To Pleasure a Lady

Chapter Fifteen

It is deplorable, how few defenses I have against him.

– Arabella to Fanny

After tossing his hat and saddlebags on a table, Marcus turned to survey Arabella’s beautiful face with a cross between anger and relief. Relief that she had made it safely through the fierce storm and that he had managed to overtake her. Anger because she had set out on a potentially dangerous mission by herself, with no thought to her own safety.

At least she didn’t refute his claim of being her husband in front of the inn’s proprietress. Evidently Arabella understood the necessity of endorsing the lie to protect her reputation, for she offered him a smile of welcome. “I did not expect you to follow me, dearest.”

“I disliked you making such a long journey alone without my protection, love,” Marcus replied tersely.

“But I had no wish to put you to such trouble.”

When his gaze narrowed on Arabella, her luminous gray eyes returned his regard steadily.

A throat being politely cleared reminded Marcus they were not alone; the proprietress lingered just outside the bedchamber door.

The woman indicated the tray she carried. “I’ve a pot of hot mulled wine for ’er ladyship, m’lord, and some supper.”

“Set it on the table, if you please,” Marcus instructed.

“I can bring more if ye wish.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m certain my wife is willing to share.”

“Of course,” Arabella agreed pleasantly.

Entering the room, the proprietress set the tray down next to his saddlebags, then turned to go. “If ye’ll put yer boots outside the door, yer lordship, I’ll have ’em cleaned and polished by morning.”

Marcus shot an impatient glance down at his ruined boots. “I doubt anything can save this pair. But I would ask that you have breakfast ready by dawn. We want to make an early start in the morning.”

“Aye, m’lord.” With a curtsy, the innkeeper’s wife withdrew and shut the door behind her, finally leaving Marcus alone with Arabella.

“I am waiting for an explanation, sweeting,” he said in a dangerous voice.

“Explanation?” she repeated, puzzled.

“Lady Freemantle told me about the elopement and your plan to try and stop it. What I want to know is why you didn’t wait for my return.”

Her eyes widened at his angry tone. “I had no choice, Marcus. The situation was too urgent. Onslow could very well seduce Sybil. Even if he marries her, it cannot possibly be a sound marriage.”

“That is no excuse for you to risk your own safety.”

Arabella stared at him. “I cannot believe you are angry at me! I am worried my pupil will be ruined by a rake, Marcus. She is my responsibility.”

He strode over to her. “And you are my responsibility.” Capturing her chin with his fingers, Marcus compelled her to look at him. “As long as I am your guardian, I’m obliged to see to your safety. And guardian or not, I’m not about to let any harm come to you. If you are in trouble, I expect to help.”

Her chin rose stubbornly. “I am perfectly capable of handling Sybil’s rescue.”

“That is debatable, but I don’t intend to let you fight this battle on your own.”

“I am not on my own! I brought an army of servants with me for protection.”

“So you plan to get into a physical brawl with Onslow?”

“If I must in order to force him to relinquish Sybil.”

“That seems foolish when there are better ways to convince him.”

Arabella’s lips pressed together tightly as they stood nose to nose, glaring at each other. But then her expression suddenly softened. “You are right, of course. I don’t wish to use brute force. To be truthful, I am relieved you are here. I was not looking forward to dealing with Onslow by myself.”

“I should hope not.”

A frown creased her brow. “I have to stop him, Marcus. Even if Sybil comes through unscathed, an elopement will destroy our school’s reputation.”

The distress in her tone was obvious, and some of his wrath dissipated a measure. “You still should have called on me.”

“Perhaps so.” Her mouth curved. “Truly, I will be grateful for your help.” When he didn’t reply, her gaze traveled downward, over his sodden greatcoat. “You rode on horseback through that dreadful storm?”

“Unfortunately yes, since a carriage would have been too slow when you already had a two-hour head start.”

“I am sorry you had to suffer such a miserable experience.”

Marcus gave her a quelling look. “If you are trying to soothe my ire, it won’t work.”

“No?” Arabella gazed up at him, a half smile playing on her lips. “Perhaps if you were warmer, your temper would be cooler. You should remove your wet coat and drink some hot wine. You must be totally chilled.”

Finding no rational reason to argue-even though perversely wanting to-Marcus shed his soaked greatcoat and hung it on a wall peg to dry while Arabella moved over to the table and poured some hot mulled wine into a mug. She brought it to him, then returned to the hearth to warm herself before the fire.

