To Pleasure a Lady

Chapter Ten

It is foolish to let your heart become vulnerable when your dreams have been shattered once before.

– Arabella to Fanny

“Perhaps you will condescend to explain,” Drew drawled as Marcus strode into the study of his London mansion the following afternoon, “just what the devil you are up to, Marcus. There are rumors flying about that you are engaged to one of your wards. Pray tell us it isn’t so.”

“The eldest ward, to be precise,” Heath added in a slightly more forgiving tone.

When Marcus had sent his two friends missives yesterday, asking for their company at the theater Wednesday evening, they’d demanded to know why he had avoided them all week. So he’d driven to London just now to spare them the trouble of hunting him down in Chiswick.

The noblemen were waiting for him when he arrived and gave him no time even to sit down before launching into their inquisition.

With a sigh of resignation, Marcus settled on a sofa, prepared for a long debate. “I am not engaged to Arabella at present, no. But it is true that I proposed to her.”

Drew stared at him, clearly troubled.

“It is also true,” Marcus continued, “that she refused me out of hand. So for the past week, I’ve been at Danvers Hall, engaged in a campaign to change her mind.”

“Have you lost your own mind, old chap?” Heath said after a moment’s silence.

“I am touched by your concern for my mental health,” Marcus replied dryly, “but I believe I am in full possession of my faculties.”

Heath grinned. “Well, I can fathom no other explanation for your demented behavior. You went to Chiswick last week for the purpose of settling your wards’ futures, to arrange proper dowries for them so they could entice some suitable marital candidates. It sure as blazes was not supposed to be yourself. I was only jesting before when I ragged you about proposing to one of them.”

“I know you were. And at the time I had no intention of offering for Arabella.”

“So what in hell’s name happened?” Drew asked with grave seriousness. “We knew you were attracted to her, Marcus. But that doesn’t mean you should willingly hang yourself in a marriage noose.”

“Contain your enthusiasm for me, will you?”

Drew’s scoffing sound held impatience. “Come now, you know we can’t help but be alarmed and disappointed when you make such a momentous decision that will affect the rest of your life-and ours as well-without so much as a word to either of us.”

Marcus smiled faintly. “Perhaps I said nothing because I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

“You’re claiming you actually want to be leg-shackled for life?”

“I’m afraid so. Don’t look so glum, my friend. I haven’t expired. It is only the avowed bachelor in me that has met his demise. It happens to the best of us sometimes.”

Drew’s gaze narrowed in a scowl. “I never expected it to happen to you-to any of us-for a long time to come.”

“Nor did I, believe me,” Marcus murmured. “It caught me entirely by surprise.”

Heath shook his head in similar perplexity. “It’s understandable you would be fascinated by Miss Loring’s beauty and spirit, especially if she refused your marriage offer. No other woman you know would dare reject you, so of course you are intrigued by the challenge of pursuing her-”

“It isn’t only the challenge,” Marcus interjected.

“Then what is it?”

“I finally found someone I could picture as my countess, one who could prove a good match for me.”

Drew frowned with deep skepticism, but Heath appeared thoughtful. “If that’s true,” he said slowly, “then I could almost envy you. I’ve never encountered any woman whom I considered my ideal match. I suppose you are to be congratulated.”

“I believe I am,” Marcus replied lightly.

It was no surprise that Heath was willing to regard a foray into matrimony as a potential positive rather than catastrophic development. Heath’s effortless charm made him a great favorite with women; he’d just never wanted to be tied down to only one of the adoring females who flocked to him in droves. Yet Heath was the most reckless and daring of the three, and the most open to new adventures, while Drew was the most guarded-and the most cynical.

Just now Drew ran a hand through his fair hair in a gesture of frustration. “You cannot have thought this through clearly.”

Yes, he had thought it through, Marcus reflected. But he was acting more on instinct than cold logic.

