To Pleasure a Lady

Chapter Two

I have finally met the earl and he is even more vexing than I anticipated.

– Arabella Loring to Fanny Irwin

Her gaze was challenge incarnate, a challenge Marcus couldn’t resist. When he took a step closer, however, Miss Loring promptly quit the room. He followed her out to the corridor and stared after her, totally bemused.

She brushed past his two friends, who were cooling their heels in the corridor, and crossed to the entrance hall, where his butler hurriedly opened the front door for her.

When she swept out, Marcus suppressed the urge to give chase. Yet the tantalizing encounter had left him hungry for more of her.

“Your mouth is agape, old son,” Heath observed, clearly amused.

Marcus clamped his mouth shut, yet he couldn’t deny the truth of the accusation. Arabella Loring had left him with all his primal male instincts aroused.

Shaking his head in bafflement, he returned to the salon and proceeded to pour himself a generous ale, then sank pensively onto the leather couch, contemplating his intense reaction to his eldest ward.

His friends followed suit and settled in nearby chairs. Heath was the first to speak. “You didn’t tell us Miss Loring was stunning, Marcus.”

“Because I didn’t know.” His solicitors had advised him to expect a beauty, but they hadn’t warned him about her vibrancy, her inner fire, or he might have been better prepared to face her.

“She certainly set you back on your heels,” Drew commented, his tone edged with sardonic humor. “From what we heard, she threatened to unman you. You were right-you have a virago on your hands.”

“No,” Heath disagreed. “More like an Amazon or a Valkyrie.” His tone was rather admiring.

“I prefer a bit more calm in a female,” Drew drawled.

“Not I,” Heath replied. “A pity you sent us out of the room, Marcus. I would have liked to witness the fireworks.”

Fireworks was exactly what he’d felt with Arabella, Marcus thought, bemused.

“You still look confounded,” Drew added more seriously.

Marcus nodded his head in agreement. He’d never before experienced that instantaneous, powerful feeling of attraction. Just being near Arabella had ignited a spark of desire in him.

Which was remarkably novel. He’d known countless beautiful women before. Hell, he’d enjoyed more than his fair share of beauties. So what made his eldest ward so different? The fact that she hadn’t fawned over him? That she wasn’t eager to please and gratify him as every other woman was?

“Perhaps,” he rationalized, “I was just taken aback because she was so unexpected.”

“There’s no doubt she will prove challenging,” Heath said needlessly.

She would indeed, Marcus thought, remembering Arabella’s parting declaration of war. Elementally challenging. Irresistibly intriguing. The image of her flashing gray eyes and red-gold hair would be hard to forget.

He took a long drink of ale. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that his interest had been acutely aroused by an elegant spitfire like Arabella. For months now all his usual pursuits had seemed deadly dull. And he’d been excruciatingly bored by all the women chasing him, ladies and lightskirts alike.

“So just how do you intend to manage the fiery Miss Arabella?” Drew asked.

“Truthfully? I’m not yet certain. I expect I’ll move up my visit to Danvers Hall to Monday.”

“I would say you underestimated your dilemma in marrying her off to some unwitting dupe.”

Marcus laughed inwardly. “No doubt.” The task of arranging her a proper match would be harder than he’d imagined. And whoever attempted to court her would have his work cut out for him. “It may be impossible to find a husband for her.”

“I’m not so certain,” Heath countered. “I imagine any number of men would find her spirit appealing. If she shows half that passion in bed, she would make some man a magnificent mistress.”

Marcus shot his friend a scowl. “Mind your tongue, man. That’s my ward you’re speaking of.”

Heath returned a rueful grin. “True, you can’t seduce your own ward. A shame she’s so well-born. Wouldn’t be honorable. Forbidden fruit and all that.”

Forbidden, true, Marcus acknowledged regretfully. His current connection to the Loring sisters was purely a legal one, and they were all of an age that they didn’t require a guardian to supervise their every action, yet he was still responsible for their welfare.

Even so, he couldn’t deny that taking Arabella for his mistress held a definite appeal. He was between mistresses at the moment, since nothing seemed to satisfy him lately. Slaking his carnal needs in a lush, perfumed body had held little allure recently-until now.

An image of a willing Arabella in his bed ignited another surge of desire in his loins. The thought of having all that fire beneath him, surrounding him, made Marcus shift uncomfortably in his seat.

