To Pleasure a Lady (7 page)

“Where are you taking me?” Arabella demanded uneasily.

“To the kitchens to find something more palatable to eat.”

“There really is no need—”

“Indeed there is. I insist. You must still be hungry, and I know I am.”

Arabella tried to pull back. “I think I would rather starve.”

Marcus gave a low laugh. “But I would not. Come along, darling. You don't want to put me to the trouble of carrying you.”

Suspecting that he would make good on his threat if she continued resisting, Arabella gave up gracefully.

When they reached the large kitchens, they found Mrs. Simpkin seated at the long wooden table where the servants took their meals, while the maid scrubbed pots and pans at the sink. The housekeeper rose abruptly, looking startled to see them. “My lord! Is something amiss?”

“I would say so, Mrs. Simpkin. The dishes you served tonight failed to satisfy our appetites.”

“I can prepare another dinner, my lord—”

“That won't be necessary. You will excuse us, please.”

The housekeeper suddenly looked worried. “What do you intend, Lord Danvers? If you mean to punish Miss Arabella—”

“I am merely going to feed her. Now, pray give us some privacy. Don't be alarmed, I won't harm your mistress.”

After a hesitant glance at Arabella, the housekeeper reluctantly left the room, followed by the wide-eyed scullery maid.

Marcus led Arabella to the table and pressed her down onto the bench. “Sit here while I raid the larder.”

She obeyed unwillingly. The warmth of the room, combined with the delicious aromas of herbs and cooking, was somehow pleasant, yet she couldn't relax as she watched Marcus search the vast room. It was incongruous to see a tall, lithe aristocrat garbed in formal evening clothes foraging in these domestic surroundings, but it was utterly unsettling to imagine what he had in store for her. He was obviously retaliating in response to her tactics.

He inspected several pantries and then the cellar, gathering items for a feast and returning to deposit his prizes on the table before her. Then he went around the kitchen, putting out all the lamps, leaving only the glow of the hearth fire to provide light.

“What the devil are you doing?” Arabella asked, her voice suddenly uneven.

“I told you, I intend to feed you.”

“In the
dark
?”

He smiled at her protest. “Not total darkness. I want to be able to see your pleasure as you savor each bite.”

His answer unnerved her, as did his next provocative comment when he settled on the bench beside her.

“This is much more intimate than the dining room, wouldn't you agree?”

This setting was indeed far more intimate than before. Clearly her plan had backfired.

“Marcus, this is hardly proper…” she began breathlessly.

His midnight blue eyes gleamed at her. “Hush, sweeting, and take your punishment like a good sport.”

She had no choice but to comply, Arabella realized, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat. She was keenly aware of Marcus's potent masculinity as he leaned nearer, for she could feel his powerful thigh press against hers through her gown. The arousing contact sent heat coiling low in her belly and between her thighs, made her nipples tighten brazenly to hardened peaks.

What was worse, Marcus knew his effect on her, the fiend.

The pressure deliberately increased as he reached into a bowl and drew out a plump strawberry, the first of the season. Next he removed the cloth from another bowl and dipped the ripe fruit in clotted cream, then held the morsel to her lips.

He planned to serve her with his fingers, Arabella received.

She tried unsuccessfully to take the berry from him. “I can feed myself.”

“But it would not be nearly as enjoyable for either of us. Open your lovely mouth, Arabella, or I will have to kiss it open.” She chose the lesser of two evils, bending forward to bite off the fruit from the leafy stem. The tart-sweet burst of flavor in her mouth was delicious, reminding her that strawberries and cream was her favorite dessert. Yet she couldn't enjoy the flavor, not with Marcus observing her so intently. His lips lifted in a slow, sultry smile as he watched her chew.

He fed her two more berries, until finally Arabella pushed his hand away. “Honestly, I am no longer hungry.”

“I am. Hungry for you.”

Her heart gave a fierce leap at his low murmur.

“I can imagine how delectable you would taste, love.”

Their gazes locked, and Arabella's breath caught in her lungs. She had never felt this aching physical awareness before. Something tangible had kindled between them, and she couldn't look away. She was experienced enough now to recognize the bright spark of desire that flared in Marcus's blue eyes.

