To Pleasure a Lady (6 page)

“You've made that abundantly clear.” Marcus relaxed back against the settee. “But allow me to point out that your appraisal of my character is based on gossip and innuendo.”

“Perhaps. But I have little doubt you are the same ilk as my father.”

“Ah, we begin to get to the crux of the matter.” Stretching out his long legs, Marcus laced his fingers over his stomach. “You take a dim view of rakes.”

Arabella smiled a little bitterly. “Can you blame me? My father was a philanderer of the first order, and I have no intention of subjecting myself to any husband like him.”

“So you condemn me out of hand.”

“Is it really out of hand? How many mistresses do you have in keeping?”

A dark eyebrow rose at her impertinent question. “Is that really any of your affair, darling?”

“It is if you expect me to consider your proposal of marriage.” When he hesitated, Arabella smiled sweetly. “It is a simple question, Marcus. How many mistresses do you have?”

“None at present.”

“But you regularly employ one?”

“I have in the past. Most gentlemen of means do.”

She arched an eloquent eyebrow of her own. “I cannot take a blithe view of adultery. I would never tolerate affairs and infidelities from my husband.”

“Some men give up their mistresses upon marrying.”

“But I could never trust that you would do so, or that you wouldn't relapse, even if you promised fidelity in the beginning.”

He held her gaze levelly. “I am not your father, Arabella. And you insult me to put me in the same category.”

The sudden intensity of his tone took her aback. “Forgive me,” she apologized with a strained smile. “I am only attempting to make you understand why I don't want a marriage of convenience. If your parents had endured a marriage such as mine had, I'm certain you would be just as adverse to repeating their experience.”

His mouth twisted sardonically. “As it happens, my parents were much more discreet in their affairs than yours were. But I confess, their experience left me with no fondness for the institution of matrimony.” Marcus paused. “Apparently, though, your mother was as guilty as your father of faithlessness.”

Arabella's smile faded. “I don't like to speak of my mother.”

Victoria Loring's initial transgressions had been nowhere near as severe as her spouse's had been; her single affair had stemmed out of revenge against her husband's countless infidelities. Yet she had committed a worse sin, to Arabella's mind, by abandoning her family. For a moment, Arabella closed her eyes at the dizzying wave of pain that memory conjured up.

Marcus must have seen her expression, for he made a sympathetic sound. “You have not had an ideal time of it, have you, love? First the scandals and being forced from your home, then having to earn your living.”

Her eyes opened abruptly, finding his blue gaze alarmingly tender. “You needn't pity me, you know. I have long since gotten over the pain and humiliation.” Which was a lie, Arabella added to herself. “In any case, adversity builds character, or so they say.”

“You and your sisters have had more than your fair share of adversity.”

She managed a shrug. “We were determined to make the best of our lot. The worst part was being dependent on our step-uncle's largess, at the mercy of his whims. More than once he threatened to evict us. But thankfully, we were able to open our academy. It offered us gainful employment so we wouldn't be forced into menial servitude or compelled to wed as our only means of survival.”

Marcus's response was forestalled by a discreet knock on the drawing room door. When he bid entrance, Simpkin appeared to announce that dinner was served in the small dining parlor.

Glad to leave off such an uncomfortable subject as her family chronicles, Arabella took Marcus's arm to accompany him in to dinner, an action she regretted immediately. Beneath his coat sleeve, she could feel the warmth radiating from him, could feel the hard muscles flex under her fingertips. The contact did strange things to her pulse.

She was glad to see that their places had been set at either end of the long table, with a significant distance separating the two.

Marcus shook his head at the arrangements, however. “We needn't be so formal, Simpkin. I prefer to have Miss Loring seated beside me.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The butler obeyed, hurrying to rearrange the place settings. When Arabella was finally seated to his lordship's right, Simpkin gestured at the two attending footmen to serve the soup course.

When that was done, Marcus nodded. “Thank you, Simpkin. I will ring when we are ready for the next course.”

All three servants silently withdrew, without shutting the door at least. Yet the open door couldn't dispel the sense of intimacy Arabella felt at sitting so close to Marcus, or allay her tingling awareness of his nearness.

Trying her best to ignore him, Arabella applied herself to the bland-looking soup, which appeared to be greasy chicken broth with a few pieces of limp vegetables. She nearly choked at the first sip, since it was so salty as to be almost inedible.

After one taste, Marcus shot Arabella a questioning glance and then set down his spoon. Innocently, she forced herself to continue eating her soup.

“So tell me about this academy of yours,” Marcus said, his tone curious.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I am intrigued by it. And because I want to learn everything about you to aid my courtship.” When she grimaced slightly at the reminder, he merely smiled. “You said your academy is something of a finishing school? How did it start?”

Since it seemed to be a safe subject, Arabella was pleased to explain. “Lady Freemantle actually gave me the idea. We became friends after my sisters and I moved here to Chiswick. Winifred was the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, but she married far above her social station and was never accepted by her husband's family or friends. One day she confessed how difficult it had been for her, being the wife of a baronet, enduring all the slights and snubs, and that she wished someone had taught her the proper social graces so she might have competed in Sir Rupert's milieu. I began thinking that there must be other young women in similar circumstances. Most daughters of wealthy magnates are destined to be sold into marriage to gentlemen in need of rich wives, as Winifred was.”

“So you proposed establishing the academy?”

“Not at first. When I suggested I might be of help to some of them—advise them on how to fit in to the Beau Monde and make their path easier—I only envisioned taking on one or two pupils. But Winifred leapt at the idea and offered to fund a much larger enterprise.”

“But you don't run the academy solely on your own,” Marcus said.

“I have significant help. I convinced two of my friends to participate, and one assumed the post of headmistress. They oversee most of the classes, but my sisters and I also teach at least one class a day.”