Heath added in a provoking tone, “As I said, you could always offer for her yourself. It would be entertaining to watch you try to conquer her.”

Drew’s mouth twisted with a mocking smile. “You might find it refreshing, having to chase a woman for a change.”

Marcus sent his friends a look of annoyance. “Have a care, my fine fellows. If you keep ragging me about matrimony, I’ll find a way to make you marry my wards.”

“I can understand,” Drew replied, unintimidated, “why the Loring sisters would object to your guardianship. Women like the illusion of pulling all the strings, making men dance to their bidding. Not being treated as an unpleasant duty, as you seem to consider your wards.”

“I wouldn’t find the duty unpleasant at all,” Heath mused. “I could enjoy a dispute with the likes of Miss Arabella. What about it, Marcus? You’ve been complaining for some time about boredom. A battle with her will surely add spice to your life.” Heath paused, surveying Marcus over the rim of his mug. “And judging from that glint in your eye, you think so, too.”

Marcus nodded. Battling Arabella Loring would be a cure for his ennui, no question. “Doubtless it will prove interesting. I’ll find out when I travel to Danvers Hall next week to settle the issue of their marriages.”

He didn’t know just yet precisely how he would deal with Arabella. But he was keenly looking forward to their next confrontation.

The trouble with bearding a lion in his den, Arabella thought as she climbed into her patroness’s plush traveling chaise, was that one risked being eaten. Perhaps she had escaped becoming a tasty meal for Marcus Pierce, the new Earl of Danvers, but her pride had certainly suffered.

As the coachmen whipped up the team to return to Chiswick, Arabella sank back against the velvet squabs and waited for her wits to stop whirling. Lord Danvers had made her so addled for a moment that she’d actually forgotten her purpose in coming.

She’d traveled to London this morning, determined to use logic and charm to make him see reason and convince him to relinquish his unwanted guardianship. But he had completely taken her off guard when she’d interrupted his fencing practice.

It was deplorable, the way her pulse had quickened at her first sight of him. He was tall and athletically built, with thick ebony hair, midnight blue eyes, and the square, chiseled features of a Greek god. But no marble statue had ever made her want to touch it or sparked such brazen images in her mind as he had kindled.

Arabella winced, remembering how his open shirt had exposed part of his muscular chest and the dark hair curling invitingly in the gap. The earl’s state of undress, combined with the gleam of amusement in his shrewd blue eyes, had totally disconcerted her. And then she had allowed him to provoke her into losing her temper.

She couldn’t imagine what had prompted her to threaten him like that when she had meant to sweetly persuade. It clearly had been a mistake to challenge him, since a man of his ilk obviously relished challenges.

Lord Danvers had shockingly turned the tables on her, rendering her breathless by nearly kissing her. What was worse, she had wanted him to do it! She’d made an ignominious but judicious retreat without attaining her goal, not trusting herself to remain any longer.

The encounter had left her unsettled inside and supremely vexed with herself, not only by her failure but by her foolish attraction to him.

“Silly widgeon,” Arabella muttered to herself. “You not only let him get the upper hand, you acted like any other witless female, attracted to a handsome nobleman.”

His lordship’s superior smugness was just what she had expected. He was a provoking devil, arrogant and highhanded, thinking he knew what was best for them. Yet she couldn’t deny his impact was potent. She had felt the fire between them during those few brief moments when they’d been locked together in a battle of wills.

With a sigh of disgust, Arabella turned her head to gaze out the carriage window at the passing countryside.

She should have been better prepared for him. Her good friend Fanny Irwin-whom she had known since childhood and who currently was London’s most famous courtesan-had warned her about Marcus Pierce. About his striking looks, his roguish charm, his keen intelligence. As one of the country’s most eligible aristocrats, he had enchanted half of England’s female population-and bedded a good number of them.

Most women found his sort of rakish charm appealing. But then most women had not had to suffer a libertine father their whole lives long, as Arabella had.

Her new guardian was too blasted handsome for his own good. The thought made Arabella press her lips together in self-reproach. Her mother had sacrificed everything for a handsome face…including her own daughters. The wrenching pain of Mama’s abandonment still cut like a knife, even after four years.

