Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues From War Book 2) Page 16

  Their early morning, though, caused her body to go fluid like melted chocolate even now. She would surely not forget it. Ever. One of those precious moments that would remain imprinted in her body and soul.

  Her eyes fell on the manor already approaching. Fortunately, Conrad had respected her silence. If he had kept a conversation going, she did not know if she would be able to hold herself from giving in to her emotions.

  The moment they reached the manor’s front steps, she descended from his stallion, lest he carried her to his chambers to tempt her to continue the morning’s interlude. With a bath request, she climbed up to her dressing room and hid there, though hiding from her tangled feelings would be a tad more difficult.

  Aurelia remained busy all day running her usual tasks around the manor, even though she did not go out in the fields these days. Her mind, however, raced with the recent episodes, drawing her to a decision.

  Late afternoon, she saw Conrad had come back to the manor and had headed to the study. She walked to it and knocked on the door. He responded, and she strode into it.

  He sat on a leather armchair, a book on his hands. He dressed breeches and his usual white shirt open at the neck, his hair ruffled by the horse ride. The view of him evoked their early morning interlude, causing her to blush as her body revived the drenching pleasure it had experienced. She inhaled deeply, summoning the strength she would need now.

  “I would like to talk to you.” Her words formed bricks on her tongue.

  “By all means.” He responded as he gestured her to sit across from him.

  Stiff, she sat, ramrod straight. “I have been pondering about what has transpired of late.”

  With utter calmness, he closed his book on his lap, staring her directly in the eye. “I never doubted you would.” His matter-of-fact stance did not surprise her.

  “I want you to leave the manor.” The dryness on her throat made it constrict, her palms humid, heart accelerated.

  He put his book on the table beside him and sat up with an obdurate stance. “We have discussed it already, I believe.”

  Of course, they had, she remembered only too well. “Yes, I recall, naturally.” Her hands joined together on her lap pressed one another tense. “I am not asking this time.” Which implied she demanded it.

  A flash of vexation shone in his dark eyes. “What gives you the impression you can do it?”

  “Your former… friends parading the manor is unacceptable.” She stated, without answering his question. “I consider it harmful for my child.”

  “Our child!” He sprang from his seat, hands sinking in his pockets. “I agree with you. It’s not going to happen again.”

  She looked up at him, their eyes skirmishing. “You cannot guarantee it.” She stood up to talk on his level. “I want you gone at any rate. It will be better for everyone.”

  His face designed with evident irritation. “I told you I am going nowhere!” He paced the worn carpet. “In case you have forgotten, this manor is entailed to my title.”

  “You have the house in London where I am sure you would find more diversions.” She rebutted.

  “If you had a minimum of perception, you would realise I am not interested in any diversion in town or otherwise.”

  This was what he stated now. What would happen when he got bored with playing the careful husband? Because it would happen without a shadow of a doubt. “You will. I am sure.”

  “Don’t be.” His eyes pierced hers. “You must allow for the possibility that people change, mature! This is what happened to me!”

  She heard him, watched the steadfastness of his stance. It sounded too good to be true. It probably was. “You will not leave, as I request?”

  “No!” His finality rang sharp in her ears.

  “I will do it, since you won’t.” She lifted her chin defiant.

  Irritation burned in Conrad’s guts. He understood the visit of the previous day had affected her to the point of her forgetting herself and getting lost in the rain. Albeit she showed a nasty recalcitrant tendency. Would she not admit he meant what he just said about changing? If she could not, he would have to take action. He had no wish to recrudesce, but he sensed he would have to resort to that if need be.

  “As your husband, I own the right to keep you and the baby under my protection.” He neared her to assess the exact effect of his words on her.

  Her eyes widened with sparks of defiance in them. “I will be no prisoner of yours!”

  Prisoner? He became her prisoner, for pity’s sake! He was tragically unable to stay away from her. Her suggestion he go to town took him out of his mind for her suspicion.

