Page 11 of Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues from War 2)

“I’ll come to you tonight.” He murmured on the brink of shaming himself. “I cannot wait any longer.” Passion overthrew him.

Her hands lowered to his chest and push him in a brusque movement. Her hazy eyes lifted to him, a dazzled expression transmuting into one of confusion, as if she lay between a rock and a hard place.

She had signed the agreement she herself had requested days ago. He had felt smug at the occasion. Attention down on her at that second, though, he did not feel so certain. Quickly, she disentangled from him and left without a word.

Damn. Damn! Damn it to blasted hell! Aurelia cursed on her way out of the orchard. What was she thinking? Fool, fool that she was! Telling herself off, though, would not change the fact she caught fire in his arms. Again!

There would be no way of escaping the whole… mechanics of it. She had signed the agreement. If he had not claimed his husband’s rights these last days, maybe because he had set upon himself not to do it. He might, though. And would, by the looks of it. No other option available than to abide by this, blast it! He met the terms on his side. She must do the same! And melt. And surrender. And be a fool. And enjoy, for pity’s sake! He had come back a full-blown man, hot blooded and intent on seducing her. A man she had not known before today. A man she did not find in herself to resist, despite everything. What got into her? Her insides twisted in a caricature of jumbled feelings, frustrated desires, mal-resolved loneliness. The solution? Be stupid anew to the point of falling for him as before and being hurt all over again! No, oh no! She would not permit herself that final downfall. Ever!

She marched to the kitchen to talk to cook, fuming and angry with herself.

Now, ask him if she showed up for dinner. Clearly not! Every time he gave a step toward her, she gave three backwards, sideways. Away. Blazing hell, but the kiss swamped him with heavenly bliss! The way they merged in each other. The passion, her fiery response got him enthralled, ravaged. Her withdrawal put him in an impasse. Of course, he could seduce her, as he had. And then what? Listen to her crying bitterly one more time. He did not forecast if he would survive it. No, he would not. That had been one of the most lacerating sounds of his life. His wife weeping because of his mistakes.

He had faced enough consequences of that past in the lives he had destroyed one way or the other. The people in is estate living on too little, the gambling companions who returned home with nothing, the odd crowd he drank with, and brawled with, hurting many. The women he paid and never remembered having treated with dignity. It resulted in a long rap sheet. One he did not feel proud of remembering. One that shamed him to wrenching depths. He would not force his own wife to that. At least he had learned a few lessons with his past mistakes. The worst being perhaps his marriage was lost forever.

After eating a delicious dinner with indifference, poor cook, he walked to his study. He crossed with Hughes in the corridor, seeing a worried expression on his face.

“What is it, Hughes?”

The butler eyed him distractedly. “Milord.” He bowed. “I am going to call milady. There is a situation.”

“Lady Strafford had a busy day. Can I be of assistance?” The amount of work she took upon her lay beyond reasonable. If he could, he would like to unburden her.

“One of the school children is missing, milord. It is possible milady knows something.”

Conrad taught in the school the whole week. Even aware of it, the butler sought Aurelia. What did it say about the trust his people put in him?

“I met the children all week, as you remember.”

The butler made a startled face, as if having that sudden memory. “Of course, milord.” He breathed tense. “It’s Bess, milord, the cook’s daughter.”

“She mentioned something about finding her kitten, if I remember well.”

“Yes, Lord Strafford. Cook said this, but now we don’t have an idea of where she is.”

A quick walk to the front door, Conrad instructed. “I’ll get my coat. Please, have my horse saddled.”

“Yes, milord.” Said the butler, positively surprised.

Conrad, Bess’ father and a few other tenants rode about the lands calling and looking for Bess. The darkness did not help. The fact Bess was in the habit of running all around the huge estate did not either. They separated to cover diverse areas at a time. This would take several hours, he estimated. They would be searching into the night. He regretted not instructing Hughes to send a message to Aurelia, so she would find out about his whereabouts, whether she liked it or not, the message or the whereabouts equally.

Chapter Five

Aurelia sat by her secretary, staring fixedly at the connecting door; she waited with a mixture of apprehension and expectation. Her heart performed elaborate pirouettes. He had said at the orchard he wanted to visit her chamber tonight; to that, she would not say no. Did she want to, she wondered? The hour grew late; no light came from his chamber though. Or any movement. He might be in the study as usual. She preferred to lose an arm than to ask any servant and give them, or him, any hint of what her mind roved about. So, she sat and waited. Anticipated. Recollected.

In her usual priggish nightgown, for lack of anything else. Without bothering too much, she had bathed and combed her rosewood hair, leaving it loose down her back in soft waves reaching her waist. After a few hours, she sat in bed with a book, of which she did not read a single page. The light under the door continued absent. Tiredness won her over at last. She fell asleep.

After finding Bess on the other side of the lake, hugging a wet bony kitten, and delivering her to her father, Conrad headed home. Muddy boots, an icy drizzle wetting his clothes. The clock marked past five as he took his weary, tousled self to bed. He did not have the energy to undress. He fell on the fluffy mattress in breeches and shirt, slumber overcoming him.

Her eyes snapped open to the daylight seeping through the curtains. She had drifted into sleep, her unread book fallen on the counterpane. First thought: Conrad had not come; he had not been in his room. The hour rather early this morning, seven something, if the light was anything to go by at present. She got out of bed, wrapping herself in a woollen shawl. Bare feet, she looked at the connecting door. Sharp curiosity assailed her. Without conscious decision, she paced to it on the worn out carpet, she made a point to keep rigorously clean.

As a burglar in her own home, she neared her ear to the centenary wood. No sound came from the other side. Her fingers rested lightly on the polished carved surface, pulling it inch by inch enough only to have a crack. His bed came into view.

The morning light poured on him from the open drapery. He lay on his back, in black breeches and white shirt, buttons undone on the neck, revealing a hint of his tanned, hair-peppered chest. His wavy midnight hair contrasted with the pristine pillowcase, mussed and inviting. The perfect features relaxed, unconcerned. The large brow, the long dark lashes, the perfect aristocratic nose, the thin discoloured carnal lips, the square jaw. Her eager eyes draw an excursion down his strong neck, his flat stomach, the breeches revealing, more than hiding, his narrow hips, his voluminous manhood and solid thighs. Her inspection continued to his long, angular feet that completed his blunt magnetism. She was mesmerised. She had never seen him sleeping, a vision worth of a warrior. Her hand flew to her neck in overflowing sensuality. Her first impulse being to go there and touch him with her hands, her lips, her entire body. He had always been one of the most virile man she ever set eyes upon, if she was to be true to herself. After these years away, he looked stronger, more powerful. He pulled her like never in those years.

He stirred in his sleep, ripping her from her luscious trance. Quickly she closed the door without a sound, going to her dressing table and sitting o

n the chair, still under the influence of the view of him.

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