To Pleasure a Lady (21 page)

He gave a low, strangled sigh as her hand curled around his thickly engorged shaft. “God, yes.”

Holding him lightly in her grasp, she bent low over him to let her breath whisper over his skin. His arousal jerked eagerly, and when she pressed her lips to the crest, she made him shudder.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he rasped.

“From you, Marcus. I am only following the example you set me last night.”

His ragged laugh turned to a groan. “You are an excellent learner.”

Encouraged, Arabella closed her lips over the swollen head, tasting him with her tongue, intent on pleasuring him as he had pleasured her. His entire body went rigid as he fought for control.

His helpless response roused a potent feminine sense of power in Arabella. She had never felt more keenly aware of her senses; the sweet scent of roses, the alluring musk of Marcus's skin, the heat swelling between them, the arousing taste of him. She could imagine him thrusting inside her, darkly male and powerful, as she sucked and pulled gently, coaxing another groan from him.

Savoring the sound, Arabella sighed at the sweet spasm of desire that arrowed down to her loins, deep in her center. She could feel her own secret flesh grow moist and swollen, her blood stirring thickly with excitement.

Marcus had squeezed his eyes shut, while his hands clenched at his sides. His restraint was obviously slipping, though, pleasure eroding his will.

She continued her tender ministrations, wanting to drive him to a frenzy of longing. Her fingers fondled the turgid length of his shaft and the velvety, swollen sacs beneath while she plied him with warm caresses of her tongue and lips. A low, panting growl rumbled up from his throat, and a dozen heartbeats later, his hips rose up to meet her, driving his length deeper into the recesses of her mouth.

His hunger only served to heighten her desire, and she suckled harder, which pushed Marcus to the edge of his restraint.

His jaw knotted tightly, he grasped Arabella's shoulders and pulled her away.

“That is quite
enough
.” His voice was harsh and husky, his eyes brilliant with heat as he captured her gaze.

But it is not enough,
she wanted to protest. She stared at him in the simmering glow of candlelight, faint with desire for him. She wanted him desperately, longed to feel him deep inside her.

Marcus must have wanted the same thing, for he drew her up to lie upon him so that her thighs straddled his. The melting hunger inside her turned to a relentless ache as his hands settled on her hips and he lifted her, holding the naked core of her poised above his thick shaft.

Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Arabella drew a long, shuddering breath, yearning for the searing pleasure of their joining…a breath that sighed out of her as Marcus complied with her unspoken wish. Lowering her slowly, he parted the wet, swollen folds of her sex with his phallus and gently, very gently eased the silken head into her quivering flesh.

Impaled on his hardness, she bit back a soft moan at the rapturous feel of him, the fullness of his penetration.

And then he began to move, igniting a burst of fire inside her. When Arabella arched her back in response, his hands reached for her breasts, stroking them, teasing her taut, straining nipples. And when she rocked against him, he lifted his hips to meet hers, thrusting his huge, burning shaft into her.

His face was hard with need; the desire she saw there made her chest feel tight as he slowly drove upward again, and then again with more urgency. Her moan turned to a sob, a sound that seemed to enflame him.

Grating out her name, Marcus grasped her hair to pull her face down to his. He kissed her as if he was determined to steal every ounce of willpower she had. Arabella struggled to remain in control, but his tongue plunged into her mouth like the driving rhythm of his flesh sheathed deep in her body. Her inner muscles clutched at him as shuddering tremors began to ripple remorselessly through her.

A keening whimper escaped her throat. She could feel the fire, the all-consuming need, swelling and building.

An instant later, Arabella cried out, convulsing wildly as the relentless waves of pleasure engulfed her entire body.

His control broke then. Marcus's strong body arched helplessly beneath her, guttural groans of release ripping from his throat as he reached his own harsh, powerful climax deep within her.

His arms came around her as she collapsed upon him. In the melting afterglow, Arabella lay there bonelessly, still joined to Marcus, her breasts pressed against his sweat-dampened chest, her face nestled in the curve of his throat, their ragged breaths mingling, their frantic heartbeats slowing.

