Regency Rogues: Wicked Seduction

Chapter Eight

Connie was in grave danger of wearing a hole in the rug with her frenetic pacing, but she was so furious she could not stop. She was not entirely certain which Wincanton she was madder at, his father for being so utterly obnoxious or Aaron for dismissing her so curtly as if she were the one in the wrong. It was probably Aaron. She certainly expected a little more of him. He had not even listened to her complaint properly before he had sent her away. How typical. Hadn’t her father just done exactly the same thing? Well, if he thought she was going to take that sort of treatment lying down he had another think coming.

She spun around at the light tap on the door, ready for the fight, and watched it open barely a crack. Instead of Aaron, only his large hand squeezed in and it was waving a white handkerchief. The man was incorrigible! Surely he did not seriously think he could get around her with charm, not after he had so rudely dismissed her like that?

‘Oh, just come in, you fool!’ Already she could feel the sharp edge of her temper soften despite her determination to remain livid.

The door edged open slowly to reveal him standing there with the handkerchief of surrender in one hand while the other hand held a bucket over his head like a helmet. He surveyed the room with exaggerated wariness before he gingerly stepped inside, still holding his bucket armour about his head and looking, much to her utter consternation, quite delightful. ‘I come in peace, Connie. Put down your weapons.’

It was such an unexpected sight that her first reaction was to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Fortunately, she held the bark of laughter back. She would not be charmed by him. ‘How dare you send me out of the room like that? I am not some servant that you can order around!’

‘I am sorry. It couldn’t be helped.’

‘Of course it could. You should have told your rude and ill-mannered father off immediately. He said the most outrageous things to me.’

Aaron nodded contritely. ‘He has a blunt way about him sometimes.’

The intense lustre in her green eyes reminded him of a stormy sea he had witnessed one afternoon off of the coast of Portugal. The water had been beautiful, mesmerising and deadly. A stark reminder of the force of nature. Now he was confronted by the full force of Connie’s temper, which showed no signs of ebbing any time soon. Her shoulders were thrown back and her delicate pointed chin was already raised, ready to do battle. The stance left the lily-white curve of her neck exposed and he wondered how she would react if he gave in to the sudden urge to place a kiss at the base of it rather than argue with her.

‘He said that I looked fertile! That I had birthing hips!’ Her voice had risen several octaves and she had started to pace again, using her demonstrative hands to punctuate her words. She was all fire and heat and Aaron found that even in a temper he enjoyed watching her. ‘He said that I had to open my...’ All of the air rushed out of her lungs in one fell swoop as she swallowed the last word in complete outrage. A small blush of indignation bloomed on her cheeks. ‘I have never been spoken to like that in my life!’ She stopped pacing then and turned to him. Immediately her expression changed from fury to exasperation. ‘Please take that stupid bucket off your head. I refuse to argue with a man who has a bucket on his head.’

‘Then if you don’t mind, I shall keep it on. I don’t want to argue, Connie.’

She hesitated then, before she slumped down on to the chair behind her. All the anger and outrage disappeared and she suddenly looked so very sad and lost. ‘I don’t want this marriage, Aaron. It is all wrong and doomed to make us both miserable. I am so very unhappy. I want an annulment.’

He had not expected that. The sheer misery in her voice brought him up short. Her eyes rose to his and he saw the suffering and torment swirling in their depths. There were no jokes or clever remarks that would diffuse this situation and his heart ached for her. He lowered the silly bucket to the floor. ‘I cannot agree to that, Connie. I’m sorry.’

Aaron’s own legs felt oddly unsteady so he sat heavily in the chair across from hers. The very last thing he wanted to do was make her miserable, but he could tell by the way her face had paled, and her posture dissolved, that he had just condemned her to worse than misery.

‘Why not? You do not want this marriage either. We were both forced into it. I could argue that my father used the safety and security of my mother as collateral to make me agree to the marriage and you could argue that you felt under an obligation to do the right thing as a result. It all happened so quickly. We have reasonable grounds, Aaron. It has to be worth a try. Please release me.’

Aside from the fact that the process was unlikely to be that simple, and there was a very good chance that it would be thrown out and they would be stuck with each other anyway, it could drag on for years, Aaron did not have years to do what he had promised. ‘Please, Connie, do not ask me to do that. I cannot.’

‘We both know that you would never have wanted to marry me under any other circumstances. You had your heart set on Violet. If our marriage was declared null and void, you could be free to marry whomever you wanted. I am sure Violet will wait for you.’ There was a pleading edge to her voice that tugged at his conscience. ‘And I know that your father would be pleased to see the back of me.’

And there, in a nutshell, was the rub. ‘You are quite wrong there, Connie. My father would be quite devastated if we started such proceedings now.’ Aaron realised that he had to be completely honest with her and had to hope for the best.

