To Pleasure a Lady (19 page)

She hadn't expected to be aroused this intensely so soon after his last devastating assault on her senses. But to her shock, the inferno began to build within her again. She was suddenly on fire. Marcus's naked skin burned hers, his body setting hers ablaze. Her breath came in short panting bursts as her hips began to move of their own accord, seeking completion from him in a rhythm as old as time.

His breath as tortured as hers, Marcus braced his weight on his forearms and lifted his head to gaze down at her lovely face. He wanted to watch Arabella climax as he took her, wanted to watch her skin flush with passion as they consummated their union for the very first time.

And yet he could feel his control slipping, could feel his need and desire swelling to overwhelming proportions. He struggled to go slowly as Arabella writhed and moaned beneath him, but when she suddenly arched and cried out in ecstasy, he surrendered to his need with a hoarse cry of his own, his body clenching and spasming with the same blazing pleasure she was feeling.

The shattering, searing explosion left him gasping for breath. In the aftermath, Marcus collapsed upon her, trying to spare her the brunt of his weight, and lay there bonelessly as the fire slowly receded.

It was a long while before either one of them could breathe with any semblance of calm. Then slowly, with great care, he pulled out of her…flinching when she winced.

“Did I hurt you?” Marcus murmured in concern.

Shaking her head, she gazed up at him with a dazed, dreamy smile. “Fanny told me that lovemaking was supposed to be unpleasant the first time, but it wasn't in the least.”

Relieved, he rolled onto his back and gathered Arabella in his arms, drawing her into the haven of his body.

Snuggling against him, she gave a deep, languid sigh. After a time she found her voice. “Is it always like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like fire. Like fiery…magic.”

He smiled faintly. “Almost never.”

She buried her face in his shoulder as if suddenly feeling embarrassed. “You probably felt nothing like magic—”

“You're wrong, sweetheart. I felt it, believe me.”

Arabella eased back to peer up at him. “You are just trying to charm me.”

His laugh was soft, decisive. “If I had wanted to charm you, sweeting, I would have done so
before
we made love.”

His declaration must have reassured her for she closed her eyes again and relaxed against him with another blissful sigh. “I suppose so.”

Marcus exhaled as well, relishing the delight of having Arabella warm and naked in his arms.
Fiery magic
was an apt description, he thought, experiencing a sense of triumph and something even more profound: heartfelt exhilaration. Arabella's passion was as vibrant and exciting as he'd known it would be, and so were the feelings she'd aroused in him. He had never felt more alive with a lover, more satisfied.

Holding her close, he pressed his face into her hair and breathed in her fragrant scent. He thought fleetingly of past lovers—of their seductive charms, the endless ways they'd tried to please him—but not one of them had ever succeeded in arousing such a stark hunger in him without even trying.

A dangerous hunger. His desire for Arabella had made him forget his rational mind, Marcus realized. He'd taken her virginity tonight without any concern for the consequences.

Yet whatever guilt he felt for deflowering her, he was able to reason away. It would have happened when he made her his bride. This was only sooner than either of them had expected. Still, he should have considered the possible repercussions. He could have gotten her with child tonight.

Marcus drew an uneven breath at the prospect of little Arabellas and even little Marcuses. He had always considered the responsibility of fathering children from an intellectual standpoint, if at all. He was resigned to fulfilling his duty to continue his titles and carry on his bloodlines.

The idea of being a father to Arabella's children, however, not only held immense appeal but roused a profoundly primal emotion in him.

A faint smile curved Marcus's mouth. Drew and Heath would laugh uproariously to hear him entertaining the notion of wanting a family. And to have said family, he would first have to persuade Arabella to wed him. But now there was no question that he would succeed. He would never let her go. Possessiveness had never gripped him so hard.

You are mine now,
he thought, stroking her bare shoulder absently with his fingers.

At the caress, Arabella stirred in his arms, then raised her head to glance at his chamber door as if suddenly recalling where she was.

