To Pleasure a Lady

Chapter Eleven

How does a woman keep her heart safe?

– Arabella to Fanny

His own mood fierce, Marcus went directly to the study, where he poured himself a generous brandy in order to calm down.

He could understand Arabella’s dismay at learning of his past relationship with his former mistress. After her bitter experience with her libertine father and adulterous mother, fidelity in marriage was a monumental issue for her. But he intended to remain faithful to her once they were wed, and the fact that she doubted his word rankled badly.

It was, however, her vow to take other lovers after they married that enraged him. The thought of Arabella with another lover made Marcus see red.

Gulping a long, burning swallow of brandy, he forced himself to contain his ire. Arabella was not the kind of woman to forswear her marriage vows, and he was far too possessive to ever allow her to. He would keep her so busy in his own bed that she would never even think about wanting another lover.

Meanwhile, though, his campaign to win her had suffered a serious setback. He would have to intensify his efforts, Marcus knew.

Even so, he could be more tolerant of Arabella’s perspective. Her loathing of convenient marriages was based on fear. She was afraid of being hurt again, of being betrayed by a fickle suitor, of making herself too vulnerable to the pain and misery married couples could cause each other. He would have to show her that a union between them would be far, far different than her fatalistic expectations.

He wanted Arabella, had wanted her from the very first, and he would have her. As his countess, his wife, his lover.

Vowing not to be deterred, Marcus drained the last of his brandy and made his way upstairs to his bedchamber. The house was silent since the servants were long abed, but a wall sconce in the corridor had been left alight for his convenience, and so had a lamp in his room.

He shrugged out of his evening clothes, leaving them draped over a chair in his dressing room for his valet to care for in the morning. Not bothering to don a nightshirt since the spring night was only pleasantly cool, Marcus returned to his bedchamber and strode over to the bed, only to come to an abrupt halt.

The covers had been turned down as expected, but a large pile of clothing lay on top, including the rose silk gown Arabella had worn to the theater this evening.

When he caught the sparkle of rubies and the gleam of pearls among the silks and sarcenets, a heavy frown descended on his brow. Arabella had returned all the gowns and jewelry he had bought her!

A folded sheet of vellum rested on the pile. Ripping it open, Marcus read the terse message inside:

My Lord Danvers, you may give these to your paramour. I do not require them any longer.

Your eldest ward, Miss Loring

Knotting his jaw, Marcus threw on a dressing gown, gathered up her gowns and jewels, flung open his door, and stalked down the corridor to the opposite wing of the manor, where Arabella’s bedchamber was located.

He had been extremely patient until now. He had resolved to woo her with tenderness and passion in order to win her surrender.

But since his strategy was obviously getting him nowhere, more drastic measures were called for.

When her bedchamber door flew open, Arabella was sitting at her dressing table, making a desultory effort to brush her hair.

She felt utterly wretched. As a girl, she’d hated witnessing her parents’ fights, but she hated fighting with Marcus even more.

Arabella bit down on her quivering lower lip. Her turmoil just now was only more evidence that she’d allowed her emotions to become too involved with Marcus. She had lied earlier when she’d claimed she wasn’t jealous of his beautiful mistress. She’d been eaten up with jealousy, proving she was in over her head. She couldn’t let it continue-

Marcus’s startling entrance made her leap up from her dressing table and whirl to face him.

When she spied him standing there, looking dark and irate, holding her beautiful gowns, Arabella swallowed. She had known he wouldn’t be happy that she’d returned her new wardrobe as a symbolic severing of their guardian-ward relationship, but she hadn’t expected Marcus to barge into her bedchamber while she was preparing for bed.

As she eyed him warily, his gaze raked over her, taking in her long-sleeved nightshift, her unbound hair, her bare feet. Even though the white cambric covered her completely, Arabella still felt defenseless, so she hurriedly took refuge behind her dressing table chair, using it as a shield.

“Marcus, what do you mean, invading my rooms this way?”

