To Pleasure a Lady (11 page)

Marcus sent Arabella an innocent glance. “I had planned to settle a large sum on my wards.”

Beaming at him, Winifred bobbed her head in approval. “I knew you were a right 'un, Lord Danvers. I've worried prodigiously about Arabella and her sisters these past few years. But a dowry will make it much easier for them to find husbands.”

“Winifred,” Arabella protested. “I thought you supported our intentions to remain single.”

“No, dear. I want you to have a choice about who…
whom
you wed, but you need to marry eventually. That's the only future for a lady of quality.”

“I have been trying to tell her so,” Marcus said, his eyes laughing.

“You should listen to your guardian, Arabella,” Winifred said quite seriously. “Lord Danvers might even be willing to drum up some good candidates for you. Suitable husbands don't grow on trees, you know. With his connections, you might be able to make a good match after all.”

“Well, actually…” Marcus remarked, “I already have found the ideal candidate for her.”

Winifred turned to him with keen curiosity. “Who?”

“Myself. I have proposed to Miss Loring, but she has refused.”

Her ladyship looked startled, while Arabella shot him a reproachful glance. She hadn't yet told her friend about Marcus's proposal or their wager, and she regretted that he had brought it up now when she would rather have explained the situation to Winifred in private.

Winifred was still eyeing him in disbelief. “Is that the truth? You
proposed,
my lord? I wouldn't have taken you for the marrying kind.”

“I wasn't until last week. I took one look at Miss Loring and was smitten.”

Her ladyship's chuckle resembled something of a horse's whinny, while her brown eyes started dancing. “I always heard you were a wicked charmer. I can see why you have a bevy of lovestruck mistresses and admirers all trying to set traps for you.”

“Winifred!” Arabella exclaimed again. “It is hardly proper to speak of a gentleman's mistresses at the dining table.”

“Now, don't be so missish, dear. You know I believe in plain speaking. And if you want my advice, you could do much worse than to wed his lordship.”

“See,” Marcus interjected with a provocative glance at Arabella, “even your patroness thinks you should accept me.”

Winifred continued as if Arabella wasn't there. “You won't find it easy to win her over, my lord, but don't be discouraged just because she doesn't want you right this minute. Persistence, that's the key. You should take a page from my late husband's book. He practically had to fight off my other suitors, which is why my papa chose him for me—because he admired Rupert's persistence. And even though Rupert only wanted me for my fortune, it turned out to be a good enough marriage. We became right fond of each other.” Her eyes suddenly shimmered with tears. “I miss him with a powerful ache sometimes.”

She sniffed loudly, then turned her attention to Arabella again. “Which is why, my girl, you don't want to remain an old maid all your life. I know you have your reasons for not wanting to wed, but loneliness is a bleak bedfellow.”

With effort, Arabella managed a smile. “I will keep that in mind, Winifred. Now, may we please change the subject? All this pointless talk about marrying Lord Danvers has diminished my appetite.”

Arabella was glad when they obliged, but to her chagrin, Winifred was not willing to give up the subject entirely. She brought it up again an hour later when she took her departure. While Marcus waited politely on the front landing, Arabella accompanied her ladyship down the steps to her carriage.

“I think you should seriously consider wedding Lord Danvers,” Winifred whispered in a voice loud enough to carry back to the house. “That magnificent specimen of manhood would make you a fine bedfellow, I'll wager.”

Arabella felt her cheeks flame, knowing that Marcus had overheard. “That is
not
a wager I intend to take, Winifred.”

She was determined to pretend indifference, but when she returned to the house, Marcus stood blocking her way to the entrance hall, his blue eyes alive with humor.

“Don't say it,” Arabella warned as she brushed past him.

“Say what, love?” he asked innocently as he followed her inside and shut the door.

“Whatever you intended to say. No doubt you meant to remind me of your superior qualities as a bedfellow.”

He chuckled but shook his head. “You malign me unjustly. I merely wanted to invite you to accompany me on a picnic tomorrow.”

She gave him a curious glance. “A picnic? I would not have expected you to be fond of picnics.”