When she uncurled herself from him and started to rise, though, Marcus caught her arm before she could leave the bed. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Back to my room. I shouldn't be here.”

He drew her down to lie beside him once more. “You are spending the night with me. We have barely begun to explore the delights of lovemaking.”

“But the servants could discover us—”

“The servants have their own wing on another floor. And as long as you return before dawn, no one will see you.”

Rising himself, Marcus went to the washstand to fetch a wet cloth. When he returned to wash away the traces of his seed from Arabella's thighs, the enchanting flush that rose to her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment.

He stopped her from drawing the covers over her limbs to conceal her nudity. “Don't hide yourself from me. You have a beautiful body, and there is no shame in my seeing it.”

Arabella bit her lower lip but didn't protest his ministrations.

“It's just as well that I destroyed your nightdress,” Marcus observed, seeing the smear of blood on the torn cambric. “I would rather not leave evidence that you gave me your innocence. You can throw your shift in the dustbin, or better yet, burn it. I'll give you a nightshirt to wear when I take you back to your room.”

“We made a shambles of the bed,” Arabella said ruefully as he finished his task and returned the cloth to the wash basin. But when Marcus turned around, she sucked in a sharp breath. Her gaze locked on his loins. He was heavy and aroused—and clearly ready to make love again.

“You are still…” Her face flamed even more. “I thought it took hours for a man to…recuperate.”

Marcus smiled as he climbed back into bed and gathered Arabella in his arms. “Not with the right lover. Not when a man wants a woman as much as I want you.”

“Then you mean to make love to me again?” she asked, nestling her head on his shoulder.

“We'll see. You will be tender enough tomorrow as it is.”

“It was worth it.”

His soft laughter teased her hair. “Then I was right.”

“About what?”

“Physically we are highly compatible. We would suit each other very well in the marriage bed.”

Arabella felt her defenses leap to life. “Perhaps, but that doesn't mean we would suit in other aspects of marriage. A short while ago, we were fighting just as my parents did. That is hardly the model of an ideal marriage.”

“No, but I suspect an ideal marriage would bore us both to tears. Fighting can be invigorating,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “Admit it, you found it exhilarating, locking swords with me.”

“I found it perfectly wretched,” Arabella replied honestly.

“But it was exhilarating to make up,” he prodded, a smile in his voice.

Unable to deny the truth of that, Arabella felt a strange turmoil of dismay and contentment ripple through her. Marcus's passion was as thrilling and overwhelmingly wonderful as she had feared it would be. She shut her eyes, savoring his tenderness, the intimacy, the bliss of lying here in his arms like this.

When she wouldn't answer, he eased from beneath her and rolled onto his side so he could gaze down at her. “Why don't we declare a truce for now? No more fighting tonight. Just pleasure.”

Arabella hesitated. She didn't want to fight with Marcus. She couldn't regret giving him her innocence, either. But did she want to entertain the scandalous notion of sharing his bed for the entire night?

The trouble was her foolish heart. Could she trust herself to keep emotionally uninvolved with Marcus if she surrendered to his lovemaking?

At her delay, Marcus bent to place a light kiss on her lips. “A truce, love. For the remainder of the night, we will forget about our wager and just enjoy ourselves.”

Arabella bit her lip, telling herself that she shouldn't worry. She couldn't resist his lovemaking, obviously, but now that she was forewarned, she could guard her heart more ardently. She had only to imagine Marcus with his beautiful ex-mistress to bolster her resolve. She wouldn't be so foolish as to fall in love with him if she kept reminding herself of the danger.

“Very well, a truce,” she murmured. Reaching up, she slipped her arms around his neck. “So what shall we do with the rest of the night?”

A slow, very male smile curved his mouth. “I suggest we work on your education. Your friend Fanny obviously didn't tell you all there is to know about passion. You know little about my body, for instance.”