Arabella brought a much needed spark of fire into his life. She was warm and vibrantly alive…

Marcus smiled as he remembered the laughing gleam in her gray eyes last evening at the ball when she’d handed him the list of young ladies she wanted him to partner. And then later, the grateful emotion in her eyes when she thanked him for rescuing her pupil, her expression soft and giving.

He’d made up his mind then that he wouldn’t let her go. His decision, however, was difficult to explain to his closest friends, since they’d never felt such possessiveness toward any woman.

When he remained silent, Drew interrupted his thoughts with a sardonic drawl. “You cannot possibly fancy yourself in love, Marcus.”

Love? He wasn’t certain he even believed in the emotion. At least he’d never seen a true love match among his acquaintances, although he suspected the possibility did indeed exist.

He had never held out the hope, either, of finding intimacy and affection in marriage, but the prospect was highly appealing-and quite possible with Arabella as his wife.

At the very least, their marriage would be exhilarating. Far from the cold, dispassionate union his parents had known, or the bitterly antagonistic never-ending battle Arabella’s parents had reportedly perpetuated.

“No,” Marcus said slowly, “I cannot claim to be in love.”

“You relieve my mind,” Drew said, his caustic tone suggesting just the opposite.

Marcus gave the duke an assessing glance. Drew’s convictions would be difficult to sway, he knew. “You will be more relieved once you come to know Arabella, which is why I asked you both to join us at the theater tomorrow night. So you can meet her and judge for yourself. I am taking her to dine at the Clarendon beforehand, with her friend, Lady Freemantle, acting as chaperone.”

“Don’t tell me you require a chaperone to dine at a public hotel with your spinster ward.”

“Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be necessary, but with her reputation still under the cloud of her parents’ scandal, I think it advisable. I mean to reestablish Arabella and her sisters in society, so I’m prepared to do everything that is proper. I’ve invited Eleanor and Aunt Beatrix to share our box at Covent Garden, so they can also become acquainted with Arabella.”

Beatrix, Viscountess Beldon, was Marcus’s maternal aunt, and an amiable lady herself. All three men were fond of the elderly dame.

“Why not invite us all to dine at the Clarendon with you?” Heath asked.

“Because I am taking my courtship one step at a time,” Marcus explained. “A private dinner with family and friends would be too intimate at this point. I don’t want to push Arabella so much that she bolts.”

Heath shot the duke an amused glance. “Sounds as if her aversion to matrimony is as fierce as yours, Drew.”

“It is,” Marcus confirmed. “I had to coerce her just to get her to attend the theater tomorrow night.” He glanced between his two friends. “So you will come?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Heath said at once.

“And you, Drew?”

“If I must,” he replied more reluctantly.

Marcus smiled. “Good. I expect you both to be on your best behavior. Arabella has a decided distaste for rakes, and all of us qualify to some extent. I want her to see that we do have a few estimable qualities.”

Heath raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say that she is a prude?”

Marcus laughed softly, recalling Arabella’s enthusiastic reception of his lovemaking. “Not in the least. But her father was a champion philanderer, so she wants nothing to do with men of his ilk.”

His friend nodded slowly. “I suppose that is understandable, but you had best take care not to let her turn you into a tame milksop.”

“I have little fear of that. Arabella has no fancy for milksops, either.”

“What about her two sisters?” Heath asked thoughtfully. “You say they are both beauties?”

“Yes, why?”

“If you find them half as intriguing as your eldest ward, I might like to meet them.”

He did indeed find them intriguing, Marcus mused. His second ward was the most exquisite of the three, although he preferred Arabella’s earthier appearance-red-gold tresses and flashing gray eyes-to Roslyn’s golden princess image. Lilian was as captivating but wholly different from either of her sisters; her bold dark eyes and vibrant chestnut hair gave her a vividness that brought Gypsies to mind.

“The middle sister, Roslyn is an extraordinary beauty,” Marcus said, “but a bit on the delicate side for your taste, Heath. The youngest, Lilian, is a true spitfire-more up your alley. Perhaps you might like me to introduce you.”