When Victoria Loring had absconded with her lover, her daughters were left to deal with the resultant humiliation and disgrace. Then to exacerbate matters further, their father, Sir Charles Loring, had gambled away the last of his fortune two weeks later and was killed in a duel over one of his mistresses.

Beyond the emotional devastation of losing both their parents and their family home in one fell blow, the Loring sisters had paid dearly for the scandals in other ways. Arabella had lost her betrothed because of it. Her three-month engagement to a viscount-a man she had sincerely loved-had been quickly terminated, since he wasn’t brave enough to defy the vicious censure of the Beau Monde for her sake. His professions of love had proved as ephemeral as cloud wisps, leaving Arabella feeling as if her heart had been broken, just as the poets maintained.

Roslyn, the real beauty of the family, had been denied any sort of respectable future. When her Season ended so abruptly, so did her chance for any suitable marriage proposals. Even more mortifying, she’d been offered carte blanche by three different rakes, infamous propositions that never would have occurred had their step-uncle been a better guardian.

Lilian had had no chance to make a respectable match, either, although she claimed not to mind. Damming up her feelings of anguish and grief, the youngest Loring sister had run a little wild, rebelling against society’s strictures and the haughty arbiters of the ton who had repudiated her and her siblings.

Lily had become something of a hellion, much to Arabella’s chagrin. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for failing to protect her sisters, since she was the eldest. She’d only been nineteen when their mother abandoned them, but she still felt responsible. Particularly since their step-uncle was such a curmudgeon who cared so little for their welfare.

The seventh Lord Danvers, Lionel Doddridge, had taken them in grudgingly when their family home in Hampshire had been sold to pay their late father’s debts, treating them as burdens and objects of charity.

“You’ll keep out of my way,” he’d warned the moment they arrived on his doorstep. “And you’ll behave yourselves, if you know what’s good for you. Your mother made herself a byword for scandal, and I won’t have you disgracing me as she did.”

“You needn’t worry, Uncle Lionel,” Arabella had responded tightly, speaking for them all. “We have no intention of behaving like our mother.”

“Don’t call me Uncle! I am no blood relation to you. Victoria was only my stepsister-the result of my father’s deplorable second marriage-and Loring had no right to encumber me with the three of you in his will, particularly since he left me nothing to pay for your upkeep. But I am stuck with you, since no respectable gentleman will marry you now.”

His declaration had roused a burning anger in Arabella, along with a fierce desire to establish their independence from their step-uncle. But since they were virtually penniless, they had resolved to earn their own livings by putting their patrician upbringing and education to good use.

With the indispensable support of a wealthy patroness, along with the help of her sisters and two genteel friends, Arabella had started an academy to teach the unrefined daughters of rich merchants how to be proper ladies so they could compete in the glittering world of the ton.

Finally, after more than three years of hard work, the school had become a highly successful enterprise, allowing them complete financial independence. Then, dismayingly, their step-uncle died and they were saddled with a new guardian, who had immediately declared his intention of finding husbands for them.

It was frustrating in the extreme, not to mention worrisome. The new Lord Danvers possibly had the legal authority to compel them to stop teaching if he arbitrarily chose. And any husbands he found for them would almost certainly disapprove of their uncommon endeavors.

Moreover, Arabella cringed at the mere thought of subjecting herself to another courtship. She had absolutely no intention of leaving herself vulnerable to the heartache she’d endured four years ago.

Her sisters had entirely different ideas for their futures as well, which did not include surrendering their hard-won independence to unwanted husbands. Roslyn was determined to marry only for love, while Lily had sworn off matrimony and men entirely.

“Thank heavens for Winifred,” Arabella murmured sincerely.

Their patroness, Winifred, Lady Freemantle, had come from the working classes herself before marrying into the gentry. The middle-aged widow had been an unfailing source of support, not only for the academy but for the sisters’ personal lives, including offering her chaise and team for Arabella’s journey so she wouldn’t have to use her step-uncle’s dilapidated barouche.

It was early afternoon by the time the chaise reached the village of Chiswick. Like Richmond farther west, Chiswick had become a fashionable place of residence for the aristocracy during the past century because of the desirable proximity to London.

The carriage passed numerous riverside mansions and villas before turning into the graveled drive of Danvers Hall. The beautiful, stately manor of mellow red brick stood on the tree-lined banks of the River Thames. The setting was lush and green, but the overgrown lawns and landscape resembled more of a jungle. The interior appointments and furnishings of the house, too, were shabby and worn, while the artwork and silver had long ago been sold to pay estate bills.