Marcus sipped the wine while observing her. Her damp hair, which spilled around her shoulders and curled in drying wisps around her face, glowed bronze in the crackling blaze.

His gaze traveled downward to Arabella’s bare feet, which peeped out from beneath the quilt she held around her shoulders. Wondering if she was naked beneath it made him instantly hard, despite the fact that his body felt half frozen from the frigid weather.

Disciplining his lust, Marcus carried the mug over to her. “Here, drink. You look as cold as I feel.”

Arabella took it and sipped while gazing up at him. “Marcus, I would have gladly asked for your help had you been home.”

In the face of such an apology, he knew it would be churlish to continue berating her. After all, she was only trying to protect her reckless pupil as well as her academy. Everything Arabella and her sisters had worked so hard for during the past three years was in jeopardy.

And in truth, he couldn’t deny his admiration for her. He was worried for her safety and vexed as hell that she would endanger herself by flying to the rescue of her wayward student, but he had to admire Arabella’s mettle, putting herself at risk to protect the young girls in her charge.

Not that he would admit it to her just now, Marcus decided. Arabella was too independent as it was.

She was still watching his face, as if gauging the depth of his anger. Finally she said in a soft, imploring tone, “I don’t want to fight, Marcus. Do you?”

“No,” he replied gruffly, his temper still inflamed after chasing after her for hours.

“Perhaps we should call another truce.”

Marcus gave her a long look. “What did you have in mind?”

Casting a glance at the single bed, Arabella swallowed. “As you said, we’re both chilled to the bone. We can warm each other.”

It was a clear invitation to make love to her. The prospect had the effect of pacifying his foul mood to a degree. It was the first time Arabella had made the advances in their relationship.

“Very well, a truce,” Marcus said more calmly.

Draining the last of the wine, he set the mug aside and began to strip off his clothing, starting with his coat and waistcoat and boots. Tossing aside his cravat, he took off his shirt and breeches and drawers and hung the garments up to dry.

Completely naked now, he blew out the flame of the candle sitting on the table, leaving the bedchamber lit only by the warm glow from the fire.

As he crossed to Arabella, she let the quilt fall from her shoulders. Marcus halted in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat. Firelight betrayed her beauty through the filmy cambric of her chemise, while her hair spilled down in a glorious, rippling mane of flame.

When he moved to stand before her, she gave a soft laugh.

“What is so amusing?” he asked.

“This. Our pretense of being husband and wife.” She reached up to touch his lips with her fingertips. “Isn’t this what you have wanted all along, Marcus? To be able to call me your wife?”

It was exactly what he wanted. As he stared down at her, his anger and frustration eased away, to be replaced by desire and fierce tenderness. He was still a little stunned by the realization that he loved Arabella. But he knew now that it wasn’t a passing fancy or a reckless obsession.

This feeling was deeper, more profound. Arabella was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his days. He felt a burning need for her deep inside him. A heat and hunger that craved to be sated…

Holding her gaze, Marcus stepped even closer. He intended to brand her with his possession. To make her accept that she belonged to him. To make her feel the same primal need he felt.

With that silent vow, he reached for Arabella, divesting her of her chemise and drawing her naked into his arms. For a long moment he simply held her against him, the chill of their bodies mingling, the heat of their gazes melding.

He could win her body, he had little doubt; it was her heart he wanted now.

His own heart beginning to pound, Marcus lowered his mouth to kiss her gently, a sweet mating of skin, of breath, that gave little sign of the savage desire that raged through him. Yet as his lips met hers, a new emotion assailed him.

He had never experienced this particular novelty before, making love to the woman he loved. And it was a remarkable feeling.

Keeping their mouths fused, Marcus drew her to the bed and fell back upon the sheets, pulling her with him.

Arabella willingly sank into his embrace, her body fitting itself to his magnificent form as if she were made for him. Aching with need, she returned Marcus’s kiss measure for measure, her fingers clutching in his hair as she blindly sought the rapture he promised.

Making love to him again was unquestionably a mistake, yet she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of being with him one last time. She wanted him with a longing that was almost frightening.

When the need grew too intense to bear, he took control back, rolling over her and pinning her arms above her head as he spread her thighs with his own. She opened eagerly to him as he thrust deep inside her.

Her heart pounding, she gazed up at him in the golden firelight, at his handsome face that had grown dark with desire. “I have no willpower when I am with you,” Arabella whispered hoarsely.

“A damn good thing,” he rasped, satisfied, “since I have none with you either.”

