To Pleasure a Lady (20 page)

“Whatever for?”

Roslyn searched her face. “We are concerned that you are becoming too susceptible to the earl. That you may be growing overly fond of him.”

“Yes,” Lily explained. “We fear you will let yourself fall in love with him, and he will break your heart just like that blackguard Underwood did.”

Arabella felt her cheeks flush further. “You needn't worry. I have no intention of falling in love with the earl.”

“Are you certain, Arabella?” Lily asked earnestly.

Arabella smiled reassuringly. “There is no reason for you to worry, truly.”

“But that dreamy look in your eyes…You had that same look the last time you were in love.”

“It is merely sleeplessness,” she insisted. Her dreamy-eyed look had nothing to do with being in love with Marcus. It was merely that she was so new to carnal relations. Every touch, every caress, was a novel experience; every sensation he made her feel was burned into her memory.

But her heart was safe enough now that she had renewed her resolve to keep it well-guarded.

“I think perhaps it is time we came home,” Roslyn said slowly.

Arabella's instinctive response was to object. She didn't want her sisters at Danvers Hall just yet. Not when she still had four more nights with Marcus.

“You need us to help defend you against him,” Lily added with conviction. “Tess can spare us, since we have nearly finished sewing all the garments for her war widows and orphans.”

Managing a smile, Arabella shook her head. “Truly, there is no need for you to come home. I am capable of fighting my own battles. And the wager is almost over. Only four more days until I will have won.”

“And what happens then?” Roslyn asked.

“Why, then we will be free of Lord Danvers and his guardianship, and we can resume our normal lives,” Arabella said brightly, determined to disregard the dubious looks her sisters were giving her.

         

She was indeed perfectly capable of handling her relationship with Marcus on her own, Arabella repeated to herself two hours later when she dressed for dinner. She had every intention of treating him with cool, rational dispassion.

The difficulty was that the moment she saw him, she forgot every bit of her resolve. When he joined her in the drawing room just in time for dinner to be announced, there was nothing cool or rational about her body's response to him. Her heart leapt and her pulse soared, while her skin instantly turned hot at the intimate look he was giving her.

His blue gaze was sensual and very male. That, combined with the low, husky sound of his voice when he merely apologized for his tardiness, stroked Arabella's nerve endings with pleasure and turned her limbs to jelly.

It took all her willpower to greet Marcus in kind and allow him to escort her in to dinner. When she placed her hand on his arm, she actually felt it tremble. They were lovers now, and all her senses were trumpeting the fact.

His behavior was all that was proper, however, no doubt for the benefit of the servants. It was only when the soup had been served and the footmen had withdrawn that Marcus allowed the conversation to become more intimate.

“Simpkin said my sister called on you this afternoon. What did she want?”

“She wished for us to become better acquainted,” Arabella answered.

“I confess that worries me.”

Arabella gave Marcus a curious glance. “Why would that worry you?”

“If I know Eleanor, she did something outrageous such as request an introduction to your courtesan friend.”

Arabella smiled as she picked up her wineglass. “Not quite, but I imagine she would have accepted had I offered. Instead, she made me an offer. Your sister kindly invited me to London to visit her.”

Marcus gave her a penetrating look. “I trust you don't intend to introduce my sister into Fanny Irwin's circles.”

“Of course not. I have a perfectly good understanding of propriety, Marcus. I merely refuse to be ordered to abandon my own friendship with her, by your aunt or anyone else.”

Marcus's mouth quirked. “As long as you don't solicit any more of Fanny's advice about lovemaking. Anything you want to know, I will teach you. We can continue your education when you come to my rooms tonight.”

Arabella arched an eyebrow. “Aren't you presuming a great deal, expecting me to share your bed tonight?”

“No. I still have to prove that you don't want any other lovers after we are wed.”

She didn't need proof. After Marcus, she was certain she would never want anyone else. But she had no desire to prolong their futile argument. “The question is immaterial because we won't be marrying.”

