To Pleasure a Lady (31 page)

“No regrets?” Marcus asked.

“None whatsoever. I know our marriage will be blissfully happy.”

“I intend to do my damnedest to make it so.”

“I have no doubts.” She stepped into the circle of his waiting arms, her eyes radiant with love as she gazed back at him.

The sight made his breath catch and his heart thud. He had never expected to feel anything so powerful, so deep, for any woman. But he had no doubts, either, that his feelings for Arabella would last a lifetime. The love inside him was painfully strong; hunger and desire a sweet ache.

“So,” Arabella remarked teasingly, reaching up to twine her arms around his neck, “do you intend to show me what a marvelous husband and lover you are? I seem to remember you boasting about your amorous skills more than once.”

The words were an unmistakable challenge, one that Marcus couldn't resist.

With a low laugh, he caught Arabella's hand and pressed a tender kiss to her fingers, a solemn promise of loyalty and love. Then he led her to their marriage bed and drew her down, eager to begin their future together.

Read on to catch a sneak peek at the next seductive novel in the Courtship Wars

To Bed a Beauty

By Nicole Jordan

Coming from Ballantine Books

Available wherever books are sold

         

London, June 1817, The Masked Ball

Roslyn reached up to press her fingers against her temple. Her head was beginning to throb under the weight of her wig and bonnet, and the suffocating mask was rubbing a raw spot on her left cheek.

At least she could mitigate some of her suffering by removing the offending bonnet and mask.

Roslyn untied the ribbons beneath her chin and slid the bonnet off, then loosened the strings of her mask and drew it down. As the cool night air fanned her face, she gave a sigh of relief…until a low, masculine voice spoke behind her.

“So this is where you are hiding yourself.”

Gasping in startlement, Roslyn whirled and promptly dropped her bonnet when she recognized the tall, imposing nobleman standing there. His broad, domino-clad shoulders filled the narrow embrasure, while his amber hair glinted more silver than gold in the moonlight.

Alarmed to see the duke, she fumbled to replace her mask, hoping he hadn't been afforded a clear glimpse of her face. “How you startled me…” she exclaimed too breathlessly as she finished tying the strings.

“Forgive me. It was the least of my intentions—to discomfit a beautiful woman.”

Roslyn's gaze narrowed through her mask. His tone was mild, languid even. If he was attempting to flatter her, he wasn't making much effort. But perhaps he was merely playing an expected game, spouting compliments he thought she wished to hear.

There was nothing languid about the warm glance that raked over her figure, however. Instead his eyes showed pure male interest—and had the deplorable effect of making her pulse race.

“I am Arden.”

“I know who you are, your grace,” Roslyn said rather crossly. He was Andrew Moncrief, Duke of Arden, known as “Drew” to his intimates. And she had seldom been less pleased to see anyone in her life.

His eyebrow lifted at her tone. “Regrettably, I do not know
you
, my lovely Incognita. I would have sought an introduction, but you fled the moment you spied me. And Fanny suddenly made herself scarce before I could even discover your name.”

Having no valid defense, Roslyn remained mute. When the duke stepped forward and bent to retrieve her dropped bonnet from the balcony floor, she would have retreated except that the railing was at her back. Trapped, she was forced to endure his scrutiny. He stood watching her in speculation, holding the ribbons in his long fingers.

Roslyn stared back, unable to help herself. It was too dark to be certain, but she thought his eyes were green. A deep, vibrant green. And this close, his lean, aristocratic features were even more sensually compelling than at a distance. His nearness, as well, had a devastating effect on her composure.

He spoke before she could gain control of her whirling thoughts. “I congratulate you, sweeting. Your ploy worked.”

“My ploy?” she repeated, puzzled.

“You hoped I would pursue you here, and you succeeded. I was intrigued enough to follow you.”

He thought she had purposely lured him here to the alcove? “It was no ploy, your grace. I found the ballroom overly warm and came here for a respite.”

One corner of his mouth twisted sardonically. “How convenient that you chose a location so well equipped for an assignation,” he said, nodding at the chaise longue behind him. Before she could protest, he went on. “You must be new to London. I would certainly have remembered had I seen you before now.”