Heath responded with a grin. “I might at that. I have yet to meet the woman who could tame me enough to make me wish to settle down, but one can always hope.”

“If you would offer for her, I could be rid of the responsibility for her. What about you, Drew?” Marcus asked. “With her elegance and intelligence, Roslyn might kindle your interest.”

“Are you out of your skull?” Drew demanded with a look of mock horror. When Marcus chuckled, Drew skewered him with a glance. “Don’t press me, you sorry bleater. It’s enough that I am willing to withhold judgment of your new infatuation until I meet her. With any luck, the eldest Miss Loring will have the good sense to rebuff you permanently, so we can return to our normal peaceful existence.”

At that cynical comment, Marcus held his tongue, yet he had no desire to return to his normal existence. He was making slow but sure progress in his courtship of Arabella, and he had every intention of wedding her, despite her tenacious reluctance. Arabella was an ideal match for him, even if she refused to see it yet.

His chief difficulty was holding a tight rein on his lust. He deserved an award of some kind for keeping his hands to himself these past few days when he wanted Arabella so badly. It required extreme fortitude to let her retire alone each night, when he would far rather sweep her upstairs to his bed and spend the next fortnight exploring her lovely body and teaching her about passion.

Hopefully, however, his restraint would not be necessary much longer.

Marcus seemed to be intensifying his courtship, Arabella decided as she eyed the large copper bathtub in her dressing room. The tub was appropriately filled with hot water, but much of the surface was covered with pink rose petals. She wondered how he had slipped into her dressing room without being seen by her new abigail, who had taken charge of her elegant new wardrobe.

“Don’t those petals smell fine, Miss?” Nan asked cheerfully. “His lordship asked me to sprinkle them in yer bath.”

“Lord Danvers asked you to put them here?”

“Aye, he did. He says you have a fondness for roses, and that petals are good as rosewater to make a body smell sweet.”

Well, at least he hadn’t tried entering her private apartments himself, Arabella thought with amusement as she undressed and sank into the hot water. In fact, until this maneuver, Marcus had made no intimate overtures toward her in days.

Feeling the petals caress her skin reminded Arabella keenly that she hadn’t seen much of Marcus since the ball. He’d spent last night in London on business, and his absence had disappointed her a little, perhaps because she had decided to give his courtship a real chance to develop. She couldn’t deny, either, that she had missed his company at dinner last evening.

She also couldn’t deny how much she was anticipating the upcoming evening. It would be a delightful treat to dine at the Clarendon Hotel and attend Covent Garden Theater in such distinguished company as Marcus had promised. Arabella was admittedly eager to meet his sister and aunt and his two closest friends. She only hoped she could hold her own with them.

She was glad, therefore, to be able to wear her new evening gown of rose twilled silk and the stunning ruby pendant and earrings that Marcus had sent up. When she studied her attire in the cheval glass, her image gave her pause. She looked very much the regal lady, worthy of being his countess.

Arabella’s expression grew thoughtful. Should she perhaps give his proposal earnest consideration after all?

She was even gladder to see Marcus when she went down stairs to find him awaiting her in the entrance hall. At the sight of him, warmth blossomed out from her belly, and she felt her heart flutter rather alarmingly. He looked breathtakingly handsome in a long-tailed burgundy coat, gold brocade waistcoat, and white satin knee breeches. She took his arm gingerly, though, resolved to conceal her pleasure at seeing him again.

It was a lovely afternoon, cool from this morning’s rain but with fleecy white clouds floating across the blue sky. They were starting early in order to make the nearly hour-long drive to London.

His coachmen drove them to collect Winifred, who settled beside Arabella with an approving glance. “Your gown is perfect, my dear, and that scent you are wearing is quite pleasant.”

Arabella returned a puzzled look, since she was not wearing any perfume.

“It must be the rose petals,” Marcus murmured provokingly.

“What rose petals?” the older lady asked.

“Never mind,” Arabella said quickly, giving him a quelling glance.

