side saddle she could never truly gallop fast and always had to be conscious of her balance and her ladylike posture. Riding astride was more daring, and thus far more appealing, however, for appearance’s sake, she regarded the thing with distaste. ‘I am sure that I can manage well enough.’
A groom scrambled forward with a riding block, but Aaron shooed him away. With a smug grin he cupped his hands so that he could bolster her foot. Connie purposefully ignored it. At times, there was great benefit in being so tall. One of them was that she certainly did not need anyone’s help to get on a horse, especially his. Boldly, she placed one foot in the stirrup and then hoisted herself on to the back of the horse. Only once she was sat astride the saddle did the limitations of the tight riding habit present itself. The skirt had been designed to have as little bunched fabric as possible when she was perched on a side saddle. Therefore, there was precious little extra fabric to accommodate the width of her splayed legs on the top of the animal. The hem of the skirt had risen in protest, giving her new husband an excellent view of her calves, whilst the top of the skirt was stretched tight across her thighs and bottom. Desperately she tried to wiggle it down to no avail.
‘Allow me.’
To Connie’s complete consternation, Aaron reached up and manoeuvred the heavy fabric around her thighs so that he could cover the majority of her modesty. This operation took much longer than Connie felt was necessary and was made worse by the fact that she could feel the heat of his gloveless hands, all the way through the layers of skirt and petticoat, until an imprint of them was seared on to her very skin. Her ankles were still on full display to the world when he stepped back and grinned knowingly. At a loss of what else to do, and still feeling shaken by the effect of his touch, Connie thrust her nose in the air and stared out over the fields beyond.
Aaron mounted his horse quickly and the pair of them set off at a sedate pace out of the yard and up a well-worn path away from the house. Connie had to concede that even now, at the start of winter when all was at its bleakest, the woodland and meadow surrounding the estate was quite lovely. Aaron pointed out the occasional feature or entertained her with stories about scrapes he had got into as a boy. By the time they crested a small hill, Connie’s horse was sufficiently warmed up and she was aching to feel the wind on her face.
‘I will race you to that copse of trees.’ It might not be ladylike, but it was hardly as if her father was ever likely to get wind of it and, even if he did, it really was none of his business any longer. There were some benefits to the estrangement after all. That thought made her feel much better, so she crouched low over the horse’s neck and nudged him to go faster still. It felt marvellous.
Before Aaron was prepared, she had raced off ahead of him, a broad smile on her face and her body moving gracefully in the saddle as if she had been born to ride. He chivvied his own horse into a gallop, holding the beast back so that he could keep a short distance between them. In his mind he rationalised this behaviour as gentlemanly. It would make her happy to win. But in truth, from that position he could also enjoy the spectacular sight of her rounded bottom bouncing in the saddle, snugly encased in green velvet.
And he had thought that she looked splendid when he had first spied her in that outrageously bold riding habit. It had fitted her like a glove, highlighting the womanly curve of her trim waist where it met her hips. From there downwards was a slim column of green that went on and on until it hit the floor. The woman had legs that went on for ever. After catching an illicit glimpse of the shape of those magnificent legs last night, he had spent a great deal of time thinking about them. Before he had inevitably woken himself up screaming, he was certain that he had dreamt about them, too. He had certainly drifted off to sleep, wondering what it might feel like to run his fingers through all of that hair when he should have been thinking about how to salvage the estate. Connie had a way of permeating a great many of his thoughts since they had been thrust together. Even now. His morning rides had been a place to strategise about the future of Ardleigh Manor or contemplate his guilt—but there would be no strategising or guilt today. His new wife was too much of a distraction.
By the time they reached the trees they were both a little breathless. The ridiculously small hat that she had pinned on the top of her tightly bound hair was slightly askew, several copper tendrils had sprung free of their pins and were beginning to curl in the damp morning air. Combined with the victorious grin that lit up her eyes, the overall effect was simply stunning. It fair took his breath away.
What did not make any sense to Aaron was the fact that she had agreed to marry that wastrel Deal purely because he had asked her. That little snippet she had inadvertently let slip had occupied his thoughts a great deal last night and he still could not understand why she would sell herself so short this morning. Surely other men had asked? Connie had caused quite a stir when she had first come out, he remembered. Every young buck had been positively gushing about how glorious she was. One or two compared her poetically to a Titian painting but, he recalled with sudden clarity, when he had first seen her all those years ago he had thought that she was more like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, rising proudly out of a giant clam shell, red hair tumbling carelessly over her milky-white shoulders and looking positively ripe for seducing.
How was is possible that five years later such a fine specimen of womanhood was still on the marriage mart? Unless she had frightened all potential suitors off with her feigned haughtiness and uninterest. And it was feigned, he now knew. Connie used it as a disguise in much the same way he used his charm. He had seen her reach for the emotion last night when she had realised that her betrothal to Deal had been nothing more than a way of perpetuating the feud. He had watched her transform her features from anguish into indifference and had wanted to go to her and hold her, and tell her that she did not have to wear her mask with him. Except if he did that then she might expect him to do the same—a preposterous thought that he could never entertain. He had left then, knowing that it would be simpler if they both played the characters that made them feel safest, and had regretted it instantly.
The smiling creature riding next to him appeared not to be wearing her mask at this moment. Connie looked relaxed and happy to be outside. Aaron let her gloat about her victory as they rode around the trees to the empty fields behind, secretly pleased that he had made her happy with such a simple act.
‘Why are your crops not planted?’ she asked after a minute, taking in the acres and acres of nothingness.
‘A very good question, Connie, and one that I cannot answer. I suspect my father’s estate manager is an idiot.’
‘I do not know a great deal about farming, but surely if the man is an idiot your father should dismiss him and hire someone more competent?’
Aaron gave her a wry smile. If only things were that simple. ‘Unfortunately, my father will not hear a bad word against the fellow. Mr Thomas is credited with orchestrating the purchase of land next to your father’s estate. Therefore, he is a genius according to my father.’
‘Because nothing is more important than the feud.’ She understood instantly and gazed off into the distance. ‘My own father is much the same. His main priority always has been the feud, too. Nothing else matters quite so much. Not peace or harmony and definitely not daughters.’
Her face had clouded a little and he realised that she was thinking about her betrothal again, only this morning she was inclined to be more reasonable about it. That was another thing he had noticed about her. Her temper burned hot, but quickly disappeared. She did not hold a grudge very well and faced her own shortcomings head on. He envied that.
‘I did think that you knew that Deal’s land borders ours. I wasn’t trying to be cruel last night, Connie.’
She brushed his apology away with a swat of her green-gloved hand. ‘I should have realised it myself. The signs were there. Why else would a man like Deal agree to marry me? I am quite