Roslyn hid her wince of dismay. She hoped his memory was not so keen when she encountered him at her sister's wedding in a fortnight. “Yes, I am new to London. But I promise you, I did not lure you here for an assignation.”

And she had no intention, either, of prolonging this unwanted encounter. Murmuring a polite “thank you,” Roslyn retrieved her bonnet from his grasp and tried to slip past him.

The duke, however, reached out to curl his fingers lightly around her wrist. “One might think you are actually eager to avoid me.”

“One might.”

“Why?” His tone held surprise and genuine curiosity.

“I dislike the way you are inspecting me, as if I am merchandise to be purchased.”

“I stand corrected.” His lips curved in a rueful smile that was slow, sensual. “I don't think of you as merchandise, I assure you.”

It was impossible to ignore that captivating male smile, and Roslyn suddenly understood why females pursued Arden in droves. “Then you will pray excuse me,” she murmured, her voice more uneven than she would have liked.

Pointedly, she glanced down at his imprisoning grasp, yet he didn't release her. “Are you currently taken?”

She blinked. “Taken?”

“Do you have a protector yet?”

He was asking if she was currently employed as a lightskirt, Roslyn realized. She considered saying yes, but then she would have to come up with a name for her nonexistent patron, and Arden would very likely see through her lie. “No, I have no protector.”

“Then why don't you simply name your price? I dislike haggling.”

She stared up at him. “Are you asking me to be your…
mistress
?”

His smile turned bland. “Unless you have another proposition in mind? Yes, I am asking you to be my mistress, darling.”

Roslyn knew her jaw had dropped inelegantly, but she couldn't help it. It shocked her a little that he would offer such an intimate position to a perfect stranger. “We are complete strangers, your grace. You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough to find you lovely and desirable. What more is necessary?”

“I could be a vicious harpy, for all you know.”

“I am willing to risk it. A thousand pounds a year during pleasure. Half that should we decide to part ways sooner.”

When Roslyn remained gaping with astonishment, he cocked his head and nodded briefly, as if coming to a decision. “Very well, two thousand. And of course I will pay all your expenses…a house and carriage plus an allowance for clothing and jewels.”

Roslyn couldn't help being amused. It seemed an outrageous sum to offer an untried courtesan, although she knew Fanny made several times that amount. “How can you be certain I am worth it?”

Appreciative laughter lit his eyes as he gave a casual shrug. “Your beauty is alluring enough to satisfy my discriminating tastes. Anything else you need to know I can teach you.”

Roslyn's own amusement faded as anger pricked her. Arden had unwittingly struck a raw nerve. He couldn't know that her beauty—or more precisely, being coveted solely for her physical attributes—was a painfully sore point with her.

She also realized it was ridiculous to resent his quite generous proposition, since she was here tonight pretending to be a Cyprian. But after the other shameful offers she had already received over the past four years, she couldn't respond with equanimity.

“I believe the proper response is to thank you for your generous offer, your grace,” she said coldly, withdrawing her wrist from his grasp, “but I must decline.”

His eyebrow shot up at her wintry tone. “It is common practice to feign reluctance in order to increase your price, but you will find that I dislike coyness.”

Roslyn bristled. “I do not
have
a price, nor am I trying to be coy. I simply have no desire to have you for my lover—despite your vaunted reputation.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did Fanny say something to give you a fear of me?”

“No.”

“If you need to assure yourself of my qualifications, I would be happy to demonstrate.”

“I don't need a demonstration. I don't doubt your expertise in the least.”

“Then perhaps we should test
your
skills.” Before she could do more than draw a breath, he stepped even closer and cupped her face in his hands. “Kiss me, love, and show me your charms.”

His bold gesture caught her completely off guard. Roslyn went rigid with dismay as the duke bent his head and captured her mouth with his.

It was a startling kiss, not only because of its unexpectedness but because of the effect it had on her entire body. His lips moved over hers in a sensual exploration that was tender and arousing and wildly exciting.

She had been kissed before, but nothing whatsoever like this. Her skin suddenly felt covered in heat, as if she were standing too close to a fire.

Her heart was pounding when he finally shifted his caresses away from her mouth. His lips brushed fleetingly along her jaw to her ear, where they lingered. “You taste like innocence,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly husky. “It is a charming act, but entirely unnecessary.”

