To Pleasure a Lady (5 page)

No, truthfully, Arabella reflected, she was utterly delighted for the opportunity to win their freedom.

An entire month was out of the question, however. She was not that confident she could resist the earl's determined seduction for so long—not that she would ever admit her doubts to
him.

“However,” Arabella qualified, “the duration of the wager must be shorter. Two weeks, no more. I couldn't endure your impossible arrogance any longer.”

Lord Danvers hesitated the briefest instant before saying, “Done. You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart.”

“I must be utterly mad,” Arabella muttered.

“No more so than I,” he said amiably. “As long as we are discussing terms, I must insist on a sporting chance to win. You will agree to spend time in my company regularly, no less than four hours each day. And it must be at a time of my choosing.”

Arabella frowned. “It cannot interfere with my teaching duties.”

“Fair enough. I will order my bags packed for an extended visit and brought to Danvers Hall from London.”

It unsettled Arabella to realize Lord Danvers intended to stay at the estate for a fortnight or longer, even though his ownership gave him every right. She quickly shook her head. “You cannot remain at the Hall when I am unchaperoned. You are no blood relation, even if you are our guardian.”

“You should have thought of that,” he replied wryly, “before you sent your sisters into hiding.”

She eyed him with exasperation. “If you insist on living there, I will take refuge with Lady Freemantle.”

The earl raised a black eyebrow. “Is that where you've concealed your sisters?” When she declined to answer, he shrugged. “We will have an army of servants to play duenna. My staying there might offend the highest sticklers, but it shouldn't put your reputation at any real risk.”

“True,” she said, striving to repress the edge of bitterness in her voice. Her reputation was already tainted beyond redemption because of her parents' scandals, so it was pointless to question the propriety of her new guardian living in the same manor house with only a servant staff for chaperones. Besides, if she never planned to marry, it wouldn't matter if her reputation was not entirely spotless, although she couldn't afford a genuine scandal. She had her academy to think of, after all.

Yet she had no doubt her pupils' parents would be awed at her claiming such an illustrious connection as the Earl of Danvers. They wouldn't look too closely at his living arrangements. Nor were the lower classes nearly as judgmental as the gentry, who considered themselves strict arbiters of society.

“You could always bring your sisters home,” his lordship suggested in prodding tones.

The notion had already occurred to Arabella. Her sisters' presence would offer her more protection from the devilish earl—but then who would protect her sisters from his machinations?

“I am not that desperate,” she said sweetly.

He studied her thoughtfully. “Perhaps it's good that your sisters are away. It will allow us more opportunity to be alone together for our courtship.”

The thought discomfited her for a moment, but then Arabella squared her shoulders. She ought to be able to handle Lord Danvers for two weeks. She had every intention of winning his blasted wager.

He must have read the determination in her eyes, for he smiled. “I suspect our wager will prove enjoyable to us both.”

To you perhaps,
Arabella thought in vexation. No doubt it would be a diverting game for him, trying to make her desire him for a husband.

But perhaps she could play his game, as well….

She was contemplating that intriguing possibility when the earl suddenly changed tacks again. “Come here, Arabella,” he murmured, his voice beguiling.

Instinctively, she resisted. “Why?”

“Because I intend to claim another kiss to seal our pact.” When she stood stock-still, he prodded gently, “You agreed to let me woo you, remember?”

“I did not agree to let you kiss me.”

“But kissing is part of wooing.”

“Your sort of kisses are not! No proper suitor kisses the way you do.”

The laughter lurking in his eyes was irresistible. “I don't mean to assault you again, I promise. I had in mind something much more pleasurable.” His voice was warm, teasing, more seductive than it had any right to be. “Come now, a simple kiss, nothing more. I won't even embrace you. You have my word.”

But still Arabella hesitated. He had the most sensual, unsettling gaze of any man she had ever met, and it was supremely dangerous to go anywhere near him. “How can I trust you won't take advantage of me?”

“If I try, I give you leave to darken my daylights.”

“I will, you may be certain of it.”

