Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues From War Book 2) Read online

  Dinner proved a solitary endeavour. Mr Hughes, the butler, informed him her ladyship would dine in her chambers. So, she intended to avoid him like the plague. For all he deemed good for returning home, it seemed she would come back on him for his past mistakes. Not that he did not deserve it. Thrown on his face like that made him guilty and disheartened. Not to mention the contrariety.

  Aurelia was incapable of touching her food. The day’s events simmered restless in her. The future looked uncertain. Worse, it looked bleak, as did the past years. She should expect no less than repetition of those murky three years. It dreaded her to have to live through that again.

  She married Lord Strafford at a naïve and inexperienced age. At twenty, she occupied herself with romantic books and even more romantic dreams. She had seen in Conrad the perfect character of her books. At thirty, he had exuded charm and seduction, filling her imagination with all kinds of reveries. His proposal came as the culmination of her wishes. Just when she thought she would be in the shelf. Little did she know the irresponsible wastrel he would prove to be. The whole damned thing fated to disillusion, obviously.

  It happened quickly enough. In the first night, she awaited him eagerly. He took several hours to come and when he did, he consummated their marriage in a quick bureaucratic way and then forsook her for the rest of the night. Gone to a brothel, she concluded later. She did not see him until two days later in total discomposure. The sadness amounted to near unbearable. The months came and went in a loneliness bordering desperation. Her dreams shattered, her joy of life damaged. She ceased to be the radiant girl she had once been. It took time and learning for her to stand up on her own again. Hurt and rage aided her. Eventually, she succeeded. Until this day, she had taekn control of her life. What would come next? More of the same, probably.

  His touch this afternoon took her unawares. Her body registered his warmth and stirred. A tangled mix of feelings dominated her. Aversion, sensation, bitter memories and a void thing that gnawed. She recognised loneliness only too well and she did not deny a healthy woman had desires, which never manifested themselves while he went away. Why now? Alone with the manor’s work a sense of achievement and fulfilment overtook her. She had friends among the neighbours and the tenants’ wives. She needed no more. Definitely!

  She had been sitting at her secretary for a length of time, making notes for the spring work at the manor, when she heard it. Her lady’s maid had gone taking the dinner tray almost untouched. The click on the connecting door startled her. Locked, both doors, including the one to the hallway.

  The click came again, clearer. Her heart thudded, a cold thread flashed in her, followed by a hot one. The possibility of him visiting her in the night assailed her unwanted and tempting at the same time. His touch in the garden popped in her mind. The confusing emotions resurfacing. She must be in a dejectedly lonely condition if a mere click of the connecting door threw her in this thundering heartbeat. What could she want with a husband that made the consummation of their marriage a single cold obligation? The anger and the pain stood raw in her. She wanted no contact with him. Ever.

  Conrad put his ear to the connecting door. No sound came from her chamber. He knew she was inside though, as for the butler’s information. He played the fool, he supposed. Did he expect her to leave the damned door unlocked and receive him open arms? If her behaviour had been anything to go by, she wanted nothing to do with him. Who could blame her?

  What would she say if she understood he had been a faithful husband these two years? That he made it a point to be so? That he wanted to break with old self-destructive habits? She probably would not believe him. There would be no reason to, in her mind. It infuriated him, though, that she evaded him. He did not expect this block of ice to greet his arrival. Frustration tore at him.

  He rubbed a palm over the nape of his neck, trying to alleviate the tension. Exhaustion from the trip might be taking its toll on him. Better to sleep on it and see what the next day brought. He dressed his Indian white pyjamas, which was pleasant for night time. He turned around and walked to his huge cold bed. At least, it was more comfortable than his tiny cold cot! Sleep overcame him as soon as his head touched the heavenly crisp pillow.

  Chapter Two

  Conrad opened his eyes startled. For seconds, he did not remember his whereabouts. He caught his valet opening the unfashionable curtain; his memory refreshed. His hand passed over his eyes.

  “What time is it?” He murmured not fully awake.

  “Past nine, milord.”

