Conn was at the church at half past five. He needed some sort of guidance, and he wasn’t finding it within himself. He was astonished to discover the Winthrop woman was there ahead of him. She whirled abruptly when she heard his bootsteps on the wooden floor.
Emaline was stunned at the sight of Conn Benton. She had never seen a man so handsome. They were totally mismatched, she realized, the ugly duckling and the beautiful swan. Except in size. Thank the Lord, he was taller than she was. His black hair was straight and a hank of it hung over his forehead. He had piercing, dark brown eyes and strong, blunt features. He was large enough to be intimidating, except she was used to holding her own with intimidating males.
Nevertheless, she felt a little breathless at the sight of him. “I didn’t expect you so soon. I mean, I suppose you’re the one who . . .” Her words trailed off as she stared at him, trying to imagine herself married to him.
“I am,” Conn confirmed. “And you’re the Winthrop woman?”
“I am.” She thought of them lying next to each other, his skin warm and golden . . . hers garishly freckled. And blushed. An incredible red. Her chin tipped up an inch in response to the incredulous look on his face.
God Almighty! Conn thought. This was the woman they proposed for him to marry? Lord, she was a long string bean. And redheaded!
Conn didn’t think he’d ever seen such bright red hair. She had it tied down at her nape with a green ribbon that matched her gingham dress, but it still curled every which way around her face. And freckles! He gave an inward groan when he thought of the child they were supposed to make together and how it would likely inherit her freckles. And no figure to speak of in that long span of female. There wasn’t much he saw to her credit.
Except her eyes. They were wide and blue and utterly captivating. Then she smiled. Not a big smile, but enough to put a dimple in her cheek, and he felt the warmth of it all the way to the pit of his stomach. He steeled himself against feeling anything. She was a Winthrop.
“I don’t know who thought up this blasted idea, but—”
“I did.”
“What?”
“It was my idea.”
“What were you thinking, woman?” Conn exploded. “Of all the cockeyed—”
“It isn’t as crazy as you’re making it sound,” Emaline interrupted. “It will work.”
“If they can find two people stupid enough to go through with a marriage,” Conn muttered.
“There’s nothing stupid about this idea,” Emaline insisted in a voice that reverberated with feeling.
Conn could see she was set on the idea of this marriage working a miracle. Well, maybe he could change her mind. He stalked down the aisle of the church to where she was, expecting her to back away. She stood her ground, and when he stopped a foot from her, he found her eyes only an inch or two lower than his own. He took a stance with his legs spread wide and settled fisted hands on his hips.
“Look, lady—”
“My name is Emaline. Emaline Winthrop. What’s yours?”
“Conn Benton. Look, Emaline—”
“My friends call me Emmy.”
“I’m not your friend,” Conn said in a hard voice. “And I’ll never be your friend,” he added. “I hate Winthrops. I’ll always hate Winthrops.”
“And I hate Bentons,” Emaline retorted. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Conn stood with his mouth open, but no sound came out. His brow furrowed. She was about the sassiest woman he’d ever met. She kept interrupting him, and she didn’t look the least bit intimidated by his presence. But he hadn’t met many Winthrop women. Maybe they were all like this. “You hate Bentons?”
“Of course,” she said in a cold voice. “They killed my father. And my younger brother.”
“Then why did you come up with this corkbrained idea?”
“Because I don’t want to see any more killing. I have one brother left. I want to see him live to a ripe old age. And I have aunts and uncles and cousins. I’d do anything to put an end to this awful feud. Even marry you!”
Conn didn’t bother acknowledging the insult. She had reason to despise him. He was a Benton. Which was why he had to talk her out of this outrageous scheme.
“Have you thought about what we’ll have to do?” Conn said, his eyes gliding over her intimately. “What the terms of this agreement involve?”
Her lashes lowered, and she turned red enough to wash out her freckles. “I know I’ll have to come to your bed,” she said quietly.