Otherwise, the evening began promisingly enough. Marcus’s well-sprung carriage made the journey in relative ease, and from the moment they arrived at the elegant hotel, his party was treated like visiting royalty. They were led to a private parlor, where the staff leapt to anticipate his lordship’s every wish and plied them with three delicious courses and a dozen removes. Lady Freemantle claimed to be highly impressed and expressed gratitude to Lord Danvers for the privilege of sharing his illustrious company.

When they arrived at Covent Garden two hours later, Arabella was even more grateful, since without him, she likely would have found the glittering crowd intimidating after four years of being shunned by their supercilious ranks.

The cream of society filled the upper tiers-the lords and gentlemen dressed in formal finery, the ladies dripping in satins and jewels. Since many of them had only come to see and be seen rather than to enjoy the play, the din was quite loud as Marcus escorted Arabella and Winifred upstairs.

His box, Arabella saw when they arrived, was already occupied by two ladies and two gentlemen, who all rose in greeting.

Marcus made the introductions, starting with his Aunt Beatrix, Lady Beldon. The tiny, silver-haired woman had curious bright eyes that reminded Arabella of an inquisitive bird. Without any prompting, Marcus’s sister, Lady Eleanor, stepped forward. The raven-haired beauty wore diamonds threaded through her short curls and a smile of welcome as she clasped Arabella’s hands warmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Loring. My scoundrel of a brother has been keeping you a secret.” She sent Marcus a laughing glance. “He never mentioned a word about you until two days ago.”

“Because I didn’t wish to frighten her off with your atrocious manners, minx,” Marcus said fondly.

“Pah,” Eleanor retorted. “She doesn’t look the sort to be frightened by anything.”

Arabella couldn’t help but smile. “At least not by manners. Not after attempting to teach them to scores of green girls for the past three years.”

Lady Beldon spoke for the first time. “Marcus told us something of your academy, Miss Loring. I should like to hear about it.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

Marcus then made known his close friends, the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne.

The duke was darkly blond, his tall frame one of lithe elegance, while the marquess was nearly as tall but more powerfully built, his hair a tawny brown. They each responded to Arabella quite differently. Arden offered her a cool bow, but Claybourne was far more welcoming, flashing her a smile of amused charm that reminded her a little of Marcus.

Arabella could see why the three noblemen were the talk of London. They were all striking men, beautiful as sin yet utterly…male. It was no wonder females were attracted to them in droves. Certainly they drew the rapt attention of the crowded audience now. It seemed to Arabella as if every eye in the theater was trained on their box.

There were two rows of seats, but when Marcus started to guide Arabella to the nearest chair, his sister intervened.

“Please sit beside me, Miss Loring,” Lady Eleanor said. “We can become better acquainted…and perhaps compare stories about my brother’s guardianship.”

Thus, the front row was occupied by the ladies; first Marcus’s aunt, then his sister, then Arabella, and finally Winifred. When Marcus and his friends took the chairs directly behind, Arabella felt unusually exposed, especially when she spied a number of the audience whispering behind fans and pointing at Lord Danvers’s party.

She soon realized they were gossiping about her, although it soothed her pride somewhat to realize she was receiving a few admiring looks of her own from several of the gentlemen.

Lady Eleanor noticed as well. “Don’t pay them any mind, Miss Loring. You are merely their latest object of interest. It will blow over quickly.” She paused, giving her charming laugh. “At least it always does in my case when I commit some minor infraction.”

“Which is far too frequently,” Marcus said, leaning forward.

He had allowed ample time before the play started so they could become acquainted, and the initial conversation proved highly congenial. Eleanor managed to keep up a spirited dialogue while subtly interrogating Arabella about her and her family. But as Marcus had predicted, she found herself liking his sister, who on first impression seemed witty and lively with a wicked sense of fun.

