To Pleasure a Lady (22 page)

It was deplorable how her heart somersaulted at the sight of him. Chiding herself, Arabella disciplined her features into impassivity. “Where is Mrs. Simpkin?” she asked, although already suspecting the answer.

“I dismissed her,” Marcus said easily.

“So you lured me down here under false pretenses?”

“What did you expect, sweeting? I was compelled to be creative since your sisters are guarding you like mother hawks.”

Arabella had to admire his resourcefulness, even if she was the target for it. “My sisters are only acting in my best interest.”

“I know they believe so.” His mouth twisted. “Lily fears I will beguile you into losing your common sense.”

Arabella felt a little stab of dismay. “You didn't tell her about us—”

“Of course not, love. I don't want it known that we sampled the marriage bed before the wedding.”

She let that provoking comment pass. “What do you want, Marcus?”

“Simply to invite you to take a midnight stroll with me.”

“Why?”

“So I can have some time alone with you. How else can I woo you effectively with your sisters watching my every move? Their presence here at the Hall is putting a significant constraint on my courtship.” Marcus cocked an eyebrow. “But that is precisely why you summoned them home, isn't it? Because you fear I am gaining ground with you.”

The amused gleam in his eye told her there was no point in denying the charge. When Arabella remained silent, he shook his head. “You didn't think I would be so easily daunted, did you?”

“Regrettably, no. I doubt anything could daunt you.”

Casually, Marcus slid down from the table and crossed to where she stood. Arabella felt her pulse quicken at the intimate look he was giving her, at the heat in his gaze that sparked a responsive heat in every part of her body.

“Come with me outside, Belle. We'll walk down to the river.”

“I shouldn't,” she replied, even as she felt her defenses weakening.

“Craven,” he teased softly. His eyes glinted wickedly, making her heart pound harder.

Determined to resist his seductive charm, she lifted her chin. “I am only being wise. You know what will happen if I come with you.”

“I know what I
want
to happen. But whatever we do will be solely at your discretion.”

Raising his hand, Marcus stroked a thumb over her bottom lip. The frisson of fire that streaked through Arabella at that simple touch made her quiver.

And that was before his voice lowered to a sensual murmur. “A fighting chance to win you, Arabella. That is all I've ever asked from you. If you lock yourself away in your chaste bedchamber with your sisters as watchdogs, how can I possibly convince you to marry me?”

She felt her willpower wilting. Marcus was devilishly irresistible and he knew it. “My sisters cannot find out,” Arabella said finally.

He smiled. “I certainly won't tell them.”

“Mrs. Simpkin may suspect what we are about.”

“Mrs. Simpkin is very discreet. And she approves of my courtship, remember?”

His thumb dipped inside her mouth, making her breath catch and her wits scatter. Arabella felt the last of her resistance melt away. Marcus was likely to have his way in the end in any case, so she might as well give in with good grace. Besides, what harm could result if she was with him one more time?

“Very well,” she said against her better judgment. “I will come with you this once.”

The slow smile he gave her was brilliant as he offered her his hand. “Come, we'll sneak out the back entrance in order to foil your sisters.”

Arabella couldn't help but laugh. “How dignified for a belted earl to be slinking around his own estate,” she said, taking his hand.

“Indeed,” Marcus agreed dryly. “But I am forced to employ desperate measures. Now keep your voice down. I don't want anyone to hear us.”

He led her out the rear kitchen door, which opened onto the herb garden, and from there to the main gardens. Arabella stifled a laugh as they wended their way through the neat rows of shrubs and beds of flowers toward the rear of the manor. She felt deliciously wicked, sneaking out of the house with her lover, yet she couldn't summon any regrets. All her good sense had fled, but all her senses had come alive. The night was lovely, silver-bright with moonlight and fresh with the sweet scents of spring.

It was her aching awareness of the man beside her, however, that filled her with anticipation and excitement and need.

When they reached the terraced lawns, Marcus drew her closer and bent to whisper in her ear. “I feel like a schoolboy playing truant…except that no schoolboy was ever this painfully swollen.”

He guided her fingers to the enormous bulge in his breeches, and Arabella shivered. Knowing how much he wanted her roused a pulsing ache between her thighs and left her breathless with her own longing.

In unspoken agreement, they quickened their pace until they reached the line of trees that flanked the river and sheltered them from sight of the manor. They had to slow as they pushed through a glade, but the moment they came out into the moonlight again, Marcus halted and dragged Arabella against him, seizing her mouth in a fierce possession.