  “Damn!” He jumped out of bed. How could he sleep so much? A usual early riser, he deemed it strange the hour so late.

  He undressed his pyjamas. He adopted the silky tunic and loose trousers in India, where he took to wearing it at daytime as well, when not on duty. It fit his tall frame and modelled his broad shoulders. Drury, his valet, always looked at it with a smirk, no doubt thinking his master rather eccentric.

  Downstairs he expected to see his slippery wife. And got dumbfounded when Hughes informed him that her ladyship left. On horse with her lady’s maid and Coleman to inspect the cattle on the other side of the property. Hours ago. The woman never stopped working, for pity’s sake!

  He decided to go for a ride in his own horse and reacquaint himself with his land. He saw improvements everywhere. Refurbished barns, renewed mills, enlarged irrigation system, cleared fields, mended fences. Everything looked very different from the shabby estate he had left behind him. A mixture of pride and shame invaded him. Pride for the competent wife she revealed to be, for this evidenced clearly her lead. Shame because he had allowed his own lands to decay long before he travelled to India.

  Even though he rode to the place Hughes said they headed to, he did not meet her. He was not sure if he should. So he returned to the manor.

  She did not return until late afternoon. He sat informally on the front steps cleaning his riffle when he spotted the three of them riding slowly towards the back entrance. The lady’s maid mule rode a behind them. Her horse and Coleman’s side by side. She wore an old-fashioned riding habit, too austere for her age. Her posture relaxed, she talked pleasantly with the steward. He answered back, and she laughed spontaneously.

  Jealousy stabbed him at the sight. He tried to tamp it down, making a lousy job of it. As her husband, he had a claim on her. As if sensing his fixed stare, she turned to him. All easiness and smile vanished from her pretty face. She became blank and rigid on her horse, which she rode with a side-saddle.

  They approached the terrace and dismounted, the lady’s maid walked back inside to her duties.

  “Coleman.” Conrad greeted his employee.

  “Welcome back, milord.” The steward answered politely.

  “Lady Strafford.” He bowed to his wife as a gentleman should in public.

  “My lord.” She replied, curtsying without looking at him.

  “I can see you and Lady Strafford have done an excellent job in my absence, Coleman.”

  The steward smiled. “Oh, milord, Lady Strafford has been most helpful with innovative ideas!”

  Conrad slipped a glance to her, her rosewood eyes never strayed to him. “Indeed!” He answered a touch too ironic.

  “She has been reading all the latest treatises on land management and learned hastily.” Coleman said, admiration in his tone.

  A modest smile drew Aurelia’s elegant lips. “Thank you, Mr Coleman.”

  It did not surprise him, with her drive and diligence. The manor and the lands showed off her care and hard work. “Maybe we should unburden her from now on and do it ourselves, Coleman.”

  He sensed Aurelia freeze by his side, not a hair moved in her.

  “Of course, milord.” Coleman sounded none too enthusiastic.

  So his own man deemed him unfit for work, did he now? Or he preferred female company… This picked at Conrad’s nerves. He would not let it show for the life of him.

  Over her dead body! Her husband managing the estate? Over
her very dead body! Not if she could help it. Fury shook her inside like an earthquake. She would use all the power she might muster to avoid him putting their hard work to shambles. The tenants, their families and the servants still remembered how rundown the state became before she took matters into her hands. They were all happy with their collective efforts to rebuild and reap the fruit of the land with the sweat of their brows.

  She never turned her eyes to him for fear of burning him on the spot.

  The comment made her utterly threatened. It constituted only the usual that he would take over now that he came back. She wished with all the force of her person that he got lost in town and stayed there, like, forever! In fact,, if she had a wish granted, she would like him to disappear again, for a long, long time. Decades, for instance!

  As the temperature shifted to frosty between the lady and the lord, Coleman cleared his throat. “Well, I think it time for me to head home.” He bowed to Aurelia. “Milady.” Then to Conrad. “Milord.” He turned and mounted his horse swiftly.

  A smug expression surfaced on her husband’s face which irritated her notch after notch.