His blue gaze narrowed on her. “If you think I will allow you to stray from our marriage bed, sweeting, you are gravely mistaken.”

Arabella narrowed her own gaze. “I thought we declared a truce last night.”

“That was last night. And truce or no, you won't be taking any other lovers.”

There was an unmistakable ring of possessiveness in his tone, which unaccountably mollified Arabella's vexation. The possibility that Marcus might be jealous somehow pleased her.

Unwilling to admit it, however, she returned a cool stare of defiance.

As if realizing how sharp their discussion had become, Marcus suddenly stopped himself and smiled—a charming, enchanting grin that warmed Arabella down to her toes. “You are right, love.” Taking her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips for a lingering kiss. “I am supposed to be playing the role of romantic suitor. Pray, let me rephrase. Will you do me the great pleasure of sharing my bed tonight?”

Arabella applied herself to her soup while she pretended to consider his request. “Perhaps.”

“You still owe me the better part of four hours of your time today,” Marcus reminded her as he lifted his own soup spoon. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “We can spend it exploring the depths of your sensuality.”

The mere thought sent a thrill of excitement and anticipation surging through Arabella. “Very well, since I owe you,” she allowed, ignoring the laughing gleam in Marcus's dark eyes.

He knew perfectly well she couldn't possibly refuse such an irresistible offer.

         

Later, after retiring alone to her bedchamber, she waited another three quarters of an hour for the household to settle down for the night before slipping down the silent corridors to the masters' apartments. Marcus had prepared carefully for her visit, Arabella saw with surprise as she shut the door behind her. Flickering candle flames cast a golden glow about the room, illuminating the massive bed, which was strewn with crimson rose petals.

Her heart melted at the romantic gesture, but it was the sight of Marcus that made her breath falter and her throat go dry. He looked stunningly handsome lounging there on the bed, wearing only a dressing gown. His raven hair was slightly tousled, while his robe was partway open to expose his broad, muscular chest. A chest she had explored at length last night and hoped to do so again very shortly.

Remembering the enticing feel of him, Arabella felt her pulse start to throb wildly. Suddenly weak-kneed, she leaned back against the door for support.

When she hesitated there, Marcus raised an eyebrow, taking in the silk gown she had worn to dinner. “You are still dressed.”

“I thought it unwise to risk being seen near your bedchamber in my nightshift.”

“True. But you have on far too many clothes. We will have to remedy that at once.”

Casually rising, Marcus sauntered over to her. He bent his head and kissed her lips, a slow, lazy, utterly possessive kiss that sent her blood racing. Then he led Arabella to stand beside the bed, where the fragrance of roses scented the air.

Taking his time, he undressed her with tantalizing slowness, starting with her hair, removing the pins one by one, letting the tresses fall in a rippling mane around her shoulders. The candlelight caught the red-gold sheen, turning it to flame and capturing his intent gaze.

“You have the most glorious hair,” Marcus murmured, threading his fingers through the silken mass almost reverently.

“Thank you—” Arabella started to say before her reply was cut off by her helpless moan. Marcus had left off caressing her hair and moved his hands to cup her breasts. Even through layers of fabric—bodice, corset, and chemise—she could feel the arousing heat of his palms. Her nipples peaked instantly…a fact he evidently recognized, if the sudden darkening if his eyes was any indication.

With a knowing half smile, Marcus drew down her bodice and underclothes to bare her breasts, then lowered his head to feast. Arabella gasped at the erotic feel of his mouth suckling her nipples, the titillating caress of his tongue. Her hands reached up to clutch his shoulders, bracing herself against the delicious sensations he was causing.

“And you have the most luscious body,” he murmured between warm strokes of his tongue.

“Do I?” Arabella asked hoarsely, barely able to breathe.

Leaving off his ministrations, Marcus lifted his head to flash her an amused look. “What is this, sweeting? Are you fishing for compliments?”

“No…not at all.” Color rose in her cheeks. “It's only that I have no way of knowing what a man finds…appealing about a woman's body. I don't have the experience to judge.”