Taking her hand, he guided it to his loins, letting her touch him…his firm, flat abdomen, the long, thick shaft of his manhood, the heavy, swollen sacs beneath. When hesitantly Arabella began to explore his masculine attributes on her own, she discovered his skin was hot and sleek and oh, so arousing.

Her fingers curled around his heated length, squeezing gently. It was burning hot against her palm, hard as steel, throbbing beneath her touch. And when Marcus closed his eyes in obvious enjoyment, his response made her feel powerful and shivery and womanly all at once.

Intoxicated by the sensation, she bent down to kiss him. No, Arabella thought, feeling a searing rush of delight flare through her. Her friend Fanny hadn't told her even a fraction of everything she wanted to know about passion with Marcus.

Chapter Twelve

Are you certain you don't wish to consider the earl's offer? There are worse things than a marriage of convenience to a wealthy, handsome nobleman.

—Fanny to Arabella

Not surprisingly, Arabella rose late the next morning, weary from her lack of sleep but filled with a warm glow from Marcus's enchanting lovemaking. As he'd predicted, her body felt a bit tender, but she couldn't regret spending the entire night with him and experiencing all the incredible delights he'd promised her.

Marcus had shown her pleasure so deep, so blissful, that her senses might never recover.

When finally Arabella finished bathing and dressing and went downstairs expecting to find him at breakfast, she discovered from Simpkin that she had just missed his lordship.

Ignoring her sharp little stab of disappointment, she read the note Marcus had left her, which said he had unexpected business in London but that he would return this evening in time for dinner.

In truth, Arabella realized, she was glad she wouldn't have to face him just now. After the wanton passion they'd shared all through the night, she needed time to regain a semblance of composure.

She felt sluggish and bleary-eyed all morning long—until Simpkin announced that Lady Eleanor Pierce was calling. Wondering at the purpose of the visit, Arabella received Marcus's sister in the morning parlor and was flattered by the warmth of her greeting.

“How delightful to see you again, Miss Loring,” Lady Eleanor said with an appearance of genuine sincerity.

Arabella smiled at her caller, who was garbed in a pale blue carriage dress and bonnet that set off her raven curls and rosy complexion to perfection. “I regret you drove all this distance for nothing, Lady Eleanor. Your brother has gone to London for the day.”

“Oh, but it is
you
I came to see. I would very much like to become better acquainted with you. I admire you prodigiously—a lady courageous enough to manage her own academy.” Accepting the seat Arabella offered, Lady Eleanor sent her a shrewd look. “And any woman who can resist my brother is someone I want to know. I also,” she added before Arabella could think how to respond, “wish to apologize for my aunt's officious meddling in your affairs.”

Torn between amusement and caution, Arabella took a wing chair opposite her guest. “I suppose I should not have stated my opinions so fiercely.”

“You were gravely provoked. I do hope you will forgive Aunt Beatrix. She means well and she has been like a mother to me, drumming proper conduct into my head. But she had no right to rebuke you for not disavowing your friend. Your anger was wholly justified.”

Arabella smiled ruefully. “Perhaps…but normally I wouldn't dream of making a public scene. It was very bad of me to dampen the evening for you and your friends.”

“But you didn't dampen it for me. I was thoroughly intrigued.” Eleanor gave a charming laugh. “I confess I should like to hear more about Fanny Irwin. She is said to be an Incomparable among Cyprians.”

“Your brother would not be happy if I shared tales of a notorious highflyer with you,” Arabella pointed out.

Eleanor's throaty laughter was engaging. “True. But Marcus doesn't dictate to me, nor does he try to keep me smothered in swaddling clothes the way our aunt does. In truth, he is the best of guardians.”

“Is he?” Arabella replied curiously.

“Yes, but he does like to have his way, so I can see how there might occasionally be friction between the two of you, as there appeared to be last night.” Her smile turned mischievous. “It is good to foil him sometimes, though. Men deserve to be kept on their toes…shaken up now and then. It won't do to let them think they have the upper hand all the time. Don't you agree?”

