To Pleasure a Lady (25 page)

She also felt a little stab of alarm when shortly after leaving the inn, Marcus drew a brace of pistols from his saddlebags to check the priming.

“Marcus,” she said uneasily, “you don't mean to challenge Onslow to a duel, do you?” Her father had been killed in a duel, and she shuddered to think of resorting to such violence.

“No, I won't call him out,” Marcus returned wryly. “A duel would draw too much attention to the situation. We need to prevent a scandal, not cause one.”

A grimace claimed Arabella's features. “Yes, exactly.”

“I don't intend to use these, but I want to be prepared for any eventuality.”

She clung to the strap as the coach bounced over another rut. “Good. I don't want to even consider shooting him. However, if we are forced to make Onslow see reason, I admit I would be more than happy for you to use your fists.”

Marcus sent her an amused glance. “Out for blood, are we?”

“Quite,” she muttered.

“I expected you to be more enraged by that troublesome Newstead chit. She's likely the instigator of the elopement, wouldn't you say?”

Arabella sighed. “That is highly possible. Sybil is outrageously spoiled and thoughtless. But I don't consider her irredeemable. I will have to bring her back safe and sound, and with no one the wiser as to her elopement. Particularly her papa.”

“We will find them eventually,” Marcus reassured her.

“I only hope it is in time,” Arabella said fervently, trying to stem her anxiety.

Miraculously, her hope was answered an hour later when they came across a closed carriage on the side of the road, canted at an unnatural angle from having lost a wheel. Praying the vehicle belonged to Onslow, Arabella held her breath while Marcus investigated. There were no signs of horses or coachman or passengers, although the boot held a valise containing three lace handkerchief's bearing Sybil's initials.

Arabella didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed.

“They might have walked to the next posting inn,” Marcus suggested, “in search of a wainwright to repair the wheel.”

She shook her head. “I cannot see Sybil traipsing along the road any distance. She likely would have waited here in the carriage for the servants to handle the problem.”

“If so, she would have been caught in the storm….” Marcus glanced around, searching the countryside. “There.” Beyond a grassy field stood the ruins of an old hay barn with the roof half missing. “They might have taken shelter in that abandoned barn.”

Arabella sent him an admiring glance as he retrieved his pistols from the coach, knowing she never would have thought to look in a wayside barn for the elopers. Nor had she thought to come armed. She was indeed very grateful to have Marcus along.

He handed one pistol to her coachman and carried the other himself as he took Arabella's arm to help her negotiate the uneven, slippery ground. With the grooms following, he led the way across the field toward the crumbling barn.

They were still some dozen yards away when Arabella heard voices raised in argument. A surge of relief washed through her as she recognized Sybil's plaintive utterances. Gesturing for her coachman and grooms to wait, Arabella glanced up at Marcus. “Let me speak to her first, please?”

“Very well,” he agreed, although he remained close behind her and kept his pistol at the ready.

She quickened her pace but came to a halt when she reached the large barn door that hung drunkenly on its hinges.

In the gloomy interior, she could see Onslow pacing the floor impatiently. Sybil was nowhere in sight, but her shrill voice floated over the edge of the loft above, declaring both her presence and her unhappiness as she carried on about what a cruel man Mr. Onslow was.

Onslow gave a visible start when he spied Arabella, but to her surprise, an unmistakable look of relief swept over his face. He came up short, however, when he saw Marcus standing directly behind her, holding a pistol.

His face paled, but then he squared his shoulders and strode determinedly forward. “Miss Loring,” he said fervently, “you cannot know how grateful I am to see you.”

At his greeting, Sybil's tirade stopped abruptly; a heartbeat later, she peered over the loft's edge, searching the gray gloom below. “Oh, Miss Loring! Thank heavens you have come to rescue me. That villain abducted me!”

Onslow shot a scathing glance upward at the girl. “Abducted you! I did no such thing.”

“You refused to take me home when I asked you to! What is that if not abduction?”

“I refused because we were in the middle of a thunderstorm, you demmed little twit!”

Her face contorting with fury, Sybil rose to her knees and planted her hands on her hips. “There is no need to curse me, you…
fiend
! If you were not such a nip-cheese, you would have hired a coach with better wheels. And decent springs! I vow I am black and blue from being tossed about all day yesterday.”

“The coach I hired was perfectly adequate. It was only ill-luck that the wheel broke. And you cannot blame me for your stubbornness. You could have been warm and dry at an inn, but no, you refused to dirty your slippers to walk to the next village.”

