Owning Arabella (2 page)

Chapter Two

 

"If you ever get me into this position again, I will ring your damnable neck," Lord Darth Peregrine declared, glaring though irritated gray eyes at his best friend and business partner Robert Drake Esq.

"Do not venture that menacing look of yours on me, Darth. You relish it and you know it. The challenge sets your heart to pounding, doesn't it?" Robert replied with a knowing chuckle.

Darth's dark expression remained unaltered at his friend's observation. Of course if he had smiled, he would have appeared the same. His damaged face was scarred in a dark and brutal manner, forever leaving him to appear brutish and evil. It was one of the reasons he despised having to venture out to a place like the Inn at Griswold.

"I would regard it much better if I were not at this moment trying to save our entire investment, Robert." Darth's mouth turned down into a meaningful frown, emphasizing the slashing scar severing the right side of his lips. "I still do not fathom how you managed to lose our entire investment?"

"This foreign chap is good and you know it," Robert reproached, then he added, "How he does it after all the wine he imbibes, I will never understand? However, I am just grateful that he gave us a chance to win the money back that I lost to him last evening."

Darth reclined in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, as he took another languished puff of the expensive cigar he held. His gaze over black brows was riveted to the round table with the cards spread on top. He would win this hand and the entire ordeal would be soon over. Perhaps then, he could even expect to exit this inn without encountering another stricken maiden. The locals around this small haven of Griswold tended to overlook his gruesome countenance. They had viewed him too often in the last ten years. His own estate at Lee, which he was the third Earl of, being less than an hour away. Most of the people in Griswold were partial tenants or had relatives who were tenants of the earldom of Lee. However, the chamber maid obviously did not, he had never seen the girl before. He disliked it immensely when women reacted that way to him, and they all did, essentially crumpling in fear. One would conclude that he would be immune to it by now.

"I do not appreciate this delay, Robert. It bodes ill. Nevertheless, we have no hope to forfeit the play now. It all stands on this one hand. What the devil could that weasel be up to?"

At that moment, both men sitting in the private salon glanced upward as the polished maple-wood door swung open and Victor Crom reappeared. However, he was not alone to each mans resulting amazement. One gentleman letting his surprise show openly, while the other gentleman's features remained etched into a permanent dark scowl.

"Now just a moment!" Robert started to say with indignation, until he felt the iron grip on his arm, holding him down in his chair.

"Quiet," Darth hissed. The sound making Robert stare at him, and then further obey the intended command.

Darth's gray eyes narrowed as he observed the cause of his friend's concern. She was a breathtakingly beautiful young woman, petite of height, with a wave of luxurious hair the color of mahogany flowing unfettered down to her rounded hips. She was wearing only a sheer linen nightgown with tiny pearl buttons, buttoned up the collar to her throat and along the cuffs at her wrists. It was indecent attire, as if she had been pulled directly out of bed. The full richness of her bust line could be seen prominently outlined through the threadbare cloth, as could the darker tracings of her nipples. Darth observed at once, that she was not a common whore as suggested by her attire into the room. He did not know if his opinion came from her graceful baring or the look of vulnerable innocence on her alluring face.

Nevertheless, what caused him to pause, and then take a deep breath, was the young woman's unique eye coloring. Her eyes were like a lioness'. Both of here irises were golden with sparkled flecks in their centers. Luminous, and those two catlike amber globes were riveted on him, and they had been ever since Crom had wrested her into the room. That alone would not have been unusual to him, given his own disfigured looks. However, this young woman was not in the least bit taken back by his appearance. In fact, there was a solemn electrified battle waging between them. His gray-eyes clashing with her golden ones, and the effect was causing an indulgent heat to thicken his cock.
That infuriated him.

Darth watched the blush texture of the woman's bottom lip trembling as Crom pulled her fully into the room to display her in front of them across the rounded card table.

Darth's fingers clenched into tight fists as Crom's words registered fully in his mind, and a startling wave of absurd longing rushed through his tall frame. It was unbidden, and it was shocking.