Their kiss exploded in a passionate blaze. The heat he generated ignited sparks in Arabella's blood, filling her with savage hunger. She wanted him with a ferocity that shocked her.

Desperate to touch him, she reached down and fumbled at the front placket of his breeches. Marcus inhaled sharply at her boldness, but then hastened to help her, almost ripping at the buttons in order to free his rigid length.

It was Arabella's turn to inhale when she saw the dark, pulsing shaft thrust proudly out from his sleek loins.

“Come here,” he demanded.

She obeyed, needing no further urging.

Swiftly, he raised her skirts to her waist and cupped the silken curls between her thighs. She was already shamelessly wet for him, and his eyes flared darkly in response. She could see his face in the moonlight—hard, beautiful, taut with desire—and knew the same desire was written on her features as he probed her feminine folds.

Arabella bit back a gasp as he stroked the sensitive bud of her sex and arched against him when he buried a long finger deep inside her. Only the need for discretion kept her from moaning in wild pleasure.

Her response apparently wasn't wild enough for Marcus, though. His midnight-blue eyes smoldering, he insinuated his muscular leg between hers and slid his hands around her hips to her derriere, then lifted her up.

Startled by his unexpected action, Arabella clung to his shoulders for balance.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he ordered in a rough command.

“Marcus…”

He kissed her urgently again, drinking in any protest as his tongue thrust deeply into her mouth. Below, his arousal penetrated her cleft and forged in with a slow, inexorable pressure. Her body was soft and yielding, accepting the hard strength of his, but even so, Arabella gasped at the searing feel of his claiming.

Marcus captured the sound with his mouth. With his legs braced wide, he anchored her against him and drove in the rest of the way, till he was sheathed deeply inside her.

Arabella trembled in his arms as her flesh swelled tightly around his large possession. It was breathtaking, being filled by him this way. Breathtaking and stunning in intensity.

He held her locked securely against him and began to move his hips, withdrawing and then surging upward, plunging in long, forceful strokes. She shuddered at the impact as he drove himself into her, huge and hard, pumping in a demanding, arousing rhythm while his mouth devoured hers.

His raw desire left her shaken; his hungry plundering made her wild. Moaning, she writhed against him, matching her movements to his with frenzied abandon.

It was hard and fast and thrilling…and utterly explosive. The inferno broke over them at the same moment, splintering shards of fiery sensation through them both. Arabella sobbed against his mouth while Marcus staggered at the powerful convulsions, his arms clenching around her. Reeling with desire, he drank in her helpless cries, rendering his own hoarse groans as he poured himself into her.

He was still gasping for breath when she sagged against him. He thrust into her savagely one last time, then went still except for the racking tremors that continued to buffet him.

They remained fused together for a long while, vibrating with aftershocks. Even when their bodies ceased their wild quaking, Marcus held Arabella tightly, savoring the feel of her.

Finally, though, he eased her to her feet, supporting her with his embrace when she leaned limply against him, too weak to stand on her own.

Marcus's low curse was ragged in the hushed quiet of the night. “Damnation…no finesse
again
.”

The husky, exhausted laughter that tumbled from her lips touched him even more than her wild response had done, but he couldn't excuse his own wildness. He pressed his lips against her hair in apology for his savagery. “Forgive me, Belle. I haven't lost control like that since I was a callow youth, but I couldn't wait.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she rasped against his shoulder. “I couldn't wait, either.”

He could hear the laughter in her voice, the pleasure, the contentment, and another fierce stab of desire pierced him.

Then Arabella raised her head and looked up at him, her beautiful face glowing in the moonlight. His heart turned over at the sight.

“I had no idea it was possible to make love that way,” she whispered almost shyly.

He'd had no idea, either. He had never made love with such frenzy. The frantic urgency had left him gasping. He'd never felt such bliss with anyone but Arabella. The satisfaction of making love to her was shattering.

Perhaps it was her inexperience. Every aspect of lovemaking was very new to her, and her wonder and delight made it seem new to him, too. Tonight, however, she had responded to him with an ardent passion that had stolen his breath, his very heart—

Marcus suddenly went very still as the stunning realization shot through him.

He had fallen in love with Arabella. How else could he explain the powerful emotions he felt for her?

The thought jolted him badly; his head was reeling, his heart racing.

Yet he no longer had any doubt. He loved her.

It should have come as no surprise, he mused as he searched her face a little dazedly. Not when he felt such overwhelming possessiveness toward Arabella. Not when he felt such pleasure whenever he was with her. Such contentment. Such simple joy.

No woman had ever affected him as Arabella did; no one had ever come close. She supplied the fire that had been missing from his life.