“Of course I refused!” Sybil screeched. “I didn't wish to be seen in public in such a bedraggled state.”

She did indeed look bedraggled, Arabella thought. Her raven hair was disheveled and littered with hay, as was her pelisse. And no doubt she was cold and hungry.

Before Arabella could speak, though, Sybil went on ranting at Onslow. “Nor did I wish to spend the night alone with you without even my maid to act as chaperone! But no, you insisted upon leaving Martha at that posting inn twenty miles back because you were too closefisted to spend a few more shillings to put her up for the night.”

“It was
your
idea to dismiss your maid and send her home! And the storm was hardly my fault.”

Onslow glanced apologetically at Arabella. “We did not intend to spend the night here, Miss Loring. My coachman was supposed to return last night with a new wheel, but then the gale struck, so we were forced to take shelter here.”

“It was still inexcusable of you to treat me so abominably!” the girl sputtered. “You made me sleep in a
barn
!”

Arabella quelled a smile. Sybil's indignation might have been amusing if the situation were not so serious, but at least the girl was regretting her rash action in eloping with Onslow, since he apparently couldn't afford to keep her in her accustomed luxury.

Summoning a stern expression, Arabella moved farther into the barn. “Sybil, pray quit shouting and come down here.”

“I will once that villain leaves.”

Onslow raised his gaze to the crumbling roof, as if pleading to Heaven for deliverance. “Thank God you are here, Miss Loring. You can take that vixen off my hands.”

“Yes, thank God, Miss Loring,” Sybil seconded. “I was a fool to ever think I wanted to wed Mr. Onslow. He deceived me so dreadfully. I am quite convinced now that he was only after my fortune all along.”

At that superfluous assertion, Arabella stifled the urge to utter a sardonic reply and merely repeated her command. “Sybil, come down this instant.”

The girl disappeared for a moment, then eased over the loft edge to descend the rickety ladder, a maneuver which was made more difficult since she had a bandbox with her and refused to drop it.

While Sybil slowly made her way down, Arabella turned a withering gaze on Onslow. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Onslow, preying on young innocents.”

“I assure you, ma'am, Miss Newstead is no innocent,” he muttered. “She is a viper masquerading as a female.”

Arabella felt her hands clench as she fought the urge to do him physical damage.

As if reading her mind, he held up his own hands in surrender. “I never touched her, Miss Loring, I swear it. Thankfully I came to my senses in time. I couldn't bear two days being wed to that spoiled little she-devil, let alone a lifetime.”

Arabella felt another surge of relief that Sybil was still virginal. At least that disaster had been averted. When she shared a thankful look with Marcus, he stepped forward.

Nervously Onslow retreated a step. “M-My lord…” He eyed the pistol in alarm. “You w-won't shoot me, will you?”

“Not if you take yourself out of my sight in the next ten seconds.”

“Yes, of c-course….”

He started for the door, but Marcus stopped him. “Oh, and Onslow, when your carriage is repaired, you will continue on your way to Scotland, where you will make an extended stay. If you show your face anywhere near Chiswick again—and if I ever hear of you attempting to repair your fortunes by eloping with an heiress—you will be meeting me on the dueling field and swallowing a bullet. Nothing will save you. Do I make myself clear?”

His tone was cool and deadly, and Onslow clearly believed him, for his face turned stark white. “Perfectly clear, my lord. But you needn't worry. I have learned my lesson, I swear it.”

When Marcus gestured with the pistol toward the door, Onslow ran out of the barn as if the little she-devil herself were on his heels.

In the ensuing silence, Sybil came to stand beside Arabella, her head bowed humbly. “Oh, Miss Loring, can you ever forgive me?”

Unable to believe such meekness, Arabella eyed the girl narrowly. “I cannot think of any reason I should.”

“I made a dreadful mistake, thinking I wanted to wed that dastardly fortune hunter.”

“You did indeed,” she replied tartly. “Have you no sense whatsoever, Sybil?”

Awkwardly, the girl twisted the strings of her bandbox. “I thought it would be romantic to elope.”

“And you didn't think about the future at all. You didn't consider what would happen to you two days from now, much less twenty years.” Arabella's tone softened. “Marriage is a risk under the best of circumstances. Because of your reckless impulsiveness, you could have suffered for the rest of your life.”

With that, Arabella turned to leave the barn.

Sybil hurried after her, carrying her bandbox. “You won't tell Papa that I almost eloped?”

