glorious when he caressed it, his fingers mirroring the motions of his clever tongue until she was arching against his hand wantonly. Connie did not care that her legs had fallen open and that he could see every part of her as nature had made her. All that mattered was that he didn’t stop.

  But he did stop. He sat back on his heels and hurriedly tried to undo his breeches with slightly shaking hands. Was he nervous, too?

  Connie rose up to help him and together they finally got all of the buttons undone. He allowed her to push the fabric down from his hips and she found herself licking her lips in anticipation of seeing that part of him. It sprang free of the restraining material, much bigger than she had imagined, and she stared at it while Aaron shimmied out of his breeches, unaware that his eyes never left her face.

  She wanted to touch it, but was not sure if she should. All male arrogance, he lay back on the floor with both of his arms hooked behind his head, giving her the first true glimpse of what a completely naked man should look like. Aaron was all golden skin, dark hypnotic eyes and a lazy smile that looked like sin. It was almost as if he were daring her to touch him as he had her, so she reached out her hand and lay it on the taut plane of his abdomen.

  ‘I thought you were fearless, Connie.’

  Another dare and one that emboldened her. She would not be fearful and meek. Not now. This might well be her only opportunity to experience these intimacies. She slid her palm slowly up his body, across his shoulders and then, even slower, she dragged it back down again. When it passed his navel she felt the muscles in his abdomen constrict and heard the subtle change in his breathing. He might be lying there passive, but he was not unaffected by what she was doing. To torture him, she allowed her fingers to rest in the soft hair at the base of his manhood. She could see it straining towards her hand, saw the tension in Aaron’s wonderful body as his eyes pleaded with her to touch him.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You are doing that on purpose. Bear in mind that I will pay you back in kind.’

  He made the threat through a pained smile, but it was a delicious threat and one that her body reacted to. Her womb ached. It was the strangest and most overwhelming sensation. Her body instinctively wanted him to be inside her.

  Brazenly, Connie’s palm drifted towards his arousal and gingerly brushed it. It was warm, and smooth as silk, but beneath it was so hard. Aaron sucked in a breath so she did it again and he growled.

  ‘I am not made of glass, Connie.’

  His hand came down and grabbed hers, wrapping it around his hardness tightly and squeezing his eyes firmly shut while she learnt the feel and shape of him properly. When he could stand it no more he flipped her on to her back.

  ‘I want you so much it frightens me.’

  His words made her feel beautiful. That was a heady feeling indeed. ‘Then have me.’

  He kissed her deeply then, his tongue dancing with hers as his hands parted her legs. He positioned himself between them, again she felt his arousal straining against her, but still he held back, his breathing laboured, his dark eyes intense, almost pained.

  ‘I have never made love to a virgin before. I am told that it can hurt the first time.’

  Connie wrapped her arms tightly about his body in reassurance, ‘And I am told that passes quickly. I want you, Aaron. Nothing else matters.’

  With a groan he positioned himself at her entrance and softly kissed her as he nudged inside. To begin with it was not unpleasant, but as he edged further and further into her body she felt overstretched. He sensed her discomfort and stopped. His whole body stiffened with the effort and then she felt him slowly begin to withdraw. Connie wrapped her long legs around his hips and dragged him back.

  ‘Just do it, Aaron. Then make it better.’

  He closed his eyes and slid into her in one fluid stroke and kissed her when she winced. For several moments t
hey simply lay there locked together as he allowed her the time to get used to the intrusion, then carefully, and with aching tenderness, he began to move inside her. It did not take her body long to accept what was happening and soon she was anticipating each thrust, arching her hips towards it and revelling in the feel of him so intimately close that he had become an intrinsic part of her.

  His eyes were open as he kissed her, letting her see that he was as absorbed and overcome by what they were doing as she was. Connie felt his heart beating next to hers and even their heartbeats seemed to be in tandem with each other. As the sensations in her body built she realised that this was more than a joining of flesh, but a joining of hearts and minds as well. The only thing that mattered was Aaron and that she loved him.

  When he tilted her hips slightly, so that his movements could also caress that wonderful place he had shown her, Connie forgot to think and surrendered herself to simply feeling. She cried out when her body began to pulse around him. He did, too, burying his face in her neck and collapsing against her while Connie locked her legs tightly around his hips, glorying in the last of the tremors that still rippled through them. She wanted desperately to tell him that she loved him, but held back, knowing that such an admission would only make him feel beholden to her. So she repeated the words silently, over and over in her head until they were both completely spent. Aaron curled his big body around her, engulfing her in his solid warmth, and moments later he was sound asleep. Connie remained still, but her insides were churning.