“You misplaced your wardrobe, sweeting.”

“No, I didn’t. I intended to give everything back to you.”

“Well, I won’t accept. These garments and jewels belong to you, and you are keeping them.” His eyes bored into hers, brightly blue, beautiful, as he strode forward and flung the pile on her bed.

Her hands moving to her hips, Arabella stared back defiantly at him-a defiance that turned to alarm when he advanced on her.

“Marcus, leave my bedchamber at once!”

“I intend to. And you are coming with me.”

She tried to elude him, scurrying to the other side of the bed, but he reached her in three determined strides. Bending, Marcus caught one arm behind her knees, the other at her back, and swung her up in his embrace, ignoring her shocked gasp of outrage.

Disregarding her fiercely whispered demands to put her down, he carried Arabella along the dim corridor, past the main staircase.

“Where are you taking me?” she exclaimed when she realized he was heading toward the far wing, which traditionally belonged to the earls of Danvers.

“To my rooms. I’m wooing you, just as we agreed.”

“I never agreed to this!”

“Spare your breath, love. I intend to show you what our marriage bed will be like.”

Her heart thudding wildly at his declaration, Arabella renewed her efforts to break free, but she couldn’t make Marcus release his tight hold.

Moments later, he entered his bedchamber with her, kicked the door shut behind him with his bare foot, and strode over to the massive bed, where he unceremoniously dropped her.

With a sputter of indignation, Arabella came up swinging, intent on boxing his ears.

Before her hand could strike, though, he caught her and dragged her hard against him. The abrupt contact startled her, making her body go rigid.

Arabella drew a sharp breath as she stared up at Marcus. His midnight blue eyes had sparked and darkened with something far different than anger as he held her closely, her breasts pressed against his broad chest, her thighs nestled against his muscular ones.

When he next spoke, his voice suddenly lowered to a husky murmur. “I plan to prove to you that you don’t want any lovers but me, Arabella.”

She tried to pull back, but Marcus wouldn’t let her go. “I do not want you for a lover,” she declared in a shaky voice.

“Yes, you do.”

“Of all the unmitigated arrogance-”

His mouth came down on hers then, capturing, seizing, his tongue probing deep to duel with hers.

His stunning kiss, however, lasted only a moment before he broke it off.

“You want me, Arabella. You can’t deny it.”

She did want him, she admitted as Marcus held her even closer. She wanted him desperately. Her breath fled as the fiercest longing swept through her…heat and desire and need.

Marcus felt the same longing, she knew, for he had gone completely still. Time suddenly seemed to halt, the very air vibrating with a blazing tension that had nothing to do with their battle of wills. His eyes seemed to burn as they stared down into hers.

Her gaze trapped by his, Arabella stood unmoving.

His expression softening, Marcus reached up to brush her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “I mean to satisfy you, Arabella. To pleasure you. To show you delights you’ve never dreamed of.”

Passion throbbed between them; her pulse thudded in her ears.

Abandoning any pretense of resistance then, Arabella raised her face to his. “Stop talking and kiss me,” she said hoarsely.

That was all it took. Bending, Marcus seized her mouth again, savagely ravishing, and Arabella responded just as fervently. They kissed violently as days of pent-up frustration exploded between them.

In some dim corner of her mind, she felt him guiding her backward toward the high bed. Without breaking the kiss, Marcus urged her down but at the last moment turned and fell back so that she sprawled over him, her hair forming a red-gold curtain around them.

Their mouths remaining locked, he ravaged hers with pleasure. Arabella returned his ardor with all her might, her breath coming in panting gasps. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses, couldn’t deny the desire and hunger surging through her veins, through every nerve and sinew in her body. She felt frantic, an urgent clamoring need that wouldn’t be satisfied by only his mouth. She wanted much, much more from him.

