To Pleasure a Lady (2 page)

She gave a shrug of her elegant shoulders. “You left me little choice, my lord, since you refused to reply to my letters. We have an important matter to discuss.”

“I agree, we need to settle the issue of your and your sisters' futures.”

Her hesitation was followed by another proffered smile. “I am certain you are a man of reason, Lord Danvers…”

Marcus's eyebrow shot up at her obvious attempt to charm him. She was undoubtedly accustomed to twisting men around her fingers, and he felt the effect down to his loins—an effect he instinctively resisted. “Oh, I am quite reasonable ordinarily.”

“Then you will understand our reluctance to acknowledge you as our guardian. I know you mean well, but we don't require your assistance.”

“Certainly I mean well,” he said affably. “You and your sisters are now my responsibility.”

A flash of impatience showed in her gray eyes. “Which is patently absurd. We are all past the usual legal age of dependency. Most guardianships end at twenty-one. And we have no fortune to supervise, so there can be no financial justification for your management.”

“No,” Marcus concurred. “Your step-uncle left you without a penny to your names.”

Taking a deep breath, she made an obvious effort at civility. “We don't desire your charity, my lord.”

“It is not charity, Miss Loring. It's my legal obligation. You are three vulnerable females in need of a man's protection.”

“We do
not
need protecting,” she replied emphatically.

“No?” Marcus gave her a penetrating look. “My solicitors are of the opinion that someone ought to take you and your sisters in hand.”

Her eyes kindled. “Is that so? Well, I hardly think
you
are qualified to ‘take us in hand,' as you term it. You have no experience playing guardian.”

Marcus was pleased to be able to refute her statement. “On the contrary, I have a good deal of experience. I've been my sister's guardian for the past ten years. She is twenty-one now, the same age as your youngest sister, Lilian—who is an unruly hoyden, I'm told.”

That made Arabella pause. “Perhaps that's true, but Lily was at an impressionable age when our mother deserted us.”

“What of your sister Roslyn? By all reports, her uncommon beauty has made her the target for any number of rakes and scoundrels. I suspect she could benefit from a guardian's protection.”

“Roslyn can take care of herself. We all can. We have since we were very young.”

“But what sort of future can you expect?” Marcus countered. “Your chances for good marriages were ruined when your parents chose to create their last blatant scandal.”

He saw the pain that claimed Arabella's features for a fleeting moment before she forced another smile. “How well I know,” she murmured. “But even so, it is not your affair.”

Marcus shook his head. “I understand why you resent me, Miss Loring, a perfect stranger taking control of your home—”

“I don't begrudge you the title or estate. What I do resent is your callous assumption that we wish to marry.”

That made him smile. “It is hardly callous to offer to find husbands for you. The usual path for young ladies of quality is marriage. You act as if I've gravely offended you.”

By now Arabella was clearly biting her tongue. “Forgive me if I gave you that impression, my lord. I know you don't mean it as an insult—”

“You cannot be foolish enough to turn down five thousand pounds each.”

“Actually I can—” Suddenly she broke off and gave a rueful laugh. The husky, sultry sound raked his nerve endings with pleasure. “No, I won't allow you to provoke me, my lord. I came here this morning determined to be pleasant.”

Marcus found himself staring at her ripe, tempting mouth before he shook himself. Arabella was speaking again, he realized.

“Perhaps you see our decision as inexplicable, Lord Danvers, but my sisters and I do not choose to marry.”

“Why not?” When she failed to answer, Marcus hazarded a guess. “I suppose it has to do with the example your parents set.”

“It does,” Arabella admitted grudgingly. “Our parents were determined to make each other's lives miserable and fought at every opportunity. After the acrimony we witnessed growing up, is it any wonder we have an aversion to arranged marriages?”

Marcus felt more than a measure of sympathy. “I'm familiar with the sentiment. My own parents were scarcely any more congenial.”

At his softer tone, she searched his face for a long moment. But then she dragged her gaze away to focus on a pool of sunlight streaming through the nearest window. “In any case, we have no need to marry. We have sufficient incomes now to support ourselves.”

“Incomes?”

“If you had troubled yourself to read my letters, you would know about our academy.”

“I did read your letters.”

She glanced pointedly at him. “But you were not courteous enough to respond. You merely instructed your solicitors to deal with me.”

“Guilty as charged. But to my credit, I intended to call upon you next week.”

