To Pleasure a Lady (13 page)

His eyes held hers, hot and blue, as he reached for the hem of her gown and drew it up above her knees. Then, very gently, he ran his hand up her stockinged calf to the bare skin of her thigh.

Arabella tensed until Marcus bent his lips to her again. “Just relax, love, and let me caress you,” he murmured against her throat as he pushed her skirts higher.

What he asked was impossible, for when he eased her thighs open with his knee, the pressure on the sensitive core of her sent a shock of fire rippling through her.

He touched her frantic pulse with a stroke of his tongue while his hand dipped between her legs to find the wetness there. When she whimpered at his scandalous touch, Marcus kissed her again, a slow, lazy, possessive kiss that had her shivering. At the same time he used his fingers to stroke her, rimming the sleek cleft of her femininity, teasing the tiny bud hidden there.

Completely breathless now, Arabella reached for him and clutched at his shoulders. Her body was feverishly hot, straining against his hand as he continued his delicate ministrations…drawing his fingers between her feminine folds, cupping her naked center with his palm. When she began to pant, he drank deeply of her mouth, as if he treasured every gasp she surrendered to him.

And it
was
a surrender, Arabella realized dazedly, unable to understand why she had fought him for so long.

She was filled with dismay when his kiss suddenly ended, then startled when he unexpectedly transferred his attentions below her waist. Dipping his dark head, Marcus settled his mouth on her inner thigh and began moving upward, tracing the earlier path of his fingers, trailing searing kisses on her skin.

It shocked Arabella when he pushed her skirts above her hips, baring all her secrets, and shocked her more when she felt his warm breath dampen the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs. She trembled violently as she realized his intention. He meant to kiss her there!

At the tender flick of his tongue over her sensitive flesh, she jerked, lifting her hips halfway off the blanket.

“Steady,” he whispered, his hands moving to her thighs to hold her down.

His tongue stroked her, probing her folds. Then he drew the swollen bud into his mouth as his middle finger slipped inside her.

The sensation was incredible—his hard finger sheathed in her flesh, his scalding mouth working its magic on her sex.

Her breath coming in hoarse whimpers, Arabella shut her eyes, her head shifting desperately back and forth on the blanket. She was unbearably hot, filled with tension and excitement and wild anticipation.

Her hands clenching spasmodically, she gripped Marcus's shoulders, clinging blindly, seeking more of this fevered pleasure that had caught her up in a maelstrom of desire and frustration. She needed something she couldn't even begin to imagine, something that was clawing at her, tearing her apart.

Yet Marcus wouldn't give her surcease. When she uttered a low, keening moan, the growl in the back of his throat signaled his approval. He continued laving her, caressing her, arousing and teasing and tormenting until she thought she might die from the wild pleasure he had kindled in her.

Then suddenly her senses exploded. Arabella cried out as reality splintered into a thousand sensual fragments of pleasure and her entire world dissolved in pulsing heat.

She was only dimly aware of the passage of time. Even when her pounding heart slowed, she lay there limp and unmoving. Her whole body felt gloriously weak and blissful from the ecstasy Marcus had given her.

When finally she regained her senses, it was to find him stretched out beside her, watching her tenderly.

“See now what you have been missing?”

Yes, she saw very clearly. His lovemaking had stunned her. She'd been overwhelmed by a storm of emotion and sensation.

This
was what made sensible women turn insensible, Arabella realized. Yet her insensibility had a great deal to do with Marcus himself. He was undoubtedly a magnificent lover.

“It is no wonder,” she murmured hoarsely, “that females fall all over themselves trying to attract your attention.”

“I am gratified you noticed.”

He smiled lazily down at her, a dark glint in his blue eyes, as solicitously, he drew down her skirts to cover her bare limbs.

Arabella sat up shakily. Something was missing, though. According to her friend Fanny, there was much more to lovemaking than what Marcus had just shown her. She eyed him in puzzlement until it struck her: He had seen to her pleasure but not his own.

