Regency Rogues: Wicked Seduction. Virginia Heath
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