Reclaimed By Her Rebel Knight. Jenni Fletcher
the woman, not frightening her.
He only hoped she wasn’t anything like her female cousins. They were both fashionably beautiful, he supposed, albeit a little insipid-looking for his own tastes, but altogether too aware of their own attractions to be truly attractive. The younger one had batted her eyelashes so coquettishly that morning that he’d been forced to scowl back—a response which, now he thought of it, probably explained Laurent’s advice. Personally, he’d settle for a wife who wasn’t a flirt. The last thing he needed was another woman like Blanche...
There was a brief tap on the door, mercifully distracting him from his memories, before it opened a crack and a woman’s face appeared in the gap.
‘Come in.’
He turned away from the window, noting the momentary hesitation before she stepped inside and closed the door softly behind her, as if she’d been considering making a run for it instead.
His first, favourable impression was that she was nothing at all like her cousins. So different, in fact, that it was hard to see any family resemblance, not just in looks, but in manner, too. There wasn’t the faintest hint of coquettishness about her, not in the steady way that she walked, nor in her face which was striking rather than beautiful with strong, definitely not insipid features and thick brows framed by dark hair twisted into a seemingly endless braid over one shoulder.
He let his gaze follow the braid downwards, over a vibrant blue gown that put him in mind of a summer’s meadow. For a confusing moment, he thought he actually caught a scent of wildflowers, as if a breath of fresh air had blown into the room with her, though the very idea made him frown again. It wasn’t like him to be poetic. Or to think of flowers for that matter. Or to be pleased simply because a woman had lustrous dark hair and was far, far more appealing than he remembered. Suddenly the daybed didn’t seem like such a bad idea...
‘My lord?’ Her footsteps faltered briefly before she dipped into a curtsy and then stood stock-still like a soldier awaiting inspection.
‘Lady Constance?’
‘Yes, my lord.
He clasped his hands behind his back and made a concerted effort to unclench his brows, surprised to find that her face wasn’t as far away as he would have expected. Most women were a good head shorter than he was, but her eyes were on a level with his chin. She’d certainly grown over the past five years, not just upwards but outwards, too, her low curtsy allowing him to judge just how much. He’d lifted his gaze away from her generous cleavage and back to her face just in time, surprised to find that her eyes were blue rather than the grey he remembered. For a moment he’d actually wondered if there had been some mistake, but then she’d answered to Lady Constance...hadn’t she? He was so distracted by the sight of her that it was honestly hard to remember.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting.’ Her voice was low and measured, though with a distinctly brittle edge.
He opened his mouth to confirm it and then changed his mind. Her hands were clasped together so tightly at her waist that he could see the whites of her knuckles and her stance was tense, the way soldiers looked before a battle. Was that how she thought of their reunion, as a battle? Perhaps he ought not to reprimand her for tardiness this time after all, although as to what else he might say... He cleared his throat awkwardly. He hadn’t expected to be quite so—what was the word?—speechless...
‘You’ve grown.’
They were the first words that came into his head, though judging by the immediate flash in her eyes, they were also the wrong ones. Oddly enough, however, he found the defiant spark reassuring. Those frightened grey eyes—he’d thought they were grey anyway—from their wedding day had haunted him ever since.
‘It’s been five years.’ Her retort sounded even more brittle.
‘I suppose so. You were just a child when we last met.’
Another flash, even brighter this time. ‘I was fourteen.’
‘As I said, just a child.’ He inclined his head as she jutted her chin forward slightly. ‘Or do you not think fourteen young?’
‘I think it depends. Some ladies run households at fourteen.’
‘Not many, I should think, and not on their own.’
‘That doesn’t make it impossible.’
‘No—’ he wasn’t quite sure why they were arguing ‘—but perhaps not advisable either.’
She thrust her chin out even further, looking as if she were on the verge of arguing some more, before changing her mind and dropping her eyes instead. ‘I’m sure that you’re right, my lord.’
‘You’re nineteen now?’ He decided to move the conversation on to safer territory.
‘Yes, my lord, and you twenty-four?’
‘Twenty-five.’ He lifted an eyebrow at her forthrightness. A man’s age wasn’t something a lady would usually ask, but then he had just asked hers. Fair was fair. ‘It was my birth date last month.’
‘Oh.’ She pursed her lips as if she were less than impressed by the fact. ‘Then I wish you a happy birthday, my lord.’
He didn’t bother to lower his eyebrow, surprised by the strange combination of submissiveness and defiance about her. There was an undercurrent of antagonism in her voice that suggested she was angry at him, but why? It wasn’t as if he’d expected a joyous reunion, but she was as tense and defensive as a cornered animal. Surely it wasn’t because he’d said that she’d grown? It had only been a statement of fact, although in retrospect, he supposed some kind of compliment might have been more appropriate...especially as an introduction...and he was frowning again...
‘My friends call me Matthew. You may do so, too, if you wish.’ He attempted a small, very small, smile. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.
‘Very well.’
‘I hope that we can be friends...’ he held on to her gaze, loath to state the obvious, though it appeared to be necessary ‘...since we’ve already vowed to spend the rest of our lives together.’
This time the flash was so bright it practically scorched him. ‘I had not forgotten.’
Matthew folded his arms, attempting to restrain a growing sense of irritation. So much for getting to know her. The relief and attraction he’d felt when she’d entered was already wearing thin. He was back to being irritated again—and starting to wonder whether one of her cousins might have been preferable after all.
‘You seem uncomfortable, lady.’ He made one last attempt at conversation. ‘Ours is a strange situation, is it not?’
‘I did not say so.’ Her eyes flickered towards the daybed. ‘I am here, my l—Matthew.’
He followed the direction of her gaze. Was that why she was behaving so combatively? Since the position of the bed wasn’t exactly subtle, he could only imagine what her aunt had told her to expect. Personally, he wasn’t sure whether to feel amused or offended, but he supposed in that case it was no wonder she looked so tense, as if she expected him to leap on her at any moment. Well, he could set her mind at ease on that score at least. He had no intention of doing anything besides talking to her today and he’d just about lost patience with that.
‘Which doesn’t answer the question.’ He decided to be blunt. ‘Perhaps you are displeased with me?’
‘I do not know you.’ She looked straight at him then, blue-grey eyes bright as sapphires and blazing with some fierce emotion. ‘Like you say, this is a strange situation and we are strangers. How could I be anything but uncomfortable?’
‘You’re right.’ He considered briefly before unfolding his arms. ‘Then perhaps it might help you to know that I feel the same way. We barely know each other and yet tonight we’re