“Didn't your friend Fanny tell you?”

“She only told me about a man's body…what to expect.” Arabella glanced down at Marcus. He had purposely let his dressing gown hang open, exposing his nudity. He looked like a very beautiful, very aroused male, intensely vital, intensely appealing. With a smile, Arabella trailed her fingers down his powerful chest to his abdomen. “And I have discovered all on my own that you have a very splendid body.”

“I am honored you think so,” Marcus said graciously. When Arabella's hand would have moved lower to his loins, however, he caught her wrist. “Not yet, love. If you touch me, I can't vouch for my control.”

He undressed her fully this time, removing her slippers and stockings, then her gown and underthings. When she stood naked before him, he shed his robe and drew her fully against him, letting her feel the hard, heated press of his nude body.

His hot breath burned her ear as he whispered, “You can't fathom how I have looked forward to tonight.”

Yes, she could fathom it, for she had done the same since the moment she'd awakened this morning.

His lips feathering kisses along her neck, he eased Arabella back upon the bed and followed her down to lounge on his side, his weight braced on one elbow as he continued nibbling at her skin. “I've wanted this for ages…making love to you on a bed of rose petals. Ever since you gave away all my bouquets, in fact.”

A soft laugh tumbled from her throat as he pressed his warm lips there. When she would have replied, he found her mouth and gave it the same erotic attention, wooing her with laughter and tenderness and incredible sensuality.

It was quite some time before he finally drew back to survey her. “Luscious,” he repeated, his appraising scrutiny flickering over her nakedness.

Holding her gaze, he scooped up a handful of rose petals and sprinkled them over Arabella. Then gathering a few more in his fingers, he ran them slowly over her body…the swells of her breasts, the curve of her hip, her belly, and lower…stroking her woman's mound, the sensitive folds below. Exhaling in a whimper, Arabella arched hungrily against him.

“You're very responsive to my touch,” Marcus observed.

“You make me that way.”

The rose petals on her skin felt incredibly sensual. The velvet softness caressed her flesh as his hot gaze was doing, making her tremble.

“Marcus, you cannot torment me this way….”

“Yes, I can, angel. I want you senseless from wanting me.”

She was already senseless with desire for him, and she wanted him the same way. She wanted to torment Marcus and make him ache with the feverish hunger he had kindled in her.

Struggling for a semblance of control, Arabella raised her hands and pushed at his shoulders, compelling him to roll over onto his back amid the rose petals. She could tell by his look that her unexpected action had surprised him.

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said with a faint smile.

“So it is.” Marcus lay there, compliant, but his eyes held a bold challenge. “Do you intend to have your wicked way with me?”

“Precisely.” She had never felt the least urge to be wicked and wanton with anyone else. With Marcus she felt that way every moment he was near, and often when he was not.

She felt supremely wicked now as the soft candlelight gleamed tantalizingly over his body. He was beautiful, lithe and strong and totally irresistible.

Suspecting he could see the yearning in her eyes, she gathered some rose petals of her own and dragged them slowly downward over his chest, smiling when he inhaled sharply. Rather than continue caressing him, however, she scattered the handful of petals over him, letting them drift down to his loins, where his manhood stood stiffly erect.

“Roses become you,” Arabella murmured, a hint of husky laughter in her voice.

She could tell Marcus was striving to remain still, for his hands curled into fists at his sides. Yet he made no move to stop her. Instead, he watched intently as she knelt above him.

Her hair teasing his skin, she bent and pressed a light kiss to his chest. She could feel the tension in his body, feel his heart thudding beneath her lips. And that was
before
she let her kisses glide lower. When her lips touched him beneath his rib cage, his stomach contracted reflexively.

“Does that hurt?” she asked innocently, raising her gaze to his.

“You know damn well it doesn't hurt,” Marcus muttered.

“Then what does it feel like?” When he didn't answer, Arabella caressed the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with her fingertips. “Does it feel pleasurable?”