"You intend to wager her?" Robert gasped. "That is just not done! I do not know where you hail from, Sir, but this is England!"

Victor Crom's dark eyes grew adamant. "Damnation man, we bond people into servitude all the time. What do you call that? But it is Lord Peregrine's decision. What say you, my Lord?"

Darth did not have a choice, the entire investment was too weighty to be lost. Yet, he did instruct himself adamantly that when he did win, he would simply refuse ownership of the woman. That settled in his mind, he realized that he was curious. The lushly-figured young woman still produced no cringing or disgust at the sight of him. Was she simply brave or perhaps dull-witted? God, he did not think so there was light and intelligence in her golden eyes.

Arabella stared at Lord Peregrine, finding that she could not look elsewhere. She decided instantly that was he truly fearsome looking. But more than that, he was overpoweringly masculine. His hair was a thick mane of the deepest blue-black coloring, which also shadowed his square chin and hard jawline. His nose was harsh with masculine flared nostrils and the portion of his lips that was not sliced by the scarring ran an arched line. His gray eyes were hooded and the scar on his raw masculine face branded the length of his features.

The top and widest part of the scar started hidden beneath his hairline, to slash an angle across his right eyebrow. Then it continued downward across his eye socket and lower along his honed cheek bone at the side of his nose. Here the scar thinly severed his upper and lower lip, to lacerate a deeper cleft into his chin than would have been there without its presence. The word "savage" ran through Arabella's thoughts, and then the word "powerful" because Lord Peregrine was the most powerfully built man she had ever seen.

He had broad two-foot wide shoulders and thickly muscled legs. The look in his heavy-lidded gaze was meant to devour her. Her body, suddenly a unique stranger to her flushed with warmth spreading over every inch of her skin, firming her breasts and excreting dewiness between her thighs. She was shocked and fearful at her own body's reaction to this man's mere presence, his mere threatening and predatory gaze.

Suddenly, Lord Peregrine stood, revealing his tall muscular figure as he stalked with an uncommon grace to the coat rack, where he unhooked a heavy black cape.

"Now just a moment. You'll not leave!" Victor challenged.

Darth did not offer the villainous slave trader an answer as he turned back with his cape in hand. He walked over behind the young woman, where he deftly swung the cape around her slender shoulders, wrapping her thinly-clad and shivering body within its heavy folds. He realized then that she did not even sport any shoes as he placed his hand to the top of her shoulder. He expected her to at least shudder in distaste at his touch. However she did not, to his amazement, as he pulled out a chair and ordered curtly, "Sit."

Arabella instantly obeyed Lord Peregrine's bass-toned command, grateful for the support to her wobbling knees. Nonetheless, she did not look up again at the dark and powerful Earl. His entire presence was too formidable to her as he returned to his seat and retrieved his cigar.

"What is your name?" Darth noticed now that the nimbus innocent was so close to him, she kept her eyes averted from his face and he felt a twinge of regret.

"Surely that does not matter," Crom started.

Darth cut him off harshly. "Hold your tongue." His splintered brow swooped downward unpleasantly. "We will do this after my fashion or not at all!"

Darth watched Crom grow red about the face, however the man sat, placing his hand firmly to the young woman's left arm. Crom must have squeezed that same arm, for she winced and cast a repellent look at him. Some unknown battle waged between them, until she lifted her chin and then she turned her gaze to look squarely into his gray irises. Surprising, him once again.

"My name is Arabella and I would gladly be your Bond's maid, your Lordship, as is my duty." Darth experienced a sharp pang of dark and unreasonable excitement. How could she utter such a statement, while gazing at him fully in the face? He raised his split black eyebrow to her pronouncement, considering that Arabella did not sound like a lower class name, and then he observed another pinch, which made Arabella offer a highly strained smile.

"Truly, your Lordship, I would do anything you asked of me."

It was as if she did not see his tragic deformity and he was no man's fool, something was undeniably amiss. "Where are you from, Arabella?" he asked with a sharp voice.