It was a long while before Arabella recovered her senses. Marcus was stroking her hair, a tender gesture that made her sigh.

“I believe you won that round,” he murmured hoarsely.

Not moving, Arabella suddenly swallowed hard. No, she hadn't won at all. Once again Marcus had shattered all her control.

Yet that wasn't solely what worried her. It wasn't even that his vaunted powers of seduction had proved so overwhelming. It was that her resolve to remain emotionally indifferent was slipping away with his every sensual caress.

There was supreme peril in letting herself become too attached to Marcus, a warning voice clamored in her mind. She could hear her sisters' worried voices questioning whether she was in danger of falling in love with him.
You need us to help defend you against him,
Lily had insisted.

Perhaps she should have listened, Arabella reflected as she pressed a kiss against the warm bare skin of Marcus's neck. Perhaps she
did
need reinforcements to help maintain her defenses. If she had any hope at all of remaining dispassionate toward Marcus—

A helpless laugh whispered from her lips as she caught herself nibbling on his delicious skin. Even a fool could see she wasn't able to defend herself against him on her own. Not when she was so desperately attracted to his lovemaking.

Just then Marcus shifted beneath her, reminding her that their flesh was still joined in the most intimate way possible. A sweet jolt of fire shivered through Arabella as he captured her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his for another burning kiss.

Most definitely she would be wise to ask her sisters to come home, Arabella decided as she gave herself up to the searing enchantment of his kisses.

Chapter Thirteen

I can imagine little worse than marriage without love, except marriage where love is purely one-sided.

—Arabella to Fanny

When Roslyn and Lily came home the next morning in response to her summons, Arabella was torn between gratitude and regret. Gratitude because she would be far safer with her sisters in the house to bolster her defenses. Regret because she would be spending no more enchanting nights in Marcus's bed.

She avoided him at breakfast, and from the moment her sisters arrived, she kept herself busy with renovations to the second-floor bedchambers.

To Arabella's further gratitude, Roslyn and Lily didn't press her to explain her change of heart. They simply remained close to her all day and refused to leave her alone in Marcus's company.

She was wise to keep away from him, Arabella tried to convince herself as she and her sisters set out together for afternoon classes at the academy. She didn't trust herself to be with Marcus and keep her emotions uninvolved. She had even less faith that she could resist her growing desire for him.

Roslyn and Lily would help save her from herself.

It was better this way, Arabella knew, even though she didn't have to like it.

         

Marcus admittedly did not like the lack of privacy or having his two youngest wards present to interfere with his courtship of their sister. Nor was he overjoyed when Lilian and Roslyn confronted him in his study shortly after they returned from the academy.

“Arabella has gone upstairs to change for dinner,” Lily said gravely upon entering, “but we wished a word with you, your lordship.”

Following behind her, Roslyn added more politely but just as seriously, “If you could spare a moment of your time, my lord?”

Setting down his quill pen, Marcus rose from behind his desk and offered them seats near the tall windows. “For my lovely wards, I will make the time.”

Though grimacing at his flattery, Lily settled in a wing chair as if forcing herself to behave with proper decorum. Yet she came straight to the point. “We think it best if you stop wooing Arabella, Lord Danvers.”

Marcus leveled a curious gaze at his youngest ward as he sat on the sofa across from her. “I collect you mean to tell me why?”

“Because you are too beguiling. You are likely to make Arabella forsake all her good sense. We don't want to see her hurt again by a fickle suitor.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I am hardly fickle. I have every intention of marrying your sister.”

“But you would not make her a good husband.”

Willing himself to patience, Marcus leaned back against the sofa. “So you believe you can judge my qualifications as a husband?”

“You don't love her, my lord.” Lily leaned forward in her chair, her dark eyes bright with the glisten of frustration, her expression intent with worry. “Arabella has always been too tenderhearted. Her last betrothed humiliated her and left her heartbroken, and we won't let it happen again. She has been hurt enough.”

Lily's distress was obviously heartfelt, Marcus realized.

Roslyn's voice held the same troubled note when she chimed in. “It was very hard for Arabella when her betrothed repudiated her, especially after losing both our parents and our home and having to face the public scorn that resulted.”