He began to move then, vital and strong, filling her with his passion, with his hunger. In only moments she was sobbing…and then the climax came, as beautiful and as shattering as any of their lovemaking that had gone before. She cried out with ecstasy as she convulsed around him, while Marcus shuddered and groaned with the same overwhelming force.

Afterward, Arabella lay panting beneath him, unable to move. She wanted him to stay inside her like this forever, wanted this bliss to last. Marcus filled the emptiness inside her, made her feel complete.

At length, though, he eased onto his side and drew her backto in the curve of his body. His arms came possessively around her from behind and held her tenderly as he twined his legs with hers. Arabella could feel the powerful beat of his heart at her back, while her own heart thudded with the chaotic emotions churning inside her.

She was frightened to realize how right it felt to be with Marcus. Arabella shut her eyes. She wanted him far too much, wanted to be with him far too much. It was deplorable, how glad she had been to see him. It was even more deplorable that she almost regretted their wager was nearly over.

She pulled a sharp breath and shivered.

“Are you cold?” Marcus’s husky voice broke the silence between them.

“No…not any longer.”

He was stroking her bare arm, his touch soothing and comforting now rather than arousing. His protective tenderness was even more dangerous than his passion, she realized, for it made her acknowledge the tenderness that tugged at her own heart.

She urgently needed to find Sybil, Arabella knew. There was no way she could hold out against Marcus if she had to travel alone with him all the way to Scotland, for continuing this tender intimacy would leave her utterly defenseless and more vulnerable than ever.

As Arabella had hoped, they set out in the Freemantle coach at first light the next morning, in pursuit of the elopers. Speed was of the essence, since Marcus believed Sybil and Onslow had likely been far enough ahead yesterday to have missed the worst of the storm.

Much to Arabella’s frustration, though, her coachman could only achieve a snail’s pace. After the downpour, the roads were a morass of mud, and even Winifred’s well-sprung coach had difficulty keeping purchase as it rattled and splashed and bucked over innumerable ruts and potholes. The day was chill and gray, adding to Arabella’s anxious mood.

She also felt a little stab of alarm when shortly after leaving the inn, Marcus drew a brace of pistols from his saddlebags to check the priming.

“Marcus,” she said uneasily, “you don’t mean to challenge Onslow to a duel, do you?” Her father had been killed in a duel, and she shuddered to think of resorting to such violence.

“No, I won’t call him out,” Marcus returned wryly. “A duel would draw too much attention to the situation. We need to prevent a scandal, not cause one.”

A grimace claimed Arabella’s features. “Yes, exactly.”

“I don’t intend to use these, but I want to be prepared for any eventuality.”

She clung to the strap as the coach bounced over another rut. “Good. I don’t want to even consider shooting him. However, if we are forced to make Onslow see reason, I admit I would be more than happy for you to use your fists.”

Marcus sent her an amused glance. “Out for blood, are we?”

“Quite,” she muttered.

“I expected you to be more enraged by that troublesome Newstead chit. She’s likely the instigator of the elopement, wouldn’t you say?”

Arabella sighed. “That is highly possible. Sybil is outrageously spoiled and thoughtless. But I don’t consider her irredeemable. I will have to bring her back safe and sound, and with no one the wiser as to her elopement. Particularly her papa.”

“We will find them eventually,” Marcus reassured her.

“I only hope it is in time,” Arabella said fervently, trying to stem her anxiety.

Miraculously, her hope was answered an hour later when they came across a closed carriage on the side of the road, canted at an unnatural angle from having lost a wheel. Praying the vehicle belonged to Onslow, Arabella held her breath while Marcus investigated. There were no signs of horses or coachman or passengers, although the boot held a valise containing three lace handkerchief’s bearing Sybil’s initials.

Arabella didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed.

“They might have walked to the next posting inn,” Marcus suggested, “in search of a wainwright to repair the wheel.”

She shook her head. “I cannot see Sybil traipsing along the road any distance. She likely would have waited here in the carriage for the servants to handle the problem.”

“If so, she would have been caught in the storm…” Marcus glanced around, searching the countryside. “There.” Beyond a grassy field stood the ruins of an old hay barn with the roof half missing. “They might have taken shelter in that abandoned barn.”

Arabella sent him an admiring glance as he retrieved his pistols from the coach, knowing she never would have thought to look in a wayside barn for the elopers. Nor had she thought to come armed. She was indeed very grateful to have Marcus along.

He handed one pistol to her coachman and carried the other himself as he took Arabella’s arm to help her negotiate the uneven, slippery ground. With the grooms following, he led the way across the field toward the crumbling barn.

