Her Enemy At The Altar

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.