She had less opportunity to converse with Marcus’s friends, since they sat behind her. The marquess threw in a comment now and then, which was a marked contrast to the duke’s conspicuous silence. Arabella had the distinct feeling his grace disapproved of her, although he unbent a little when Eleanor turned to tease him about his glumness. Apparently Arden had scant fondness for Shakespeare, and they were to see a performance of Richard III tonight, with one of London’s greatest actors, John Kemble, playing the lead role.

It was while the duke was trading quips with Lady Eleanor that Arabella spied her friend Fanny Irwin entering a nearby box on an elderly gentleman’s arm. Looking very much the “Fashionable Impure,” Fanny was gowned in emerald satin with her upswept ebony hair and her ample white bosom bedecked with jewels.

Fanny sent Arabella a discreet smile, which she returned just as discreetly. They had decided several years ago, for the sake of her academy’s reputation, that it wasn’t wise for Arabella to blatantly advertise her friendship with a notorious courtesan.

A few moments later, however, she noticed a red-haired lady staring darkly at her from several boxes away. The woman was simply stunning, dressed in an ivory gown whose low decolletage exposed an abundant amount of alabaster skin adorned by diamonds.

Arabella had no idea what she might have done to arouse such enmity from a perfect stranger, but she saw Lady Beldon give the beauty a polite nod of acknowledgment. Fortunately, the curtain rose, and Arabella’s attention became caught up in the drama being enacted on stage.

Kemble’s performance was truly a pleasure to watch, so the time sped by. At the intermission following Act II, Marcus and the duke rose to fetch the ladies some wine. The marquess offered to act as escort when Eleanor professed a desire to stretch her legs and invited Arabella and Winifred to stroll the halls with her.

Lady Eleanor was hugely popular, they quickly discovered. She was greeted frequently and stopped each time to introduce her new friends.

Eleanor was chatting gaily with an older couple when Arabella spied the stunning, red-haired beauty farther along the crowded corridor. When the lady approached Marcus and offered him a cool smile that held more than a hint of seduction, Arabella felt the strangest urge to scratch the woman’s eyes out.

She was scolding herself for her absurd reaction when Winifred noticed her expression. “Don’t be dismayed, my dear,” her friend whispered. “By all reports their affair was over months ago.”

“What affair?”

Winifred hesitated before grimacing. “You may as well hear the tale from me, so you won’t leap to the wrong conclusions.”

“What conclusions? Winifred, will you please stop talking in riddles?”

She sighed. “Very well, that lady is the Viscount Eberly’s very wealthy widow. To put it bluntly, she had a romantic liaison with Lord Danvers years ago when he was still Baron Pierce. Then after her elderly husband obligingly went to meet his Maker, they resumed the relationship for a brief time last Christmas, but it didn’t last. She was too possessive and fancied becoming Baroness Pierce, so he broke it off. To my knowledge they have not been seen together since.”

Arabella suddenly felt a constriction tightening her chest. “They had an affair while her husband was still alive?”

“Well, yes. But it came to nothing in the end, and I doubt Lord Danvers is the least bit interested in her any longer.”

Arabella stared in dismay at Marcus and his beautiful inamorata. She couldn’t deny her jealousy, yet her distress was not only because the stunning Lady Eberly had once been his mistress; it was also because Marcus had pursued the lady while she was still another man’s wife.

Dragging her gaze away, Arabella lifted a hand to her mouth.

“Are you all right, dear?” Winifred asked in concern.

She couldn’t answer just then for the churning in her stomach. To think Marcus had been trying to persuade her to accept his offer of marriage while assuring her that he was nothing like her father, who had harbored no qualms about committing adultery.

“It is nothing,” Arabella managed to lie. “Perhaps I indulged in too many rich dishes at dinner. And the theater is rather warm. I believe I will return to our box, Winifred.”

“Certainly, you should sit down.”

She drew a steadying breath as they moved along the corridor, telling herself she had no right to feel such hurt. She had no real claim to Marcus. It was just that she had begun to trust him, to open her heart to him. You started to believe he was a man you could love.

She should have known his portrayal of the ideal suitor was too perfect to be real.