Her gaze slid downward toward his hips, where she could see his buff breeches straining across the thick bulge at his groin. “That is all you mean to do?”

His eyebrow rose to his hairline. “You weren't satisfied?”

“No…I mean, yes, of course I was. It's just that…I understand that it is painful for a man to be aroused without…you know.”

He laughed softly. “It
is
painful, love—almost excruciating. But I will endure it. You are not yet ready for your next lesson. Now the anticipation will make it all the more pleasurable when I finally make love to you completely.”

The prospect of Marcus making love to her completely made Arabella's pulse leap with wild excitement, but she didn't mean for it to happen. Rather than argue, though, she said somewhat shyly, “Would you like me to…to stroke you to ease your pain?”

The amused tenderness in his expression grew. “You are all kindness, to be so concerned with my comfort.”

“It seems only fair,” Arabella said, another blush rising to inflame her cheeks.

“In point of fact, I can deal with the ache myself.”

When he reached down to unfasten the front of his breeches, she automatically lowered her gaze again. Her eyes widened as comprehension dawned: Marcus meant her to view his naked loins.

Her breath went shallow as he drew out his long member. Thick and darkly rigid, it jutted out from a sprinkling of crisp black hair at his groin. The sight of that huge, swollen arousal caused her throat to go dry, her stomach to contract.

“I presume you have never seen a naked man before,” Marcus remarked.

“No,” Arabella rasped.

“Are you shocked?”

Not shocked exactly, she thought dazedly. Despite her genteel upbringing, regardless of the dictates of modesty, she was captivated by the sight of him. Indeed, she would have liked to see all of Marcus naked. She suspected his body was far more beautiful than any other man's. Virile, masculine, hard, corded with lean muscle.

While she stared, he cradled his shaft, running his thumb over the blunt, velvety head. The casually erotic caress made her breath catch.

“You should watch as I pleasure myself,” he suggested.

Fascinated, she could do nothing else. Her eyes fixed on his loins, unable to look away, as he cupped the heavy sacs beneath his phallus.

“Of course this would be much more pleasurable with you,” Marcus said, curling his hand around his turgid length and squeezing.

Arabella inhaled a sharp breath when he began moving his hand slowly up and down, stroking himself.

“I'm imagining making love to you right now, sweet Arabella. It's very arousing.”

She swallowed hard. It was indeed arousing. She felt a shameful thrill at the intimate picture Marcus painted.

“Can you imagine having me inside you?” he asked as he gripped his heavy shaft harder. When she didn't reply, he raised his head. “I would like very much to be inside you, Arabella.”

He met her eyes, held them intently, as deliberately he increased the pace of his strokes. Shortly his face became tense with control, the skin flushed, Arabella saw. The teasing glint in the blue depths darkened into something both primitive and powerful.

Her heart began to pound while an aching tightness coiled throughout her body. She could almost feel Marcus's lengthy shaft gliding slickly between her feminine folds…

His jaw locked as his fingers kneaded harder, sweeping up and down his tumescence in swift jerky motions. His breath was harsh and uneven…until his climax came abruptly.

Clenching his teeth, Marcus shut his eyes and arched against the explosive release. A low groan escaped him, but as his pulsing seed shot out, he captured the spurting milky liquid in his cupped palm.

Arabella watched, her heart thundering in her ears. Her body felt as if it had suddenly burst into flames with him.

When a moment later Marcus opened his eyes, he smiled. “Regrettably, my little exercise in self-satisfaction is only a temporary solace. I still want you as fiercely as before.”

Arabella couldn't find the voice to respond. She was still staring at him, her lips parted, her breath shallow.

He took out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his hand clean, then quite calmly refastened his breeches. She remained speechless even when he sat up and fastened his gaze on her still bare breasts.

Then he reached up to brush her nipples with his thumbs, making her gasp again. “Now that you know the kind of pleasure you can feel,” Marcus murmured, “you will be anticipating our lovemaking with relish.”

Before she could deny his prediction, he drew up her chemise and then her muslin bodice to cover her breasts. “However, we don't need to debate the issue now. Finish your wine, sweetheart, so I may take you home. You have another class to give this afternoon, remember?”