A shiver stole through her, even before he raised his finger to draw it along the wet line of her lips. “From now on, every time I watch you eat will be a taste of temptation.”

Her breath faltered entirely. Then his fingertips moved lower to touch the pulse quickening at the base of her throat. The tension thrumming between them was nearly unbearable.

Desperate to break it, Arabella surged to her feet. “I must go,” she exclaimed, yet she was prevented from fleeing for the door when Marcus caught her hand.

Laughter laced his voice as he protested, “But, darling, you have scarcely eaten a bite.”

“I have had more than enough, my lord!”

She snatched her hand from his grasp and escaped to the sound of his soft laughter. Her heart was still thudding moments later when she reached her bedchamber, her body still shivering with heat.

Arabella shut the door firmly behind her, then leaned weakly back against the panel. She was in serious trouble if she could not even withstand her first dinner with Marcus.

She had meant to foil his plan to woo her, but she had done a wretched job of it. Indeed, thus far she had come out the loser in every encounter with him.

Arabella shook her head stubbornly. Perhaps she had lost their initial battles, but she wouldn't lose the war.

Chapter Five

Do take care, dearest Arabella. Lord Danvers is reputed to be impossibly seductive.

—Fanny Irwin to Arabella

The odd sound of sawing woke Arabella the next morning. Prying her eyes open, she glanced at her bedchamber window. The curious noise was coming from outdoors, along with several male voices.

Puzzled, she rose to peer out the curtains and blinked in the bright sunlight. From her bedchamber, she could see the rear of the manor—the gardens and the terraced lawns beyond, which led down to the river. The grounds below were swarming with an army of gardeners, all pruning and clipping and raking years of overgrowth away.

Thoughtfully, Arabella turned from the window to wash and dress. She had risen later than usual since she'd slept poorly. In truth, she had tossed and turned much of the night, images of a certain sensual nobleman inhabiting her restless dreams.

She had just donned a gown of yellow sprigged muslin when she heard a soft rap on her chamber door, followed by Mrs. Simpkin's low voice. “'Tis I, Miss Arabella. I've brought your breakfast.”

When Arabella bid entrance, the housekeeper bustled in with a laden tray, which she placed on the dressing table. “I suspected you didn't wish to breakfast with Lord Danvers, so I took the liberty of bringing yours here.” She had also kindly sent up a dinner tray last night so Arabella wouldn't go hungry.

“Thank you, Mrs. Simpkin,” Arabella said with genuine warmth, glad to avoid being alone again with Marcus so soon on the heels of their disastrous dinner. “By the way, who are those laborers in the gardens?”

“They are from London. His lordship sent for them to tidy the landscaping. Oh, and there are a half dozen tradesmen and merchants awaiting you in my accounts room.”

Her eyebrows rose with curiosity. “Awaiting me?”

“Yes. Lord Danvers sent to London for them as well. He means to set the manor to rights, to replace all the shabby furnishings and wallpaper and draperies in the house from top to bottom. But he said he wishes you to make all the decisions, since he doesn't know brocade from buckram.” The housekeeper returned to the door but paused there to address Arabella again. “I must say it will be good to see the Hall live up to its former glory. And it will be even better to have a mistress here once more.” The smile the elderly servant gave her was somewhat secretive. “Perhaps his lordship isn't so disagreeable as we feared.”

Arabella wondered what had precipitated Mrs. Simpkin's sudden change of heart, for she'd been as worried about the new earl as his reluctant wards were. But likely the housekeeper was merely grateful that the manor would finally receive some beautifying after the former lord's tightfisted ways.

“Perhaps Lord Danvers isn't entirely disagreeable,” Arabella said noncommittally.

“At least he has forgiven me for the wretched dinner last evening.”

It had dismayed Arabella to think Marcus would hold the housekeeper responsible for her own actions. “I told him you weren't to blame for the dinner, Mrs. Simpkin.”

“I know, but all the same, I don't like to be in his lordship's poor graces.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “Thankfully he decided not to bring any toplofty London chef down after all, and he gave me leave to hire a new cook. I will be glad for the respite from the kitchens, I must say. 'Twill be a full-time job to oversee all the maids he instructed me to employ. Simpkin is already hopping to keep up with the footmen Lord Danvers sent from his London house last week.” Again the housekeeper paused. “Shall I tell the merchants you will be down shortly, Miss Arabella? They are eager to show you their wares.”

