To Pleasure a Lady (24 page)

When he offered her a cool smile, Arabella drank in the sight of him, realizing that he had somehow ridden after her. Odd how seeing him not only filled her with gladness but made all her weariness and misery suddenly evaporate.

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” he said, pushing the door open and strolling past her into the room. “I am pleased I finally caught up to you.”

Chapter Fifteen

It is deplorable, how few defenses I have against him.

—Arabella to Fanny

After tossing his hat and saddlebags on a table, Marcus turned to survey Arabella's beautiful face with a cross between anger and relief. Relief that she had made it safely through the fierce storm and that he had managed to overtake her. Anger because she had set out on a potentially dangerous mission by herself, with no thought to her own safety.

At least she didn't refute his claim of being her husband in front of the inn's proprietress. Evidently Arabella understood the necessity of endorsing the lie to protect her reputation, for she offered him a smile of welcome. “I did not expect you to follow me, dearest.”

“I disliked you making such a long journey alone without my protection, love,” Marcus replied tersely.

“But I had no wish to put you to such trouble.”

When his gaze narrowed on Arabella, her luminous gray eyes returned his regard steadily.

A throat being politely cleared reminded Marcus they were not alone; the proprietress lingered just outside the bedchamber door.

The woman indicated the tray she carried. “I've a pot of hot mulled wine for 'er ladyship, m'lord, and some supper.”

“Set it on the table, if you please,” Marcus instructed.

“I can bring more if ye wish.”

“That won't be necessary. I'm certain my wife is willing to share.”

“Of course,” Arabella agreed pleasantly.

Entering the room, the proprietress set the tray down next to his saddlebags, then turned to go. “If ye'll put yer boots outside the door, yer lordship, I'll have 'em cleaned and polished by morning.”

Marcus shot an impatient glance down at his ruined boots. “I doubt anything can save this pair. But I would ask that you have breakfast ready by dawn. We want to make an early start in the morning.”

“Aye, m'lord.” With a curtsy, the innkeeper's wife withdrew and shut the door behind her, finally leaving Marcus alone with Arabella.

“I am waiting for an explanation, sweeting,” he said in a dangerous voice.

“Explanation?” she repeated, puzzled.

“Lady Freemantle told me about the elopement and your plan to try and stop it. What I want to know is why you didn't wait for my return.”

Her eyes widened at his angry tone. “I had no choice, Marcus. The situation was too urgent. Onslow could very well seduce Sybil. Even if he marries her, it cannot possibly be a sound marriage.”

“That is no excuse for you to risk your own safety.”

Arabella stared at him. “I cannot believe you are angry at
me
! I am worried my pupil will be ruined by a rake, Marcus. She is my responsibility.”

He strode over to her. “And you are my responsibility.” Capturing her chin with his fingers, Marcus compelled her to look at him. “As long as I am your guardian, I'm obliged to see to your safety. And guardian or not, I'm not about to let any harm come to you. If you are in trouble, I expect to help.”

Her chin rose stubbornly. “I am perfectly capable of handling Sybil's rescue.”

“That is debatable, but I don't intend to let you fight this battle on your own.”

“I am not on my own! I brought an army of servants with me for protection.”

“So you plan to get into a physical brawl with Onslow?”

“If I must in order to force him to relinquish Sybil.”

“That seems foolish when there are better ways to convince him.”

Arabella's lips pressed together tightly as they stood nose to nose, glaring at each other. But then her expression suddenly softened. “You are right, of course. I don't wish to use brute force. To be truthful, I am relieved you are here. I was not looking forward to dealing with Onslow by myself.”

“I should hope not.”

A frown creased her brow. “I have to stop him, Marcus. Even if Sybil comes through unscathed, an elopement will destroy our school's reputation.”

The distress in her tone was obvious, and some of his wrath dissipated a measure. “You still should have called on me.”

“Perhaps so.” Her mouth curved. “Truly, I will be grateful for your help.” When he didn't reply, her gaze traveled downward, over his sodden greatcoat. “You rode on horseback through that dreadful storm?”

“Unfortunately yes, since a carriage would have been too slow when you already had a two-hour head start.”

“I am sorry you had to suffer such a miserable experience.”

Marcus gave her a quelling look. “If you are trying to soothe my ire, it won't work.”

“No?” Arabella gazed up at him, a half smile playing on her lips. “Perhaps if you were warmer, your temper would be cooler. You should remove your wet coat and drink some hot wine. You must be totally chilled.”

Finding no rational reason to argue—even though perversely wanting to—Marcus shed his soaked greatcoat and hung it on a wall peg to dry while Arabella moved over to the table and poured some hot mulled wine into a mug. She brought it to him, then returned to the hearth to warm herself before the fire.

Marcus sipped the wine while observing her. Her damp hair, which spilled around her shoulders and curled in drying wisps around her face, glowed bronze in the crackling blaze.

His gaze traveled downward to Arabella's bare feet, which peeped out from beneath the quilt she held around her shoulders. Wondering if she was naked beneath it made him instantly hard, despite the fact that his body felt half frozen from the frigid weather.

Disciplining his lust, Marcus carried the mug over to her. “Here, drink. You look as cold as I feel.”

Arabella took it and sipped while gazing up at him. “Marcus, I would have gladly asked for your help had you been home.”

In the face of such an apology, he knew it would be churlish to continue berating her. After all, she was only trying to protect her reckless pupil as well as her academy. Everything Arabella and her sisters had worked so hard for during the past three years was in jeopardy.

And in truth, he couldn't deny his admiration for her. He was worried for her safety and vexed as hell that she would endanger herself by flying to the rescue of her wayward student, but he had to admire Arabella's mettle, putting herself at risk to protect the young girls in her charge.