They shared a congenial laugh, and Arabella found herself relaxing. She liked Marcus's sister immensely.

Eleanor's next comment, however, took her aback. “I confess we were all astonished to learn Marcus proposed to you, since he has always had an aversion to marriage. But now that I have met you, I can see why he acted so precipitously.”

Arabella winced. “Lady Eleanor…” she began, determined to put period to any misunderstandings about her future with Marcus. But his sister interrupted.

“Please, we needn't be so formal. Just Eleanor will do. I have yet to grow accustomed to the title of lady, since Marcus's petition to the Crown to raise my precedence to an earl's sister was only recently granted. And may I call you Arabella?”

“Of course you may. But I must tell you, I don't intend to wed your brother.”

Eleanor's lively expression turned serious. “I do so wish you would. I would dearly love to have you as a sister. Of course I have Marcus, and Heath and Drew are like brothers to me. But it isn't the same as having other women to talk to and confide in. And I think we could become great friends.”

Arabella's mouth curved in unwilling amusement. “Surely you don't expect me to accept your brother's offer simply to provide you with a sister?”

She dimpled. “Well, I suppose not. But I want you to accept for his sake as well. I think you will be the ideal wife for him. Marcus needs a challenge. He would never be happy with a milquetoast bride.”

“I am flattered you think so,” Arabella said evenly, “but there are many other considerations to take into account when deciding to wed.”

“I know,” Eleanor agreed. “I have had my share of proposals, two of which I accepted before changing my mind. And truly, I can sympathize with your desire for independence. I feel much the same way—not wanting my life to be controlled by a husband. But Marcus would be a far more lenient husband than most.” When Arabella remained silent, Eleanor leaned forward earnestly. “Tell me your other objections so I can plead Marcus's case.”

Unable to help laughing, Arabella shook her head. “I applaud your zealousness on his behalf, but honestly, there is nothing you could say that would induce me to wed your brother, or anyone else for that matter.”

Eleanor was not deterred, however. “It cannot be that you find Marcus uninteresting. In terms of wit and charm, he is leagues above all my current suitors.” Receiving no response to her leading comment, she added, “I confess I am bored to death with my beaux at present, they are so deadly dull. That, or wicked fortune hunters, which admittedly are much more intriguing but too dangerous to toy with, even in fun.”

“I don't find your brother dull in the least,” Arabella admitted.

Eleanor sent her another perceptive glance. “Despite his reputation as something of a rake, Marcus is not so very wicked—no worse than the typical nobleman, at least. Perhaps you have heard rumors about his former mistresses, but I can assure you, he has no real interest in any of them.”

“And I can assure
you
that his mistresses are of no import to me,” she dissembled.

“You are wise, then.” For the first time, Eleanor looked wistful. “I broke off my first engagement when I discovered my betrothed kept a mistress…although I have since wondered if perhaps I made a dreadful mistake. I would not want you to make the same mistake, Arabella, and harbor regrets for the rest of your life.”

Other than raising a polite eyebrow, Arabella refrained from responding, but Eleanor seemed not to notice. Instead, she turned her head to gaze out the parlor window, apparently lost in her own somber reflections. “Marcus was very understanding, even when I jilted my second betrothed. He is the very best of brothers. I don't know what I would have done without him when I was a child. Our parents were not particularly…warm. I used to live for his visits home from school.”

Suddenly shaking herself, she returned her focus to Arabella and summoned a bright smile. “But enough about me. It is you and Marcus I am concerned about. I think he must be smitten with you, since nothing else would induce him to consider matrimony so suddenly.”

“Would you care for tea, Eleanor?” Arabella asked pointedly, determined to close the subject.

Finally taking the hint, Eleanor laughed. “Yes, I would, since I am parched. And I promise not to pester you any further just now about wedding my brother.”