When he smiled winningly, Arabella drew a sharp breath. After a moment, she took another tack. “Come now, Lord Danvers. You don't want responsibility for us, admit it.”

Marcus couldn't bring himself to lie. “Very well, it's true, I don't want it.”

“Then why don't you simply forget about us?”

“I doubt anyone who has ever met you,” Marcus said dryly, “could simply forget you, Miss Loring.” When she gave him a piercing look, he sighed. “You are my responsibility now, whether either of us likes it, and I won't abandon my duty to see to your welfare. You'll find I'm not such an ogre. And I'm wealthy enough to fund your dowries.”

That made her chin lift. “I tell you, we won't accept your charity. Our academy allows us adequate financial independence.”

Admittedly, learning of her academy had roused Marcus's curiosity. “I understand this academy of yours is a finishing school?”

“Of a sort. We teach comportment and manners and correct speech to wealthy young women who were not born to the Quality.”

“The daughters of the working class, in other words. How very unique you are, Miss Loring.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You are making sport of me.”

“Perhaps.” Actually he wasn't. He truly thought it admirable that Arabella and her sisters had found an occupation to support themselves, unlike almost every other lady of their station, who wouldn't be caught dead employed in menial labor. But he couldn't help wanting to provoke her, if only for the pleasure of seeing those beautiful gray eyes kindle again.

“And your sisters teach there as well?” Marcus asked leadingly.

“Yes, as do two other ladies who are friends of mine. Our patroness is Lady Freemantle. It was at her request that we opened the school three years ago. Are you acquainted with her? Her late husband was a baronet, Sir Rupert Freemantle.”

Marcus nodded. “I know her. But I'm not certain it is fitting for my wards to be employed at a school, no matter how refined. You realize that as your guardian, I will have to approve your participation?”

Arabella eyed him warily. “I assure you, it is a perfectly respectable endeavor.”

“Some would call your opinions bluestocking nonsense.”

It was very bad of him to goad her like that, but the pleasure of seeing her spirited reaction was too great to resist.

She seemed, however, to recognize his purpose. “You won't provoke me into losing my temper, my lord.”

“No?”

When he took a step closer, she froze, staring up at him as if she found him fascinating. But then she straightened her spine and stood her ground, her gaze direct and challenging. Marcus had the sudden savage urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the nearest bed.

He'd never had such a primal reaction to a woman before—bloody inappropriate, considering that she was his ward.

Arabella drew a slower breath, clearly striving for equanimity, as he was. “I don't believe your mental acumen is impaired, my lord. Why is it so difficult for you to accept that we don't wish to be under your thumb? That we don't want your financial assistance? You are under no obligation to support us.”

“The will says differently.”

“Then I will hire my own solicitors to contest the will.”

“How can you afford it? You don't have the where-withal to contest my guardianship in court.”

“Our patroness will help us. Lady Freemantle does not believe that women should be compelled to marry, and she has promised us her support. She is not as wealthy as you, of course, but her father left her a fortune from his manufacturing and mining enterprises.”

“It should prove an interesting contest,” Marcus said amiably, crossing his arms over his chest.

His languid smile finally succeeded in igniting her temper. “You cannot force us to accept your settlements!”

“No, I suppose not. But once the size of your dowries becomes known, you will have suitors throwing themselves at your feet and hounding my door to offer for you.”

Her gloved fists clenched as she advanced toward him, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You won't succeed in selling us, your lordship! It is outrageous that grown women are treated as mere property, no better than livestock. We are not broodmares to be hawked to the highest bidder!”

Judging by her impassioned speech, he had struck a nerve. There was fire in her eyes—a fire that filled him with admiration and attraction.

“It seems true after all,” he murmured, totally intrigued by the way Arabella was glaring daggers at him.

“
What
is true?”

“That eyes can actually give off sparks. Yours are bright as fireworks.”

It was that provocative remark that drove her temper over the edge. The growling sound she made deep in her throat was that of a taunted lioness—a low, dangerous rumble. “I have tried my utmost to remain patient,” she began. Marching past him to the table, Arabella swept up his rapier and returned to face him, bringing the tip directly against his chest.

“I was determined to use reason to convince you, and if that failed, I hoped to prevail on your better nature. Evidently you don't have one!”

Utterly fascinated now, Marcus raised his hands slowly in surrender. “I make it a point never to argue with an armed female.”

“Good! Then you will promise me that you will abandon this ridiculous notion of marrying us off.”