Whimpering, she pressed herself desperately against the strong, muscular male body lying beneath her, suddenly aware that his dressing gown had fallen open to expose his hot, bare skin, his naked loins…his swollen hardness that jutted upward to press against her abdomen. Instinctively, her hips ground against him, seeking to get closer.

With a strangled groan, Marcus tore away his mouth from hers. His hands tangled in her hair as he stared up at her. “If you don’t want this, then tell me now.”

She knew what he was asking. Her throat dry, her breath rasping, her heart pounding, Arabella nodded slowly. “I want this… I want you.”

Fire flared in his eyes. Marcus rolled over her, pinning her beneath his weight. Then reaching up, he grasped the delicate collar of her nightdress and ripped the thin cambric to her waist, baring the ripe fullness of her breasts. Before her surprised gasp could even escape her throat, his head dipped to her breasts and he took a taut nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. Arabella nearly came up off the bed at the delicious sensation.

Squeezing the firm mounds together, he lavished attention on her throbbing nipples until she was moaning hoarsely for him. “Marcus…please…”

His hand reached down between their bodies then, dragging up the hem of her torn nightshift, slipping between her thighs to stroke her pulsing cleft. “Not yet. You’re not ready for me yet.”

“I am…this fire…” She was burning with need for him, her very core aching with flaming hunger.

Lifting himself up, he tore her nightdress the rest of the way, then shrugged out of his dressing gown and threw it to the carpet, baring his magnificent, powerful body. Kneeling between her spread thighs, he took her hips in his hands and bent to her.

When his magic mouth found her feminine center, her response was half scream, half sob-a helpless, pleading sound that turned to a keening cry as he ravished her with his sensual expertise, his lips stroking, his tongue plunging in deep. Her hands clenched in his hair as the fire built to a raging inferno, then finally erupted inside her.

When eventually she regained her senses, Marcus was kneeling over her, watching her, his eyes tender, his face taut and flushed with his effort at control.

“Please, don’t stop…” Arabella managed to begin a hoarse whisper.

He went utterly still. For a long moment they remained staring at each other, their gazes locked, time frozen in a moment so sharp, so raw, she could hear his heartbeat, feel the turbulent rhythm echo her own. She knew what caused his hesitation. He was her first lover, her only lover. The next step would be irrevocable.

“Marcus,” she whispered again, reaching for him.

His smile was solemn and enchanting, his voice low and hoarse as he replied, “I won’t stop.”

He lowered his body to hers, covering her, and eased her thighs wider with his. The tenderness in his eyes deepening, he bent to kiss her again. His mouth, which had been fierce and hungry before, gentled from ravishment to tantalizing seduction.

She could feel his hard length probing for entrance. As he pushed inside her a fraction of an inch, Arabella froze, but he brushed her temple with his lips. “Try to relax, Belle. I will be as careful as I can.”

With exquisite care, he pressed forward, gliding in slowly, slowly…his huge, swollen arousal stretching her flesh, filling her. There was a moment of pain, but it quickly subsided. Arabella felt only a throbbing fullness as at last he sank in the entire way.

Marcus held completely still so she could grow accustomed to his alien hardness, feathering light kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

After another moment, he began to move, withdrawing the slightest measure, then pressing in again. Meanwhile his hands were stimulating her breasts, softly kneading, his thumbs stroking the sensitive buds. Arabella trembled, then gasped as another streak of fire ignited deep and low inside her.

She hadn’t expected to be aroused this intensely so soon after his last devastating assault on her senses. But to her shock, the inferno began to build within her again. She was suddenly on fire. Marcus’s naked skin burned hers, his body setting hers ablaze. Her breath came in short panting bursts as her hips began to move of their own accord, seeking completion from him in a rhythm as old as time.

His breath as tortured as hers, Marcus braced his weight on his forearms and lifted his head to gaze down at her lovely face. He wanted to watch Arabella climax as he took her, wanted to watch her skin flush with passion as they consummated their union for the very first time.