Drew and Heath would call him mad—and perhaps he was. He'd been smitten, there was no other way to explain the feeling of tenderness and excitement that swept over him when he merely thought of Arabella. He'd never felt this profound need to be with someone the way he did with her.

Marcus inhaled a steadying breath. He hadn't counted on developing an unexpected ardor for his beautiful ward. So now what the devil was he to do about it?

He found himself frowning. Arabella had stormed the defenses of his heart while hers remained still intact. He felt his gut clench, realizing he faced a much greater dilemma than winning their wager. He wouldn't settle for a marriage of convenience with her now. Not when he finally recognized the depth of his feelings.

But winning Arabella's heart would be an even more daunting task than gaining her hand in marriage.

“What is wrong?” she asked when he continued staring at her.

Marcus schooled his expression to nonchalance. She wouldn't believe him if he told her; any professions of love he made would be considered mere blandishments in his effort to seduce her.

“Nothing is wrong,” he lied. “I was only contemplating how beautiful you are in the moonlight.”

The soft smile that curved her mouth made his heart quicken, but it started racing again when she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I had best return to the house,” she whispered, “before my sisters realize I am gone.”

No, I won't let you go,
Marcus thought fiercely. He was conscious of a savage urge to carry Arabella far away from here, a primal craving to keep her captive, in his sole possession, until she finally agreed to wed him and give him her heart.

Yet force wouldn't gain her surrender, he knew. She didn't trust him enough to love him. Didn't trust him not to hurt her.

Somehow he had to convince Arabella otherwise.

Realizing he needed to give the matter careful consideration, Marcus stepped back and fastened his breeches, then straightened her clothing.

Crushing the urge to make love to her again, he took her hand and led her back through the glade and across the terraced lawns to the gardens.

They entered the house the same way they had left, by the rear kitchen door. Marcus escorted Arabella as far as the back service stairs, where he paused to gaze down at her in the dim light of a wall sconce. He meant to kiss her good night before sending her up to her bedchamber alone, but when he took her in his arms, a noise above him made him halt.

Looking up, Marcus cursed silently.

Arabella's sisters were waiting for them at the head of the stairs, and neither appeared happy. Roslyn's expression was troubled, while Lilian looked dismayed.

“See, I told you Belle was in danger,” Lily said, her voice low and hoarse and despairing.

Chapter Fourteen

What fools we females can be, letting ourselves be seduced by a charming address and a handsome face.

—Arabella to Fanny

Protectively, Marcus stepped in front of Arabella, but she wouldn't allow herself to hide behind him.

“Good night, my lord,” she murmured, slipping past him.

He caught her arm. “If you need me—”

“Thank you, but I had best speak to my sisters alone.”

Aware that she had badly disappointed them, Arabella mounted the stairs to the second-floor landing. Both Lily and Roslyn followed her down the corridor to her bedchamber and closed the door behind them. The strained silence that ensued did not last long.

“How could you, Arabella?” Lily demanded unhappily. “Sneaking out with the earl for a midnight tryst. You have been kissing him, haven't you? Your hair is disheveled and your mouth is red and bruised.”

Indeed, she looked a perfect wanton, Arabella realized when she glimpsed her reflection in the cheval glass. She bit her lower lip in chagrin. At least the damp, tender ache between her thighs wasn't visible.

Her muteness only distressed Lily more. “Just how far has your affair with Lord Danvers gone, Belle?”

She could feel heat searing her cheeks. She had no desire to confess that she had not only given her virginity to Marcus, she'd spent the last three nights making mad, passionate love with him.

Before Lily could press her further, however, Roslyn intervened in a gentler but just as troubled tone. “We are worried for you, Arabella. You are exhibiting all the signs of a dangerous ardor. We don't want you to be hurt again.”

Arabella grimaced. “You needn't worry, truly. I won't let myself fall in love like last time.”

“But you could still be hurt,” Roslyn pointed out. “Think carefully, Arabella. If you continue in this vein, you may have no choice but to wed Lord Danvers. You cannot afford to create a scandal—not unless you are prepared to see our academy's reputation suffer. If your indiscretions become known, marriage to him will be your only course.”

Disliking to acknowledge that possibility, Arabella swallowed hard. She had deliberately ignored the risk of scandal for the momentary pleasure of being with Marcus.

“Yes, please
think,
Arabella,” Lily pleaded. “You don't want to be forced to wed him to save your reputation.”

“Even worse,” Roslyn added softly, “is the prospect of being locked in a union like Mama and Papa were. If the earl doesn't love you, he could make your life a misery the way Papa did Mama.”

