Regency Rogues: Wicked Seduction: Her Enemy at the Altar / That Despicable Rogue. Virginia Heath
I have spent several minutes in your company. Surely you are not put out by my socialising with my friends? It is the norm for married or engaged couples to not linger in each other’s company at social events. People would talk if we did otherwise.’ The Marquis of Deal gave her one of his benevolent smiles. The one that set off the dimple in his square chin to perfection and made his blue eyes twinkle against his thick, golden hair. The man was far too handsome and far too aware of it. ‘Although I do find your jealousy flattering, it is quite misplaced. I can assure you that Penelope and I were simply having a brief and platonic conversation.’
‘It was hardly brief. She has dominated your time for at least the last hour and people are beginning to notice.’ Aaron Wincanton had certainly noticed. ‘In the future I would prefer it if you avoided cosy chats alone with Penelope, or any other unattached woman for that matter, out of respect for me.’ Connie had hoped that Deal would feel ashamed of his behaviour. Instead he looked angry.
‘It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do, madam, and I will thank you to remember it. Do you seriously expect me to avoid all contact with other women? I have already discussed this at great length with your father and he assured me that you understood that our arrangement was more about convenience than convention.’
Hearing that spew from his mouth was like a slap in the face and Connie balked. ‘Do you have no affection for me whatsoever?’ She had hoped that he had some and that the tiny seed would grow and she hated herself for that as well. Silly, needy fool!
Deal stared back at her as if she was quite mad. ‘Ours is an arranged marriage, Constance. It is based on an agreement that is mutually beneficial to both of our families. I thought you understood that? I am doing you a huge favour by marrying you! You have been on the shelf for years and nobody else wants you. To be perfectly frank, you should be grateful for that and stop all of this nonsense. I will give you my name, a home of your own and a child or two to keep you company and secure the succession. In return, I have promised your father my support.’
A home of her own? What exactly did that mean? It certainly did not sound as if he wanted to share it. So much for her hopeful dream of a happy marriage. ‘And then what?’ she asked boldly, although she suspected she already knew the answer. Deal did not want her. He never would.
‘And then we will both live our lives exactly how we want to! You will stay with the children in the country, of course, but as long as you are discreet I have no objection to you doing as you please once you have provided me with an heir.’
Connie was starting to feel a little queasy. Surely her father had not agreed to this? He had sold her off as a brood mare to a man who had no intention of being more than a temporary husband. ‘And I am to accept the fact that you will continue to live the life of a bachelor in town?’
At that he looked her up and down with obvious distaste and then his expression turned to bemusement. When he finally spoke it was the final nail in the coffin of her foolish dreams.
‘What else did you expect, Constance? Surely you did not think that I would miraculously fall in love? With you?’
Aaron had seen her face change almost imperceptibly just before she had hurried out of the ballroom and found himself watching the Marquis of Deal with downright disgust. Whilst it hardly mattered to him that Lady Constance was marrying a libertine, he could not help feeling a little exasperated at the man’s behaviour. To consort openly with another woman when your fiancée was in the same room was worse than poor form, in his opinion, especially when the woman you were consorting with did not hold a candle to the one you were apparently betrothed to.
Constance Stuart might well be snooty, disdainful and disapproving towards him, that was only to be expected when they shared such an unfortunate history. But to others she was always the epitome of what a proper lady should be. Yes, she might well be aloof and in possession of one of the sharpest tongues in Christendom, but she had a way of carrying herself that set her apart from so many of the other young women of the ton. And with her height and willowy figure and all of that red hair, she was certainly distinguished. Added to that was her obvious intelligence and innate grace, combined with a rare and spectacular smile that lit up the room. Not that she ever bestowed it on him, of course, nor could he conceive that she would ever have cause to, but he could imagine that such a smile must make the recipient of it feel as if the most glorious sunrise had been created only for him to enjoy. Yet Deal preferred to humiliate the girl by fawning over the Rothman chit. And Aaron had never met a more scheming, manipulative and shallow creature in all of his life than Penelope.
Remembering his purpose, he turned back towards Violet Garfield and feigned interest. If he was going to propose to the girl, he had to at least appear to care about whatever it was she was currently wittering on about. Two hours into the ball and already he could feel his mask slipping. Being Aaron Wincanton was becoming exhausting.
Once upon a time being the charming and slightly mischievous rogue had come as naturally to him as breathing, but he had left that effervescent young man behind somewhere on a battlefield in Spain and he doubted they would ever cross paths again. The new Aaron Wincanton found no joy in balls or parties, nor did he find it in intimate gatherings or quiet solitary contemplation either. He did not deserve to feel joy any more. Most of the time he felt burdened. The rest of the time, if he was lucky, he just felt numb. He caught Violet looking at him as if she expected him to say something. He had not been listening and he did not want to offend her. Out of habit he turned on the charm. ‘Violet, when I am with you I wish the minutes were hours and the hours were days.’ They certainly felt like that.
As he had expected, the inane platitude worked wonders and she started to chatter afresh, with such gusto that all he had to do was listen and nod. A few seconds later and Aaron found his mind wandering again—it made him feel quite unsettled. He had hoped that he could convince himself that he might be content with Violet. There was no doubting that she was very pretty, which was a bonus, but much as he liked her poor Violet bored him senseless. Unfortunately, she was also an heiress—with a staggeringly large dowry—so beggars, like him, could not be choosers. The estate needed funds fast and his father wanted him to start producing the next generation of Wincantons while he was still alive to see it. Therefore, Aaron needed to step up and propose to Violet. And he needed to do it tonight.
But before he did, Aaron definitely needed a bit of peace and little Dutch courage. With nothing stronger than ratafia at the refreshment table he excused himself from the conversation and wandered out of the ballroom to see if he could find something suitably fortifying to drink alone elsewhere.
At the furthest end of the darkened hallway he found the empty library. Empty, except for the full brandy decanter and the one solitary redhead sat on an immense sofa and staring sightlessly into the fireplace. For a moment he considered turning around and looking elsewhere for sanctuary. The very last thing he needed was a dressing down from Lady Constance Stuart, even if he hoped that such encounters would eventually lead to an introduction to her brother, when he would broker the idea of an end to the silly feud that threatened to bankrupt him. His nerves were shot as it was and he needed a rest before he forced himself to become Aaron Wincanton again. But something about the way she sat, with her shoulders uncharacteristically slumped, made him dither. Perhaps they both needed the comfort of a sparring match this evening?
‘How clever of you, Connie,’ he said to vex her, ‘to find a place where we will not be disturbed.’
Her startled head whipped around and Aaron thought he saw tears shimmering in her green eyes but, if he had, she covered them quickly with her usual frostiness. The shocked expression dissolved into a harsh frown instantly.
‘You are like a bad smell, Mr Wincanton, which always seems to follow me around.’ She stood stiffly and glared. ‘I was hoping that, for once, you would leave me in peace.’
‘And where would the entertainment be in that? I look forward to our little exchanges, Connie. I find your disdain refreshing when I am