And yet he could feel his control slipping, could feel his need and desire swelling to overwhelming proportions. He struggled to go slowly as Arabella writhed and moaned beneath him, but when she suddenly arched and cried out in ecstasy, he surrendered to his need with a hoarse cry of his own, his body clenching and spasming with the same blazing pleasure she was feeling.

The shattering, searing explosion left him gasping for breath. In the aftermath, Marcus collapsed upon her, trying to spare her the brunt of his weight, and lay there bonelessly as the fire slowly receded.

It was a long while before either one of them could breathe with any semblance of calm. Then slowly, with great care, he pulled out of her…flinching when she winced.

“Did I hurt you?” Marcus murmured in concern.

Shaking her head, she gazed up at him with a dazed, dreamy smile. “Fanny told me that lovemaking was supposed to be unpleasant the first time, but it wasn’t in the least.”

Relieved, he rolled onto his back and gathered Arabella in his arms, drawing her into the haven of his body.

Snuggling against him, she gave a deep, languid sigh. After a time she found her voice. “Is it always like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like fire. Like fiery…magic.”

He smiled faintly. “Almost never.”

She buried her face in his shoulder as if suddenly feeling embarrassed. “You probably felt nothing like magic-”

“You’re wrong, sweetheart. I felt it, believe me.”

Arabella eased back to peer up at him. “You are just trying to charm me.”

His laugh was soft, decisive. “If I had wanted to charm you, sweeting, I would have done so before we made love.”

His declaration must have reassured her for she closed her eyes again and relaxed against him with another blissful sigh. “I suppose so.”

Marcus exhaled as well, relishing the delight of having Arabella warm and naked in his arms. Fiery magic was an apt description, he thought, experiencing a sense of triumph and something even more profound: heartfelt exhilaration. Arabella’s passion was as vibrant and exciting as he’d known it would be, and so were the feelings she’d aroused in him. He had never felt more alive with a lover, more satisfied.

Holding her close, he pressed his face into her hair and breathed in her fragrant scent. He thought fleetingly of past lovers-of their seductive charms, the endless ways they’d tried to please him-but not one of them had ever succeeded in arousing such a stark hunger in him without even trying.

A dangerous hunger. His desire for Arabella had made him forget his rational mind, Marcus realized. He’d taken her virginity tonight without any concern for the consequences.

Yet whatever guilt he felt for deflowering her, he was able to reason away. It would have happened when he made her his bride. This was only sooner than either of them had expected. Still, he should have considered the possible repercussions. He could have gotten her with child tonight.

Marcus drew an uneven breath at the prospect of little Arabellas and even little Marcuses. He had always considered the responsibility of fathering children from an intellectual standpoint, if at all. He was resigned to fulfilling his duty to continue his titles and carry on his bloodlines.

The idea of being a father to Arabella’s children, however, not only held immense appeal but roused a profoundly primal emotion in him.

A faint smile curved Marcus’s mouth. Drew and Heath would laugh uproariously to hear him entertaining the notion of wanting a family. And to have said family, he would first have to persuade Arabella to wed him. But now there was no question that he would succeed. He would never let her go. Possessiveness had never gripped him so hard.

You are mine now, he thought, stroking her bare shoulder absently with his fingers.

At the caress, Arabella stirred in his arms, then raised her head to glance at his chamber door as if suddenly recalling where she was.

When she uncurled herself from him and started to rise, though, Marcus caught her arm before she could leave the bed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my room. I shouldn’t be here.”

He drew her down to lie beside him once more. “You are spending the night with me. We have barely begun to explore the delights of lovemaking.”

“But the servants could discover us-”

“The servants have their own wing on another floor. And as long as you return before dawn, no one will see you.”

Rising himself, Marcus went to the washstand to fetch a wet cloth. When he returned to wash away the traces of his seed from Arabella’s thighs, the enchanting flush that rose to her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment.

He stopped her from drawing the covers over her limbs to conceal her nudity. “Don’t hide yourself from me. You have a beautiful body, and there is no shame in my seeing it.”