“I know,” Arabella murmured. “My behavior has been reckless. But it won't happen again.”

“I hope not,” Lily said, true distress in her voice. “If you don't take care, he will seduce you. Surely you don't want to wind up like Mama, falling under the spell of a charmer, lusting after a man to the detriment of your entire family?”

The notion struck Arabella like a blow.
Was that what she was doing?
She stared at her youngest sister in dismay. It appalled her to think that she might be following in her mother's footsteps.

“Has it come to that, Arabella?” Roslyn said more quietly. “Are you letting your heart overrule your head, like Mama did?”

Arabella shook her head earnestly. “My heart is not involved. I have known Marcus barely a few weeks. That is too short a time to develop any lasting ardor.”

“You may not be able to help yourself,” Lily asserted. “Doubtless he is counting on your feminine weakness, trusting that he can make you fall in love with him. He is playing on your physical desires—and he is clearly succeeding.”

Arabella couldn't refute the charge; she had warned herself of the same thing countless times. She raised a hand to her temple. “I won't deny that I feel a physical attraction for him, but it is only passion I feel.”

“Then you had best keep away from him entirely,” Roslyn advised. “Passion is not a sound basis for marriage. Passion can burn out quickly, and then what is left?” Roslyn hesitated, gazing at her sympathetically. “It might be different if there were any chance you could come to love each other.”

Roslyn's advocacy of love was not surprising. She was not set against marriage as Lily was; she just felt strongly that love must come first if a union was to have any chance of truly prospering.

“There is little chance of that,” Arabella replied. “He doesn't want a love match. He only wants a marriage of convenience with a proper wife to breed him heirs.”

“Then you should end your courtship now.”

“Yes,” Lily seconded. “You don't dare risk falling in love with him, Belle. Love can turn you into an utter fool, blinding you to all else.”

Arabella nodded in agreement. Roslyn was the wisest of the three of them and could be counted on to analyze the situation rationally. Lily, on the other hand, was speaking from sheer emotion. Despite her hoydenish ways, she was the most sensitive Loring sister and had been hurt most by their mother's abandonment.

Yet Arabella shared Lily's feelings in this instance. Love made a woman much too vulnerable and susceptible to lunacy. She well knew the pain love could cause, both from her own experience and from her mother's. Victoria Loring had fallen in love and destroyed her family because of it….

“You are right, of course,” Arabella murmured.

Evidently Lily wasn't convinced of her sincerity. “We can try to help you resist him, but only you can crush your feelings for him before they go too far.”

“I know.” She couldn't—
wouldn't
—permit herself to fall in love with Marcus. She squared her shoulders. “You needn't worry about me, Lily. Our wager ends on Monday—only two and a half more days.”

“Hang the blasted wager!” Lily declared. “You have to call it off immediately. It is not worth the risk.”

She couldn't call off the wager now. Not when she was so close. She had her sisters to think of as well as herself. Their independence was also at stake. If she lost the wager, Lily and Roslyn would suffer for it.

Taking a deep breath, she gazed solemnly back at them, filled with new resolve. “No, truly. I promise I will keep away from Marcus from now on. No midnight trysts…no trysts of any kind. I won't allow myself to be alone with him ever again.”

It was a promise she was determined to keep, Arabella vowed to herself. The reminder of their mother's behavior had had a chilling effect—and she had absolutely no intention of losing her heart the way her mother had done.

         

She managed to hold to her promise for the better part of the next day. Knowing Marcus had an afternoon appointment in London on a political matter but not wanting to risk encountering him beforehand, Arabella eschewed breakfast and left Danvers Hall early with her sisters to take refuge at the academy. There, she distracted herself the entire morning by listening to musical performances.

The afternoon passed much more slowly, since it was Saturday. With only a half day of lessons scheduled, the young ladies were allowed the afternoon free to do whatever they pleased. Most chose to go shopping in the village, which left the school unusually quiet.

Despite Arabella's best intentions and her sisters' attempts to divert her, Marcus occupied her thoughts far too often. Thus, she accepted readily when Roslyn and Lily suggested they take an early tea with Jane Caruthers, the spinster who ran the school's daily operations. When Tess Blanchard elected to join them, the pleasant interlude became reminiscent of the early days before they opened the academy, when the five of them had regularly gathered to discuss plans.

Afterward, the ladies repaired to the dining room, where their pupils were partaking of their own tea. They had barely settled when Jane was summoned away by the housekeeper, Mrs. Phipps.