“I consider myself duly warned. Now, stop being so missish. It's entirely beneath you.”

His lazy, provocative grin made Arabella's pulse quicken alarmingly. She couldn't believe she had let herself be lured into this perilous situation. How was she supposed to resist so charming a rogue?

“Arabella…” he said leadingly.

She forced her feet to move until she stood a few steps from him. His eyes were locked on hers; she couldn't think.

When she paused, he closed the distance between them, until they were almost touching. Arabella held herself rigid, caught between dread and anticipation. She couldn't forget the way his muscular chest had felt pressed against her breasts, the strong arms that had crushed her to him, the firm, sensual lips that had taken hers with such fiery heat.

But he merely reached down to capture her hand and bring it to his bruised jaw. His fingers encircled her wrist loosely—and there he stopped.

“Have you ever really been kissed before now, Arabella?”

She blinked at the unexpected question. “Of course I have been kissed. I was betrothed, remember?”

“I'll wager it was a tame sort of peck.”

“What does that matter?”

“It matters greatly, if you have nothing to judge by. Your expectations must be severely depressed.”

Arabella sucked in a breath; his fingertips had found the bare skin above her glove.

“It's a pity, really.”

“What is a pity?” she said absently. She was staring at his lips now, disconcerted by their nearness.

“That you're a virginal innocent, with no experience in passion or physical pleasure.”

Her cheeks flooded with color. “Of course I am virginal. I am a lady, despite our family scandal. We are
not
our mother's daughters.” This time she couldn't hide her bitterness.

His blue gaze softened. “If you knew the pleasures in store for you, you wouldn't be so quick to swear off men. You have no notion what you are missing.”

“And I suppose you are offering to show me?”

“Actually, I am.”

“I don't wish you to show me a thing, Lord Danvers. I only want you to kiss me and be done with it. Would you
please
just get it over?”

“Very well.”

He bent his head slowly. Arabella froze, bracing herself for the onslaught. She refused to run this time like a coward. It was supposed to be a simple kiss after all…

The trouble was, there was nothing simple about his kiss whatsoever. The caress was a mere brush of lips, true, but his mouth was warm and inviting, and the delicious pressure sent her senses reeling with blazing heat again, made her body shiver with desire. Just like before, when he had left her weak and breathless and helplessly aroused.

Magic, that's what it was. He was working some sort of fiery spell over her.

She was inexplicably disappointed when he lifted his head after the briefest of moments. He was staring at her once more, Arabella saw, feeling dazed.

She raised her fingers to her burning lips as she stared back at him. A flame had kindled in the depths of his blue eyes…the same sort of flame that he had ignited deep inside her.

“So it wasn't an aberration at all,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Arabella tried to gather her wits. “What was not an aberration?”

“Never mind.” Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he stepped back. “Now, are you ready to return home?”

She shook herself from her daze. “Not yet. I concluded a class at the academy this afternoon and intended to call on Lady Freemantle to make my report. She likes to be kept abreast of every detail.”

“I will accompany you there.”

“That won't be necessary. Her ladyship's estate is just over the next hill.”

He glanced in the direction Arabella indicated. “Then I will send a groom to escort you home when you are through. I don't like the thought of you riding about the countryside alone.”

Arabella's expression turned ironic. “I have been doing so for years, Lord Danvers. This is not London. Ours is a completely tame neighborhood, with little wickedness or crime.”

“Still, you should have a groom with you. I'm surprised your former guardian was so neglectful.”

Arabella felt herself stiffening. “Paupers cannot afford grooms, my lord.”

“Your step-uncle could have afforded to supply a male servant for your protection.”

Her smile was humorless. “Our step-uncle did not consider us worth the expense.”

Lord Danvers contemplated her expression. “Stings your pride to be that dependent, does it?”

“Of course it stings.”

“I can imagine.”

That made Arabella's lips quirk with true amusement. “I sincerely doubt it. Very likely you have never been dependent on anyone or anything in your life.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of her supposition. “Not since I was out of short coats at least. But in the future, when you are not in my company, I would be obliged if you would take one of my grooms with you.”