They were still some dozen yards away when Arabella heard voices raised in argument. A surge of relief washed through her as she recognized Sybil’s plaintive utterances. Gesturing for her coachman and grooms to wait, Arabella glanced up at Marcus. “Let me speak to her first, please?”

“Very well,” he agreed, although he remained close behind her and kept his pistol at the ready.

She quickened her pace but came to a halt when she reached the large barn door that hung drunkenly on its hinges.

In the gloomy interior, she could see Onslow pacing the floor impatiently. Sybil was nowhere in sight, but her shrill voice floated over the edge of the loft above, declaring both her presence and her unhappiness as she carried on about what a cruel man Mr. Onslow was.

Onslow gave a visible start when he spied Arabella, but to her surprise, an unmistakable look of relief swept over his face. He came up short, however, when he saw Marcus standing directly behind her, holding a pistol.

His face paled, but then he squared his shoulders and strode determinedly forward. “Miss Loring,” he said fervently, “you cannot know how grateful I am to see you.”

At his greeting, Sybil’s tirade stopped abruptly; a heartbeat later, she peered over the loft’s edge, searching the gray gloom below. “Oh, Miss Loring! Thank heavens you have come to rescue me. That villain abducted me!”

Onslow shot a scathing glance upward at the girl. “Abducted you! I did no such thing.”

“You refused to take me home when I asked you to! What is that if not abduction?”

“I refused because we were in the middle of a thunderstorm, you demmed little twit!”

Her face contorting with fury, Sybil rose to her knees and planted her hands on her hips. “There is no need to curse me, you…fiend! If you were not such a nip-cheese, you would have hired a coach with better wheels. And decent springs! I vow I am black and blue from being tossed about all day yesterday.”

“The coach I hired was perfectly adequate. It was only ill-luck that the wheel broke. And you cannot blame me for your stubbornness. You could have been warm and dry at an inn, but no, you refused to dirty your slippers to walk to the next village.”

“Of course I refused!” Sybil screeched. “I didn’t wish to be seen in public in such a bedraggled state.”

She did indeed look bedraggled, Arabella thought. Her raven hair was disheveled and littered with hay, as was her pelisse. And no doubt she was cold and hungry.

Before Arabella could speak, though, Sybil went on ranting at Onslow. “Nor did I wish to spend the night alone with you without even my maid to act as chaperone! But no, you insisted upon leaving Martha at that posting inn twenty miles back because you were too closefisted to spend a few more shillings to put her up for the night.”

“It was your idea to dismiss your maid and send her home! And the storm was hardly my fault.”

Onslow glanced apologetically at Arabella. “We did not intend to spend the night here, Miss Loring. My coachman was supposed to return last night with a new wheel, but then the gale struck, so we were forced to take shelter here.”

“It was still inexcusable of you to treat me so abominably!” the girl sputtered. “You made me sleep in a barn!”

Arabella quelled a smile. Sybil’s indignation might have been amusing if the situation were not so serious, but at least the girl was regretting her rash action in eloping with Onslow, since he apparently couldn’t afford to keep her in her accustomed luxury.

Summoning a stern expression, Arabella moved farther into the barn. “Sybil, pray quit shouting and come down here.”

“I will once that villain leaves.”

Onslow raised his gaze to the crumbling roof, as if pleading to Heaven for deliverance. “Thank God you are here, Miss Loring. You can take that vixen off my hands.”

“Yes, thank God, Miss Loring,” Sybil seconded. “I was a fool to ever think I wanted to wed Mr. Onslow. He deceived me so dreadfully. I am quite convinced now that he was only after my fortune all along.”

At that superfluous assertion, Arabella stifled the urge to utter a sardonic reply and merely repeated her command. “Sybil, come down this instant.”

The girl disappeared for a moment, then eased over the loft edge to descend the rickety ladder, a maneuver which was made more difficult since she had a bandbox with her and refused to drop it.

While Sybil slowly made her way down, Arabella turned a withering gaze on Onslow. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Onslow, preying on young innocents.”

“I assure you, ma’am, Miss Newstead is no innocent,” he muttered. “She is a viper masquerading as a female.”

Arabella felt her hands clench as she fought the urge to do him physical damage.

As if reading her mind, he held up his own hands in surrender. “I never touched her, Miss Loring, I swear it. Thankfully I came to my senses in time. I couldn’t bear two days being wed to that spoiled little she-devil, let alone a lifetime.”