But seeing Marcus with his former mistress was a cold awakening to reality. Her father had indulged in countless affairs after marriage, showering his affection on his mistresses, leaving her mother to languish alone in humiliation and resentment and heartbreak, pining after an unfaithful man who could never love her. How could she trust that Marcus would be any different if she wed him?

Arabella felt the hot sting of tears burn her eyes. To think that she had actually attempted to picture herself as his wife. Clearly she had been indulging in pipe dreams. Marriage between them would never work out. She was foolish to have thought it might.

She was an even worse fool to let herself become so vulnerable to hurt after her first wretched experience with love. She had let her emotions become too involved with Marcus, obviously. If she didn’t take care, she could end up making the same mistake all over again.

Arabella forced herself to swallow the ache in her throat. At least now there was no longer any danger of her falling in love with Marcus. Her resistance to him had been slipping day by day, softened by his seductive charm and his generosity toward her sisters. But she wouldn’t allow it to weaken any further.

Their wager would be over in less than a week. She had only to survive until next Monday and then she could declare her independence from him. Meanwhile, she had to pretend to be unaffected by this new revelation about him.

Her thoughts were so distracted that she nearly ran into Fanny Irwin, who was returning to her own box with her gentleman patron in tow.

“Do forgive me, Fanny,” Arabella murmured. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Fanny surveyed her in concern. “Is something amiss, Arabella?”

She returned a strained smile. “No, I was just wool-gathering. It is so good to see you again, Fanny dear.”

Her concern evidently allayed, Fanny cast a glance farther down the corridor and then lowered her voice. “We shouldn’t be seen speaking together in public, Arabella. Your blue-blooded friends will see you.”

Arabella followed her gaze to glimpse Marcus’s aunt, Lady Beldon, standing at the door to their box, observing her encounter with Fanny with obvious disapproval.

“It is no matter,” Arabella replied. “I have no need to cultivate her ladyship’s good opinion.”

“But what about-”

“I will write to you tomorrow, Fanny. Winifred,” she called over her shoulder. “You remember my good friend, Miss Irwin.”

Smiling, Winifred offered a polite greeting. They spoke for a brief moment before Arabella continued on her way. By the time she entered Marcus’s box to find his aunt already seated, she was calmer and thinking more rationally, yet she couldn’t help reflecting on how right Fanny had been to warn her against succumbing to the earl’s seductive advances.

As she settled next to Winifred, though, she realized that Lady Beldon was addressing her. “You do realize, Miss Loring, that it is not proper for a lady to acknowledge a female of that stamp?”

Eleanor entered the box just then and resumed her seat between her aunt and Arabella. “A female of what stamp, Aunt?”

Lady Beldon sniffed. “Miss Loring knows whom I mean.”

At the viscountess’s censorious tone, Arabella stiffened. Earlier this evening, Lady Beldon had readily acknowledged the promiscuous Lady Eberly. It seemed highly unfair to forgive such wantonness in a married lady while condemning fallen women like Fanny.

But Arabella struggled to keep her tone polite when she replied, “Miss Irwin is a childhood friend, my lady. We grew up together and were as close as sisters.”

“That is no excuse for recognizing her now.”

Eleanor’s curious gaze went directly to Fanny. With a light laugh, she made an obvious effort to smooth troubled waters. “Pah, Auntie, I think you are being too fastidious. Miss Loring should be commended for her loyalty in not cutting her friend.”

Her aunt’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “I trust I taught you how to conduct yourself in such situations, my girl.”

Eleanor surveyed the Cyprian thoughtfully. “Yes, you did, dearest aunt, but that doesn’t mean I must like it. I expect I would enjoy meeting Miss Irwin. She doubtless leads an intriguing life, with few of the restrictions we unmarried young ladies must suffer.”

Marcus returned to the box at that moment, in time to catch his sister’s statement. He frowned slightly as he offered his aunt and then Arabella each a glass of wine.