All but a handful of servants had been let go as well. The remaining staff was led by a butler and housekeeper, an elderly couple who were devoted to the place after having lived there for more than thirty years. They had welcomed the Loring sisters warmly four years ago, even if their step-uncle had not.

When the coach came to a halt before the house, Arabella’s sisters came out to greet her.

Roslyn was tall and slender, with pale golden hair, sky blue eyes, and an exquisite beauty that gave her the delicacy of gilded crystal-a laughably false impression, since she was the most clever and studious of them all, as well as the most charming. Roslyn would have been far happier had she been born male, so she could have pursued a scientific career. Instead, her sharp intellect was wasted on teaching etiquette and deportment to raw schoolgirls.

Manners and deportment were certainly not Lily’s forte. The youngest Loring sister was a lively hoyden, far more at home coaching the academy’s pupils in sporting activities and physical skills such as riding and driving and archery. Curiously, Lily had a bold, vivid coloring. Her sparkling dark eyes and rich, dark chestnut tresses made her seem a changeling in her fair-haired family, while her passionate high spirits regularly led her into trouble.

Usually her eyes were warm and laughing, but now they only looked worried.

“Well, what did he say, Belle?” Lily asked as soon as Arabella stepped down, despite the fact that the coachman and groom could overhear their conversation.

“I will tell you when we have some privacy,” Arabella replied, even though she understood Lily’s impatience.

When her youngest sister wrinkled her nose in exasperation, Arabella met her middle sister’s smiling eyes.

“You must know,” Roslyn explained, “how difficult it has been, waiting for you all day, picturing your interview with Lord Danvers.”

“You never could have imagined what actually happened,” Arabella murmured inaudibly.

“You should have allowed us to come with you,” Lily said as they made their way up the steps and through the front door. “We could have supported you against the vexatious earl.”

“Perhaps I should have,” Arabella agreed with a rueful laugh, before surrendering her gloves and bonnet and pelisse to Simpkin, their venerable butler.

Her sisters managed to contain their impatience until they repaired to a small parlor at the rear of the first floor, the only room that had a fire burning in the grate to ward off the spring dampness, which continued their late step-uncle’s frugal ways.

“I am sorry to say that I failed miserably this morning,” Arabella confessed, not disclosing that she had tried to make her case at the point of a rapier. “I did not handle Lord Danvers at all well-but even so, he was entirely unreasonable.”

“He won’t withdraw his offer to provide us with dowries?” Roslyn asked in consternation.

Arabella gave a dark smile. “No. In fact, he boasted that we would soon have suitors swarming all over us.”

Roslyn pressed her lips together in ladylike annoyance, while Lily gritted her teeth. “So what shall we do to foil him?” she wanted to know.

The new earl’s plan to find them husbands had alarmed Lily most of all. Not only was she perfectly happy with the unusual freedom she enjoyed in her current life, she relished working at the academy. And now Lord Danvers was threatening to spoil it all by attempting to make them marry.

The three of them had already discussed possible options in the event Arabella failed to change his mind this morning. There now seemed to be but one way to foil the earl’s intentions, and even that would only be a temporary solution.

“I think,” Arabella said slowly, “that you will both have to disappear from Danvers Hall for a time. If he can’t find you, then he can’t coerce you into accepting any suitors he foists upon us.”

Lilian looked unhappy. “I still think we should stay and make a stand against him. He needs to accept that he won’t be able to coerce us to marry under any circumstances.”

“I don’t like leaving you to confront him alone, Arabella,” Roslyn added.

“I will be all right,” she replied, trying to sound confident. “And I would feel more reassured if you were out of harm’s way.”

Roslyn finally nodded with reluctance. “How long will we have to remain in hiding?”

“Until Lord Danvers can be made to see reason.”

“You shouldn’t have to fight our battles all by yourself, Belle,” Lily insisted.

Arabella smiled. “I know, but I think it best in this instance. You can go and live with Tess for a few days. He won’t think to look for you at her house.” Tess Blanchard was their dearest friend and a teacher at the Freemantle Academy for Young Ladies, which had been named after their patroness.

“Winifred would undoubtedly take us in,” Roslyn suggested.