“Y-yes…I remember.”

Arabella shook herself. She did have a class later today, yet her dazed mind had trouble concentrating on such mundane matters when she could still feel the erotic stroke of his hands and mouth on her body, still imagine his hard flesh moving inside her. Marcus had given her a stunning experience she would never, ever forget….

Arabella felt herself frowning as she readjusted her clothing into some semblance of decency. It wasn't his lovemaking that was so troubling, she suddenly realized. It was that for the first time in her life, she could begin to understand her mother…why her mother had succumbed to the incredible pleasure an attentive lover could bring.

Of course,
she
would never fall in love and lose her head over a man the way her mother had done, Arabella vowed. She would never destroy her family for the sake of her own amorous gratification, no matter how rapturous.

Her gaze went to Marcus as he gathered up the remains of their picnic.

But at least now, however, she could wholly understand the temptation.

Chapter Eight

I must concede I was mistaken about the earl. He has some redeeming qualities after all.

—Arabella to Fanny

“Roslyn, Lily…whatever are you doing here?” Arabella asked when she found her sisters waiting in the academy's reception office where she and the headmistress conducted the business of running the school. “You are not scheduled to teach any classes this afternoon.”

“We came to discover how you are faring,” Roslyn replied, a look of concern on her lovely face, “and to see if you need our help. Since we couldn't very well visit you at home, we thought this would be the best place. Tess told us the alarming news, Arabella—that Lord Danvers actually proposed to you.”

“Yes,” Lily agreed, her expression even more troubled. “How in heaven's name did that happen, Belle? The earl has only been here for four days and already you are making outrageous wagers with him?”

Had Marcus only been here for four days? Arabella reflected in amazement. It seemed like far longer.

Debating on how much to reveal, she settled in a wing chair opposite her sisters. “Did Tess also tell you the stakes involved? Lord Danvers promised to grant us our legal and financial freedom if I can manage to resist his courtship for a fortnight. The prospect was too enticing to pass up.”

“She told us,” Roslyn said. “And we appreciate the sacrifice you are making for us—”

“But we are worried for you,” Lily interrupted. There was none of the usual laughter in her warm brown eyes. “Tess says his lordship is sinfully handsome and charming.”

And enchanting and irresistible
, Arabella thought.

Aloud, she sighed. “Regrettably, he is. But I agreed to give him a fair chance to woo me.”

She proceeded to give her sisters an edited account of what had happened between them the past few days, leaving out entirely Marcus's lessons in passion.

“This is our opportunity to win emancipation from his guardianship for good,” Arabella concluded.

Lily frowned. “So he doesn't mean to make us abandon the academy or force us to marry?”

“Not if I can win the wager.”

“Tess said you found him more agreeable than expected,” Roslyn added, “but what sort of man is he?”

Arabella had no ready answer for that. After seeing Marcus yesterday with her pupils, she had to concede that he was someone she could admire and respect. Or so he seemed on the surface. One couldn't fully judge a person's character so quickly. And thus far he was acting the ideal suitor in hopes of convincing her he would make the ideal husband.

“He is indeed much more reasonable than his solicitors' letters led us to believe,” she admitted.

“There is no chance the earl will win your wager, is there?” Lily asked, still worried. “He won't convince you to accept his proposal? You have always said you wouldn't risk being miserable in a marriage of convenience, Belle.”

Arabella smiled reassuringly. “You needn't distress yourself. I haven't changed my opinion about marriage in the least.”

She might not be able to resist Marcus's devastating kisses but she had no intention of wedding him. She certainly wouldn't be so gullible as to let herself fall in love again, and true love was the only thing that could possibly induce her to brave the perils of betrothal and marriage a second time. She was much wiser now, more careful with her heart.

“Do you want us to come home and help you deal with the earl?” Roslyn asked. “We promised Tess we would finish her charity baskets by next week, but your welfare is more important just now.”