“I fear I can't make any such promise under duress, sweeting.”

“You can and you will!”

“No.” Despite his fascination, he was not about to be threatened into doing anyone's bidding. But then his gaze fixed on Arabella's face…the smooth ivory texture of her skin, her ripe mouth…. He was struck with the fiercest urge to kiss her, which was astonishing, since he was not ordinarily a rash man. “Go ahead, do your worst, love.”

Clenching her teeth, radiating frustration, she raised the point of the foil to the vulnerable hollow of his throat, but there she stopped.

It was a stand-off, one Marcus was not prepared to endure much longer. When she continued to hesitate, his fingers closed around her gloved ones and slowly, inexorably pushed the tip away from his throat.

Although the immediate danger was over, he kept possession of her hand, shackling her wrist as he stepped closer. His gaze dropped again to the tempting line of her lips.

Her beautiful face was turned up to his, and when she nervously moistened her lips, he fought the fierce desire to capture them with his own.

Despite the warning voice shouting in his head, Marcus found himself drawing Arabella even nearer, pulling her against him, until their bodies brushed. The feeling that sparked between them when he felt the sweet press of her breasts was hot enough to singe him.

Her eyes flared then with a different emotion, while his senses avidly relayed the excitement of touching her.

She felt warm and intensely vital. Intensely alive. Her feminine softness raised every primal male instinct he possessed.

It was all he could do to keep control of himself. “The next time you threaten a man, Miss Loring,” he advised in a voice that was suddenly husky, “make certain you are prepared to carry it through.”

With another small cry of frustration, she snatched her hand from his grasp and stepped back. “I will take note next time, your lordship.”

Marcus was startled by how badly he wanted there to be a next time. He watched as Arabella tossed down the rapier, where it clattered on the floor.

“You should be glad I am too much of a lady to run you through,” she declared. With that she spun on her heel and stalked to the door. But then she paused to shoot a darkling glance over her shoulder. “If you want a battle, Lord Danvers, I promise I will give you one.”

Chapter Two

I have finally met the earl and he is even more vexing than I anticipated.

—Arabella Loring to Fanny Irwin

Her gaze was challenge incarnate, a challenge Marcus couldn't resist. When he took a step closer, however, Miss Loring promptly quit the room. He followed her out to the corridor and stared after her, totally bemused.

She brushed past his two friends, who were cooling their heels in the corridor, and crossed to the entrance hall, where his butler hurriedly opened the front door for her.

When she swept out, Marcus suppressed the urge to give chase. Yet the tantalizing encounter had left him hungry for more of her.

“Your mouth is agape, old son,” Heath observed, clearly amused.

Marcus clamped his mouth shut, yet he couldn't deny the truth of the accusation. Arabella Loring had left him with all his primal male instincts aroused.

Shaking his head in bafflement, he returned to the salon and proceeded to pour himself a generous ale, then sank pensively onto the leather couch, contemplating his intense reaction to his eldest ward.

His friends followed suit and settled in nearby chairs. Heath was the first to speak. “You didn't tell us Miss Loring was stunning, Marcus.”

“Because I didn't know.” His solicitors had advised him to expect a beauty, but they hadn't warned him about her vibrancy, her inner fire, or he might have been better prepared to face her.

“She certainly set you back on your heels,” Drew commented, his tone edged with sardonic humor. “From what we heard, she threatened to unman you. You were right—you have a virago on your hands.”

“No,” Heath disagreed. “More like an Amazon or a Valkyrie.” His tone was rather admiring.

“I prefer a bit more calm in a female,” Drew drawled.

“Not I,” Heath replied. “A pity you sent us out of the room, Marcus. I would have liked to witness the fireworks.”

Fireworks was exactly what he'd felt with Arabella, Marcus thought, bemused.

“You still look confounded,” Drew added more seriously.

Marcus nodded his head in agreement. He'd never before experienced that instantaneous, powerful feeling of attraction. Just being near Arabella had ignited a spark of desire in him.

Which was remarkably novel. He'd known countless beautiful women before. Hell, he'd enjoyed more than his fair share of beauties. So what made his eldest ward so different? The fact that she hadn't fawned over him? That she wasn't eager to please and gratify him as every other woman was?

“Perhaps,” he rationalized, “I was just taken aback because she was so unexpected.”

“There's no doubt she will prove challenging,” Heath said needlessly.