“I am in this instance, since it's how I wish to spend some of my allotted time with you tomorrow. I'll order a lunch packed, and we'll drive my curricle instead of riding. That way you won't be able to gallop off and leave me to eat your dust.”

Arabella hesitated. The prospect of a picnic with Marcus was indeed appealing, even if it afforded him another opportunity to seduce her into accepting his proposal. Yet she
had
agreed to his terms, promising him a sporting chance to woo her. Moreover, she owed him for his kindness to her pupils this afternoon.

“Very well,” Arabella replied evenly. “I would be pleased to accompany you on a picnic tomorrow, my lord. For now…good night.”

When she mounted the sweeping staircase, however, Marcus remained only a few steps behind. And at the head of the stairs, when she turned left toward her bedchamber, he continued to accompany her.

When she was halfway down the corridor, Arabella came up short and gave him a look of exasperation. “What do you mean, following me this way, Marcus?”

“I am merely escorting you to your room.”

“I am entirely capable of finding my room on my own.”

“Of course you are, sweeting, but I want a moment of privacy with you.”

When he took her hand and drew her along the deserted corridor toward her door, Arabella tried nervously to pull back. “Our allotted time was more than fulfilled today.”

“I will borrow from tomorrow's allotment.”

“You cannot enter my bedchamber, Marcus!”

“I don't intend to.”

Although hardly reassured, Arabella ceased resisting, knowing it would do little good.

Guiding her into the adjacent music room, Marcus shut the door behind them and turned to face her. “This should prove adequate.”

“Adequate for what?” she asked, her voice suddenly breathless.

“For your next lesson. We won't be interrupted here.”

“But I don't need another lesson.”

Those midnight blue eyes glinted down from beneath heavy brows. She had only to look into those compelling eyes, gleaming with wicked knowledge, to feel aroused.

“Yes, you do.”

Arabella felt her heart quicken alarmingly at the sensual smile that curved Marcus's mouth as he advanced toward her. She retreated a step, holding up her hand to ward him off. “Aren't you aware that when a lady says she doesn't want a gentleman's attentions, it is rude to disbelieve her?”

“Since I never attended your academy, I never learned that particular rule.” He caught her hand and halted her retreat. “I mean to educate your senses, sweet Arabella.” Raising her hand to his mouth, he pressed his lips to the tender middle of her palm. A soft gasp escaped her at the erotic feel.

“You did this yesterday,” she pointed out even more breathlessly.

“No. Yesterday I taught you about the power of touch. Today we'll focus on the power of taste.”

“Taste?”

“Kissing, love.” His tongue flicked out to lightly dampen her palm, making her gasp again. “I won't use my hands this time. I intend to teach you about kissing using just my mouth, to let you learn the taste of me.”

Her heart leapt with excitement. And even though she parted her lips to issue a protest, she couldn't find her voice. The deplorable truth was, she wanted this lesson. She had no doubt that the tame pecks her betrothed had once given her would be nothing compared to Marcus's devastating kisses.

When she didn't reply, he offered her another enchanting smile. Still keeping hold of her hand, he turned Arabella and guided her until her back was pressed again to the wall. Then releasing his grasp, he bent his head.

His warm breath eddied and caressed her lips before he kissed her lightly. His mouth brushed sparks across the surface of hers, jolting her pulse into a wild rhythm, yet Arabella held herself still, fighting the overwhelming temptation to kiss him back.

Marcus lifted his head to study her. “No response? I see I will have to do better.”

His dark lashes lowering over his vivid eyes, he bent again, his mouth warm and vibrant as it settled on hers with slow, sure pressure. This time Arabella couldn't keep still, not with all the incredible sensations spiraling through her.

“Open for me, Arabella,” Marcus murmured against her lips as she shivered.

His mouth coaxed and beguiled until she did as he bid. Immediately his tongue delved inside, exploring in a sensual invasion that dazed her with pleasure and completely stole her breath away.

It was a long, long moment before she realized he had broken off to ask her a question. “How does that taste?”