Not that he would admit it to her just now, Marcus decided. Arabella was too independent as it was.

She was still watching his face, as if gauging the depth of his anger. Finally she said in a soft, imploring tone, “I don't want to fight, Marcus. Do you?”

“No,” he replied gruffly, his temper still inflamed after chasing after her for hours.

“Perhaps we should call another truce.”

Marcus gave her a long look. “What did you have in mind?”

Casting a glance at the single bed, Arabella swallowed. “As you said, we're both chilled to the bone. We can warm each other.”

It was a clear invitation to make love to her. The prospect had the effect of pacifying his foul mood to a degree. It was the first time Arabella had made the advances in their relationship.

“Very well, a truce,” Marcus said more calmly.

Draining the last of the wine, he set the mug aside and began to strip off his clothing, starting with his coat and waistcoat and boots. Tossing aside his cravat, he took off his shirt and breeches and drawers and hung the garments up to dry.

Completely naked now, he blew out the flame of the candle sitting on the table, leaving the bedchamber lit only by the warm glow from the fire.

As he crossed to Arabella, she let the quilt fall from her shoulders. Marcus halted in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. Firelight betrayed her beauty through the filmy cambric of her chemise, while her hair spilled down in a glorious, rippling mane of flame.

When he moved to stand before her, she gave a soft laugh.

“What is so amusing?” he asked.

“This. Our pretense of being husband and wife.” She reached up to touch his lips with her fingertips. “Isn't this what you have wanted all along, Marcus? To be able to call me your wife?”

It was exactly what he wanted. As he stared down at her, his anger and frustration eased away, to be replaced by desire and fierce tenderness. He was still a little stunned by the realization that he loved Arabella. But he knew now that it wasn't a passing fancy or a reckless obsession.

This feeling was deeper, more profound. Arabella was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his days. He felt a burning need for her deep inside him. A heat and hunger that craved to be sated…

Holding her gaze, Marcus stepped even closer. He intended to brand her with his possession. To make her accept that she belonged to him. To make her feel the same primal need he felt.

With that silent vow, he reached for Arabella, divesting her of her chemise and drawing her naked into his arms. For a long moment he simply held her against him, the chill of their bodies mingling, the heat of their gazes melding.

He could win her body, he had little doubt; it was her heart he wanted now.

His own heart beginning to pound, Marcus lowered his mouth to kiss her gently, a sweet mating of skin, of breath, that gave little sign of the savage desire that raged through him. Yet as his lips met hers, a new emotion assailed him.

He had never experienced this particular novelty before, making love to the woman he loved. And it was a remarkable feeling.

Keeping their mouths fused, Marcus drew her to the bed and fell back upon the sheets, pulling her with him.

Arabella willingly sank into his embrace, her body fitting itself to his magnificent form as if she were made for him. Aching with need, she returned Marcus's kiss measure for measure, her fingers clutching in his hair as she blindly sought the rapture he promised.

Making love to him again was unquestionably a mistake, yet she couldn't deny herself the pleasure of being with him one last time. She wanted him with a longing that was almost frightening.

When the need grew too intense to bear, he took control back, rolling over her and pinning her arms above her head as he spread her thighs with his own. She opened eagerly to him as he thrust deep inside her.

Her heart pounding, she gazed up at him in the golden firelight, at his handsome face that had grown dark with desire. “I have no willpower when I am with you,” Arabella whispered hoarsely.

“A damn good thing,” he rasped, satisfied, “since I have none with you either.”

He began to move then, vital and strong, filling her with his passion, with his hunger. In only moments she was sobbing…and then the climax came, as beautiful and as shattering as any of their lovemaking that had gone before. She cried out with ecstasy as she convulsed around him, while Marcus shuddered and groaned with the same overwhelming force.

Afterward, Arabella lay panting beneath him, unable to move. She wanted him to stay inside her like this forever, wanted this bliss to last. Marcus filled the emptiness inside her, made her feel complete.

At length, though, he eased onto his side and drew her backto in the curve of his body. His arms came possessively around her from behind and held her tenderly as he twined his legs with hers. Arabella could feel the powerful beat of his heart at her back, while her own heart thudded with the chaotic emotions churning inside her.

She was frightened to realize how
right
it felt to be with Marcus. Arabella shut her eyes. She wanted him far too much, wanted to be with him far too much. It was deplorable, how glad she had been to see him. It was even more deplorable that she almost regretted their wager was nearly over.

She pulled a sharp breath and shivered.

“Are you cold?” Marcus's husky voice broke the silence between them.

“No…not any longer.”

He was stroking her bare arm, his touch soothing and comforting now rather than arousing. His protective tenderness was even more dangerous than his passion, she realized, for it made her acknowledge the tenderness that tugged at her own heart.

She urgently needed to find Sybil, Arabella knew. There was no way she could hold out against Marcus if she had to travel alone with him all the way to Scotland, for continuing this tender intimacy would leave her utterly defenseless and more vulnerable than ever.

         

As Arabella had hoped, they set out in the Freemantle coach at first light the next morning, in pursuit of the elopers. Speed was of the essence, since Marcus believed Sybil and Onslow had likely been far enough ahead yesterday to have missed the worst of the storm.

Much to Arabella's frustration, though, her coachman could only achieve a snail's pace. After the downpour, the roads were a morass of mud, and even Winifred's well-sprung coach had difficulty keeping purchase as it rattled and splashed and bucked over innumerable ruts and potholes. The day was chill and gray, adding to Arabella's anxious mood.