Arabella bit her lower lip but didn’t protest his ministrations.

“It’s just as well that I destroyed your nightdress,” Marcus observed, seeing the smear of blood on the torn cambric. “I would rather not leave evidence that you gave me your innocence. You can throw your shift in the dustbin, or better yet, burn it. I’ll give you a nightshirt to wear when I take you back to your room.”

“We made a shambles of the bed,” Arabella said ruefully as he finished his task and returned the cloth to the wash basin. But when Marcus turned around, she sucked in a sharp breath. Her gaze locked on his loins. He was heavy and aroused-and clearly ready to make love again.

“You are still…” Her face flamed even more. “I thought it took hours for a man to…recuperate.”

Marcus smiled as he climbed back into bed and gathered Arabella in his arms. “Not with the right lover. Not when a man wants a woman as much as I want you.”

“Then you mean to make love to me again?” she asked, nestling her head on his shoulder.

“We’ll see. You will be tender enough tomorrow as it is.”

“It was worth it.”

His soft laughter teased her hair. “Then I was right.”

“About what?”

“Physically we are highly compatible. We would suit each other very well in the marriage bed.”

Arabella felt her defenses leap to life. “Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean we would suit in other aspects of marriage. A short while ago, we were fighting just as my parents did. That is hardly the model of an ideal marriage.”

“No, but I suspect an ideal marriage would bore us both to tears. Fighting can be invigorating,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “Admit it, you found it exhilarating, locking swords with me.”

“I found it perfectly wretched,” Arabella replied honestly.

“But it was exhilarating to make up,” he prodded, a smile in his voice.

Unable to deny the truth of that, Arabella felt a strange turmoil of dismay and contentment ripple through her. Marcus’s passion was as thrilling and overwhelmingly wonderful as she had feared it would be. She shut her eyes, savoring his tenderness, the intimacy, the bliss of lying here in his arms like this.

When she wouldn’t answer, he eased from beneath her and rolled onto his side so he could gaze down at her. “Why don’t we declare a truce for now? No more fighting tonight. Just pleasure.”

Arabella hesitated. She didn’t want to fight with Marcus. She couldn’t regret giving him her innocence, either. But did she want to entertain the scandalous notion of sharing his bed for the entire night?

The trouble was her foolish heart. Could she trust herself to keep emotionally uninvolved with Marcus if she surrendered to his lovemaking?

At her delay, Marcus bent to place a light kiss on her lips. “A truce, love. For the remainder of the night, we will forget about our wager and just enjoy ourselves.”

Arabella bit her lip, telling herself that she shouldn’t worry. She couldn’t resist his lovemaking, obviously, but now that she was forewarned, she could guard her heart more ardently. She had only to imagine Marcus with his beautiful ex-mistress to bolster her resolve. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to fall in love with him if she kept reminding herself of the danger.

“Very well, a truce,” she murmured. Reaching up, she slipped her arms around his neck. “So what shall we do with the rest of the night?”

A slow, very male smile curved his mouth. “I suggest we work on your education. Your friend Fanny obviously didn’t tell you all there is to know about passion. You know little about my body, for instance.”

Taking her hand, he guided it to his loins, letting her touch him…his firm, flat abdomen, the long, thick shaft of his manhood, the heavy, swollen sacs beneath. When hesitantly Arabella began to explore his masculine attributes on her own, she discovered his skin was hot and sleek and oh, so arousing.

Her fingers curled around his heated length, squeezing gently. It was burning hot against her palm, hard as steel, throbbing beneath her touch. And when Marcus closed his eyes in obvious enjoyment, his response made her feel powerful and shivery and womanly all at once.

Intoxicated by the sensation, she bent down to kiss him. No, Arabella thought, feeling a searing rush of delight flare through her. Her friend Fanny hadn’t told her even a fraction of everything she wanted to know about passion with Marcus.