“From all accounts,” Marcus responded, “her betrothed abandoned her at the first test. I am made of stronger stuff.”

“Do you love her?” Roslyn asked quietly. “If not now, then could you ever come to love her?”

The question took him aback. Roslyn was eyeing him with her perceptive gaze, which made him feel as if she could see deep inside his mind. But he couldn't reply to her discomfiting question when he himself didn't know the answer.

He had strong feelings for Arabella, certainly. When she wasn't with him, he missed her. And at the prospect of seeing her again, his heart began racing with anticipation. She roused a passion in him that he hadn't felt in years, perhaps never.

But just because he wanted Arabella—and wanted to be with her—didn't mean he would ever feel the romantic love he presumed Roslyn was speaking of.

“I think,” Marcus finally said, “that my feelings for your sister should remain private between us.”

Roslyn inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Perhaps. But we do not want to see Arabella hurt again.”

“I assure you, the last thing I want to do is hurt her.”

“But you cannot promise that you won't.”

In all truth, he couldn't make any such promise, Marcus reflected soberly, but he would try his damnedest. “I can promise you that if I wed your sister, our marriage will be nothing whatsoever like your parents'.”

Evidently Lily wasn't satisfied. “If you make Arabella fall in love with you, you will break her heart. We won't let you hurt her the way Viscount Underwood did.”

“There is no chance of that,” he replied with all sincerity.

“How can we be certain?” Lily demanded.

“I regret,” Marcus said, “that I won't be able to persuade you of my benevolent intentions, but I mean to continue my courtship of your sister.”

When Lily continued to stare back at him in frustration, Marcus finally changed the subject. “Actually, I am glad for a chance to speak to you both in private.” He paused, glancing from one sister to the other. “Pray, tell me about your mother.”

At the mention of their mother, Lily stiffened, while Roslyn looked wary. “What do you want to know?”

“I understand she is living on the coast of France, in Brittany. Have you heard from her recently?”

Lily gave a brittle little laugh. “Not recently. Not in four years, in fact. She hasn't sent us so much as a letter since she fled England with her lover.” The hint of bitterness in her tone was unmistakable, and Marcus could tell that Lady Loring was yet another painful topic for Lilian.

“Perhaps she had little chance,” Marcus observed. “The war on the Peninsula intensified shortly after she left for France, so communication would have been extremely difficult.”

“She could somehow have sent word to us,” Roslyn said more softly, “if only to let us know she was safe.”

“Your step-uncle never tried to contact her?”

“That is doubtful. Our step-uncle would not let Mama's name be spoken in his hearing. He wasn't willing to forgive her for the disgrace she brought his family name.”

“Do you know if she ever attempted to return home to England after the war ended?”

“Why would she?” Lily asked. “She would not have been welcome here.”

“What about now? Now that your step-uncle is gone, would you welcome her return?”

“No,”
Lily answered, her voice quivering with conviction. “I don't care if we never see her again.”

Marcus steepled his fingers under his chin as he studied his wards. Roslyn seemed a bit more forgiving of their mother, but he suspected Arabella's feelings were almost as bitter as Lily's.

“Why do you ask?” Roslyn said, watching him again with those shrewd, knowing eyes.

“I am curious,” Marcus replied, which was only a partial truth.

He decided it best not to mention the recent turn of events until he had more details to properly judge the situation. His unexpected business in London yesterday had solely to do with Lady Loring. She had written to him a month ago after hearing about her stepbrother's passing, to express her condolences and to extend her felicitations to Marcus on attaining the earldom.

After a long discussion with his solicitors, Marcus had ordered them to locate Victoria Loring in France and provide her safe passage home to England, if she cared enough to come. He wanted to hear her story, since he wasn't wholly convinced she was the black villainess the late earl had painted her. According to Simpkin, who had fulfilled the duel roles of butler and secretary for the former Lord Danvers and had managed all his lordship's correspondence, Lady Loring had written several letters to her daughters over the years, but her stepbrother had burned them without so much as breaking the wax seal.

