Reclaimed By Her Rebel Knight. Jenni Fletcher

hauled the silk over her head. ‘You’ll look lovely, I promise.’

      ‘Of course she will.’ Her aunt followed Isabella into the room, giving Constance a swift look of appraisal before starting to tug at the intricate side lacings. Just like her daughters, she was blonde, beautiful and slender, even after five children. ‘Your parents would have been proud of you.’

      ‘Do you really think so, Aunt?’ The words brought a lump to Constance’s throat.

      ‘I know so. You’re a virtuous young lady and a credit to your family. What more could a man want?’

      Quite a lot, Constance thought silently. Beauty for a start...

      ‘If only my daughters would stop thinking about their appearances long enough to behave the same way.’ Her aunt pursed her lips at Isabella. ‘Now we need to hurry. He’s waiting in my solar.’

      ‘Already?’ Constance felt her stomach swoop. ‘I thought the banquet wasn’t for another few hours?’

      ‘It isn’t, but your uncle and I thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to get reacquainted first.’

      ‘You mean just the two of us?’ Her mouth turned dry at the thought, the words emerging as a kind of stricken croak. ‘But we were never acquainted in the first place!’

      ‘Well, here’s your chance.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Why couldn’t they meet yesterday evening?’ Isabella interrupted. ‘What was he talking to Father about?’

      ‘Important matters that don’t concern you.’ Her aunt’s tone was brisk.

      ‘What can be more important than seeing his wife after five years?’

      ‘Was it about the King losing so much territory across the Channel?’ Constance lowered her voice discreetly. She’d overheard enough rumours to guess what the ‘important matters’ might be, though as usual her uncle refused to discuss any of them with her.

      ‘Hush, child.’ Her aunt gave her a pointed look. ‘It’s men’s business, not ours.’

      ‘But why not ours? He’s our King, too.’

      ‘Enough!’ Her aunt closed the subject by pressing a hand to Constance’s cheek. ‘Do you remember what we discussed the other evening?’

      ‘Yes, Aunt.’ Although Constance wished that she didn’t. That conversation had made her feel a hundred times worse about her husband’s return. The marital bed had been a place of mystery before, but now it was one of positive horror. Not to mention that her monthly courses had started the day before. As if her stomach hadn’t been churning enough, now she had cramps to contend with as well!

      ‘Good.’ Her aunt patted her cheek again. ‘Now just remember that most brides find it painful at first, but there’s no need to be afraid. Best to get it over with so that you can enjoy the banquet later. There.’ She gave one last tug on the lacings and then took a step backwards, seemingly oblivious to the rush of panic her words had just created. ‘I think that you’re ready.’

      ‘But...’ Constance had the distinct impression that her feet had just rooted themselves to the spot. The last thing she felt was ready! Best to get it over with? Was that what getting reacquainted meant? She’d only just come to terms with the idea of seeing him again, never mind anything else! She’d assumed that the rest would happen later, when they were back at Lacelby maybe...or hopefully never...

      ‘Well, go on then.’ Her aunt was starting to sound impatient. ‘And remember to let him do the talking. Be modest and obedient and agree with everything he says.’

      ‘What if I don’t agree?’

      ‘Then he’s the last person you should tell.’

      ‘But...’

      ‘No more buts! A good wife doesn’t keep her husband waiting. Just do your best and make your uncle and me proud.’

      ‘Yes, Aunt.’ Constance pressed a hand to her roiling stomach, torn between resentment, dread and a powerful urge to run as far away as her legs would carry her. ‘I’ll do my best.’

       Chapter Three

      Half an hour. Matthew tapped his foot irritably. He’d been standing around for half an hour, staring into the fire and waiting for his wife to make an appearance. Where the hell was she?

      She hadn’t been with the rest of the family when they’d broken their fast that morning, though it had come as something of a relief at the time. The situation was irksome enough without an audience watching them, too, but now he wished they’d simply got the reunion over with. If they had, then he wouldn’t have had to be here now, waiting and wasting his time when there were much more important matters he could be discussing elsewhere. If she was acting coy, thinking it would somehow increase her appeal, then she was very much mistaken. He wasn’t in the habit of waiting for women.

      For his wife, however, he conceded that he ought to make an exception. Just this once, though he had no intention of letting it happen again. As a knight in the King’s service, he’d found it was best to let new soldiers know from the start how they were expected to behave, though he supposed he’d have to moderate his language for a lady. He probably ought to have used the time waiting to think of some gallant-sounding way to explain it, but now he was far too annoyed to try.

      He glanced at the daybed in the middle of the solar and then marched across to the window. Judging by the number of artfully arranged cushions on top of the coverlet, not to mention the pitcher of wine set on a table alongside, the pair of them were expected to consummate their marriage sooner rather than later. It was distinctly unsettling, the presumption of intimacy with a complete stranger he was none the less committed to spending the rest of his life with. What was he expected to do, woo her straight into bed with sweet words and compliments? Even if he’d known any, which he didn’t, in his current mood he would have preferred a nap. If he’d known how late she would be, he could already have had one.

      The blunt truth was that he didn’t know the first thing about being a husband. His father had never been much of a role model—quite the opposite, in fact—so that at least he knew how not to behave, but as for the rest, he was in the dark. He was used to living among men, to sleeping in a tent and talking about military tactics and supply routes, not cavorting with ladies. He had no idea how to talk to those and his unmarried companions hadn’t been able to offer much helpful advice either. According to Laurent, however, the most important thing was not to frown. Which was particularly difficult when frowning was his customary expression, but he’d been told the effect could be quite intimidating and he was supposed to be getting to know the woman, not frightening her.

      He only hoped she wasn’t anything like her female cousins. They were both fashionably beautiful, he supposed, albeit a little insipid-looking for his own tastes, but altogether too aware of their own attractions to be truly attractive. The younger one had batted her eyelashes so coquettishly that morning that he’d been forced to scowl back—a response which, now he thought of it, probably explained Laurent’s advice. Personally, he’d settle for a wife who wasn’t a flirt. The last thing he needed was another woman like Blanche...

      There was a brief tap on the door, mercifully distracting him from his memories, before it opened a crack and a woman’s face appeared in the gap.

      ‘Come in.’

      He turned away from the window, noting the momentary hesitation before she stepped inside and closed the door softly behind her, as if she’d been considering making a run for it instead.

      His first, favourable impression was that she was nothing at all like her cousins. So different, in fact, that it was hard to see any family resemblance,