To Pleasure a Lady (8 page)

Arabella hesitated. She had to admit Marcus was nothing like what she had feared. He might be more than a little arrogant, but he certainly didn't resemble a tyrant. Indeed, he had shown remarkable understanding for a nobleman of his stamp. He had listened intently last evening when she spoke of her academy. And more astonishingly, he appeared to respect her as the mistress of the estate even though her step-uncle had treated her and her sisters as poor relations dependent on charity.

But of course Marcus was showing his most amiable side in order to persuade her that he would make her an acceptable husband.

“No, he is not as bad as we feared,” Arabella conceded. “He is rather arrogant and high-handed, as most noblemen are, and accustomed to getting his own way. But I cannot truthfully call him a tyrant.”

“I am flattered, sweeting,” a lazy masculine voice drawled from the doorway. “Your resounding endorsement warms my heart.”

Giving a start at the intrusion, Arabella spun to eye Marcus with reproach. “Did no one ever tell you it is impolite to eavesdrop?”

An amused gleam lit his eyes as he sauntered into the room. “Politeness never won a fair maiden. Moreover, I see no reason to change my methods, since they appear to be working. I am clearly making progress if I've improved your opinion of me so significantly in barely one day. At this rate, we will be married by month's end.”

Arabella's mouth twitched with the effort to quell a laugh. “You are indulging in a pipe dream, my lord.”

“A very pleasant pipe dream.” His provocative look sent the most unsettling shiver of awareness down her spine. “Will you introduce me to your guest? Or do you mean to keep her hidden from me, as you have your sisters?”

She flushed as she finally remembered her manners. “This is Miss Tess Blanchard. Tess, my guardian, Lord Danvers.”

Marcus bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Blanchard. I understand you teach at the Freemantle Academy with Arabella.” When Tess arched a cool eyebrow, Marcus sent her a winning smile. “I had my solicitors give me a full report on your school, since my wards are so heavily involved. You are a close friend of Arabella's, I gather.”

“I am, my lord,” Tess answered, scrutinizing him with interest.

“Then perhaps you might advise me on how to advance my suit with her. I need every advantage I can get.”

“You don't expect me to aid the enemy, do you?”

He laughed softly. “You see, that is my dilemma. I have been dubbed ‘the enemy' without a chance to prove myself.”

When her friend smiled in return, Arabella was amazed that Marcus could charm even Tess, who was extremely wary of rakish noblemen after an unhappy encounter with one in her past.

“Lord Danvers is obviously well-versed in using charm to get his way,” Arabella said dryly.

“True,” Marcus agreed. “But even my best efforts fail to have much effect on you.” He directed his gaze at Tess once more. “Will you stay for luncheon, Miss Blanchard? I hope to persuade you to tell me some of Arabella's secrets.”

That won another faint smile from Tess. “Thank you, but I cannot stay. I must return to the academy. I only called because Arabella missed her class.”

“I fear that was my fault. I have kept her occupied with my affairs all morning.”

When Tess gave her a curious glance, Arabella felt her cheeks warming. “Lord Danvers plans to renovate the Hall and asked me to oversee the work.”

“I see,” Tess said slowly, although the frown creasing her brow showed a hint of concern.

“Don't worry,” Arabella said with an arch glance at Marcus. “I have no intention of becoming Lady Danvers simply because I enjoy decorating his manor.”

With Marcus following, she accompanied Tess to the entrance hall, where the forest of blossoms greeted them. Arabella went straight to the vase of roses her friend had been admiring earlier. “Here, pray take these with you, Tess. I know how much you love roses, and you will appreciate them better than I.” She turned to the butler, who was waiting by the front door. “Will you have the other flowers delivered to the academy, Simpkin?”

“All of them, Miss Arabella?”

“Yes, all. You may distribute them among our pupils with the complements of Lord Danvers.” She glanced at Marcus with a wicked smile. “I'm certain our young ladies will be grateful that a nobleman of your illustrious station thought to brighten their day. And I don't like to squander such lovely blooms, even though they are wasted on me.”