She cocked her head. “Why should I wish to oblige you?”

“Because I care for your welfare, sweeting.”

His easy answer gave her pause. It was the first time in years that any man had cared for her welfare. Their step-uncle certainly had not.

“I will consider it,” she conceded.

He grinned at her. “Not willing to surrender an inch, are you?”

“No, my lord,” Arabella said sweetly.

“My name is Marcus. If I'm to be your suitor, you should call me by my given name.” He raised his hand to her mouth and brushed his thumb lightly over her lower lip. “I will expect you home in time to dine with me this evening. You promised me four hours of your company each day, remember?”

“I remember,” she managed to reply, her voice uneven.

Returning to his horse, he gathered the reins and mounted, then sat looking down at her. “Oh, and Arabella, the next time you run from me, you had best choose a swifter horse, for I won't let you off so easily when I catch you.”

With that he wheeled his horse and rode away, leaving her to gape after him, her fingers held to her tingling lips.

Chapter Four

I must be mad also, since I just agreed to the earl's wager.

—Arabella to Fanny

Marcus shook his head in disbelief as he rode toward Danvers Hall. He hadn't counted on making an impulsive proposal of marriage to his beautiful ward. Ironic that he would behave so rashly after maneuvering for years to elude the snares set for him by scores of mercenary females. But he'd acted on sheer instinct.

If he had to marry, he wanted a wife like Arabella, and he wouldn't let the opportunity pass to stake his claim to her.

Certainly she fit his requisites for his countess, with breeding and beauty and intelligence to spare. Of more vital importance, she was spirited and fascinating enough to hold his interest long beyond any initial courtship.

Indeed, he couldn't recall ever finding any woman so desirable as Arabella. She would make a delightful lover in their marriage bed, Marcus reflected. Kissing her today had proved irrevocably that the spark of fire between them was no figment of his imagination.

Marcus felt his loins harden at the remembrance of their first embrace. And although their last kiss had been a mere brush of lips, it had still thoroughly aroused him.

He had aroused Arabella just as intensely, he knew. Just not enough to convince her to consider his suit.

Recalling her determined rejection of his proposal, Marcus grinned. Never had he dreamed he would be in this position—having to persuade a lady that she wanted him for her husband. He'd never had to actively pursue any female. Until now, women, like everything else in life, had come easily to him. When he'd played the game of love with his mistresses, it was purely because he enjoyed the challenge of it.

Marcus laughed softly to himself. Arabella would provide him ample challenge, certainly. But her adamant rebuff had compelled him to quickly invent an alternate strategy to woo her, the result being his wager with her.

He had every faith the wager would be a cure for his recent restlessness. He seemed to be suffering from more than simple boredom, Marcus admitted. He filled his days with cards and hunts and boxing mills and races, but his clubs and sporting pursuits couldn't appease the odd dissatisfaction he'd felt with his life of late. Not even the extensive responsibilities of managing his various estates could.

Pursuing Arabella, however, was a goal he could relish. And so was overcoming her resistance. Marcus thought he understood why she was so ardently opposed to marriage. He was confident, however, that he would eventually prevail in gaining her surrender.

Yet he only had two weeks to achieve it.

Suddenly impatient, Marcus spurred his horse to greater speed to return to his newest estate. He had missives to send to London. For the sooner he could devise a romantic courtship of Arabella, the sooner he could declare victory.

         

By the time she arrived home two hours later, Arabella had pondered the earl's astonishing wager long enough to judge it imperative for her to develop an offensive strategy.

Lord Danvers believed he could seduce her into accepting his proposal of marriage, but while she was firmly resolved never to wed him, she was at a severe disadvantage in their competition, having so little experience in dealing with a nobleman of his stamp.

And he is almost irresistibly seductive,
Arabella reflected as she dismounted in the stableyard. Involuntarily, her fingers rose again to her lips at the memory of his devastating kisses. If her melting response this afternoon was any indication, she would be hard-pressed to withstand temptation.