Delicious,
was Arabella's unspoken reply. The taste of him was exquisite and filled her with a hungry yearning. Her senses dazed, she gazed back at him mutely, grateful to have the wall supporting her back, since her limbs had grown so weak. When finally she licked her lips in response, she saw Marcus's eyes flare.

He took his time, however, when his kiss resumed. This caress was languid and intimate, his mouth mating with hers while his tongue played in a leisurely, erotic dance. Arabella closed her eyes at the surge of desire sweeping through her, oblivious to everything but the movement of his enchanting mouth, his beguiling penetration.

She wanted to whimper in disappointment when at length he ended the kiss, but thankfully, he didn't leave her entirely. Instead, his lips traveled upward, feathering across her cheek to her temple.

“You have the most erotic mouth I have ever tasted,” he murmured.

“So do you,” Arabella replied honestly.

His soft laugh was a warm burst of breath against her skin. The intoxicating sensation sent a shiver of pleasure rippling down her spine, but when he touched his lips to her ear, drawing the lobe into his mouth, she gave a helpless moan.

“I want to taste your breasts,” Marcus added.

His whispered words, so provocative and tantalizing, made her breasts tingle shamefully.

She should pull away, Arabella told herself when she felt his hands moving at her back, working loose the hooks of her gown, but all she could do was stand there quivering, her heart pounding. She watched, spellbound as he drew down her bodice to reveal the rounded swells of her breasts above her chemise and corset. Then he tugged down the edge of her chemise to expose the rose-hued crests.

His eyes flashed at the sight.

“Marcus…”

“Hush, you'll like this.”

His husky murmur silenced her. Another tremor shook Arabella when she realized he meant to kiss her bare breasts, but she did nothing to stop him.

His gaze burned her as he bent lower, and then so did his breath as it fanned against her tender skin. At the delicate flicker of his tongue against her sensitive flesh, Arabella inhaled a sharp gasp. But when he grazed the tip of her nipple with his tongue, her breath fled altogether.

His teasing, velvet-rough tongue stroked her for a long moment, making her shudder with pleasure. Then with expert skill he drew the soft, swollen bud into his mouth, suckling the aching aureole. A whimper escaped her lips, while her hands rose to tangle in his raven hair. The brazen heat that coiled inside her was almost too intense to bear; it spiraled downward to the pulsing core of her body, weakening her further.

Eventually, though, Marcus shifted his arousing ministrations to her other breast, sucking more powerfully and sending another shaft of fire down to her loins. Stunned, Arabella arched toward him while the muscles of her inner thighs tightened almost painfully.

It was Marcus who drew back this time, however, leaving her hot and wanting.

Pressing his forehead against hers, he held himself rigid, as if straining for willpower. “I had best stop while I still can.”

“What…if I don't want you to stop?”

He gave a ragged laugh. “God, don't tempt me.” Finally he drew a measured breath and stepped back. “Go to bed, Arabella…
Alone
. Before I forget that I'm a gentleman and decide to join you.”

She swallowed in an effort to control her jagged breathing, yet it was impossible to recover her dazed senses so abruptly.

As she straightened her disheveled bodice, Marcus opened the door and checked the corridor. “The coast is clear.”

His hands moving to her shoulders, he pressed another light, all-too-fleeting kiss on her lips before turning her and sending her from the room.

Still half dazed, Arabella hurried down the hall and slipped into her bedchamber next door.

Her breath was still ragged as she shut herself inside, her nipples jewel-hard, her limbs hopelessly weak. It was a long while before her erratic heartbeat slowed, and even longer before she gathered her scattered senses enough to begin preparing for bed.

Arabella removed the pins from her hair and brushed out the red-gold tresses, then took off her gown, her task made easier because the hooks had been unfastened earlier by Marcus's dexterous hands. When she entered her dressing room, she caught sight of her flushed face in the cheval glass. She looked like a perfect wanton.

Chiding herself not so much for her brazen conduct as her too-easy surrender, she hung her gown in the wardrobe. When she opened the door to the clothespress where she kept her nightclothes and undergarments, however, she froze as the scent of roses greeted her.