“Yes,” Lily seconded. “Perhaps we
should
come home to support you against the earl.”

“Thank you, but no,” Arabella replied. “I am dealing with him well enough, truly. And contributing those baskets to the war families means so much to Tess.”

She was about to inquire how her sisters were faring when she heard footsteps out in the corridor, then a soft rap on the door. When she bid entrance, the headmistress, Miss Jane Caruthers, entered, followed by a tall, athletic, raven-haired gentleman who was instantly recognizable, even before Jane announced their visitor. “Lord Danvers to see you, Arabella.”

Arabella froze as her gaze connected with a pair of keen blue eyes. It unsettled her that Marcus had shown up uninvited at her school, not merely because she had hoped to keep her sisters safely concealed from him for a while longer until she could be certain of his intentions, but because his presence here now badly flustered her.

She couldn't help recalling that two hours ago she was lying in his arms, hot and damp and clinging, while he roused cries of pleasure from her. Arabella flushed at the memory, still feeling the warmth and strength of his hands on her skin, the eroticism of his kisses.

And Marcus, blast him, was clearly remembering too, she realized as their gazes locked for an instant. The heat in his eyes raised her temperature; the intensity of his look made her feel as if he'd put his wonderful hands on her, his sensual, sinful mouth….

Chiding herself, Arabella rose to her feet, while Lily murmured, “Speak of the devil.”

“Oh, were you discussing me?” Marcus said blandly, turning his attention to the younger sisters. “You must be my lovely missing wards.”

As Jane bowed herself out and shut the door behind her, Arabella stepped forward protectively. Knowing there was no choice, however, she made the introductions.

When she was done, Marcus bowed and treated her sisters to the full force of his devastating smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, ladies.”

Roslyn blinked at the sight, while Lily narrowed her eyes. “We cannot say the same, my lord. We would much prefer that you return to London and leave us alone.”

“What my sister means, my lord,” Roslyn said more politely, “is that we believe your guardianship to be unnecessary.”

“I know you do. But surely you will allow me the chance to prove I'm not the villain you think me.”

Rather than succumb to his blatant male appeal, however, Lily determinedly returned his gaze. “You must admit that your actions have been rather villainous thus far. Your solicitors said you intend to find proper husbands for us.”

“That was before I came to understand your particular circumstances,” he replied mildly.

“It would be extremely unfair to make us give up teaching at the academy, my lord. We have striven for years to make it a success, especially Arabella. And now you are trying to make her wed you.”

Marcus's half smile was meant to disarm. “I doubt I can ‘make' your sister do anything she doesn't wish to do.”

But obviously Lily still saw him as a threat. “Arabella won't be taken in by a handsome face or suave charm, you know.”

Marcus shot her one of his roguish half grins. “Of course she won't. She is far too astute for that. Which is why I have endeavored to show her that I have more substance than the typical wealthy nobleman.”

When Roslyn eyed him thoughtfully, Marcus continued in the same amiable tone. “I presume you are taking refuge with Miss Blanchard while I am residing at the Hall? Never fear, I have no intention of dragging you both home by your hair. In fact, I am pleased for the opportunity to court your sister in relative privacy—”

Arabella decided it was time to intervene before Marcus could expound on his wicked notions of privacy. “Why
have
you come here, my lord?”

“Why, to offer my services.”

“Services?”

“As a dance partner during your lesson this afternoon. I understand you mean for your pupils to practice ballroom etiquette in preparation for the ball the local magistrate is holding on Monday. When I visited here yesterday, Miss Caruthers was lamenting that young ladies can only learn so much from a hired dancing master. So I thought to assist.”

Arabella regarded him in surprise. His offer of assistance was beyond generous, considering how torturous it would be for Marcus to suffer another afternoon with a gaggle of schoolgirls.

Of course, he was still attempting to win her favor. Yet she could think of no good reason to decline. Her pupils would indeed benefit from having a real gentleman as a partner. Her sisters usually helped with the ballroom instruction, playing the male roles, but Marcus would be a significant improvement.