“Yes, as soon as I finish breakfast.”

Mrs. Simpkin's warning was true, Arabella learned when she had quickly eaten and gone downstairs to the housekeeper's small office. Marcus had indeed summoned an army of tradesmen to refurbish the manor house. There were seven merchants eagerly awaiting her with armfuls of fabric samples and catalogues and sketchbooks.

All of them bowed politely to her, but when they began clamoring for her attention, Arabella held up a hand. “Pray, give me a moment, good sirs.”

Turning quickly, she went in search of Simpkin and found him occupied in supervising the group of new footmen in cleaning and polishing all the lamps in the house.

“Where may I find Lord Danvers?” she asked.

“I believe his lordship is in the study, Miss Arabella,” Simpkin answered.

She made her way through the house to the study, where she found the door open. When she entered and spied Marcus, however, she came up short. He was settled comfortably on a sofa, reading the morning papers, which must also have been delivered from London.

The sight of him made Arabella's stomach flutter. He was dressed far less formally than last evening, in a russet-colored coat but no cravat or waistcoat. His linen shirt was open at the neck, showing an immodest expanse of chest, much like last week when she'd interrupted his fencing match.

His slow smile of greeting suggested he understood the affect his casual attire had on her.

“Arabella, what a pleasure,” he said, rising. “I confess surprise that you would voluntarily seek me out after hiding from me in your room all morning.”

Resolving not to let herself be provoked, she repressed a wry retort and instead asked about his decision to spend what surely would be a fortune. “I don't understand your desire to refurbish the entire house. Why would you go to such expense?”

“This is my home now, as well as yours.”

“But you needn't redecorate so completely.”

“I think it time, since the furnishings are a century old.”

“Is that why you hired so many merchants?”

Marcus shook his head. “I've left the actual hiring to you. And you aren't required to use them all. I only thought to give you a wider choice. You have full authority to decorate any way you wish.”

“But why would you allow me so much authority?” Arabella asked in bewilderment.

“Because you undoubtedly have better taste and experience than I, for one.”

“This is not simply a way to soften my resistance?”

His sensual smile lit the room. “Of course it is, darling. You know I mean to do everything in my power to persuade you to become my wife.”

Biting back amusement, Arabella gave him a measuring glance. “Throwing your wealth around will do little to persuade me.”

“But it won't hurt, either. I am not entirely witless when it comes to understanding the female mind. You ladies like to be in charge of a household.”

“I am
not
in charge here, Marcus.”

“Of course you are. You are mistress here now, and that will continue when you are my countess.” When Arabella raised her gaze to the ceiling, he chuckled softly. “I thought you would be pleased by my gesture.”

“You have certainly made Mrs. Simpkin happy,” she said drolly. “It was clever of you to have increased the servant staff so generously, for there is no surer path to her heart.”

“What about the path to
your
heart?” When Arabella refused to answer, Marcus laughed. “Mrs. Simpkin and I have come to an understanding.”

“Which means you charmed her into doing your bidding.”

“That, and I told her I was courting you. She approves, by the way.”

A look of exasperation claimed Arabella's features as she turned and silently exited the room. It didn't surprise her that Marcus would use any means necessary to win the housekeeper's support, for she herself had vowed to employ all her resources to prevail in their wager.

Yet Arabella had to admit she was pleased to see him putting Danvers Hall to rights. The manor was indeed beautiful, and the estate deserved to be worthy of an earl. She only wished Roslyn were here, since her sister had impeccable taste and had been better trained by their mother to fill the role of lady of the manor.

Arabella spent the entire morning with the merchants, appraising the formal rooms of the house and choosing fabrics and furnishings. The task occupied her so intensely that she paid no attention to the passing time.

She was trying to decide between a forest green velvet and blue brocade for the drawing room draperies when Simpkin appeared in the doorway. “Miss Blanchard has called to see you, Miss Arabella.”

Arabella raised her head in surprise. “Oh, my word. I completely forgot my class.”