“Yes, but Lord Danvers is likely to look for you there, since I told him about her ladyship’s sponsorship.”

When Lily still looked troubled, Arabella gave her an imploring smile. “Lily, promise me that you will go along with my plan for the time being.”

“Oh, very well.” She threw her arms around Arabella’s neck in a brief hug. “But I don’t like it in the least. I would rather remain here with you and challenge the vexations earl.”

Arabella ignored that comment, for she had learned the hard way that it was unwise to challenge the new Lord Danvers. “I think you should stay with Tess tonight. Lord Danvers will likely call on us soon, and I don’t want you to be here when he does.”

“How will you deal with him?” Roslyn asked.

“I’m not yet certain,” Arabella murmured. As their guardian, he had the right to arrange convenient marriages for her and her sisters, yet she would somehow have to make him abandon his plan. “He is living under the illusion that he can dictate to us, but I will have to show him the error of his thinking.”

All her good intentions, however, suffered a serious setback four days later when she spied Lord Danvers riding across a grassy meadow toward her.

“Blast and hang him,” Arabella muttered under her breath, abruptly drawing rein. She should have known his lordship wouldn’t be happy to cool his heels waiting for her. She had purposely stayed away from home at the appointed hour for the interview he’d requested, determined to make his guardianship as inconvenient as possible. She hadn’t expected him to come after her; obviously she had underestimated his persistence.

Her gloved hands clenching on the reins, Arabella hesitated for the barest instant. It was not like her to turn tail and run, yet she didn’t trust herself alone with Lord Danvers. It was one thing to meet him when servants were within calling distance; it was quite another to face him alone in a secluded meadow. She had no desire to confront the earl if he was bent on revenge for threatening him at sword point during their first encounter, or for defying his express orders this afternoon.

The lamentable truth was that the handsome devil unnerved her with his lithe, broad-shouldered form, his piercing blue eyes, and his knowing smile. She wasn’t certain she could hold her own with him just now.

Or perhaps she had simply turned craven.

Not pausing to further debate the deficiencies of her character, Arabella wheeled her horse and spurred it into a gallop, making for the copse of beech trees in the distance. Any hope that Lord Danvers hadn’t seen her, however, died a swift death when she risked a glance over her shoulder. He was giving chase.

Her heart quickening, she bent low over her sidesaddle and urged her mount on. When shortly she reached the beechwood and plunged inside the cool shadows, she was forced to slow her pace to negotiate the low-hanging branches that snagged at her bonnet.

Not so the earl. The sound of hoofbeats behind her told her that he was still pursuing her. When she came out again into another sunlit meadow, Arabella doubled her efforts but knew he was rapidly gaining on her.

Her pulse was hammering in time with the thudding hooves when he drew even with her. For an instant they raced side by side, while her heart pounded with unexpected exhilaration.

Then suddenly he reached out to wrap a strong arm about her waist and pluck her from the saddle as if she weighed no more than thistledown.

Arabella’s gasp of alarm turned to outrage when she found herself hauled sideways in front of his saddle and enveloped in his powerful embrace. As she clung desperately to him for balance, her breathless demand, “Let me go, you devil!” was muffled ineffectively against his shoulder and received no reply. Instead of releasing her, the earl merely tightened his grasp.

When he finally brought his mount to a plunging halt, Arabella sucked in a panting breath and lifted her head to glare up at him.

A mistake, she realized at once, for her mouth rested only inches from his. A delicious shock flared through her. She had fantasized about those firm, sensual lips…

Then their gazes locked, and her breath faltered altogether.

The sudden silence seemed deafening. Arabella felt her heart nearly pounding out of her chest, yet this time she couldn’t blame her response on physical exertion. Rather, it was because she found herself pressed against his lordship’s hard-muscled male body, her heaving breasts nestled against his broad chest.

He sat there unmoving, eyeing her in speculation, and she stared back at him, frozen. When his gaze dropped to her bare throat and then even lower, to her breasts that were thrust prominently upward, she wished she had worn something more substantial than a low-collared muslin gown in deference to the warmth of the spring afternoon. She was acutely conscious of the way her nipples had brazenly hardened at the contact.

He, too, seemed aware of her body’s wanton response, for his blue eyes darkened with a sensual gleam.

His voice fell to a languid murmur when he observed, “I had anticipated any number of greetings from you, Miss Loring, but I confess this was not one of them.”