“Not the typical subjects, I collect?”

“No. Most of our pupils have been educated by private governesses, so by the time they come to us, they are usually proficient in sums and globe reading, music and drawing and needlepoint, those sort of genteel accomplishments. But they lack the polish and grace expected of a lady. So for the final two years before they make their comeouts, we instruct them on good deportment, rules of proper conduct, etiquette, and also expose them to the kind of culture and refinement they will find if they marry into the gentility.”

“Apparently your academy is a great success. My solicitors tell me you have over two dozen pupils and that there is a long list of applicants waiting for admission.”

Arabella smiled. “Yes. We succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Wealthy tradesmen and merchants are willing to pay huge sums to turn their daughters into refined young ladies. But our academy benefits us, as well. It not only provides us occupation and income but gratification for helping our pupils learn how to deal with society. I personally take great satisfaction in giving young girls more control over their fate. Their birth or breeding might not be of the highest, but they can hold their own in elite circles. And they come to their marriages on more equal footing with their husbands.”

“I can well imagine you would find that satisfying,” he murmured.

When Arabella gave him a suspicious glance, Marcus returned a bland expression, but he found himself marveling at how much he had enjoyed watching her explain about her academy, her lovely face so animated and expressive. He admired Arabella's passion for her cause. As he absently took a sip from his wineglass, Marcus realized that he hadn't felt that passionate about anything in a long while.

Finding this wine as bitter as the Madeira had been earlier, he immediately set down his glass. “I should like to visit your academy soon.”

As he expected, Arabella's wariness increased. “Why would you want to visit?”

“I believe I told you. As your guardian, I will need to decide if I should permit you and your sisters to continue teaching there.”

She looked worried for a moment as she anxiously searched his face, but she evidently recognized the teasing gleam in his eye, for her expression relaxed a little. “You are purposely trying to provoke me again, I collect.”

“Now why would I do that?” he asked amiably. “Are you finished with your soup?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. I can't seem to stomach so much salt myself.”

Marcus rang for the butler to clear away the dishes, almost glad for the presence of servants to interrupt his private moment with Arabella, since he was having difficulty controlling his lustful thoughts.

She was near enough that the sweet scent of her rose up to tease his nostrils. And that elegant gown she was wearing made him want to discover what delicious secrets she was hiding underneath.

His imagination could supply some of the details. Her supple, slender body. The ripe curve of her breasts. Her long, elegant legs…

Sternly Marcus returned his gaze to Arabella's beautiful face, but it did little to quell his awareness of her. This was the first time he had seen her hair completely uncovered. He had the urge to pull out the pins and see how that red-gold silk would look tangled after their lovemaking.

The erotic thought was arousing enough to make him go hard, and was followed by more erotic thoughts. He could picture shoving away all the china and laying Arabella on the table in order to make a delectable meal of her. She would be far more tasty than the dinner had been thus far. Even more, he wanted her to taste the pleasure he could give her—

But that would have to wait a while longer, Marcus reflected, finally disciplining his errant thoughts. He had promised himself not to rush his fences. This was supposed to be a romantic wooing, not simply a seduction, and he knew it would require much more than physical pleasure to win Arabella over.

It was no hardship, however, to simply share her company. He truly wanted to know all about her. And at least dining together gave them the perfect opportunity for intimacy.

The trouble was, the wine was so acidic as to be undrinkable. And the dishes Simpkin was setting before him looked even less appetizing than the soup had been.

Marcus tasted each one just to make certain: Mashed turnips with no seasonings. Boiled cabbage. And a burnt saddle of mutton that was so dry, it was nearly impossible to chew.

When he realized Arabella was watching him closely, however, Marcus began to wonder at her unusual interest in his reaction.

“As a cook, Mrs. Simpkin leaves much to be desired,” he commented casually.

“Oh, do you think so?”

Arabella's tone was perfectly innocent, which aroused his suspicions even further. “Most definitely. If the meals continue to taste so wretched, I will have to send to London for my chef to replace Mrs. Simpkin as cook.”

Her response remained blithe. “Do try the mint sauce. It improves the taste of the mutton considerably.”

“Not nearly enough,” Marcus said satirically, poking his fork at a charred rind. “I think perhaps I should have a few words with Mrs. Simpkin.”

Arabella's guileless expression faded. “That won't be necessary, Marcus.”

“No?”

“She can do much better than this.”

“I don't know that I am willing to risk it. In fact, if she deliberately planned this unpalatable fare, I don't want her in my employ any longer.”

His empty threat had the desired effect: Arabella sighed and came to the housekeeper's defense with a confession. “It was not Mrs. Simpkin's fault. It was entirely mine. I asked her to alter her recipes this evening.”

Marcus lifted an eyebrow. “You requested that she burn the mutton and spike the wine with vinegar? I suspected as much.” He eyed Arabella in amusement. “Let me guess. You're endeavoring to make my stay here as unpleasant as possible in hopes that I will give up on our wager.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted with only a faint blush of guilt. “And to spoil the prospect of any intimacy between us.”

“Since starvation is not conducive to courtship.”

“Precisely. But I warned you I would not make it easy for you to woo me. Are you vexed?” she asked sweetly.

Her smile held such satisfaction, Marcus had to grin in return. “Vexed? Not in the least.” Exasperated, perhaps. And most certainly fascinated by the beautiful spitfire and her efforts to evade his courtship. But perhaps he could turn her machinations to his advantage…

He suddenly rose and held out his hand to her. “Come with me, Arabella.”

That wicked smile instantly made her extremely wary. “Come where?”

“You'll see.”

When he grasped her hand and drew her to her feet, she had no choice but to accompany him. They swept past a bewildered Simpkin and down the corridor, heading for the back stairs.