A short while later, Arabella also found herself approached by Mrs. Phipps, who whispered urgently, “Forgive the interruption, Miss Loring, but Miss Caruthers asks to speak with you in private.”

“Very well, where is she?” Arabella asked.

“The dormitory. Miss Newstead's room.”

When Arabella eventually mounted the stairs to Sybil Newstead's bedchamber, she found Jane wringing her hands.

“Sybil has disappeared,” was Jane's immediate pronouncement, “and I fear she has left the grounds.”

Arabella frowned. Sybil had not come down to tea, but that in itself was not alarming, since one of her schoolmates had claimed she had taken ill and was resting in her room. But obviously the girl was not in her bed.

Tess joined them as Arabella asked Jane, “What makes you believe she has left the grounds?”

“Her bandbox is missing, along with several of her best gowns. And the maid we set to watch her has disappeared as well. No one but Caroline Trebbs has seen Sybil since this morning.”

Arabella's frown deepened. The two girls shared this bedchamber, and Caroline had been the one to report Sybil's illness.

“I think we had best talk to Miss Trebbs,” Arabella said, “before we draw any rash conclusions.”

She kept her voice calm but felt a niggling uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. Sybil Newstead was capable of most any indiscretion, although why she would have run away was puzzling. As for the maid, Sybil could possibly have bribed the servant to look the other way, although it would be worth her position—

“Do you think she might have eloped?” Tess asked, clearly worried.

Arabella's uneasiness turned to alarm. “Dear heaven, I hope not.” But that would be one rational explanation for Sybil's disappearance.

When Jane went to fetch Caroline Trebbs from the drawing room, Arabella waited with Tess impatiently. Her mind raced as she tried to recall observing any unusual behavior from Sybil recently—an exercise in futility, Arabella knew. She had paid little attention to any of her pupils this past week, she had been so busy being wooed by Marcus. But for an elopement, Sybil would have to have a suitor—

Her alarm twisted into a knot of dread as the answer struck her:
Jasper Onslow
. She had caught the notorious rake stealing a kiss from Sybil on the balcony at the Perrys' ball. A wastrel like Onslow might be desperate enough to lower himself to marry a mill heiress for her vast fortune. But had Sybil gone willingly? Her missing gowns suggested that force hadn't been necessary….

Arabella's whirling thoughts were interrupted when Jane returned with Caroline. Miss Trebbs was a plump, plain-looking girl. When she entered the bedchamber with obvious reluctance, the guilty look on her face spoke volumes.

Arabella didn't waste time with polite queries. “Caroline, we need you to tell us where Sybil has gone.”

Bowing her head, the girl mumbled something unintelligible.

“She took you into her confidence, didn't she?” Arabella pressed, striving for patience.

“Y-yes, Miss Loring…. But I promised not to tell. Sybil said she would cut out my tongue if I b-breathed a word to anyone.”

Arabella drew a slow breath. “We won't let her harm you, Caroline. Please, we need you to tell us what has happened. She could be in danger.”

It was another long moment before Caroline said in a rush, “Sybil is not really in danger, Miss Loring. She went to Gretna Green.”

Jane let out a low moan, while Tess met Arabella's eyes with similar dismay. Sybil apparently had eloped to Scotland with her fortune hunter suitor, just as they feared.

“Did she go with Mr. Onslow?” Arabella asked.

Caroline's jaw slackened as she stared in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Never mind. Just tell us what she planned. It will take at least three days for them to drive to Scotland, perhaps more. What arrangements did they make? When did they leave?”

“Shortly after classes let out…when we went shopping in the village. Mr. Onslow met us there with his carriage.”

“How did she intend to deal with her maid?” Tess asked. “I doubt Martha would simply have let Sybil elope without protest.”

Caroline hung her head, as if ashamed. “Sybil knew Martha wouldn't keep quiet, so she made her come with them. They planned to set her down further on tonight, to make her way home by mailcoach tomorrow. And I was to cover for Sybil this evening by saying she was ill. She thought the soonest anyone would miss her was tomorrow after church.”

“Yet Mrs. Phipps,” Jane said tightly, “began wondering where Martha had gotten to, and so she searched this room and found Sybil's belongings missing.”

“Yes,” Caroline whispered. Her gaze returned to Arabella. “I am so very sorry I lied, Miss Loring, truly.”

Arabella bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at the girl, but Jane didn't. “This could ruin us,” she muttered. “Mr. Newstead will be outraged—”

But Arabella didn't want to discuss the academy's business before one of their pupils. “Caroline, I wish you to return to the dining room for now. And please don't say a word to any of the other girls.”