  “You are no prisoner, but you have duties as my wife.” He did not want to press her by demanding her duties; he wanted her to wish to be with him.

  Their stares combatted fierce, none willing to give ground. “Fine. I will petition for divorce in that case.”

  At this, fury incinerated him, he neared her and took her by her shoulders, their breathing hard. “You want to divorce me? No problem. The child remains with the father as you know!”

  The simple notion of her divorcing him chilled his soul. She would have no right to financial support, even though he would grant it. The sour part being the fact he would be away from her. He seemed to be losing this battle flagrantly.

  Her beautiful face contorted with pure resentment. “You would not dare!” She hissed tight.

  “I would, and I shall!” He let her go. Her touch made him want to kiss her senseless. “This is my heir we are talking about, too.”

  “It might be a girl.” She challenged. As if he cared. His children would to be with their parents and he would be a decent father to them.

  “I don’t care! She will be an heir’s betrothed, surely.” He had to block her from doing this. For the child’s sake at least. Never mind the bitterness at her rejection of him.

  “You are despicable!” She vented her distemper.

  “The law is on my side.” Needless to say, he acknowledged.

  She strode away, her back to him. “Unfair as it might be.” She murmured, her back to him for long moments. “Don’t forget,” she turned to him, determination in her features. “I will call on our agreement when the time comes. Then I’ll be free of you!” With the ultimatum, she strode to the door and left.

  How would he forget that he had signed to go live in London after an heir and a spare were born? He would not. It swarmed in the back of his mind now and again. But it gave him time, plenty of it! Air escaped forcefully from his nostrils, he fell on the chair by the desk. This wife of his proved to be a tough nut to crack. They had a baby on the way; hence, he would stand his ground.

  At night, Aurelia slept in her chamber. As her head rested on her pillow, loneliness mantled her. Had she lain in her husband’s bed, they would probably be having a rather… entertaining evening. He would cuddle her after their… interaction would do it the whole night, only to watch her wake in the morning surrounded by warmth and other interesting activities. Like this very morning, she remembered again.

  That remained the crux of the question. How on Earth did he bring her to this state of entanglement? Nights by his side made her needy! This did not become satisfactory at all. She did not do needy! Worse. She did not do weak. For it must be a weak spot in her. He told her he changed. It was hard to trust someone who disappointed you for so long and in so many ways. She feared her heart could return to a point before her marriage. Which was a good thing, lest she try again and be demolished in the process.

  He missed her. He missed her a damn lot! Conrad admitted almost a week later, while he got dressed for a dinner party at his in-laws, his valet fussing around him. He wanted her back in his bed, soon. Tonight. They reversed back to how they treated each other as he returned. Stiff dinners, cold platitudes, her absence or avoidance of him. She locked herself in afresh. He did not discern what to do.

  The dinner would provide him with her company since both had b
een invited naturally. Likely, it would be difficult for him to be close to her an entire evening. But close to her he wanted to be, he concluded as he left his chamber.

  He met his withdrawn wife in the hall while the carriage parked in front of the main entrance. She dressed one of her new frocks of a soft yellow which highlighted her rosewood hair, tied in a loose bun on the top of her head. The dress tempted him with her feminine figure and breasts, fuller now, marked by the soft fabric, through the modest neckline.

  The footman helped her in, and he sat across form her. Her rosewood eyes averted to the window where the sunset tinted the horizon in shades of pink and orange. The light played in her beautiful face and perfectly smooth skin. He envisioned himself touching her skin, sliding his hands over its silky texture, exploring further. He blocked the fantasy, but not fast enough. She snapped her eyes to him and caught him staring. Her cheeks acquired a lovely colour as her gaze jumped away from him, back to the afternoon outside the window.

  Aurelia cursed this dinner at her parents while the carriage jerked to movement. She did not find a way of skipping her husband’s company. If she showed without him, the neighbours would deem it strange. More than that, she had been quite sure her mother organised this to show off her daughter’s apparently rekindled marriage. Since the gossipmongers raged over Lord Strafford’s excesses. Said excesses shamed her family in the same abysmal way they did herself.