  “Why work so hard when we have people who can unburden you?” She heard him ask after a moment.

  Eyes narrowed with irritation, she looked him straight in his dark eyes and lifted her chin. “I don’t want to risk going hungry like in my first year here!”

  Conrad pleated his brows as if this was something beyond any possibility. “Hungry?” His legs apart, his fists lifted to his narrow waist. “Have you ever gone hungry here?”

  She breathed a humourless laugh. “I did not look exactly fleshy, did I?”

  “No.” He murmured pensively, one hand rubbing his stubble chin.

  “You gambled and whored everything away.” She accused mercilessly. “There wasn’t enough for everybody.” She turned and left before her fury made good use of his disassembled riffle.

  He watched her walk briskly inside, her skirts floating after her. So this added to the mistakes he would have to carry in his conscience. It hit he had neglected his duties for too long. He never thought he stooped so low! His wife and his people having to feed on crumbs because of his selfishness.

  Two years ago, he realised he had gone too far with the life he led. He had gambled enormous amounts of money, yes. He had drunk to the point of not remembering things; had stayed away from home for days in a row, doing only god knew what. Had hung out with the wrong crowd. One morning, he woke up feeling like crap. He had not been able even to open his eyes, so heavy with alcohol he was. That day, he looked his swollen, wasted self in the mirror and made a harsh decision. No more. He had had to quit that life. Without the faintest idea of how. He had just kept going. With belongings wrapped up he left without certain destination. When the horse stanched, he had arrived in London. Blindly, he had come to the East India Company, which managed the colonies in India, and bought a commission to serve there. Clumsily, he wrote home saying he would head east. That had been the last he had heard or seen from his home up until the previous day.

  After bathing and dressing a high-necked practical dress, Aurelia sat at her secretary, hand under her chin. Well, she should not have dinner in her chamber forever, just to avoid that person who was legally her husband. She would have to face facts sooner rather than later. He was back. She would have to tackle this new condition. Weary and unwilling, she prepared herself.

  The day had been long. Up at dawn and out around the estate made up for heavy sleep at night. Abigail, her lady’s maid, looked as tired. Aurelia made it a point for someone to accompany her during her days in the field. She wanted no gossips to go around about the way she conducted her life. Her sole aim consisted of helping manage the estate and make it provide for everybody. She planned not to have a man, any man, in her life. Others would not judge her if she must spend too much time with Coleman. Either Abigail, or a tenant’s wife or daughter accompanied her in her tasks concerning the land.

  She stood up decidedly. Time for dinner. In the dining room. She gathered her skirts together with her wits and headed for the door before she changed her mind.

  Upon opening the dining room door, her heart skipped a beat. Conrad sat at the table, damp black hair, coat and breeches fitting him snugly, his tall frame accommodated at the table’s end. He looked at her, the candles playing with his dark eyes. He came home more muscular, more mature, more… She should not have come, she concluded in haste. She did not want to have anything to do with him, but his presence would never be comfortable.

  Their wedding day came to mind. She remembered him at the manor’s chapel altar waiting for her. All starry eyes, she walked to him on her father’s arm, envisioning a fairy tale future with that tall, handsome man. She had barely been able to count the hours for their wedding night when she would tell him about her love for him and life would be a scented garden. The higher the expectation, the bigger the disappointment, as she had learned the hard way.

  The seat at his right, where a place had been set for her, she sat murmuring a greeting. Eyes down, she would keep this at a minimum of interaction. The servants served the dinner and descended back to the kitchen to have theirs. She started eating, for the company continued unwanted, but she was hungry after a day’s work.

  She took a bite of the roast, closing her eyes at its delicious taste. She mentally praised cook. Her lashes opened again and caught him staring at her. She sustained his dark eyes until he gave in, returning his attention to his plate. As his head moved, the candles danced on his midnight hair, red-bluish streaks shone, causing her to marvel at it. Abruptly, he elevated his head and found her staring. Blinking nervously, she dabbed her mouth, as tension squeezed her.