Arabella continued her steady gaze of his face, as she answered, "Jamaica."

"And you fully agree that Mister Crom has the right to do this?" Darth felt his heart thudding in absurd anticipation.

Arabella nodded her head mutely with her lush bottom lip beginning to tremble once again. The sight of its trembling damp plushness did him under and he had a wicked image of owning the wild- haired beauty. Those indulgent thoughts of dark and forbidden yearnings produced deep rumblings in his throat. He had been too many years without a woman and now at this moment he was becoming a lecherous fool over just one well-caught look. And he recognized abruptly . . . that was the entire point. Wasn't it?

"I accept the wager, Mister Crom," Darth finally stated, hearing Robert's sharp intake of breath. However, he did not spare his associate a glance, he was to busy judging the other two's reactions. Nor, he decided, would he take his eyes off either one of them, until this was finished.

Arabella felt faint. Somehow before Lord Peregrine's acceptance of the terms, she thought there could be a chance. Of what she did not know, nevertheless, it is forever human to be hopeful. Lord Peregrine's kind gesture of the cape and his questions to her had given her the impression of the remotest of compassion on his part. Surely it was a sign of charity? Nonetheless moments ago his maddened growl and the deepening of his already fearsome countenance had warned her. Then, Lord Peregrine's words washed over her and she realized once and for all that he saw her as no more than a possession to be bartered . . . A true and helpless slave!

"Show your hand," Darth ordered with a clip and arrogant voice as he swung his powerfully-built body away from Arabella to glower across the table at Victor Crom. Darth watched through hooded eyelids as Crom began to slowly reveal each card. Then it was his turn as he picked up his first card and unhurriedly turned it over. He made the unsavory Crom agonize over each card as he took his time showing each one of them. Darth knew the man's fate would not be sealed until the last card showed and he made certain to catch Crom's gaze with a snide grin. It had the intended effect, making Crom pale, and then cursed profusely when he saw the suit.

Then, Darth watched Crom run after Arabella.

 

Chapter Three

 

"Pick up our winnings," Darth hissed toward Robert, then he stood to follow Crom, who had not been quick enough to catch Arabella at the door. Darth was unsure why he moved to follow, yet it seemed that he could not help himself. Just as he reached the doorway, Darth heard two solid bumps vibrate through the wall, then he heard a woman's shrill screams, ending abruptly into silence. His motions were rapid and fluent taking him quickly into the hallway, where he witnessed Crom bending over a black shadowed heap upon the floor. And, Victor Crom had a knife.

"Damn you!" Darth shouted. The shout and audience appeared to be enough to send the blackguard Crom fleeing to the end of the hallway, and then out the back door at the rear of the inn.

Darth halted over Arabella's supine body, then he knelt beside her to check for a pulse, afraid Crom had killed her. He experienced an overwhelming rush of relief, when he felt the steady beat of her heart.

"What happened?" Robert exclaimed as he arrived at Darth's side.

"That damn slave trader had a knife," Darth explained, in the process of tugging the cape aside to check for signs of blood.

"Is she dead?" Robert asked with concern.

"Bloody hell, Darth, you own her now or did you forget that?" Robert admonished, with notable distaste coloring his voice.

Darth wiggled his hands underneath Arabella's inert form, then he lifted her easily into his arms to stand. "I never intended to keep her, nonetheless, I had to win back the money that you lost last evening." Darth moved then, striding down the hall.

"What will you do with her?" Robert asked following Darth's longer strides.

"Take her to Lee, what other choices do I have. She needs to be looked after," Darth answered over his retreating shoulder. Then he said, "Now, Robert, go and retain one of the inn's carriages. I will have to tie my stallion off behind. I cannot possibly attempt to carry the girl by horseback in this weather. And make certain the carriage has blankets or she will freeze."