  It constituted no secret to anyone her parents did not regard her betrothal to Conrad in a positive light. He had proposed to her parents, her father inclined to say no directly due to the proposer’s reputation, or lack thereof, so to say. Aurelia had heard of it and had written him accepting it. The letter came to be the proof of her acceptance which Lord Strafford showed to her father. With such proof, there had been nothing to do but yield to the engagement and prepare the wedding.

  Aurelia stifled a sigh at the recollection. She had been a naïve young lady to be sure. Now she carried his child together with a blasted lot of labyrinthine emotions hard to explain and even harder to make sense.

  A risked glance to him, she found his dark eyes on her. He looked magnificent in tailored black trousers, white shirt and cravat under a black dining coat. Lightning heat zinged in her with his tall frame dominating the cramped space. The sunset fell on his midnight wavy hair, lending bluish streaks to its smoothness. Her fingers itched to tangle in it to revel anew. She preferred to burn in hell than to admit she missed him. In every possible way. She averted her eyes and obliged them to lock on the landscape for the rest of the way, even though her heart lurched under his scrutiny.

  The carriage stopped before her parents’ manor entrance. Conrad helped her down, and her gloved hand rested on his arm as part of the pantomime. Once inside, she realised it was more party than dinner as the place swarmed with people from several of the neighbouring estates. Many noble families may have come back from London especially to attend, she concluded. Her mother must be on cloud nine, she concluded in contrariety.

  The party proved to be a success. Or rather, Lord Strafford became the heart of the party. Noblemen surrounded him, accepting him back in their circle, even raising him as their leader. It did not compose the worst though. He was besieged, literally. Hordes of women manoeuvred their fathers, brothers or even husbands to approach him and obtain an introduction. He talked to all of them in a courteous manner which put stars in their eyes. Aurelia was sick! She tried to put it down to her condition which did not convince even herself. It held a sour quality to it which made her blood boil and her eyes spit fire.

  Dinner announced; he came to her side, offering his arm. He did not offer to accompany any of the other ladies. Played his part well did he, she presumed spiteful. They sat far from each other, he by her mother’s right and she, by her father’s.

  On purpose or not, her mother had put a dowager countess on his other side and a widower marquis across from him. From her corner, she covertly observed his considerate behaviour towards both. Downing struck her like a cannon ball. She loved him. Blasted hell, she loved him! Or else, she might never have stopped loving the wretched Viscount! And yes! She was jealous. Jealous of Mrs Somersby together with all the females of all ages besieging him and pestering her peace of mind in the process!

  Rosewood eyes strayed to him again. As if sensing it, his molten dark ones turned to her. Their stares locked for several seconds, a well of undercurrent messages in transmission. Unable to divert hers, her heart throbbed. If only she had known what perturbed her the night she got lost in the rain! Jealousy! For her own husband, after five years: three of bad marriage, two of estrangement. Jealousy because she could not rip her love for him from her insides. Love, because this man would always be her undoing, her torment, her perdition. Her glory at night! Her comfort in the morning! She had been naïve in insisting in marrying him. She was even more naïve in continuing to love him. Her spirit sank. For her to direct such a sentiment to a man who hurt her so much. She must harbour a tendency for self-flagellation, the sole possible reason!

  Conrad held her gaze and lifted his goblet of water to her, so slight a movement, no one perceived it. Of its own accord, her hand flew to her neck in a clear sign of coveting she could not hide.

  Her father asked her something related to the alienated conversation, dragging her from her reveries and freeing her from his hypnotising stare. She broke eye contact with him and tried to reiterate the forgotten subject of the conversation.