It had slipped her mind entirely that she'd been expected to teach at the academy at eleven. Her closest friend and fellow teacher at the school, Tess Blanchard, had no doubt come to see why she had uncustomarily failed to appear.

“Where have you put Miss Blanchard, Simpkin?”

“She is waiting in the entrance hall, since I couldn't find a parlor not covered with fabric and wallpaper swatches.”

Arabella was about to leave the drawing room when the butler cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Arabella, but where do you wish me to place all the flowers?”

“Flowers?”

“The ones Lord Danvers had delivered from London. They have been unloaded in the entrance hall at his lordship's request.”

Puzzled, Arabella hurried down the corridor, only to find the hall filled with masses of flowers in a breathtaking profusion of colors and scents. There were blossoms of all kinds—lilies and roses and daffodils in particular. Marcus must have raided every flower stall and shop in London, was Arabella's first thought.

Her friend Tess was admiring an enormous vase of red roses but left off when she spied Arabella. “What on earth is going on, Arabella? I was concerned when you didn't appear at school, so I came to investigate, only to find you have sprouted a garden.” She sounded half amused but a bit worried also.

“Tess, I am so sorry for missing my class! I entirely lost track of time.”

Tess lowered her voice to avoid being overheard. “How are you faring with the vexatious earl, as Lily calls him?”

Glancing around to make certain Marcus was nowhere in sight, Arabella answered ruefully, “Not well, I'm afraid—as you can see.” She gestured at the enormous display of flowers. “I believe this must be his notion of a romantic courtship.”

“Courtship?”

“Come with me.” Arabella drew her friend down the hall to the small parlor so they could be private.

Tess was a beautiful woman, with sable hair and a flawless complexion and figure that were the envy of nearly every lady in the district. She was a year younger than Arabella, yet she had remained a spinster after losing her betrothed in the Peninsular Wars. They'd become fast friends when the Loring sisters moved in with their step-uncle four years before, and grown even closer when Arabella opened the academy. Despite Tess's genteel upbringing that dictated ladies shouldn't soil their hands with menial employment, she had willingly joined as a teacher in hopes that keeping occupied would help her to overcome her sorrow.

Since they had shared so much, Arabella felt no qualms at confessing her dilemma to Tess. “Lord Danvers has proposed marriage to me.”

Dumbfounded, Tess stared. “I thought he was trying to marry you off to a total stranger.”

Arabella laughed at her friend's expression. “He was. But then he decided to kill two birds with one stone—to be rid of the responsibility for me as his ward and to secure a wife to produce heirs for him at the same time.”

“You don't mean to accept him?”

“Of course not. But I agreed to allow him to court me.”

She told Tess about the wager and how Lord Danvers had promised to grant her and her sisters their legal emancipation if Arabella could resist his seduction for a fortnight.

“Lily will certainly be pleased to be free of his guardianship, as will Roslyn,” Tess said slowly at the conclusion.

“How are my sisters?” Arabella asked eagerly.

“Well enough, considering they have severely curtailed their daily activities so as not to be seen by the earl. Lily is fretting most at being confined indoors, naturally, but even Roslyn is growing restless.”

“I can well imagine. Thank you for taking them in, Tess, and for seeing to my class this morning. I know this makes scheduling lessons difficult for you.”

“Don't mention it, dearest. You have done more than enough for me these past few years. I couldn't begin to repay you.”

“If you don't mind,” Arabella added, “I would prefer my sisters remain with you a few days more until we can be certain of the earl's intentions. As long as our wager holds, he will likely leave off seeking to arrange marriages for them, but I don't know him well enough yet to trust him unconditionally.”

“Certainly I don't mind,” Tess said. “Roslyn and Lily are more than welcome to stay for as long as necessary. In fact, they are proving invaluable, helping me to make up baskets for the Families of Fallen Soldiers. It's an enormous task, stitching shirts and knitting stockings for so many needy children, and with your sisters' contribution, I should be able to increase the number this year to two hundred.” Tess smiled. “Amazingly, even Lily has pitched in wholeheartedly, despite her dislike of sewing, since it is for such a good cause. So tell me about Lord Danvers. Is he the overbearing tyrant you feared?”