When he inclined his head, acknowledging her slight victory, Arabella felt her pulse leap at his very male smile.

Dragging her gaze away, she ushered her friend outside to her gig to say a private farewell. When she returned, she found Marcus still waiting for her. “Did you wish something of me, Lord Danvers? I should return to the drawing room, where I left our merchants.”

“I wanted to invite you to ride with me after luncheon. I thought you might enjoy the exercise.” When Arabella hesitated, Marcus added, “I sent for some of my horses in London on the assumption that you and your sisters would appreciate decent mounts for a change. The slugs in your step-uncle's stables are hardly worthy of the name. We can consider a ride part of my daily quota of your company.”

She would indeed enjoy riding, Arabella reflected. And mounted on horseback, she would stand a better chance of frustrating the earl's persistent courtship. “I would like that, my lord.”

“Good. Then I shall meet you at the stable at two.”

Arabella returned to the drawing room, unable to ignore a tremor of excitement at the prospect of riding on such a lovely spring day, or the more deplorable anticipation of matching wits with Marcus again.

         

Arabella was not disappointed by either the weather or her new mount. When she reached the stables, Marcus was waiting with a beautiful bay mare for her. He lifted her into her sidesaddle, then mounted a strapping chestnut gelding.

She led the way out of the yard and down the gravel drive to a tree-shaded lane. At the next crossroad, they turned off and set out across the countryside at a leisurely canter, negotiating lush green fields and pastures and glades that flanked the winding Thames River. They finally slowed when they came to the crest of a hill, where they could see a wide valley below.

A pleasant silence had fallen between them. Arabella raised her face to the sun, drinking in the golden-bright afternoon, savoring the rare pleasure of having a spirited horse beneath her and a charmingly attentive gentleman beside her. If not for the wager, she would have keenly enjoyed Marcus's company, she acknowledged.

“Thank you for this delightful treat,” she said, patting her mare. “She is a beauty. You clearly have superb taste in horseflesh.”

“I buy all my sister's mounts for her,” Marcus replied.

“And is she a good horsewoman?”

“The best, since I taught her myself. Eleanor rides neck or nothing, just as your sister Lilian reportedly enjoys doing.”

“Lily does indeed ride like a hellion,” Arabella replied with a fond smile.

“I should like to meet her and Roslyn one of these days.”

She sent Marcus a provocative glance. “We shall see.”

“Perhaps I'll invite Eleanor here for a visit. She would enjoy riding here far more than the tame environs of Hyde Park.”

“She lives in London with you?”

“In London, but not with me. With our elderly aunt, who acts as her chaperone. Eleanor moved there for her comeout three years ago and chose to stay.”

“If you have been her guardian for so long, did you try to marry her off the way you planned to do us?”

Amusement curved his lips. “I wouldn't dream of trying to play matchmaker for my sister. Thankfully there is no need, since as an heiress, she can have her pick of suitors. At the moment, like you she is resolved to remain single—although she has been betrothed twice. Both times she called off the engagement. Our aunt fears Eleanor is earning a reputation as a jilt.”

Arabella's eyebrow rose quizzically. “I expect she had a good reason.”

“She decided she wasn't in love after all,” Marcus answered lightly. He turned his head to study Arabella. “I am curious about your betrothal. Did you love your viscount?”

Arabella couldn't restrain her wince. It was still painful to remember her former betrothal to George, Viscount Underwood. She had indeed loved him. She'd believed in a future with him, the hope for children.

Realizing that Marcus was waiting for her reply, however, she composed her features to blandness. She was reluctant to answer such a personal question, but perhaps he deserved to know why she had no intention of entertaining his offer of marriage.

“Yes, I loved him,” Arabella said, keeping her tone even. “It was the only reason I accepted his proposal, even though it was considered an excellent match and precisely what was expected of me. After my parents' experience, I wasn't willing to settle for a marriage of convenience.”

“He obviously didn't love you. If he had, he would never have let the scandal come between you.”

She was better prepared this time to hide her wince. “No, he didn't love me,” she agreed.