She waited while Arabella rang for refreshments and returned to her chair, then said lightly, “Whether or not you decide to marry Marcus, I hope we may be friends.”

Arabella smiled with true pleasure. “I would like that very much…although I doubt Lady Beldon will approve.”

“Don't worry about Aunt Beatrix,” Eleanor assured her. “I will deal with her. Please say you will visit me in London.”

“I would be pleased to. I rarely have the chance to come to town except to chaperone our pupils—an occasional outing to let them practice being in society.”

“Then perhaps you can bring them to my aunt's house for tea.”

“They would be in raptures over such an invitation,” Arabella said honestly.

“And I do hope you will give careful consideration to my brother's marriage proposal—” When Arabella gave her a warning look, Eleanor held up her hands. “But I shall say no more on the subject for now. So tell me about your academy. I find it fascinating that you would take so bold a step.”

For the next hour, Arabella explained the workings of the school and answered Eleanor's numerous questions, and then gladly accepted when she offered to help with the academy in any way possible. For the remainder of her visit, Eleanor steered clear of any further mention of her brother, and when she took her leave, merely reminded Arabella of her promise to visit.

Arabella was relieved not to have to defend her position any further. Last night her distress at seeing Marcus's beautiful mistress had cured her of any idiocy in thinking she might be prepared to risk her heart again. But it was not a subject she felt comfortable discussing with a relative stranger like Marcus's sister, no matter how charming and delightful she found Eleanor.

She couldn't even discuss the matter with her own sisters, for then she might have to confess how she had willingly succumbed to Marcus's seduction. Perhaps her surrender had been inevitable, Arabella reflected, given his potent powers of persuasion. And admittedly she was glad that he had awakened her to passion. But her wanton behavior was the worst sort of example for her virginal sisters.

Moreover, she would have to justify to them why she was recklessly courting the danger of scandal by sharing their guardian's bed.

She would also find it hard to explain to them the yearning Marcus stirred in her. Not just the physical desire, which alone was beguiling, but the longing to unlock the mysteries of womanhood. By remaining a spinster for the rest of her life, she would miss the vital experiences most other women enjoyed—husbands, lovers, children. Her last few days with Marcus was her one chance to explore a wondrous world she normally would only be able to dream of.

Tess might understand her conflicting feelings, but Arabella wasn't inclined to burden her friend with such private confidences when Tess was only just now getting over her sorrow at losing her betrothed to war.

No, Arabella decided, it would be much better to keep her affair with Marcus secret.

         

Avoiding her siblings, however, proved impossible. When Arabella attended the academy that afternoon, Roslyn and Lily caught her daydreaming about her magical night with Marcus. As soon as the class ended, they drew her into a private parlor to question her.

“What is wrong, Arabella?” Roslyn asked in obvious concern. “You were distracted all during your lesson on deportment, and there are circles beneath your eyes.”

“Are there?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. “I suppose I got too little sleep last night, since we returned from London rather late.” When Lily eyed her with a frown, Arabella added cheerfully, “I am perfectly well.”

“You don't look it,” Lily replied bluntly. “And you have been extremely secretive of late. You told us you were to attend the theater with Lord Danvers, but you said nothing about meeting his sister and aunt or his noble friends. We had to rely on Winifred to learn of it.”

Roslyn's tone was more gentle. “Winifred also said there was a contretemps between you and the earl last night.”

“So what happened?” Lily asked.

“Nothing of any consequence.”
Except that I wound up in Marcus's bed and relished every moment of it
.

“Then why are your cheeks so flushed?”

With effort, Arabella refrained from raising her hand to her warm cheeks; the true cause of her distraction was not a proper subject for her sisters' tender ears.

“Lord Danvers and I had a disagreement about our future,” she prevaricated. “He still believes he can persuade me to accept his marriage proposal, and I was simply setting him straight on the matter.”

Both her sisters frowned as they scrutinized her intently. “Should we be worried for you, Arabella?” Roslyn asked.