Jenni Fletcher - Reclaimed By Her Rebel Knight

‘You’re nineteen now?’ He decided to move the conversation on to safer territory.

‘Yes, my lord, and you twenty-four?’

‘Twenty-five.’ He lifted an eyebrow at her forthrightness. A man’s age wasn’t something a lady would usually ask, but then he had just asked hers. Fair was fair. ‘It was my birth date last month.’

‘Oh.’ She pursed her lips as if she were less than impressed by the fact. ‘Then I wish you a happy birthday, my lord.’

He didn’t bother to lower his eyebrow, surprised by the strange combination of submissiveness and defiance about her. There was an undercurrent of antagonism in her voice that suggested she was angry at him, but why? It wasn’t as if he’d expected a joyous reunion, but she was as tense and defensive as a cornered animal. Surely it wasn’t because he’d said that she’d grown? It had only been a statement of fact, although in retrospect, he supposed some kind of compliment might have been more appropriate...especially as an introduction...and he was frowning again...

‘My friends call me Matthew. You may do so, too, if you wish.’ He attempted a small, very small, smile. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.

‘Very well.’

‘I hope that we can be friends...’ he held on to her gaze, loath to state the obvious, though it appeared to be necessary ‘...since we’ve already vowed to spend the rest of our lives together.’

This time the flash was so bright it practically scorched him. ‘I had not forgotten.’

Matthew folded his arms, attempting to restrain a growing sense of irritation. So much for getting to know her. The relief and attraction he’d felt when she’d entered was already wearing thin. He was back to being irritated again—and starting to wonder whether one of her cousins might have been preferable after all.

‘You seem uncomfortable, lady.’ He made one last attempt at conversation. ‘Ours is a strange situation, is it not?’

‘I did not say so.’ Her eyes flickered towards the daybed. ‘I am here, my l—Matthew.’

He followed the direction of her gaze. Was that why she was behaving so combatively? Since the position of the bed wasn’t exactly subtle, he could only imagine what her aunt had told her to expect. Personally, he wasn’t sure whether to feel amused or offended, but he supposed in that case it was no wonder she looked so tense, as if she expected him to leap on her at any moment. Well, he could set her mind at ease on that score at least. He had no intention of doing anything besides talking to her today and he’d just about lost patience with that.

‘Which doesn’t answer the question.’ He decided to be blunt. ‘Perhaps you are displeased with me?’

‘I do not know you.’ She looked straight at him then, blue-grey eyes bright as sapphires and blazing with some fierce emotion. ‘Like you say, this is a strange situation and we are strangers. How could I be anything but uncomfortable?’

‘You’re right.’ He considered briefly before unfolding his arms. ‘Then perhaps it might help you to know that I feel the same way. We barely know each other and yet tonight we’re expected to sit side by side at a feast and make a public show of ourselves. I’m a soldier. I’ve no idea how to play the husband, but...I am here, too.’

He planted his feet firmly apart, waiting for another 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.