Arabella stiffened at his husky, amused tone. “Nor I, my lord. What do you mean, manhandling me in this brutish way?”

The glimmer in his eyes deepened. “Why, I was rescuing you, of course.”

“I did not need rescuing!”

“No? I assumed your horse bolted. You would never have been so rude as to deliberately ignore my request for an audience. I arrived an hour ago at the hall to find you and your sisters nowhere in sight.”

She had no legitimate reply for that, since her absence had indeed been entirely deliberate.

“You must have forgotten the time,” the earl prodded, “for I’m certain you didn’t mean to put me to the trouble of searching for you.”

Arabella had the grace to blush. “I was previously occupied at the hour you demanded.”

“Demanded?” He raised a dark eyebrow. “It was hardly a demand.”

“It seemed very much so, since you gave me no choice in the matter.”

His gaze dropped to her lips again. “It appears your flight had consequences you never intended.” At her puzzled look, he shifted slightly beneath her. “Perhaps you didn’t realize that physical exertion rouses a man’s blood. And combined with the thrill of the chase…”

He let the words hang until she felt the swelling hardness of his loins against her thigh and comprehended his meaning. She had aroused more than his blood, quite obviously!

Regaining her wits, Arabella pressed her hands against his chest, determined to break free. Yet it was too late. His mouth suddenly lowered to capture hers in a kiss.

A slow, devastating, spellbinding kiss.

The unexpectedness of his assault stunned her. She felt light-headed. She couldn’t breathe. At the searing heat of it, panic melded with insidious excitement, but she couldn’t summon the desire to fight him. Instead, her entire body softened instinctively against him as his lips moved over hers with exquisite pressure. When his tongue delved deep inside her mouth, exploring, she gave a helpless moan.

Marcus felt the same heat surging through him, the same rush of hunger he’d experienced at his first meeting with Arabella…only this was more powerful. The sensation rocked him. And her, too, he had no doubt, feeling her shiver of aroused excitement.

He tightened his embrace and deepened their kiss, claiming and wooing, wanting much more of her. His erection throbbed, his pulse pounded.

When at last he broke off to stare down at Arabella, a tangible desire shimmered between them, filling the air. She was profoundly shaken, Marcus knew. He felt her trembling in his arms as she returned his gaze.

“Let me go,” she finally demanded in a hoarse whisper.

“Arabella…” he murmured, not wanting to obey.

Her spine suddenly stiffening, she glowered back at him, her eyes sparking with renewed fire. When still he didn’t release her, she deliberately drew back her fist and cuffed him on the jaw.

The unexpected blow snapped Marcus’s head back and sent stinging pain vibrating through his jaw, making him swear a low oath. His body’s reaction was even more primal: He felt the savage urge to kiss her again, to conquer her and prove his mastery.

Arabella, however, took advantage of his momentary hesitation to break free of his embrace. When she attempted to scramble down, he forced himself to let her go this time, grasping her arm solely to help her descend from his horse.

Landing awkwardly, she whirled to face him, as if not wishing to give him any further advantage. Marcus remained in the saddle, scrutinizing her in rueful disbelief.

Once more she had totally taken him by surprise, yet it was his own unexpected response that had startled him more. He’d tried to convince himself that his fierce attraction to Arabella was an aberration. For the past four days, he’d attempted to put her out of his mind entirely. Perversely, he hadn’t been able to forget her for a moment.

Instead, all he could think about was meeting her again, to see if she was as full of life and fire as he remembered.

He had his answer now. Arabella stood there defiantly, her cheeks flushed, her lips wet and softly passion-bruised, her fists clenched as if she were girded for battle.

Every inch the beautiful spitfire who had invaded his dreams the past four nights.

He hadn’t intended to take her in his arms just now. He certainly hadn’t meant to kiss her. But he’d been seduced by the tempting fire of her. The blazing indulgence had left him hot and painfully hard. His body shuddered with the primitive urge to lay her down in the soft spring grass and take her right there in the meadow, to bury his throbbing cock deep inside her delectable flesh, to vanquish her with pleasure.

Worse, their physical clash had only heightened the mental challenge between them. As he sat staring down at her, Marcus was struck by two thoughts at once: He wanted Arabella Loring, more than he’d wanted any woman in his life. And he couldn’t have her.