Arabella felt another surge of relief that Sybil was still virginal. At least that disaster had been averted. When she shared a thankful look with Marcus, he stepped forward.

Nervously Onslow retreated a step. “M-My lord…” He eyed the pistol in alarm. “You w-won’t shoot me, will you?”

“Not if you take yourself out of my sight in the next ten seconds.”

“Yes, of c-course…”

He started for the door, but Marcus stopped him. “Oh, and Onslow, when your carriage is repaired, you will continue on your way to Scotland, where you will make an extended stay. If you show your face anywhere near Chiswick again-and if I ever hear of you attempting to repair your fortunes by eloping with an heiress-you will be meeting me on the dueling field and swallowing a bullet. Nothing will save you. Do I make myself clear?”

His tone was cool and deadly, and Onslow clearly believed him, for his face turned stark white. “Perfectly clear, my lord. But you needn’t worry. I have learned my lesson, I swear it.”

When Marcus gestured with the pistol toward the door, Onslow ran out of the barn as if the little she-devil herself were on his heels.

In the ensuing silence, Sybil came to stand beside Arabella, her head bowed humbly. “Oh, Miss Loring, can you ever forgive me?”

Unable to believe such meekness, Arabella eyed the girl narrowly. “I cannot think of any reason I should.”

“I made a dreadful mistake, thinking I wanted to wed that dastardly fortune hunter.”

“You did indeed,” she replied tartly. “Have you no sense whatsoever, Sybil?”

Awkwardly, the girl twisted the strings of her bandbox. “I thought it would be romantic to elope.”

“And you didn’t think about the future at all. You didn’t consider what would happen to you two days from now, much less twenty years.” Arabella’s tone softened. “Marriage is a risk under the best of circumstances. Because of your reckless impulsiveness, you could have suffered for the rest of your life.”

With that, Arabella turned to leave the barn.

Sybil hurried after her, carrying her bandbox. “You won’t tell Papa that I almost eloped?”

“I am still debating that question.”

“Please don’t tell him, Miss Loring! Papa will be furious enough to withdraw me from school, and I don’t want to leave. My comeout isn’t until next Season.”

Arabella said not another word until they reached the road. “Get in,” she ordered Sybil as a groom hastened to open the door to the Freemantle carriage.

Mutely, the girl obeyed. Entering after her, Arabella settled next to Sybil, while Marcus stowed her bandbox in the boot and the coachman transferred her valise from Onslow’s broken-down vehicle. After a brief discussion about driving to the next intersection so as to have the space to turn the coach around, Marcus joined them inside.

The coach was moving before Sybil spoke again in an imploring tone. “Please, Miss Loring, don’t tell my father. If I have to leave the academy, I won’t be prepared for my comeout next Season. I will behave with complete circumspection from now on, I swear it. I will be a perfect angel.”

Arabella raised a cool eyebrow. “And what reason do I have to trust your word after this?”

The girl looked despairing. “I know I have been exceedingly foolish, Miss Loring, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” There was a note of sincerity in her voice that rang true. “Please, can’t we keep this between us? I beg you.”

Arabella waited a long moment before she shrugged as if coming to a decision. “Very well, we will keep it between ourselves-if that is even possible at this juncture.”

The coach slowed just then in order to change directions, and a short while later they were heading back toward London.

“Will you take me back to school?” Sybil asked, her tone still subdued.

“Not immediately. You will stay with Lady Freemantle for a day or two. We’ll say that you became ill and that I took you to London to see her ladyship’s physician. You will recuperate at her house for a time. If Lady Freemantle publicly vouches for you, that should be enough to scotch the worst gossip and prevent any permanent damage to your reputation.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Loring.”

Arabella sent the girl an arch smile. “You may not be so thankful once you spend time living with her ladyship. She won’t be as forgiving of someone who thoughtlessly jeopardized our academy. I doubt you will find the experience pleasant.”

Arabella caught the amused gleam in Marcus’s eye and quickly looked away. On the one hand, she was enormously relieved to have found Sybil. Her most immediate problem was solved-or it would be if they could conceal the truth of the elopement. And the vexing chit would likely think twice before causing any more serious trouble.

On the other hand, there was still the much larger problem of Marcus to be dealt with.

Arabella bit her lower lip as she gazed out at the passing countryside. At least Sybil’s company saved her from the temptation of any further intimacy with Marcus.

She still felt the urge to throttle the girl, but even so, she was very glad for her presence until she could make it home to her sisters.