‘Can I trust you with a secret?’ She inclined her head in acknowledgement, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. ‘He’s dying, Connie.’

Instead of the relief or triumph he might have expected from a Stuart at this grave news, Aaron saw sympathy dart across her features and realised that telling her the truth had been the right thing to do. Underneath all of the fire and ice and sharp, acidic tongue Constance Stuart had a heart. Telling her actually felt like a relief. ‘His health is in rapid decline and has been for some years. He did not tell me else I would have come home from the Peninsula sooner. The man believes himself to be invincible—but his heart is weak. He suffers from a lung condition that has significantly worsened in the short time since I arrived home. He firmly believes that he has at least a year left. I have kept the truth from him as it feels unnecessarily cruel to burden him with the reality, but his physician believes that he has a few months at best, although realistically he could go at any time. I know better than anyone my father’s shortcomings, Connie, but I promised him a grandson. If we begin the proceedings for an annulment now, I will destroy all of the hope that he has for one while he is still alive and I will not do that.’

She was so silent that he could hear the bones in her stays whisper as she breathed in and out. The breaths came in staccato bursts as she absorbed the enormity of the situation.

‘I am to be made to pay the price for this. You would keep me here, against my will, because your father wants an heir?’ Her eyes were suddenly dewy, but typically she merely inhaled deeply and gazed back at him proudly, refusing to give in to tears. ‘Will you force me to have a child?’

Aaron felt the bile rise in his throat at the suggestion. In truth, he was not fit to be a father to anyone, but he would not admit that to anyone, least of all the delightful woman in front of him. ‘Of course not.’ Her slim shoulders slumped in relief. ‘Even if you were to carry my child, my father will be gone before it could be born. But it matters so much to him that I would like for him to believe that there is a chance of one.’

That was a much better compromise, he realised. He would not have to face the expectation and responsibility of being a father, and the inevitable disappointment that would cause to the unlucky offspring. But if Connie would agree to the ruse, then his father would be placated and would go to his grave a happy man.

‘You want me to lie?’

‘If you consider making a man’s passage from this life to the next easier by telling him what he wants to hear as a lie, then, yes, Connie. I want you to lie.’

‘Why should I? Your father hates my family. He could not have been more disrespectful towards me if he tried. I have no loyalty to either him or you. I would prefer to leave here and live on the streets than pretend to want that man’s grandchild!’

She saw his anger then, even though he fought to hide it from her. His jaw clenched and Connie could see the tops of his knuckles whiten as he gripped the arm of the chair. ‘Have you ever seen a man go to his death petrified and screaming for the things that matter most to him, Connie? Seen the panic and terror in his eyes when he realises that he has run out of time and that he will go to the grave without any sort of comfort? Have you ever heard grown men weeping like babies, pathetically begging you to fetch their mothers or wives or children so that they can see them one last time and then had to tell those men that you cannot help them? It is the most horrific thing, to see all hope die before death takes them. I have seen it and I wish every day that I had not. Had you seen it, too, then you would know that it is not such a terrible thing to lie to a dying man. Not if you give him hope. No matter how much I sometimes detest my father, I would at least spare him that torment.’

There was no lazy charm or bravado about the man in from of her. His pain was almost visceral and it shocked her to her core. Revealing it to her had also clearly shocked him. He appeared stunned at the enormity of what he had just confessed. Connie watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and saw how ruthlessly he suppressed his anger, as if he were taking it all inside of himself before he turned to her again, the usual half-smile firmly in place, almost as though he were pulling on a mask to hide the real man beneath. ‘Give me until then, Connie. Let me allow him to believe that we are man and wife in the literal sense and then, when he goes, I will move heaven and earth to secure you an annulment, if that is what you truly want. I promise.’

Of course, still stunned, she had readily agreed to his terms and he had thanked her and assured her that his father would be on his best behaviour going forward. Then he had left her, as if nothing meaningful had just passed between them and there was not an abyss of torment hidden behind his russet eyes. But Connie worried about what she had seen for the rest of the afternoon and wished that she was brave enough to offer him some comfort.

Dinner was a stilted affair, although Viscount Ardleigh remained polite, even though he made no secret of the fact that he was doing it under duress, and Connie allowed Aaron to bait her so that they could exchange a version of their usual sparring to relieve some of the awkwardness of the meal. She had excused herself after that, ostensibly to leave them to their port and male conversation, but she had found the whole ordeal quite draining. To know that you sat opposite one who was so close to death—who did not know that it was imminent, and conscious that he would be mortified to know that she knew that—had made the meal even more trying. But she had made Aaron a promise and would be rewarded with her freedom in due course. Once she had thought about it all, her compliance did seem a small price to pay.

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’