Reclaimed By Her Rebel Knight. Jenni FletcherЧитать онлайн книгу.
spark, possibly a whole bonfire this time, but instead she simply regarded him with a look of surprise.
‘You feel the same way?’
‘I’d rather face a dozen French soldiers single-handed. No offence, lady.’
‘I do not think I’d fare so well against a dozen French soldiers, but...’ her tense expression eased slightly ‘...I’ve no idea how to play the wife either.’
‘Then perhaps we’re well matched after all.’ He took a step closer, holding a hand out palm upwards towards her. ‘Although I don’t believe you would ever be called on to fight. I’m sure any French soldiers would be smitten by your charms first.’
As compliments went he’d thought it wasn’t too bad, for a first attempt anyway, surely nothing that would justify the way her eyes suddenly widened and her cheeks flushed as if he’d just insulted her.
‘There’s no need to mock me.’
‘Mock you?’ He was surprised by the tremor of emotion in her voice. ‘I was not...’
‘My charms?’
She lifted her hands, clasping them together over her chest protectively, though it still took him a few moments to work out what she was referring to and then a few more to believe it. Then he burst out laughing.
‘It’s not funny!’ Her cheeks were practically crimson now.
‘It is if you thought I meant that! Those!’ He cleared his throat, attempting to pull himself back together, but now that he’d started laughing it was proving difficult to stop. It had been so long since anything had really amused him.
‘Stop it!’ She sounded furious now.
‘Forgive me, lady...’ he eventually succeeded in stifling his laughter ‘...but I swear I was not mocking you. I was simply referring to your beauty.’
‘Then you’re a liar!’
The accusation made him sober again instantly. There was nothing funny about that. If she’d been a man, then he would have challenged him to a duel over the words, but she wasn’t a man. She was his wife. One who looked ready to fight him anyway.
The last tattered shreds of his patience finally snapped. So much for getting to know each other, or however her aunt had put it to him that morning. His young bride appeared to be spoiling for an argument. Well, if his company was so objectionable, he wasn’t going to waste any more time making stilted conversation. If this was marriage, then it was even worse than he’d expected.
‘Perhaps you’d like to rest before the banquet?’ He made a stiff bow and then strode determinedly past the daybed towards the door. ‘We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later. In the meantime, now that we’ve officially met, I’ll leave you in peace.’ He reached for the door handle. ‘Until tonight, Lady Constance.’
‘Don’t!’ Constance waited until the very last moment, calling out as he lifted the door handle.
‘Why?’ Her husband looked back over his shoulder, his expression an unmistakable and somewhat intimidating blend of impatience and anger. ‘Was there something else you wished to accuse me of?’
She shook her head, wishing that she could go back and start the interview all over again. As it turned out, she’d guessed his identity correctly the previous evening, but meeting him in person had proven even more difficult than she’d anticipated. It had been hard enough confronting the man who’d usurped her inheritance and banished her from the home that she’d loved, but the sight of the daybed, drawn out from its usual place in the corner and set in the very centre of the room, had made things even worse. With her aunt’s advice still ringing in her ears she’d felt like a condemned prisoner on her way to the gallows.
His appearance hadn’t helped. He’d looked just as stern as before, albeit less dishevelled in a pristine white tunic, dark breeches and black leather boots instead of the bizarrely pointed shoes the men in her uncle’s household had recently taken to wearing. Clean-shaven, however, his features had looked even sharper and more dangerous, while smiling still seemed beyond him, except for one small attempt which might easily have been mistaken for a grimace. The only softness about him was in his eyes, which seemed to belong in a different face altogether. They were a deep, almost black shade of brown, wide and soulful and fringed with lashes several shades darker than the rest of his blond-and-copper-streaked mane. There was something almost feminine about them, unlike the rest of him, which was undeniably, unequivocally, masculine.
She hadn’t been able to read his expression at first, but the way that he’d scowled as she’d crossed the room had made his feelings abundantly clear. Obviously he’d been disappointed with his first sight of her, no doubt comparing her unfavourably to her cousins, though he might have tried to hide his reaction a little. Almost the very first words out of his mouth had been about her appearance and then all he’d said was that she’d grown! As if she wasn’t already keenly aware of the fact!
She’d entered the chamber determined to hide her true feelings and be ‘modest and obedient’ like her aunt had told her and then done the exact opposite, answering his questions with retorts and being generally belligerent instead. But how else could she have responded to his behaviour? ‘Modest and obedient’ were all very well, but surely that didn’t mean she had to tolerate disparaging looks and comments? Yes, she might have grown since their last meeting, but she could hardly do anything about that! And, yes, she might have been young when they’d married, but she certainly hadn’t been a child! She’d been more than capable of managing Lacelby! It was what she’d been trained for! Which her husband would have known if he’d actually bothered to speak to her on their wedding day. If he hadn’t just stolen her inheritance and left!
It had been too much to bear. All of the resentment and bitterness of the past five years had seemed to catch up with her at once, rendering ‘modest and obedient’ impossible. So she’d been rude and over-sensitive, misinterpreting his words and then insulting him in the worst way possible, but she’d never been so mortified in her life, first at what she’d thought he meant by her charms and then at his mirthful response.
The inevitable result was that he was leaving and she could hardly blame him. She didn’t particularly want to stop him either, but after what her aunt had said about making her and her uncle proud, Constance didn’t want to let them down either. If her husband left so soon after their reunion then the news would be around the manor in less than an hour and the banquet would be even more of an ordeal. Everyone would be talking about it and watching them, speculating as to why he’d left so soon and what had—or more precisely had not—happened between them and why. It would be hard to regard their marriage as anything other than a dismal failure and she’d promised to do her best...
‘I mean, please don’t go.’ She could hear the stiffness in her own voice. ‘I didn’t mean to be so abrupt, but...’ she sought for an excuse that didn’t involve resentment or abject rage ‘...I’m nervous.’
‘Nervous?’ He drew his already scowling brows even closer together, regarding her suspiciously for a few seconds before dropping his hand from the door handle. ‘Very well, then. Shall we sit?’
To her relief, he gestured towards the window seat instead of the daybed, almost as if he were making a point of avoiding it, and she perched on the far edge, resisting the urge to start chewing her fingernails again as he sat down beside her.
‘I should not have called you a liar.’ She folded her hands in her lap, waiting for some words of reproof, but to her surprise he sighed and spread his own hands out in a placatory gesture instead.
‘I should not have laughed.’
‘It was a misunderstanding.’