She was eager to begin, however, for she intended to win freedom for herself and her sisters. It might even prove enjoyable, trying to match wits with Lord Danvers.

The first step, of course, was to contrive a plan to foil his seduction. Certainly, if he hoped to woo her, she would have to make him work at it.

She also would have to write Fanny immediately and get her advice. Fanny Irwin was a renowned Cyprian who had once been a genteel young lady herself. She'd practically grown up with the Loring sisters in Hampshire, where they were near neighbors. Even after Fanny had run off at sixteen to make her fortune in London, they had maintained the close friendship.

Since Arabella's broken engagement, Fanny had taught her a good deal about men. Fanny would know much better than she how to rout Lord Danvers.

Meanwhile, Arabella mused, she would be wise to use every resource at her disposal, which meant enlisting help from trusted allies, beginning with her housekeeper and butler.

Feeling an unexpected tingle of anticipation, Arabella left her horse in the stables with one of his lordship's grooms and detoured to the kitchens to meet with Mrs. Simpkin. The housekeeper, who had also become cook when the rest of the staff was let go, regularly prepared tasty if modest meals with the aid of their one chambermaid. And even though three days ago the new earl had installed a dozen servants at the Hall, Mrs. Simpkin still held sway in the kitchens.

If the elderly woman was puzzled by Arabella's unusual request for that evening's dinner, she was too well-trained to show it. But the twinkle in her kind brown eyes suggested a willingness to abet the conspiracy.

“Oh, and Mrs. Simpkin,” Arabella added casually, “I would be obliged if Simpkin would remain in the dining room when he waits on us this evening. I would prefer to be alone with Lord Danvers as little as possible.”

“I will tell him, Miss Arabella,” Mrs. Simpkin said. “Would you also like Simpkin to be present beforehand? Lord Danvers has asked that you join him in the drawing room for a glass of wine before dinner.”

“Yes, please,” Arabella answered, glad that the housekeeper had readily agreed to aid her cause.

After washing, Arabella dressed for dinner in the most conservative evening gown she owned. Her wardrobe was not extensive, and most of her gowns were outdated and had grown shabby with wear. But upon opening the academy, she'd invested in several fashionable gowns to impress her pupils' wealthy parents. After all, she had her image as a lady of quality to uphold.

When she regarded herself critically in the cheval glass, however, Arabella found her appearance rather dissatisfying. Her empire-waist gown of dark blue silk boasted long sleeves and a high neckline, and thus exposed little of her charms. But her flushed cheeks betrayed her excitement at the prospect of spending the evening in his lordship's company.

How dull her existence had become if his presence could enliven her life so profoundly! Or perhaps it was merely the anticipation of locking horns with the earl as they strove to best each other.

At the thought, Arabella felt herself smile. She had every intention of besting him. She would play his game to win.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she left her bedchamber to launch her opening salvo in their courtship war.

         

When she reached the drawing room below, Simpkin awaited her outside in the corridor. The gray-haired, very proper butler offered Arabella the ghost of a conspiratorial smile before preceding her into the room and announcing her. “Miss Loring, my Lord Danvers.”

Marcus rose when she entered. His blue gaze raked over Arabella, taking in her reserved attire, but he made no comment other than one of greeting. “Welcome, my dear. I am pleased you could join me.”

At his avuncular tone, Arabella gave him a curious glance, but then realized he meant to treat her merely as his ward for the benefit of the serving staff.

“Come and sit beside me,” Marcus added, indicating the gold brocade settee that had seen much better days.

Arabella hesitated, reluctant to be seated so close to him. He looked infernally handsome in a blue evening coat and white satin breeches that molded to his athletic form, and an intricately-tied cravat that only enhanced his chiseled masculine features.

Deploring her rapid pulse, Arabella did as she was bid but took the far end of the settee. She caught the pleasant scent of citrus cologne as Marcus settled at the other end. He had evidently shaved for the evening, a disturbing realization since it implied he was taking his courtship of her very seriously.