“Very well,” Arabella said slowly, “if you are certain you don't mind?”

“I don't mind in the least,” he assured her. “Your class starts shortly, doesn't it?”

“Yes, in a few moments.” Arabella glanced at Roslyn, intent on offering her sisters a chance to escape the earl's focus. “I think we can manage without you this afternoon.”

To her surprise, Roslyn shook her head. “I believe I will stay.”

“So will I,” Lily seconded with a penetrating look at Marcus. “I wouldn't dream of missing it.”

Arabella suspected her sisters wanted the chance to observe their new guardian, and to provide her moral support as well. Touched by their concern, she preceded them to the ballroom, where their two dozen pupils were already assembled under the supervision of Miss Blanchard and Miss Caruthers.

Lord Danvers's arrival caused quite a stir. Two dozen pairs of female eyes lit up, not merely at the prospect of dancing with a real earl, Arabella suspected, but of dancing with such a handsome, charming one.

The girls first rehearsed entering the ballroom gracefully, pausing to be announced by the butler, being welcomed by the hosts' receiving line, then how to respond to requests to dance by various supplicants, including how to turn down undesirable partners. When finally they came to the actual dancing, Miss Caruthers moved to sit at the pianoforte to play.

Arabella was about to choose a partner for Marcus when he politely objected. “I would prefer my initial demonstration be with you, Miss Loring.”

He had intended this all along, she realized with exasperation. But he allowed her no chance to demur as he took her hand to lead her onto the floor. Her pulse leapt deplorably at his mere touch, for it only reminded her of their tryst earlier this afternoon. And as they faced each other for a contra dance, waiting for the music to begin, Arabella realized she was discomfited for an additional reason: It felt strange to be dancing with
any
gentleman again.

This was the first time since her broken betrothal. In fact, she hadn't been to a real ball since then. Now, whenever she accompanied her pupils to the local public assemblies, she always sat out the dances, since she only attended to act as chaperone and instruct the academy's students. It was more fitting that way and prevented any gossip about a mere teacher not knowing her proper place.

She needed to prevent any gossip now, Arabella reminded herself as she met Marcus's blue gaze, for two dozen young ladies were looking on. She had to forget that passionate interlude with him this afternoon had ever occurred.

For the next few minutes, as he partnered her through the quick patterns of the dance, Arabella struggled to appear composed. His behavior was perfectly proper during the entire dance, but each time their hands met proved a severe distraction. She was usually quite a skilled dancer yet just now she seemed to have grown two left feet.

At the conclusion, Arabella felt absurdly flushed and breathless and so made a point of avoiding her sisters' gazes, knowing they were watching her dealings with Marcus with avid interest.

She was preparing to select another partner for him when her least favorite pupil, Sybil Newstead, boldly stepped forward. “I should like to be first, Lord Danvers. The other girls don't need the practice, since very few of them have actually received invitations to Sir Alfred Perry's ball. I have, and so has Miss Blanchard.” Sybil shot a sly look at Arabella. “Miss Loring has not been invited, nor has Miss Roslyn or Miss Lilian. They are considered too scandalous to mingle with the local gentry.”

At Sybil's savage remark, Arabella sucked in a sharp breath, but Marcus responded before she could recover.

Lifting a black eyebrow, he raked the girl with bored scrutiny. “Did no one ever teach you it is impolite to gossip about your betters, Miss Newstead? I would say you don't need practice dancing; rather you need to work on your execrable manners.”

Sybil's mouth dropped open, while her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. But Marcus was not done, it seemed. “Take care that you don't annoy the wrong people, for a ball invitation can always be withdrawn. I am acquainted with Sir Alfred, did you know?”

He spoke softly, lazily even, but there was no mistaking his implied threat to have Sybil expelled from local society, as the Loring sisters were.

Arabella stared at Marcus, both surprised and gratified that he had defended her against the girl, even if perhaps he'd been too harsh. It was undoubtedly a lesson Sybil would not soon forget.

Yet there was a more tactful way to teach her that such cruel behavior was unacceptable.