  Conrad filled a goblet with water and glanced at his wife. As he caught her watching him, he wondered at what her mind whirled about. Her woollen high-necked dress might not be fashionable, but it did a good job of revealing the contours of her lush body. And he could not help the rise of his desire for her. The pleasure she evidenced with the food got him eager to discover which other pleasures would seduce her. His groin came alive. She did not seem inclined to small talk. He was not willing to waste the chance at a conversation since she showed up for dinner.

  “The roast is delicious, would you not say?” He attempted in a low voice.

  Her hand smashed the napkin, her shoulders going concrete. It seemed as if she prepared for a battle or something. Her resistance to him appeared thorough.

  “Indeed.” She answered laconic.

  Right, so she wanted to pretend he did not come back. Fine. Only it would not happen. He came to resume his life. To have a life if you prefer. About time, he deemed.

  “The weather is bound to get better. I did a pleasant ride today.” He tried again.

  She morphed into a static creature, straightening her spine even more. Then she filled her lungs with air as if welling patience. Her rejection of him came in heat waves. It made him uncomfortable.

  “It’s spring.” Came her near-monosyllabic answer.

  It would seem winter would prevail, if her cold voice was anything to go by. Unused to being treated with such contempt, Conrad was uninclined to abide by her frost. Vexation grew in him.

  “How are the estate matters going?” According to what he witnessed, he imagined they were all right, but he wanted to hear her talking about it.

  She snapped her eyes to him, her rosewood hair catching the candlelight. “There is enough for you to squander.” Laconic, her attention got back to eating.

  Her cold welcome added to her friendliness to Coleman did not supply him with infinite patience. Her sarcasm now irritated him. There was no way of him undoing what he had done. And there was no way of her un-marrying him. They stood stuck in this; they must deal with it.

  “Does the rotation culture work?” He insisted.

  Again, her hard stare found him. “Enough for you to gamble away.” Came the dry retort.

  Anger burned in him, as h
e tried to contain it. “The tenants are content, I suppose.”

  This time she did not even turn her eyes to him. “They will provide for your whoring.” She sipped her wine.

  He stood abruptly, sending his chair to the floor with a thud. Fury burned in his dark eyes. “It is not your place to speak to me thusly!” he growled.

  Aurelia startled with his reaction and it fuelled her latent rage. How dare he? She followed suit and stood in a flash, hands propping on the table, torso inclined forward, eyes darting fire, she faced him fully.

  “The fact a husband has prerogatives over a wife matters not a bit to me!” She spat furiously.

  Mirroring her, he propped his hands on the table and inched in her direction, their heads not far apart; she could see the bluish rim around his iris. Their stares battled silently, both holding their ground.

  “How about mutual respect?” He dared.

  “Respect?” She measured him from head to hands. “You would not recognise it if it was splashed on your despicable face!” What “respect” had he showed her since they married?

  He inhaled by his nose, livid. “You will not address me this way!”

  She snorted, eyeing him with the purest disgust. “No. I will not address you at all!”

  With that she left the table, marching briskly out of the door, ramrod straight. Reaching her chamber, she locked the door and paced some more, completely burned up by the exchange.

  The masks fell then. No more vitreous politeness or feelings under tight control. Everything came to the surface. Good! She would take it head on and draw the line. If he thought he could tramp all over her, like he used to do, he was totally mistaken. She would not give way to an inch!

  The door banging echoed in Conrad’s ears for long minutes. He raked his hand through his midnight hair, exasperated. He should not have lost control. He came home to make up for past mistakes, or to try, at least. She had the power to make him mad. She had become an angry woman; he understood it. He had angered her in three years. Her stony stance did not help much after all. He was only flesh and blood, he too. Not only that, she affected him more than he would like to admit, even being this whole time apart. Having been so close to her while they stood by the table affected his senses; he wanted the she-wolf he encountered here; there could be no denying it. Frustration and self-reproach duelled in him. Things looked more difficult than he had estimated. He had no intention of giving up so soon though. Not on the second day yet! He drank the rest of his water and headed for the study.