The slightly raspy sound of her voice glided sensuously over him and sent shivers down his spine. “They’ll want us to keep trying till you’re pregnant,” he said flatly.
“I know.” It was almost a whisper. “I never wanted to bring a child into this world before,” she confessed. “But to have a baby and know it can grow up in peace . . .”
Conn felt a band tighten around his chest. If there had been peace, he would never have lost Josie. “I don’t want a wife. I don’t want to marry again.”
Her body jerked as though she had been slapped, and her startled blue eyes sought his face. “You were married before?”
“My wife was killed by Winthrops.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Save your sympathy,” he snarled. “This is impossible. I won’t do it!” He turned, intending to march back down the aisle toward the door to the church, but she grasped his arm and tugged at him to stop. He whirled to brush her off, and she collided with him. He had thought her rather flat-chested, but definite breasts pillowed against his chest. Because she was so tall, their bodies fit together surprisingly well. Her hair, those riotous, flyaway curls, tickled his throat.
His body roused at the feel of her, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could only regret it. He didn’t want to feel anything. He had been faithful to Josie’s memory. He hadn’t wanted a woman, and when he had needed one, he had forced himself to work until fatigue made the need go away. It was just that Emaline Winthrop had caught him by surprise. She felt soft and feminine. His body had recognized the shape of her and responded.
His arms had closed around her to keep them both from falling, and he noticed she was reed slim, where Josie had been rounder, her breasts and hips more womanly. And Josie’s head had barely come to his shoulder. He could feel Emaline’s breath on his cheek, warm and erratic. She was frightened, he realized. For a moment he considered lowering his lips to hers, punishing her with his mouth. But he didn’t make war on women and children, and kissing her would be tantamount to an assault. He bore nothing but enmity for her and her people.
“Conn.”
His body tensed at the raspy sound of his name on her lips. He looked down and felt a spiral of desire as she moistened her lips with her tongue. He had missed her mouth when he was cataloging her very few virtues. It was bowed on top, and the lower lip was full and enticing. It was a mouth made to be kissed.
But not by him.
He shoved her an arm’s distance away. “This won’t work,” he said in a guttural voice. “What’s to keep everyone from killing each other in spite of this arranged marriage?”
She looked up at him, and he found himself ensnared by her innocent blue eyes.
“Everyone will start sharing the water on the disputed land at once,” Emaline explained. “Supposedly that’s what we’ve been feuding over.”
“You know that’s not all there is to the feud,” Conn insisted.
“Why else are we fighting?”
“For vengeance,” Conn said. “To pay back—”
“Don’t you see that has to end?” Emaline said. “The killing has to stop somewhere, sometime. Why not now? Why not with our marriage?”
“Confound it, woman, don’t you see—”
“All I see is a stubborn man, intent on killing.”
“I lost my wife!”
“I lost my father and my brother. We’ve all lost family. What makes you different?”
Conn wanted to rant and rave, to cry out that he had loved with a passion beyond anything he had ever thought imaginable. That his life had ended when Josie died, and he had wished to go to the grave with her. That he didn’t want to live without the only love he would ever know. That he didn’t want to feel again, because pain was what he felt first and foremost.
“Say yes, Conn.”
Her words were a plea, but there was nothing subservient in her posture. In fact, he would probably have to wrestle her to the ground to have any chance of bedding her. Except if she wanted the peace to last, she would have to bear a child. His child. She would have to submit to him. Not someday, but on their wedding day, and every day after that until his seed began to grow inside her. The thought of touching her, of discovering whether her freckles truly covered every part of her body, heated his blood.
Guilt that he felt desire when he should be feeling hate made his voice harsh. “I want nothing to do with you outside of bed. I’ll do what’s necessary to make a child with you, but that’s all. Is that understood?”
He thought she winced, but if she did, the expression was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving only disdain.
“If that’s the way you want it,” she said. “Are we agreed then?”
“I’ll marry you,” he said. “And God help us both.”