Darth wondered as he stood in the back stairway of the inn waiting for Robert, why he was arranging this? It was not like him to offer aid in just this fashion, especially to the female gender. Better to explain the entire preposterous circumstances to the inn keeper and leave Arabella in his care. However, he found himself strangely concerned about Arabella and he could not seem to convince himself to let her go. The vision of Victor Crom's knife held over her was enough of an urge to keep him moving forward with his plans of action.

The carriage arrived with his stallion Raven tied unhappily behind it and Darth stepped out into the chilly weather of drizzling rain as Robert dismounted his own steed.

"Has she wakened?" Robert asked with concern edging his voice as Darth shook his head grimly, while they proceeded to the carriage door, with Robert explaining, "I have given the livery ten pence to drive you to Lee. As much as I would like to see this through, Darth, you and I both know that I need to get these funds to Bristol."

Robert opened the carriage door, as Darth stepped up into the carriage asking, "I do not have to remind you of the importance of the full amount reaching the shipping company, do I?"

Robert took a step backward shutting the carriage door, then holding his hands aloft in a gesture of appeal "I have learned my lesson, dear friend, . . . For life. If ever there is any more wagering to be done, you are the man for it. This is the new Robert Drake you see standing before you. You have my solemn oath on it."

Darth's black eyebrows rose with speculation as he adjusted the light burden more firmly on his lap. "Then I will hold my further sermons upon proof of it," he muttered.

"I only pray the woman is all right, Darth. Did you see the color of her eyes? My God, they are exquisite. Keep her warm, Darth, it's the bastard's own chill out tonight." Robert applied a solid slap on the door, letting the livery on top know he could proceed.

Darth tried his best to keep Arabella warm with two blankets and his own fur-lined cape. But it wasn't long before she was shivering in his arms. He cursed beneath his breath as he rearranged the coverings, opening his finely tailored jacket, so he could bring Arabella more into the warmth of his body. He felt her sigh and nestle closer to him, resting her face in the crook of his neck. He was glad for that small sigh, believing it showed some consciousness on her part, as he pondered how long it had been since he had held a woman in his arms. Too long to even consider, he judged, however he had dreamed about it. What man would not, who lived under the imposed celibacy that he did?

Darth spread his fingers through the strands of Arabella's hair. God did not instantly strike him dead for his audacity, so he delved deeper to feel the full weight of the luxurious mass lifted up and across his palm. He was alone now, he reminded himself. No one would see his weakness as he lifted the thick rich tresses, pressing them to his nostrils to inhale deeply. The scent of jasmine, light and exotic, wafted his senses. So unexpected was the fragrance that he nearly growled his pleasure. He could feel the sound buried deep in his chest as he let a few strands of Arabella's mahogany shaded hair slide over his lips, tasting them with his tongue. How many tormented nights had he dreamed of such a simple action?

He could feel the sweet buxomness of Arabella's breasts compressed onto his chest and he experienced the beguiling roll of feminine flesh each time the carriage jostled. The silk of his shirt and the linen night shift she wore were no barrier when she shivered against him and the tips of her nipples hardened into fat circular buds, prodding his chest like fiery brands.

He was instantly staggered, sinking his face into the scent of jasmine with soft tendrils of hair skimming along the texture of his jaw. One of his arms supported Arabella's back as his other hand searched for her small bare feet to make certain they were covered as well. With that same hand he began to rub their creamy texture, exploring little toes, soft arches, and how they fit into the palm of his hand. It was another area on a woman, men would not generally consider giving much attention to.

Only a man such as him, who was left with only his dreams, and there in laid his insanity.

In that moment, Darth considered the papers stating Arabella's ownership to him, which were still in his pocket where Robert had shoved them. He had not seriously tendered any notion of slavery or an utterance like the one he had just made. It had simply come to him as he was blinded by the unreasonable jealousy he felt over another man's name on Arabella's lips. While he was the one who held her so closely in his arms. What was happening to him, over just holding a woman in his lap? He knew the answer, with an anguished feeling that turned into disgust at how lowly he had fallen into the pit of his own making.