He wasn’t enough of a rake to debauch his own ward, a young gentlewoman under his protection. The only honorable way to have her in his bed would be marriage-

The reflection made Marcus inhale a sharp breath.

Marriage.

No, his conscious mind automatically rebelled. He had no intention of marrying anytime soon, certainly not merely to produce an obligatory heir.

But if you want her, a more insistent voice argued, you will have to put your relationship on a more equal footing than guardian and ward.

Marcus shook his head, scarcely believing what he was contemplating. He was acutely aware that his desire was overriding all his common sense.

Or was it?

If he looked at the situation logically, marrying Arabella was not so irrational. He had wanted to see to her welfare by finding her a proper husband, and he was a better candidate than most. And she was qualified by birth and breeding to be his countess, despite her family’s recent history of scandal.

By marrying her, he could also fulfill his duty to carry on his illustrious line. And he could honorably satisfy his fierce desire to have her in his bed.

The only important argument, however, was how he felt about chaining himself to her for life in an irrevocable union.

And the answer? The undeniable truth was, Arabella Loring was the only woman he’d ever met whom he might actually enjoy having as his wife. And he greatly doubted he would ever find anyone better to fit his needs.

Marcus let out his breath as he came to a decision. Perhaps he’d gone daft, but he intended to propose to his eldest ward.

Still regarding her in bemusement, he offered her a crooked smile as he gingerly rubbed his jaw. “Gentleman Jackson would have admired your right hook, Miss Loring,” he remarked, referring to England’s greatest boxing champion.

Arabella’s mouth pursed with vexation. “How did you expect me to react when you accosted me that way? I was merely defending myself.”

At her retort, Marcus nodded in sympathy. “Which you did admirably. And no doubt I deserved worse for allowing myself to get carried away like that. I sincerely beg your pardon.”

When she didn’t reply to his apology, he dismounted slowly, keeping his eye on her.

Looking around for her own mount, Arabella seemed dismayed to see her horse grazing half a meadow away. She retreated a step, clearly preferring to remain a safe distance from him.

That made Marcus halt. He didn’t want to scare her off…not that he believed for one minute that she would scare easily.

“I am not accustomed to women running from me,” Marcus commented laconically.

“I am certain you aren’t,” she said, her tone dry.

“Yet you and your sisters appear to be making a habit of it. I’m informed that Roslyn and Lilian have been missing for several days now, ever since you received my missive expressing my intention to call today.”

Stiffening, Arabella lifted her chin. “I knew it! Your servants have been spying on us!”

It was indeed true, Marcus reflected. Over the past few days, he’d installed his own staff at Danvers Hall to supplement the two elderly retainers, chambermaid, and man-of-all-work, who tried valiantly but futilely to keep up the large estate. Servants loyal to him, who were willing to make regular reports on his wards. Arabella, he’d been told, had kept out of their way as much as possible, while her sisters were nowhere to be found.

“I wanted to begin setting the Hall to rights,” Marcus replied truthfully. “But pray don’t change the subject, Miss Loring. I don’t doubt that you arranged your sisters’ disappearance in an effort to thwart me.”

Arabella returned an innocent smile. “They developed a curious case of spots.”

“Did they now?” Marcus said.

“Yes. A rash that was obviously a reaction to your intended visit. I worried that it was catching, so I sent them away in order to spare your health.”

Marcus laughed. “Come now, Arabella. Can’t we agree to sheathe our swords for a time? I don’t want a battle with you.”

Her determined expression softened a measure. “I don’t want a battle with you either, my lord, but you refuse to understand that we won’t be married off by a dictatorial guardian.”

“I don’t intend to marry you off to anyone, I promise. In fact, I mean to marry you myself.”

He could tell by the hiss of her breath that he had shocked her almost as much as he had shocked himself. It was incredible, Marcus thought, that he would actually consider the astonishing step of abandoning his precious bachelorhood and marrying his eldest ward.

But his decision felt…right somehow.

Now, though, he had to make Arabella see the logic of his proposal and convince her that accepting was in her own best interests.

“You mean to m-marry me?” she repeated, clearly not trusting her hearing.

“Yes, marry you,” Marcus said genially, becoming more accustomed to the prospect the more he considered it. “I know I’ve taken you by surprise, my sweet, but I would like to tender you an honorable offer of marriage.”