“I am still debating that question.”

“Please don't tell him, Miss Loring! Papa will be furious enough to withdraw me from school, and I don't want to leave. My comeout isn't until next Season.”

Arabella said not another word until they reached the road. “Get in,” she ordered Sybil as a groom hastened to open the door to the Freemantle carriage.

Mutely, the girl obeyed. Entering after her, Arabella settled next to Sybil, while Marcus stowed her bandbox in the boot and the coachman transferred her valise from Onslow's broken-down vehicle. After a brief discussion about driving to the next intersection so as to have the space to turn the coach around, Marcus joined them inside.

The coach was moving before Sybil spoke again in an imploring tone. “Please, Miss Loring, don't tell my father. If I have to leave the academy, I won't be prepared for my comeout next Season. I will behave with complete circumspection from now on, I swear it. I will be a perfect angel.”

Arabella raised a cool eyebrow. “And what reason do I have to trust your word after this?”

The girl looked despairing. “I know I have been exceedingly foolish, Miss Loring, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” There was a note of sincerity in her voice that rang true. “
Please
, can't we keep this between us? I
beg
you.”

Arabella waited a long moment before she shrugged as if coming to a decision. “Very well, we will keep it between ourselves—if that is even possible at this juncture.”

The coach slowed just then in order to change directions, and a short while later they were heading back toward London.

“Will you take me back to school?” Sybil asked, her tone still subdued.

“Not immediately. You will stay with Lady Freemantle for a day or two. We'll say that you became ill and that I took you to London to see her ladyship's physician. You will recuperate at her house for a time. If Lady Freemantle publicly vouches for you, that should be enough to scotch the worst gossip and prevent any permanent damage to your reputation.”

“Oh,
thank you,
Miss Loring.”

Arabella sent the girl an arch smile. “You may not be so thankful once you spend time living with her ladyship. She won't be as forgiving of someone who thoughtlessly jeopardized our academy. I doubt you will find the experience pleasant.”

Arabella caught the amused gleam in Marcus's eye and quickly looked away. On the one hand, she was enormously relieved to have found Sybil. Her most immediate problem was solved—or it would be if they could conceal the truth of the elopement. And the vexing chit would likely think twice before causing any more serious trouble.

On the other hand, there was still the much larger problem of Marcus to be dealt with.

Arabella bit her lower lip as she gazed out at the passing countryside. At least Sybil's company saved her from the temptation of any further intimacy with Marcus.

She still felt the urge to throttle the girl, but even so, she was very glad for her presence until she could make it home to her sisters.

Chapter Sixteen

I am ten times a fool for letting myself fall in love again.

—Arabella to Fanny

It was late afternoon by the time they were able to settle Sybil with Lady Freemantle and return to Danvers Hall in her ladyship's coach. Alone with Marcus on the drive home, Arabella was very aware of him sitting beside her. The nerves twisting her stomach tightened further when the carriage rumbled to a halt before the manor, for she felt his penetrating blue gaze appraising her.

“Thank you for helping me rescue Sybil,” she said to break the tension.

“Don't regard it. I was glad to oblige.”

Pushing open the door, Marcus descended and then handed Arabella down. At his mere touch, she felt herself shiver with desire. Thank heavens their wager was nearly over. She had only one more evening to get through.

“Forgive me if I leave you so abruptly,” Arabella murmured. “I need to find my sisters and set their minds at ease about Sybil.”

“Of course,” Marcus said mildly as she preceded him across the gravel drive to the front steps. “But I would like to speak with you privately before dinner. Why don't you join me in my study in an hour?”

“Very well,” Arabella replied before hurrying into the house.

As she expected, her sisters were on the lookout for her arrival, for they met her in the entrance hall.

“So, were you successful?” Roslyn murmured, obviously anxious to hear the news but not wanting to broadcast the purpose of the journey to all the servants.

“Thankfully, yes,” Arabella replied. “I will tell you about it if you accompany me upstairs.”

Lily eyed Marcus with a measuring frown before turning to follow Arabella up to her bedchamber, where she recounted the events of the past day, leaving out the fact that she had spent the night in Marcus's arms.

But once reassured of Sybil's safety, her sisters turned their concern on her.

“Are you all right, Arabella?” Lily asked, clearly troubled. “I regret we weren't with you to protect you from the earl. If we had known he meant to set out after you, we would at least have tried to accompany him.”

“I am perfectly fine,” Arabella assured her.

