Page 14 of Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues from War 2)

The afternoon ride opened his appetite, he realised as he took himself to dinner. He entered the dining room wondering what delicacies Cook prepared. Surprise struck him. At her place, Aurelia, in the act of unfolding her worn-out napkin.

“Good evening, Lady Strafford.” He bowed, formal.

“Good evening, Lord Strafford.” She devolved, glimpsing him and lowering her lashes quickly.

He sat at his place; a footman poured water in his goblet from a jug he had instructed Hughes to accompany his dinners.

The servants ambled around serving dinner and left. They ate in a loud silence, full of tension and unspoken thoughts.

When they finished, Aurelia lifted her rosewood eyes to him at last. “I owe you an apology.” Her hands neatly folded on her lap.

“Oh, you do?” Placing his mended napkin on the worn tablecloth, he rested his other arm on the chair in a rather ironic posture.

“Yes.” She Blinked and drew in air. “I talked to Cook.” She took a sip of her wine.

“I see.” She dressed a high-necked dress of an uncertain cream colour. It glued to her breasts and tightened when she breathed.

God, the things she had told him in that brief exchange. To accuse him without proof evidenced inexpert indeed.

“But you would not believe in my claim alone.” She looked at his daring dark eyes, a lock of his midnight wavy hair falling on his brow. His black coat designed his large shoulder, giving his apparently relaxed stance a pulling quality.

“No. I have no reason to trust you.” She delivered candidly.

“No, you don’t.” He conceded.

“Why would I?”

“For the sake of doing something different.”

“When it comes to you, indifference is the difference.” She lifted her chin with a twinge of irritation.

“Evading me will not solve any problem.”

“True, but it will get me rid of your presence.”

“We both know that to be impossible.”

Why did he have to bring this up? She knew she would have to put up with his demands if she was to hold control of the manor’s business.

“I might go over the sow and harvest thing, but you probably know that already.” Meaning one harvests what one sows.

What she really wanted was to stand up and leave his presence. It was excessively uncomfortable around him. Her distrust mixed with this…craving, that underlined their interactions constantly, made her wrench with the contradiction. It brought the memory of the night. And the kiss. And this insane idea they should repeat them.

“You won’t let me forget, for sure.”

“On the contrary.” She eyed him directly. “I don’t want to nag you. I just want to be left alone.”

“Obviously.” He rested his chin on one of his hands, observing her attentive. “Don’t you feel lonely?” He shot out of nowhere. “I mean, so much withdrawal is bound to make one become isolated.”

Her eyes darted lightning, her rosewood hair, tight in a bun, shone in the candlelight. This moonstruck image of him laying her on the table and taking her flashed in his mind.

“Whether I am lonely or not, is not your business!”

“Oh but it is. You’re my wife and I might… help you with it.”

Her eyes squinted, her jaw set. “Help?”

“Sure, why not?” A suggestive glint installed itself in his gaze.

---