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur for her. When she realised, she lay back on her cold bed, for a sleepless night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A few days later, she sat in the study checking the ledgers while Conrad remained out. Her real feelings stared her in the face, she had shied away even more from him. A grotesque game of hide and seek established itself in the house. She came to parts of the manor or the surrounding terrain at times she realised he would be absent. If he came upon her, she would find an excuse to leave within moments. She dreaded enclosing herself in the same space as he for fear of losing the tenuous control she had managed to keep.

  The nights prolonged her miserable want of him, anguish so intense she almost threw everything to the blazes and crossed the grim connecting door. To beg. Beg to be his in any way he wanted her, as if it would be better than the laceration of his distance. She held herself firmly from it though, pride getting the best of her. But pride was a lousy bed partner, she gathered gloomy. She would rather keep her self-preservation despite everything.

  The movement at the door tore her from her musings. Her head up, she saw Conrad entering. At her presence, he stopped mid-movement of closing it. Blast! The hours drained by—in alarm—if he had already returned from the fields. Ruffled-haired, coatless, open-necked shirt, he embodied overpowering attraction.

  She jumped abruptly from the chair, on retreat mode. Their eyes crashed then, making her body react in the bluntest way, heat assailing her while her heart skipped a beat only to go off suddenly. Her feet surrounded the desk, and she walked to the door.

  “Sorry, I was just checking ledgers.” She apologised awkwardly. “I am on my way to tea.”

  His eyes persisted fast on her. For an answer, he clicked the door closed. She made to the door. Never leaving her eyes, his hand gyrated the key, plucked it from the door and kept it in his pocket.

  Dear me!

  “You will have to find other ways to avoid me.” His husky voice informed her.

  Catching her in the study listed among the best it had happened in days, Conrad celebrated inwardly. After the hell she had put him through with her skittish strategies; or parading in that frock before him during the most difficult dinner party of his deranged life, trapping her seemed the unique resource left to him.

  She dressed one of her practical prudish attires which succeeded solely in making him hotter for her. Strands of her rosewood hair freed from her tight bun, framed her delicate features.

  Her attention foll
owed the key, and lifted to him wide-eyed. Her lips parted, and he heard her breath stagnate at the same time her beautiful face coloured. No novelty she wanted him, the problem being her taking him. For that, he was compelled to siege her in the same room as he.

  Paces towards her, he halted so close, he saw his reflection in her dilated pupils. Legs apart, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. She bent her head back to meet his eyes; so wide, she seemed to engulf him. He wished she engulfed him in other… delectable ways.

  “I am not avoiding you.” She breathed, the sound hardening him. “We did not agree on our cohabitation arrangement. Full stop.”

  “We most certainly do not agree even on the very concept of cohabitation.” He stated, as she tried to live separate from him, not with him.

  Her breasts elevated as she captured breath. His eyes fell on them, fuller, more delicious. He lamented not being able to follow the changes his child made in her body. On the other hand, she made changes in his body all right!

  “Precisely.” Her faint answer.

  She moistened her lips with a nervous twitch causing his erection to grow to a painful point.

  “We should elaborate a more… comfortable arrangement, don’t you agree?” For ‘comfortable’ was not how he felt at that exact moment.

  She flushed scarlet, her breath uneven. “I-I don’t think so.”

  “Your mouth says one thing. Your eyes beg me to take you.” He defied her. “Decide whether you hate me or want me.” This indefiniteness tortured him.

  She must hate him, to rag his guts in such way, to keep him so frustrated, he went insane. To request him to be away from her, even if she wanted him.

  Hate him? If he only knew! Her blurred thoughts produced.

  Her eyes focused on him burning with unwanted desire and her lips widened breathless. God help her, she possessed no forces to hate him, but craved him like fire devouring logs in a hearth. The blue flames fuelled her acid feelings; the red ones licked her hungry body, the contradiction turning her mind to ashes. He represented the grapes, green and rotten at the same time. But when his hands palmed her buttocks and pulled her firmly to his ready manhood, the red flames prevailed and she was lost.