“I do hope you were able to resist him.”

She tried to quell the flush that rose to her cheeks. “I managed well enough,” she equivocated. “And thankfully, I won't have to worry about the earl after tomorrow. He has asked to speak to me before dinner this evening. I expect he wishes to discuss the resolution of our wager.”

“And what do you mean to tell him?” Roslyn asked.

Arabella summoned a smile. “Why, that I have won, of course.”

Roslyn regarded her thoughtfully, but Lily looked relieved. “Good,” Lily said emphatically. “He needs to understand there is no chance you will marry him.”

“No, there is no chance.”

Comforted, her sisters rang for her maid and left Arabella alone to bathe and dress.

Arabella spent the time carefully preparing her speech to Marcus, but an army of butterflies were marching in her stomach when she finally went downstairs in search of him.

She found him in the study, seated at his desk. He was busy writing a letter, but he set his quill pen down as soon as she entered.

His expression softening with a smile, Marcus rose and came around the desk to greet her. At his advance, Arabella stopped abruptly.

Marcus halted to eye her with curiosity. “Why are you so nervous, sweeting? I won't pounce on you.”

“I am not nervous, precisely.”

“Then why are you standing near the open door as if you're prepared to flee?”

“I don't trust myself alone with you, if you must know.”

He smiled again and lowered his voice. “I don't intend to make love to you just now, Arabella. Not when we need to have a serious discussion. Now shut the door so we won't be overheard.”

Obeying with reluctance, she risked moving farther into the room. “I presume you mean to discuss your plans for tomorrow, Marcus. Will you be returning to London?”

He cocked his head. “Why would I return to London?”

“Because our wager will be over then. You wagered that you could persuade me to accept your marriage proposal if I allowed you to court me for two weeks. Well, the two weeks end tomorrow afternoon, and I will have fulfilled the terms we agreed on.”

A pregnant pause followed her observation. Taking a step backward then, Marcus leaned his hips against the desk. “Come here, Arabella.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to.”

Warily she crossed to stand before him.

Holding her gaze intently, Marcus reached down to take her hand and draw her closer.

Arabella's breath caught in her throat as a frisson of heat raced through her body. Summoning all her resistance, though, she pressed her palms against his chest. “What do you think you are you doing, Marcus?”

“I am renewing my addresses to you.”

Arabella swallowed. “You needn't make me another proposal. There is no point.”

“I beg to differ. Our circumstances have changed a great deal since I made my first offer of marriage to you.”

“Not enough to matter.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She managed to gain her release without struggling, which surprised her a little. “No,” Arabella repeated as she backed away. Then forcing herself to stop retreating, she launched into the speech she had prepared. “Marcus…I would like to thank you sincerely for all you have done for me and my sisters, and Sybil as well. It was very kind of you to take such an interest in our welfare. But your guardianship is almost over. After this you will no longer be responsible for us.”

“I don't want to relinquish responsibility for you.”

“But you must if you mean to honor our bargain.”

His blue gazed fixed on her, searching her face. “Oh, I will honor it, but there is one small problem.”

She eyed him cautiously. “What problem?”

“I still want to marry you, Arabella, only my reasons have changed. I don't want a marriage of convenience any longer.”

“Then what do you want?”

“A love match,” he said softly. “I want a real marriage with you…because I love you.”

Arabella sucked in a startled breath. Her stomach suddenly coiled in knots at his unbelievable announcement. “You don't love me, Marcus,” she finally found the wits to respond.

Amusement gleamed in his eyes at her skepticism. “Ah, but I do. Love is a new experience for me, you see, so it took me a while to understand what was happening to my heart. But I haven't been the same man since you challenged me in my parlor with my own rapier.”

When she remained mute, Marcus continued. “I knew you fascinated me, that you constantly plagued my thoughts. But until the first time I kissed you, I never realized why. It's because you make me feel alive, Arabella. A precious commodity for a man of my jaded experience.”

“You…” The word came out so hoarsely that Arabella swallowed and cleared her throat. “You only consider me interesting because I speak my mind to you. Because I don't toady to you like every other female of your acquaintance.”

“That is part of your attraction, true, but the far more profound effect is how you make me feel.”

Her heart racing in consternation, she took another step backward. “You don't love me. You are only saying that to win our wager.”

A crooked smile forming on his lips, Marcus shook his head. “Sorry, angel, but you cannot tell me what I feel. I love you rather deeply, in fact. And our wager has nothing whatsoever to do with it.”