Still vexed at the viscountess, Arabella avoided looking at him as she accepted the glass. “Oh, I agree, Lady Eleanor,” she murmured. “I quite envy Miss Irwin her freedom. She is her own woman, in charge of her life. She needn’t fret about a guardian controlling her every action.”

Casting an arch glance at Marcus, Arabella expected him to respond to her gibe, but Lady Beldon evidently was not finished with her chastisement. She spoke again just as Marcus’s two friends resumed their seats behind them. “It is unseemly for a prospective countess to fraternize with lightskirts, Miss Loring. If you mean to have any future with my nephew, you will have to sever the connection with your friend, no matter how close you were.”

Although enraged by now, Arabella managed a false smile. “Forgive me, my lady, but I have no intention of severing my connection with Miss Irwin. Instead, I will be severing all connection with your nephew. After next week, he will no longer be my guardian, and I certainly won’t continue our relationship by becoming his countess.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus’s brows snap together. The other occupants of the box had gone silent.

Glancing over her shoulder, Arabella offered the Duke of Arden a brilliant smile. “Does that not relieve you, your grace? You don’t wish me to marry Lord Danvers, I imagine.”

The duke responded with a repressive arch of one eyebrow. “In truth, I don’t,” he responded coolly.

The Marquess of Claybourne, on the other hand, looked amused. “I am not yet certain how I feel about Marcus leg-shackling himself to you, Miss Loring. I think I should withhold judgment until I come to know you better.”

“Arabella,” Marcus interjected brusquely, “we will discuss this later in private.”

Her chin rose at his commanding tone, but she could feel his vexation. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was eyeing her piercingly.

“Of course, my lord,” she said with feigned sweetness. Leaning toward Marcus, however, she lowered her voice to a harsh murmur. “I don’t know what you told your aunt about us, or why she thinks I am eager to wed you-”

His terse reply cut into her reproval. “I told her I had proposed because I didn’t want her hearing the rumors from anyone else. I didn’t say you had accepted.”

“Then you should disabuse her of the notion at once,” Arabella hissed before directing her attention forward again, ignoring how his sister Eleanor was looking between the two of them, clearly aware of the sudden tension in the air.

To Arabella’s relief, the play resumed a moment later. She sat through the last three acts, determinedly ignoring the ache in her heart while longing for the evening to be over. All she wanted to do was to go home and indulge in a long bout of waterworks. Except that she suddenly recalled a memory from her youth, of her mother sobbing disconsolately into her pillow after another of her father’s infamous indiscretions.

The painful remembrance renewed Arabella’s resolve. She would not be marrying Marcus when their wager ended. And she most certainly would not be offering her heart to him to be trampled upon.

Her head was throbbing as painfully as her heart by the time the play ended. A disdainful Lady Beldon took her leave with bare civility before sweeping from the box. Eleanor, though, offered Arabella a fond smile and expressed the hope that they might meet again soon.

Marcus’s friends differed in their leavetaking as well; the duke treated Arabella with formal reserve, the marquess with good-natured charm.

When half an hour later, Marcus handed Arabella into his carriage, she sank back against the squabs and closed her eyes, wishing she didn’t have to speak to him for the rest of the evening.

Winifred apparently sensed the tension between them. Ordinarily she would have nodded off during the journey home, but tonight she kept up a brisk chatter for the entire drive, an evident attempt to defuse the strain. When eventually the carriage drew up before her mansion, Winifred hesitated to get out. “Will you be all right, my dear?”

“Certainly, it is only a short drive home,” Arabella answered, even though reluctant to be alone with Marcus, knowing he meant to grill her about her altercation with his aunt.

As soon as the door had been closed by a footman and the coach began moving again, Marcus spoke. “I trust you mean to explain that little outburst of yours?”

Arabella lifted her chin stubbornly. “It was hardly an outburst. And I had sufficient cause to be angry at your aunt’s disparagement of my friend Fanny.”

Marcus appraised her with a measuring gaze. “She is right, you know. It would be better for you and your sisters to have no further association with Fanny Irwin.”