And if there was the slightest possibility of healing any of the painful wounds caused by her abandonment of her daughters, Marcus couldn't let the opportunity pass. Lady Loring's heartless actions had helped turn Arabella against marriage, and if she could come to forgive her mother, then she might be more willing to accept his own suit.

But he had no intention of sharing his hopes with his wards, in part because he didn't want to risk rousing their disappointment in the event he was wrong about their mother.

His reply evidently did not satisfy Lily, however, for she eyed him intently. “If introducing the subject of our mother is a ploy to distract us from protecting Belle, your lordship, it will not work.”

A faint smile curved his mouth. “It isn't a ploy.”

Lily continued to scowl as she abruptly stood. “If you dare hurt Arabella, I swear I will make you regret it.”

He had no doubt she would keep her word, either, or that her desire to protect Arabella was well-meant.

Politely Marcus rose to his feet. “I will take your warning to heart.”

Rising also, Roslyn started to follow her sister from the room, but then she hesitated, looking solemnly back at Marcus. “Do we have your word, my lord?”

“You have my word,” he said gravely. “I will do everything in my power to see that Arabella isn't hurt.”

His vow seemed to reassure her, for Roslyn nodded slowly and offered him a tentative smile. “For some reason I trust you.”

Marcus was touched by her admission. Roslyn might not have declared herself his ally, but at least she was willing to allow him to prove himself.

When she was gone, Marcus frowned, contemplating his next step. He had no intention of hurting Arabella, but there was no way he would give up his courtship. He had only a few more nights with her and every moment counted.

         

Dinner that evening was an odd affair, leaving Arabella puzzled by the unmistakable undercurrents between Marcus and her sisters. Lily continued to treat him with wary reserve, but Roslyn seemed to have thawed toward him significantly.

Even odder was the conversation Roslyn carried on with Marcus—asking him about his family history, his tastes in music and literature, his political leanings, the condition of his various properties and estates…almost as if she were a protective mother and Marcus a potential suitor for her daughter.

Roslyn's purpose made little sense to Arabella, since her sister was still presumably set against his courtship.

Marcus's response also confounded her. He bore the inquiries with gracious charm rather than the vexation she might have expected. And after dinner, when they all moved to the drawing room, he made a concerted effort to become better acquainted with both her sisters, even Lily.

Arabella herself remained mostly silent, for she knew every word she uttered would be scrutinized by her sisters. And she was far too aware of Marcus's nearness to feel at ease.

For the most part, Marcus paid her little attention the rest of the evening. And he made no attempt for a private word with her, even when it was time to retire to bed. In truth, he had no chance, for Roslyn and Lily accompanied Arabella out of the drawing room and escorted her to her bedchamber, apparently taking their roles as her protectors quite seriously.

Feeling restless and out of sorts, Arabella found herself staring out her window at the moonlit darkness, regretting not being able to sleep with Marcus tonight and wishing she could assuage the urgent longing she felt for him.

Realizing where her foolish reflections had taken her, though, Arabella made a scoffing sound and turned away to undress. She had just removed her evening slippers and started to unbutton her gown when someone scratched on her chamber door.

Disappointment flooded her when she saw it was only her maid, Nan, come to help her prepare for bed, and not the sensual lover who had been occupying her thoughts so obsessively of late.

“You may go to bed, Nan,” Arabella said, preferring to be alone. “I won't require your services tonight.”

“As you please, Miss Loring,” Nan replied with a curtsy, “but Mrs. Simpkin 'as a problem in the kitchen that needs yer attention.”

“At this late hour?”

“She said it couldn't wait.”

“Very well,” Arabella acknowledged. “I will come as soon as I fetch my shoes.”

She dismissed Nan and put on the slippers she had just taken off, then left her room quietly so as not to disturb her sisters in the adjacent bedchambers. Their doors were shut, Arabella noticed as she made her way down the corridor to the back service stairs in search of the housekeeper.

When she reached the kitchen, however, she came up short. There was no sign of Mrs. Simpkin. Instead, Marcus was sitting on the edge of the long dining table with his hands braced behind him, looking very much at ease. He had removed his coat and cravat although he still wore his evening breeches.