“It is no act,” Roslyn replied shakily. “I am not experienced.”

He drew back enough to study her, his gaze skeptical. “I much prefer honesty.”

Roslyn stiffened. “You don't believe me?” she asked in a warning tone.

He reached up with his fingertips to trace her lips beneath her mask. “Let us say I am willing to be convinced. Come here, my sweet….”

He bent to her once more and kissed her again, this time more passionately. Alarmed by her own response, Roslyn tried to retreat, but Arden pulled her fully against his body, letting her feel the hardness of him, the vitality.

Stunned by his devastating sensuality, Roslyn whimpered, amazed that she could be so aroused by a man's embrace. When finally he broke off the kiss and raised his head, she looked up at him in an unfocused daze.

His smile was rueful. “I confess…most women don't have this powerful an effect on me. You feel it, too, Beauty, don't deny it.”

It was true, she had never in her life experienced anything like it—this lightning bolt of attraction that sparked between them. This devastating heat and desire. This yearning.

Not that she would ever admit it to
him
.

Struggling to regain a semblance of composure, Roslyn cleared her throat.

“Indeed?” she managed to say with a blithe laugh. “Your arrogance is astonishing, your grace.”

It was obviously not the response he expected, and Roslyn pressed her point. “Your vanity is vastly over-inflated if you think I am eager to leap into your bed.”

The slow, charming smile he gave her was impossibly wicked, impossibly seductive…and sensual enough to bewitch a saint. “A bed isn't necessary. We can make use of the chaise longue behind us.” He waved in the general direction of the alcove. “And at the same time we can remedy the fact that we are strangers.”

“I have no desire to become better acquainted with you.”

“Perhaps I can change your mind.”

He raised his hand, his warm fingers tracing a path from the hollow of her throat to the swells of her breasts, which thrust prominently upward in her shepherdess costume.

“Your grace…” Roslyn began in protest, but he stole any further words away with another kiss, claiming her mouth with tender possessiveness. When he cradled her silk-clad breast in his palm, the brazen shock of it rendered her immobile. She wore no corset beneath her low-cut bodice, so she could feel the heated pressure of his caress through the fragile fabric.

A rush of excitement swept her senses; fire radiated from the hand that held her throbbing breast and from his lips that were plying hers with such expert skill.

His mouth continued to hold hers effortlessly as he stroked the bare skin above her bodice with his fingers, dipping down into the valley between her breasts. Then his hand curled over the low neckline and lightly tugged, sending the mounds spilling out of her gown.

Roslyn gasped as the cool night air brushed her exposed flesh, but she couldn't manage a word of rebuke, not even when the duke's sensual kisses ended and he drew back.

His eyes darkened as he gazed down at her nakedness, surveying the ripe firmness crested with dusky nipples.

Her breathing suspended, Roslyn remained speechless as with his thumbs he traced slow circles around the hardened peaks. A low moan was dredged from her throat while the ribbons of her bonnet slipped through her nerveless fingers.

At her response, he took the weight of her breasts in his hands and tugged the nipples to taut attention with lingering caresses, pinching lightly with his fingers, soothing with his thumbs.

Roslyn pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, finding it impossible to move. His masterful hands knew just how to arouse, to excite, to delight.

“Your grace,” she finally repeated in a shaken voice.

“Hush, let me pleasure you.”

“I
could
make you deliriously happy, Arabella. You would enjoy our marriage bed, I have no doubt.”

Unsure whether to be offended or amused by the earl's bold declaration, she turned back to face him. “Rather boastful of you, is it not, my lord?”

“It is no boast. You would relish being my lover, I would make certain of it. But the only honorable way for us to be lovers is through marriage.”

Her exasperated silence made Lord Danvers smile. “I admit I am intensely attracted to you,” he added. “You felt it too when we kissed, don't deny it. You were quivering with desire for me.”

Color stained Arabella's cheeks. She
had
quivered in his arms…although she certainly would never admit it to him.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she replied. “It was simply shock at your unexpected assault. I assure you, I am not attracted to you in the least.”

Danvers took a step closer. “Shall I prove it to you?”