Arabella bristled at that. “Perhaps so, but I will tell you the same thing I told Lady Beldon: I have no intention of cutting the connection. And you cannot forbid me to see her.”

“I wouldn’t try,” Marcus replied curtly.

She was still fuming, however. “Your aunt’s attitude galls me. It seems the height of hypocrisy that single ladies are denounced for their sins when married ladies like your former paramour can have countless lovers and even commit adultery but are still received in society.”

He regarded her a long moment before finally exhaling. “I suppose you saw Julia.”

Arabella forced a taut smile. “If by ‘Julia,’ you mean Lady Eberly, then yes. I could hardly miss her.”

His expression was more sympathetic than defensive. “You needn’t concern yourself with her. I broke off our liaison three months ago.”

“Oh, indeed, that long ago?” Arabella commented sarcastically.

Marcus’s mouth tightened. “I am not a saint, Arabella. I never claimed to be. I’m a man with a healthy sexual appetite.”

She gave him an icy look. “I never supposed you to be a saint, but you claimed you were nothing like my father.”

“I am not like him.”

“No? Then why do you consort with married women, without any consideration for holy wedding vows, just as he did?”

Marcus was silent for a long moment. “My affair with her was a mistake,” he said quietly.

“So you say now, when you are trying to persuade me to accept your offer of marriage.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I intend to remain faithful to our wedding vows, Arabella. I would not take a mistress once we are married.”

“It makes no difference to me either way,” she lied. She turned to gaze out the window, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes. She couldn’t trust herself to believe Marcus’s promises.

Oh, he desired her physically, she knew that much. But carnal desire before marriage was a far cry from fidelity afterward. Their wager was all a game to him. As soon as he won, as soon as the chase was over and he had legally made her his countess, his interests could very well shift elsewhere. And she would be trapped in a loveless, heartless marriage just as her parents had been.

“You needn’t be jealous of Lady Eberly,” Marcus asserted when she remained silent.

Arabella’s tumultuous emotions reached a boiling point and she turned back to stare at him. “Jealous! I am not in the least bit jealous. I don’t care if you take a hundred lovers. Your affairs and infidelities are of no consequence to me, since I have absolutely no intention of accepting your proposal.”

“Arabella…” Marcus said, striving to contain his impatience. “Listen to me carefully, for I will only repeat this once. I won’t take any lovers after our marriage.”

Her expression remained obdurate. “Well, I would! If I did wed you, Marcus, I would certainly have a lover-perhaps more than one. I wouldn’t be content to remain at home like a dutiful wife while you catted about all over England.”

She saw him go rigid; her brazen declaration had apparently made him nearly as angry as she was.

“You are not taking any lover but me,” he said through gritted teeth.

Her chin jutted out furiously. “If I wished to, you couldn’t stop me!”

“You don’t want to test that theory, sweeting. I could and I would stop you.”

Seething now, Arabella clenched her own teeth and tore her gaze away from him. There was no question now of her losing to Marcus, she promised herself. She would play out the rest of their wager as promised, for she intended to win freedom for herself and her sisters. But once it was over, she would never even speak to him again!

Marcus, too, fell into a simmering silence. It was an effort to keep control of his temper, but he forced himself to wait until they were both calmer to discuss the explosive issue of lovers any further.

The moment the carriage drew to halt in the drive, Arabella opened the door and jumped down before the footman could even lower the step.

Marcus watched darkly as she ran up the front stairs to the house. He followed in time to hear her being greeted by the butler, Simpkin, who was waiting for his mistress’s return in the entrance hall, despite the lateness of the hour. When Simpkin offered to fetch her abigail, Arabella shook her head.

“No, don’t disturb Nan’s rest,” she said tightly, throwing a wrathful glance over her shoulder at Marcus. “I can manage alone. I have done so for years.”

Without another word, she hurried up the staircase and disappeared down the corridor. A moment later, Marcus heard her bedchamber door slam with enough force to startle the very proper butler into an expression of alarm.