Strangely, Marcus's jaw hardened with something resembling anger. “It was hardly honorable of him to withdraw his suit once you became betrothed.”

Arabella gave a dismissive shrug. “True. But I soon realized how fortunate I was that we didn't actually marry, since he didn't love me as he claimed. Our marriage would likely have deteriorated into nothing more than a cold legal union at best.” She managed a smile. “In any event, it was four years ago, when I was young and naive. I have grown much wiser since. But you see why I am not eager to repeat the experience?”

Marcus was still studying her closely. “I can see I will have to prove to you that I am nothing like your viscount.”

Arabella couldn't help but be amused by the comparison. Her viscount was very little like Marcus. Not nearly as physically attractive or as…forceful. George was a
gentle
man, very unlike her powerful, dynamic, libertine father, also—which was primarily what she had found appealing about him. But he had turned out to have little backbone.

“You have nothing to prove on that account, Marcus,” she said. “There are few similarities between you.”

“You may be sure I won't run at the first hint of scandal.”

“No, I can't imagine you running from anything.” Arabella gave him a genuine smile. “And truthfully, I have become almost grateful for the scandal. In a way, it liberated us. My sisters and I are able to rule our own lives now”—she flashed him an ironic glance—“or we would if we didn't have an unwanted guardian to contend with.”

His intent expression fading, Marcus grinned. “Sorry, love.”

“You aren't sorry in the least,” Arabella replied lightly. “But as soon as our fortnight is up, I will be rid of you.”

“You don't want to be rid of me. You are enjoying our wager too much.”

“Am I indeed?”

“Most definitely. You relish the exhilaration of challenging me and matching wits with a worthy opponent.”

Arabella arched an eloquent eyebrow. “How can you presume to know what I feel?”

His reply was more serious than she expected. “Because I feel the same exhilaration. One I haven't known in years.”

“It must be dyspepsia.”

Marcus chuckled. “Come now, admit it. Your life has been deadly dull without me here to enliven it, with only your school to occupy your time.”

Arabella regarded him silently, unable to refute his claim. Most of the time her life was oppressively dull, except for the occasional interesting incident at her academy. And she was indeed beginning to find her time with Marcus exhilarating. She would chew nails before she admitted it to him, though.

“You have a highly elevated opinion of yourself, my lord,” she said sweetly before gathering her reins. “And I can find far more exhilaration in a good gallop.” With her heel, she urged her mare into a canter. “I wager I will reach the Hall before you!” Arabella called over her shoulder.

Marcus found himself grinning at her obvious attempt to avoid any further intimate conversation. But as she galloped away, he took up her challenge.

When she realized he was hard on her heels, Arabella bent over her mare's neck, urging the horse to greater speed. It became a full-fledged race, one that symbolized the fierce competition between them. One they both were determined to win. Arabella set a wicked pace, and Marcus did his best to catch her.

Unlike the last race, however, she was mounted on a swift horse this time, so she managed to win by a nose. Having achieved victory, Arabella slowed her mad dash into the stableyard and drew up laughing.

The bewitching sight hit Marcus directly in his chest before shooting down to his loins. With her beautiful face flushed with warmth and exertion, her lips parted breathlessly, her breasts heaving with exertion, she looked just as she would in the throes of passion, Marcus knew.

The image made his body tighten with desire and arousal. He wanted to pull Arabella off her horse and make love to her then and there. Wanted to sink inside that vibrant warmth—

Unfortunately, they had an audience, Marcus saw as two of his grooms appeared to take their sweating horses.

Denying them the chance to assist her, Arabella slid down from her sidesaddle and turned the reins over with a request to cool off the mare. Marcus did the same with his mount, then followed Arabella to the house.

He caught up to her as she entered the side door. “Will you join me for dinner this evening?”

She gave him a droll glance. “Do you intend to leave me any choice?”

“Of course. We could always complete the remainder of our four hours later this evening…after you retire to bed.”

“I wouldn't put it past you,” she murmured at his subtle threat to invade her bedchamber.