Arabella felt herself pale. She didn't believe Marcus truly loved her. She couldn't let herself. She had been down this painful path before, a suitor professing his love for her. She clasped her fingers together protectively, and realized her palms had turned clammy.

“My betrothed claimed he loved me,” she finally murmured, “and I was foolish enough to believe him. I won't be so gullible again, Marcus.”

She saw his lips press together in vexation. “How many times must I say it? I am
not
your betrothed.”

When she winced at his sharp tone, he inhaled a slow breath. “I understand why you find it hard to trust my declaration, Arabella, but I promise you, this is no subterfuge to gain your capitulation. I love you. I want to marry you and to have children with you. I want to spend the rest of my days with you, making you happy.”

Arabella stared back at Marcus. “Whatever you feel for me is only temporary, I'm certain. You will get over it soon enough—”

“No, I won't get over it. What I feel is real, and I have no doubts that it will last. It
is
love, Arabella.” He paused, studying her intently. “From the terrified look on your face, you don't yet return my sentiment. But that is no matter. Someday you will come to love me in return.”

“
No,
” she whispered. Yet her response wasn't a denial of her future feelings; it was a stark realization of her present ones. She already did love Marcus. Dear heaven, what had she done?

Her heart suddenly pounded in her chest; she couldn't breathe. “No,” Arabella repeated in a rasp. How could she have been so foolish as to fall in love again?

There was true fear in her voice now, which made Marcus go still for a long moment before he crossed the room to her. Arabella could feel herself trembling as he stood gazing down at her.

“What must I do to convince you?” he said finally, quietly.

She shut her eyes, her chest filled with panic. She had vowed to keep her heart safe from Marcus, but she had failed miserably. Like an utter fool, she had made the exact same mistake as four years ago. And the end result would likely be the same.

How had she refused to recognize her feelings for Marcus until now, when it was too late to protect herself? For days she'd clung to the conviction that their relationship was purely physical, that she could resist feeling anything deeper for him. But all the portents had been there. She just hadn't wanted to face them. With every kiss, with every caress, she had fallen deeper under Marcus's spell. She loved him. Heaven help her.

Now she could only hope to try and conquer her traitorous feelings before she suffered even more agonizing hurt than before.

Struggling for calm, Arabella steeled her shoulders and forced herself to wipe all expression from her face. She refused to repeat history, trusting in a man's love, loving him in return, only to have her feelings betrayed, her faith shattered. “I repeat, Marcus, I appreciate everything you have done, but when the wager is over tomorrow, I will have won. I will not accept your marriage proposal.”

Frustration claimed his features as he took a step closer, but she spoke again before he could. “Please believe me. I have no desire to marry you.”

He shook his head slowly. “I think you are deceiving yourself, Arabella. You feel every bit of the same fire I feel. We have a remarkable passion together—”

She deliberately interrupted. “What if we do? Passion is not a good basis for marriage. And even if it were, it is entirely beside the point. The question now is, do you intend to honor our wager?”

His jaw tightened. “Certainly I do. I am a man of my word.” Marcus gestured toward the desk behind him, at the letter he'd been composing. “I've already written my solicitors with instructions to draw up a contract for your emancipation from my guardianship. You and your sisters will have your freedom regardless of whether you marry me. I don't want your decision to be contingent upon anything but your feelings for me.”

“Then I will look forward to hearing from your solicitors.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, but when the tense silence drew out, Arabella found the voice to say calmly, “You may as well leave tomorrow, Marcus. There is no reason for you to stay here any longer.”

“It appears not.” The deep blaze in his eyes told her that he was suddenly very angry. His words were clipped when he said, “Don't worry, sweeting. I'll return to London tonight.”

Arabella regarded him silently, not crediting that Marcus had capitulated so easily. And of course, he hadn't.

His hands rising to her shoulders, he hauled her close and brought his mouth down to kiss her—a hard, irate meeting of lips that was more punishing than loverlike. Even so, it instantly stirred heat and hunger deep inside Arabella.

When finally Marcus broke off and drew back his head, his eyes were glittering with anger and triumph. “You feel the same passion I feel, but you aren't willing to admit it because you're letting fear drive you. I won't hurt you the way your bastard betrothed did, Arabella…but I can't force you to believe that.”

“No, you cannot,” she replied shakily.

The muscles in his jaw clenched again, but Marcus managed to restrain his ire other than to say tightly, “My solicitors will be in touch.”