She would indeed, Marcus thought, remembering Arabella's parting declaration of war. Elementally challenging. Irresistibly intriguing. The image of her flashing gray eyes and red-gold hair would be hard to forget.

He took a long drink of ale. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising that his interest had been acutely aroused by an elegant spitfire like Arabella. For months now all his usual pursuits had seemed deadly dull. And he'd been excruciatingly bored by all the women chasing him, ladies and lightskirts alike.

“So just how do you intend to manage the fiery Miss Arabella?” Drew asked.

“Truthfully? I'm not yet certain. I expect I'll move up my visit to Danvers Hall to Monday.”

“I would say you underestimated your dilemma in marrying her off to some unwitting dupe.”

Marcus laughed inwardly. “No doubt.” The task of arranging her a proper match would be harder than he'd imagined. And whoever attempted to court her would have his work cut out for him. “It may be impossible to find a husband for her.”

“I'm not so certain,” Heath countered. “I imagine any number of men would find her spirit appealing. If she shows half that passion in bed, she would make some man a magnificent mistress.”

Marcus shot his friend a scowl. “Mind your tongue, man. That's my ward you're speaking of.”

Heath returned a rueful grin. “True, you can't seduce your own ward. A shame she's so well-born. Wouldn't be honorable. Forbidden fruit and all that.”

Forbidden, true, Marcus acknowledged regretfully. His current connection to the Loring sisters was purely a legal one, and they were all of an age that they didn't require a guardian to supervise their every action, yet he was still responsible for their welfare.

Even so, he couldn't deny that taking Arabella for his mistress held a definite appeal. He was between mistresses at the moment, since nothing seemed to satisfy him lately. Slaking his carnal needs in a lush, perfumed body had held little allure recently—until now.

An image of a willing Arabella in his bed ignited another surge of desire in his loins. The thought of having all that fire beneath him, surrounding him, made Marcus shift uncomfortably in his seat.

Heath added in a provoking tone, “As I said, you could always offer for her yourself. It would be entertaining to watch you try to conquer her.”

Drew's mouth twisted with a mocking smile. “You might find it refreshing, having to chase a woman for a change.”

Marcus sent his friends a look of annoyance. “Have a care, my fine fellows. If you keep ragging me about matrimony, I'll find a way to make
you
marry my wards.”

“I can understand,” Drew replied, unintimidated, “why the Loring sisters would object to your guardianship. Women like the illusion of pulling all the strings, making men dance to their bidding. Not being treated as an unpleasant duty, as you seem to consider your wards.”

“I wouldn't find the duty unpleasant at all,” Heath mused. “I could enjoy a dispute with the likes of Miss Arabella. What about it, Marcus? You've been complaining for some time about boredom. A battle with her will surely add spice to your life.” Heath paused, surveying Marcus over the rim of his mug. “And judging from that glint in your eye, you think so, too.”

Marcus nodded. Battling Arabella Loring would be a cure for his ennui, no question. “Doubtless it will prove interesting. I'll find out when I travel to Danvers Hall next week to settle the issue of their marriages.”

He didn't know just yet precisely how he would deal with Arabella. But he was keenly looking forward to their next confrontation.

         

The trouble with bearding a lion in his den, Arabella thought as she climbed into her patroness's plush traveling chaise, was that one risked being eaten. Perhaps she had escaped becoming a tasty meal for Marcus Pierce, the new Earl of Danvers, but her pride had certainly suffered.

As the coachmen whipped up the team to return to Chiswick, Arabella sank back against the velvet squabs and waited for her wits to stop whirling. Lord Danvers had made her so addled for a moment that she'd actually forgotten her purpose in coming.

She'd traveled to London this morning, determined to use logic and charm to make him see reason and convince him to relinquish his unwanted guardianship. But he had completely taken her off guard when she'd interrupted his fencing practice.

It was deplorable, the way her pulse had quickened at her first sight of him. He was tall and athletically built, with thick ebony hair, midnight blue eyes, and the square, chiseled features of a Greek god. But no marble statue had ever made her want to touch it or sparked such brazen images in her mind as he had kindled.

Arabella winced, remembering how his open shirt had exposed part of his muscular chest and the dark hair curling invitingly in the gap. The earl's state of undress, combined with the gleam of amusement in his shrewd blue eyes, had totally disconcerted her. And then she had allowed him to provoke her into losing her temper.

