Regency Rogues: Wicked Seduction. Virginia Heath

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      Aaron had not been having a particularly good morning, not that any morning started particularly well any more. He had woken himself up with his own screaming an hour before dawn, drenched in sweat and tangled in the damp bedcovers. As usual, completely shaken and exhausted, he had crawled out of bed straight away to escape the images that haunted him. Bitter experience had taught him that he would not go back to sleep again, not with his heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer against his ribs and the horrifying memories so fresh in his mind that he could smell the metallic tang of blood as if he were still surrounded by it. Covered in it.

      When he had first started having the nightmares after his regiment had stormed Ciudad Rodrigo, Aaron had thought that they would only be temporary. As the war went on, the business of keeping the rest of his men safe had occupied most of his time, the dreams still plaguing him infrequently. They had been awful when they came, but he had been able to separate them from his daily horrors, almost as if he had locked them in a box to keep them for another time. Unfortunately, his box bore a striking similarity to Pandora’s. As soon as his feet had stepped back on to English soil it had opened and steadfastly refused to close again. Every painful, horrifying memory had gushed out, demanding atonement. The nightmares were incessant and vivid, coming nightly with alarming regularity. To begin with it had bothered him. Now that he had been home for a few months when so many of his comrades had been left behind to rot in foreign soil, he accepted the nightly ordeal as penance. Under the circumstances, he deserved the torture. He had caused death, therefore like every murderer he should pay.

      This morning, Aaron had washed and dressed quickly, saddled his own horse and had been galloping across the estate as the sun’s rays first appeared over the horizon. The exercise never made the horror disappear, but it did serve to exorcise the worst of it from his mind so that he could function. Just after dawn he had collided with one of the estate’s tenants and the man was not very happy. Once he had noisily aired his grievances Aaron conceded that the man made a valid argument. Apparently, under the terms of his tenancy agreement he had to grow whatever crop the estate wanted him to grow and had to use the seed given to him. Quite rightly, he had wanted to know why the promised seed had not yet been forthcoming, especially as it should have been sown weeks ago. Aaron wanted to know the answer, too, and had promised the poor fellow that he would seek out Thomas, the estate manager, but the man was nowhere to be found.

      It confirmed all of Aaron’s worries about the future of the estate. He might not yet be an expert on farming, but even he could see that they were unlikely to turn a profit if their crop was so late in the ground. With a growing sense of foreboding, and to have more proof to take to his stubborn father, Aaron had spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon checking on the other tenants. All had similar complaints—however, for many the lack of seed was merely the tip of the iceberg. It also appeared that while their revenues were consistently falling each year, the rents that they were charged were rising significantly. Many farmers complained that they were close to not being able to afford to continue. Already, several farms lay abandoned, their fields choked with weeds that would not make any money. Such gross mismanagement was not going to turn around the estate’s ailing fortunes any time soon.

      Aaron walked his horse into the stable yard, tired and completely worn down, but broke into a run the moment he spied his father’s carriage parked outside. The old man had come home early to spite him and probably to cause mischief. The last thing he wanted was his father rubbing Connie up the wrong way, especially as she was showing some signs of civility towards him. Both of them needed a mediator when they collided or likely all hell would soon break lose. Unfortunately, as soon as he stepped foot in the house he heard his father practically roar and realised that he was too late. Hell had already broken and was running loose all over his father’s study with its arms waving.

      Aaron skidded to a halt outside the open door just in time to witness his fiery wife standing toe to toe and eye to eye with his snarling father. Her elegant hands were curled into her signature angry fists at her sides and Aaron found himself scanning the immediate vicinity for heavy objects in case she was tempted to throw something again. The woman had an excellent aim and a very strong arm. ‘I see you have already met?’ he said breezily as he walked towards them, smiling as if nothing whatsoever was amiss. Both sets of eyes swivelled angrily in his directions, but neither dropped their combative stance.

      ‘Your wife needs to learn her place, Aaron!’

      ‘Your father needs to learn some manners!’

      Someone had to behave like an adult. ‘Sit down, the pair of you.’ To emphasise that his words were an order, not a request, Aaron forcefully pointed at two empty chairs with each of his hands.

      Connie sniffed, but retreated regally to one of the chairs, sitting primly as if butter would not melt in her tart mouth. His father looked a little blue around the gills and his breathing was more laboured than Aaron wanted to hear, but once Connie was sat he reluctantly did the same. He was going to have to tell her, he realised, and hope that she understood. As difficult and beastly as his father was, he was in no state to endure daily combat, no matter how much he might deserve it.

      ‘Has anyone rung for tea?’ Convinced that the answer was going to be no, Aaron walked towards the bell pull and gave it a hefty tug before sitting down himself. ‘I appreciate that this is an awkward time for all of us,’ he began with forced calmness, ‘but we are a family now and, therefore, we must find a way to live together peaceably.’

      ‘Then I suggest that your father desists from treating me as if I am a brood mare up for purchase. He has done everything except check my teeth!’ Connie’s usually plump lips were drawn into a thin line and he could feel the outrage radiating off her, so incandescent was her barely controlled anger.

      ‘She says that she refuses to have your children, Aaron. How dare she?’

      Aaron felt his spirits sink from despair to despondency. How typical that the pair of them would go for the most controversial of topics straight away. Even the most skilled of diplomats would struggle to find a way out of this bed of thorns and Aaron knew that there was absolutely nothing that he could say, here and now, that would please both of them. Under the circumstances, that left him with only one option and he just knew that he was going to pay dearly for it.

      ‘Connie, could you go to your room, please?’ Aaron tried to say it as kindly, yet as adamantly, as he could, but still her smart mouth opened to argue. Much as he hated to do it, he held up his hand to stop her. ‘I said go to your room, Constance! We will discuss this later.’ And he would probably feel the full weight of The Complete Farmer on his cranium, too, but it couldn’t be helped. Aaron had to separate them in order to deal with this issue effectively.

      Connie’s green eyes widened, then he watched them harden into sharp emeralds as she glared back at him with barely disguised contempt. She stood abruptly and flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her exactly as a true shrew would.

      Aaron turned to his father. ‘How did you come to be discussing procreation with my new wife?’

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