Page 45 of Claiming His Estranged Viscountess (Rogues from War 2)

Aurelia faked a rather unladylike guffaw, interrupting her husband again. “My husband has never kept a mistress!” She said in a sarcastic way. “He was too… distracted for such arrangements!" She managed to giggle as if the widow spoke in jest.

From the corner of her eye, she perceived Conrad widen his eyes in surprise at her perceptiveness.

Mrs Somersby glanced at her awed; a trace of respect entered her stance. “There’s always a first time.” She tried less convincing this time.

The lady turned dead serious again, her eyes shooting daggers at the widow. The woman had the nerve! Bile suffused in Aurelia’s guts, ready to go into the air as an explosive volcano. She made it remain inside with

herculean effort, maintaining her expression unmoved.

“You are not welcome in this house.” Low voice lethal with indignation.

The widow drew in audible air, looking at the Viscount in search of support. Which did not come. In a blink, she recomposed herself.

“My lord.” She curtsied. “My lady.” She stared at Aurelia stonily, pivoting to the door and leaving in haughty paces.

Her exit left a vacuum surrounding Conrad and Aurelia. This episode, unimportant as it might seem, sowed a tempest inside her. She could barely look at him.

He stared at her, as if waiting for a reaction. He received none. Air exited forcefully, he raked his midnight hair, pacing to the window where heavy grey weather came on display.

"This is a typical instance where your past comes back to you!" She issued to his broad back before she turned to stride out and close the door with an unforgiving click.

Conrad registered the door shut as his attention filled with the lead colour of the clouds in the horizon. This was the worst it might have happened since he stepped in this house after service. Martha Somersby never had anything to do with him. She used to accompany one of her lovers in their nightly dissipation in Colchester. He and his “friends” used to travel there, a mere two-hour drive from his manor. They drowned in the nights and wasted away during the day, for days in a row. He never exchanged more than platitudes with the contumelious woman. Why she deemed she should pay him a visit here was a mystery he produced no will to pursue.

He had a notion the smallest occurrence would disgrace the precarious balance his marriage had vanquished. Would he never get rid of his calamitous past mistakes? He sought to be the man he imagined himself he would become as a lad. He went ashtray, all right, and partied too much for too long, sweeping others’ feeling to the gutter in the process. He stopped being that rascal the time he set foot in the ship to India, managing to keep up with it since then.

That his wife had perceived his pattern also dumbfounded him. She had been a real presence in his life, more than he was prepared to admit. The way she dealt with the ungraceful situation from minutes ago, filled him with admiration. She undoubtedly proved to be his she-wolf, defending her territory with all her might. A faint smile designed in his sensuous thin lips. It was what she had been doing these last years: taking care of his lands, his people and maintaining them out of harm’s way. Invaluable this wife of his! This listed as only one of the reasons he wanted her around, and around she would remain, he would make sure of that.

The wind blew gusty on her face as she rode her horse along the pastures. At what happened in the study, this unbearable urge to be out in the open and far away from her husband invaded her. The episode tore at her more than she would like to confess, even to herself. The reasons tangled inside her burning her emotions and casting her thoughts in a whirl.

Mrs Somersby’s visit evidenced his past would always be present, whether she liked it or not. His old friends would assume that he willed to go on carousing inconsequently. The clarity of that instilled an abyssal fear Conrad might very well relapse to his old ways. This would cause her a breakdown. She did not want to risk it. She wanted to go back to the peace she experienced during his absence. How precious it had been! If only he travelled to town and left her untroubled by his quagmires and all it entailed. She did not want to live in this disruptive quandary and wished her life predictable and quiet, each year closing its ordinary cycle. She willed him away, so she could raise their child in a proper environment.

The way she essentially… hawked on the widow composed another source of rumination for her. Why did the woman’s presence infuriate her in such an explosive way? The sight of her touching her husband fired her fury to a vicious point. A physical need to defile the other woman almost got the best of her. This scared her. Her husband left her raw with emotions she did not nee—and did not want—to stomach. Tears burned in her eyes and she felt utterly silly for them. She would not cry. Would not! She deserved better and she would have it.

The first fat raindrops cooled her flushed skin. She looked up, solely now did she realise it had been threatening rain for hours, darkness approached with it. No worry. She would ride back to the manor from here. Fortunately, she had chosen a warm riding habit. She pulled the reign to gyrate her horse and sensed it faltering.

“What do you mean she’s been gone for hours?” Conrad asked the footman, annoyed.

He sat for dinner and inquired about the mistress of the manor, to obtain that answer.

“Yes, my lord. She requested her horse saddled and left soon after tea.”

That meant she rode away as soon as Martha departed. His heart lurched, concerned. She would not have stayed out at dinner time, especially not under the downpour sheeting the windows, in the dark.

“Have my horse saddled, please.” He oriented. “And call Hughes.” The footman bowed and walked away.

Conrad climbed the stairs two steps at a time, meeting the butler halfway to his chamber.

“Hughes, pack blankets and food.” He commanded rushed. “Meet me at the entrance.”

He did not wait for the man’s bow, walking briskly ahead. In his chamber, he threw on riding clothes, twisted into a coat, took another and ran downstairs.

His heart pounded in his chest while his horse braved the wind. Neither the frigid rain, nor the gust on his evening stubble swayed him. His thoughts were all on her. In this weather, she would catch her death. His stomach flapped at the possibility. With child, she became more vulnerable whether she liked it or not. He should have thrown the damned widow out the moment she crossed the study’s threshold. This must be the cause of her riding out late afternoon, with rain in the air. The passionate woman in his wife would not be about to accept such display of affront. He would not either, were the roles reversed. He guided his horse blindly, allowing his guts to find the way.

Time drained through, and rain soaked him to the skin, as he rode to the confines of his estate, becoming more worried by the minute. No trace of her anywhere. He had tried the places she usually headed to, to no avail. He did not want to upset the tenants; but if he did not find her, he would have to ask for their help.

Riding in the dark did not list among the easiest feats. Hazardous terrain surrounded the area. What during the day seemed harmless might become a source of serious accidents without light. Conrad held lantern suspended over his head; it did not illuminate far ahead though, even less with the fat drops. Desperation threatened to dominate him. He tamped it down with firmness. Panicking would not help matters.

Both man and stallion negotiated the muddy dirt for miles. The tempest continued to clamour in the fields, relentless. Conrad was losing heart. He would have to go back all the way to talk to the tenants. They laboured long during day at the late spring work. Bothering them would be inhumane.

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