She couldn't imagine what had prompted her to threaten him like that when she had meant to sweetly persuade. It clearly had been a mistake to challenge him, since a man of his ilk obviously relished challenges.

Lord Danvers had shockingly turned the tables on her, rendering her breathless by nearly kissing her. What was worse, she had wanted him to do it! She'd made an ignominious but judicious retreat without attaining her goal, not trusting herself to remain any longer.

The encounter had left her unsettled inside and supremely vexed with herself, not only by her failure but by her foolish attraction to him.

“Silly widgeon,” Arabella muttered to herself. “You not only let him get the upper hand, you acted like any other witless female, attracted to a handsome nobleman.”

His lordship's superior smugness was just what she had expected. He was a provoking devil, arrogant and highhanded, thinking he knew what was best for them. Yet she couldn't deny his impact was potent. She had felt the fire between them during those few brief moments when they'd been locked together in a battle of wills.

With a sigh of disgust, Arabella turned her head to gaze out the carriage window at the passing countryside.

She should have been better prepared for him. Her good friend Fanny Irwin—whom she had known since childhood and who currently was London's most famous courtesan—had warned her about Marcus Pierce. About his striking looks, his roguish charm, his keen intelligence. As one of the country's most eligible aristocrats, he had enchanted half of England's female population—and bedded a good number of them.

Most women found his sort of rakish charm appealing. But then most women had not had to suffer a libertine father their whole lives long, as Arabella had.

Her new guardian was too blasted handsome for his own good. The thought made Arabella press her lips together in self-reproach. Her mother had sacrificed everything for a handsome face…including her own daughters. The wrenching pain of Mama's abandonment still cut like a knife, even after four years.

When Victoria Loring had absconded with her lover, her daughters were left to deal with the resultant humiliation and disgrace. Then to exacerbate matters further, their father, Sir Charles Loring, had gambled away the last of his fortune two weeks later and was killed in a duel over one of his mistresses.

Beyond the emotional devastation of losing both their parents and their family home in one fell blow, the Loring sisters had paid dearly for the scandals in other ways. Arabella had lost her betrothed because of it. Her three-month engagement to a viscount—a man she had sincerely loved—had been quickly terminated, since he wasn't brave enough to defy the vicious censure of the Beau Monde for her sake. His professions of love had proved as ephemeral as cloud wisps, leaving Arabella feeling as if her heart had been broken, just as the poets maintained.

Roslyn, the real beauty of the family, had been denied any sort of respectable future. When her Season ended so abruptly, so did her chance for any suitable marriage proposals. Even more mortifying, she'd been offered carte blanche by three different rakes, infamous propositions that never would have occurred had their step-uncle been a better guardian.

Lilian had had no chance to make a respectable match, either, although she claimed not to mind. Damming up her feelings of anguish and grief, the youngest Loring sister had run a little wild, rebelling against society's strictures and the haughty arbiters of the ton who had repudiated her and her siblings.

Lily had become something of a hellion, much to Arabella's chagrin. She couldn't help but feel guilty for failing to protect her sisters, since she was the eldest. She'd only been nineteen when their mother abandoned them, but she still felt responsible. Particularly since their step-uncle was such a curmudgeon who cared so little for their welfare.

The seventh Lord Danvers, Lionel Doddridge, had taken them in grudgingly when their family home in Hampshire had been sold to pay their late father's debts, treating them as burdens and objects of charity.

“You'll keep out of my way,” he'd warned the moment they arrived on his doorstep. “And you'll behave yourselves, if you know what's good for you. Your mother made herself a byword for scandal, and I won't have you disgracing me as she did.”

“You needn't worry, Uncle Lionel,” Arabella had responded tightly, speaking for them all. “We have no intention of behaving like our mother.”

“Don't call me Uncle! I am no blood relation to you. Victoria was only my stepsister—the result of my father's deplorable second marriage—and Loring had no right to encumber me with the three of you in his will, particularly since he left me nothing to pay for your upkeep. But I am stuck with you, since no respectable gentleman will marry you now.”

His declaration had roused a burning anger in Arabella, along with a fierce desire to establish their independence from their step-uncle. But since they were virtually penniless, they had resolved to earn their own livings by putting their patrician upbringing and education to good use.

With the indispensable support of a wealthy patroness, along with the help of her sisters and two genteel friends, Arabella had started an academy to teach the unrefined daughters of rich merchants how to be proper ladies so they could compete in the glittering world of the ton.