Her Enemy At The Altar. Virginia HeathЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Three

      Connie had a vague recollection of being ushered out of the ballroom. She remembered the carriage ride home with perfect clarity, though. It had been terrible. Her mother had sat in brittle, terrified silence, her brother Henry had been pale and stunned. Her father had been incandescent with rage, spitting out profanity after profanity as he railed against her with more force than usual. In the end, his rantings all boiled down to one thing: he thought her a stupid, ungrateful whore and she was dead to him. She was to pack her bags and leave in the morning and never darken his door again. Even now, several hours later, Connie still felt numb. One ridiculous and ill-conceived moment of weakness and her life was in ruins and she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do or where she was going to go.

      As soon as they had returned home, a maid had been sent up to her room to help pack her things and then left her to sleep. Two trunks and a bag were now stacked in the corner of her bedchamber, but Connie had not slept. She had spent most of the night relieving the awful events and could still not understand how it had all gone so horribly wrong. But she was very clear who was responsible.

      Aaron Wincanton.

      He had purposefully taken advantage of her when she had been vulnerable in some petty act of revenge. The man had clearly gone out of his way to ruin her.

      A maid knocked on the door timidly. ‘You are required in his lordship’s study, my lady. I am told to tell you not to dally.’

      It was barely past dawn and already her father wished her gone. With a heavy heart, Connie stood and made her way downstairs. The study door was closed so she tapped upon it before entering. Her father had never appreciated being interrupted at the best of times and now was definitely not that. His voice was curter and colder than usual. ‘Enter.’

      ‘You wished to see me, Father?’ Connie looked down at her hands rather than see the disappointment in his eyes. Even so, his next words were brutal.

      ‘Do not refer to me as that again. As far as I am concerned I have no daughter.’

      Connie’s eyes snapped up and only then did she notice Aaron Wincanton standing stiffly in the furthest corner of the room. She could not work out what emotion was clouding his eyes as he walked towards her and neither did she care. Automatically, her hands curled into angry fists at her side. Were the Wincantons so callous that one of them had to witness her entire ruination? ‘What is he doing here?’

      Her father did not look at him. ‘He has come to request your hand in marriage and, under the circumstances, I have granted it.’

      ‘I will not marry him. I hate him!’ Connie spat the last words directly in her despoiler’s face.

      ‘That is as may be,’ her father continued, sounding bored with the entire conversation, ‘but your mother prefers that I do not throw you on to the streets, so this solution suits us well enough. You made your bed, Constance, when you lifted yours skirts for him.’

      ‘I did not—’

      Her father cut her off with a raised hand. ‘Half of the ballroom witnessed it. Whether you did, or did not, consummate the act makes no difference. That you would allow this...this...’ his head whipped towards Aaron for the first time and regarded him with absolute disgust ‘...this Wincanton to touch you when I had arranged the perfect union between you and Deal, it beggars belief. But you did and now you must live with the shame and the consequences. He has arranged a special licence and the pair of you will be married within the hour.’

      Connie felt her legs give way and staggered backwards to steady herself on the arm of the sofa. ‘No! You cannot make me. I am past the age of majority. You cannot force me to marry anyone that I do not choose to.’

      ‘Yes, I can, Constance! The alternative is I throw you out on to the streets with nothing but the clothes that you stand up in.’

      ‘I would rather that than marry a Wincanton.’ Connie stalked to the door, refusing to look at either her father or him. Both men were vile.

      ‘Then do so on the understanding that I will toss your mother out alongside you. If she had done a better job of chaperoning you, then this would never have happened. You have always been as wilful and difficult as you are unattractive—and she has always given you far more credit than you were due. I have no intention of listening to her bleeding-heart pleas for your safety and I hold her equally as responsible for the disgrace that has been brought on to our family by your actions.’

      Connie turned to her father in abject disbelief and met his stony stare with one of her own. Was the man truly serious? Surely he was bluffing? Was he truly callous enough to throw them both out in order to get his own way?

      Bile rose in her throat when she realised that he was. The Earl of Redbridge’s word was always law and, in matters concerning the feud between the Stuarts and Wincantons, that law was cast iron. Both her mother and she were inconsequential. As long as he had an heir to pass it all on to her father would be content. Connie risked a glance at Aaron. He was still watching her intently, his jaw set and his dark eyes angry, but she did not know if that anger was directed at her or her father.

      * * *

      ‘Then bring in the priest and let us get this travesty over with.’ Connie was beaten. He could see it in her eyes. It was as if all of the light had gone out of them. She might be brave and bold for herself, but her loyalty to her mother was too strong to ignore. Aaron wondered what that bond felt like. His own mother had died shortly after giving birth to him so he had never grown up with the unconditional love of at least one parent. His own father and the Earl of Redbridge had a great deal in common and both were apparently hard on their children. He had almost stepped in to defend Connie, but realised that her father would likely throw them both on to the street immediately and if that happened she would never marry him. He could not leave her to the harshness of such a life on her own.

      Connie’s father marched to the door and spoke quietly with a footman, so Aaron took the opportunity to speak to her.

      ‘It will be all right, Connie. I promise,’ he whispered quietly as he gently clasped her hand with his own. She snatched it away as if she had been burned.

      ‘Do not touch me! I despise you, Aaron Wincanton. That will never change.’

      Whilst the words hurt he could not blame her for them. This whole, sorry situation was all his fault. He should never have gone into the library in the first place. He had made her cry. And he had instigated the kiss that had ruined her. No wonder she hated him. He hated himself as well—but that was nothing new. He was supposed to have proposed marriage to Violet Garfield and saved the future of the Wincanton estate. Instead he had made another huge mess and ruined yet another innocent person’s life.

      From the moment his father had patted him on the back in front of that room full of people, and congratulated him for getting one over on the Stuarts, Aaron had vowed to make amends for this latest transgression. But when he had seen Connie stumble out of that library with her life in ruins, the guilt he had felt had been so overpowering that he could barely stand in the same room as himself.

      ‘I knew my heir would not let me down,’ his father had crowed when