“That will be all until dinner is served, Simpkin,” his lordship said when the butler had poured them each a glass of Madeira. “You may shut the door behind you.”

Hiding her concern, Arabella met Simpkin's gaze and nodded slightly in resignation. Already Lord Danvers was scuttling her plan to avoid being alone with him. She was maddeningly conscious of his lithe, powerful body lounging so near to hers.

“Was it necessary to dismiss Simpkin?” she asked when the servant had withdrawn. “It isn't quite seemly for us to be alone together like this.”

“Nonsense,” Marcus responded easily. “There is no impropriety in a guardian sharing a glass of wine with his ward. And it is indeed necessary, since I need a measure of privacy in order to woo you.”

Not having a ready reply, Arabella took a sip of her wine and hid her grimace at the bitter taste…along with her satisfaction. Mrs. Simpkin had succeeded in making the brew unpalatable as she had requested.

“About our wager,” Arabella began, “I have been thinking. Perhaps we should establish some basic rules of conduct.”

“Rules?”

“I suppose
limits
would be a better word. We should define what conduct is allowed and not allowed between us to prevent you from going beyond the bounds of a proper courtship.”

Marcus sent her a lazy smile that was full of charm. “Haven't you heard that all is fair in love and war?”

Arabella found herself staring at his mouth. “You know very well our wager has nothing to do with love, my lord. But that is precisely my point. How can I trust that you won't resort to something devious?”

“Because wagers are governed by a gentleman's code. My honor will only permit me to go so far.”

Her mouth curved. “That is comforting to know.”

“You should not be comforted,” Marcus remarked. “I still have a great deal of leeway within the bounds of the code.” He laughed softly at her worried expression. “Never fear, sweeting. I won't do anything to you unless you are completely willing.”

Arabella swallowed. “You won't find me willing.”

“We shall see. As for rules, I mean to hold you to your pledge to give me a fighting chance to win our wager.”

“Yes, but simply because I agreed to let you court me, it does not follow that I must make it easy for you.”

“True.”

“I intend to do everything in my power to foil you.”

His roguish grin made her breathless as he raised his glass of Madeira. “So let the games begin.”

As he gazed at her over the rim of his glass, Arabella's heart accelerated in an erratic rhythm. Thankfully, the intimate moment was broken when Marcus took a swallow of wine.

Wincing at the taste, he set his glass aside on a table. “I would never have expected your step-uncle to suffer such inferior quality wine. I will have to rectify that, since I intend to stay here for at least a fortnight. Tomorrow I'll have some casks delivered from my cellars in London.”

Arabella's heart sank at the reminder. A fortnight was beginning to seem an interminable length of time. But perhaps she was going about trying to win in all the wrong ways. What if she could simply persuade the earl that he didn't want to marry her? “You know, my lord—”

“Marcus.”

“Very well, Marcus. I don't believe you have fully considered what a marriage between us would be like. If you had, you would realize that we wouldn't suit in the least.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I wouldn't make you a comfortable wife.”

His mouth quirked. “What makes you think I want a comfortable wife?”

“Most noblemen do. You want a lady to bear your heirs and manage your household, and to look the other way when you flaunt your mistresses or engage in various dalliances and indiscretions. I could never be so agreeable, my lord.”

When Marcus remained silently studying her, Arabella went on. “Lady Freemantle told me a great deal about you and your friends. You are all notorious bachelors.” She refrained from adding that her ladyship had a great deal of admiration for the new Earl of Danvers.

“My friends?”

“Your fencing partners last week. Those are your close friends, the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the stories of your conquests and sporting exploits are repeated in drawing rooms even this far from London. Based on all the tales about you, I can say with utmost confidence that you would not make me a comfortable husband.”

He cocked his head at her. “I doubt you want a comfortable husband, any more than I want a comfortable wife. Somehow I can't picture a woman of your spirit settling for a milquetoast.”

Arabella gave a soft laugh of exasperation. “That is precisely what I have been trying in vain to make you see. I don't want any sort of husband!”