To Pleasure a Lady

Chapter Four

I must be mad also, since I just agreed to the earl’s wager.

– Arabella to Fanny

Marcus shook his head in disbelief as he rode toward Danvers Hall. He hadn’t counted on making an impulsive proposal of marriage to his beautiful ward. Ironic that he would behave so rashly after maneuvering for years to elude the snares set for him by scores of mercenary females. But he’d acted on sheer instinct.

If he had to marry, he wanted a wife like Arabella, and he wouldn’t let the opportunity pass to stake his claim to her.

Certainly she fit his requisites for his countess, with breeding and beauty and intelligence to spare. Of more vital importance, she was spirited and fascinating enough to hold his interest long beyond any initial courtship.

Indeed, he couldn’t recall ever finding any woman so desirable as Arabella. She would make a delightful lover in their marriage bed, Marcus reflected. Kissing her today had proved irrevocably that the spark of fire between them was no figment of his imagination.

Marcus felt his loins harden at the remembrance of their first embrace. And although their last kiss had been a mere brush of lips, it had still thoroughly aroused him.

He had aroused Arabella just as intensely, he knew. Just not enough to convince her to consider his suit.

Recalling her determined rejection of his proposal, Marcus grinned. Never had he dreamed he would be in this position-having to persuade a lady that she wanted him for her husband. He’d never had to actively pursue any female. Until now, women, like everything else in life, had come easily to him. When he’d played the game of love with his mistresses, it was purely because he enjoyed the challenge of it.

Marcus laughed softly to himself. Arabella would provide him ample challenge, certainly. But her adamant rebuff had compelled him to quickly invent an alternate strategy to woo her, the result being his wager with her.

He had every faith the wager would be a cure for his recent restlessness. He seemed to be suffering from more than simple boredom, Marcus admitted. He filled his days with cards and hunts and boxing mills and races, but his clubs and sporting pursuits couldn’t appease the odd dissatisfaction he’d felt with his life of late. Not even the extensive responsibilities of managing his various estates could.

Pursuing Arabella, however, was a goal he could relish. And so was overcoming her resistance. Marcus thought he understood why she was so ardently opposed to marriage. He was confident, however, that he would eventually prevail in gaining her surrender.

Yet he only had two weeks to achieve it.

Suddenly impatient, Marcus spurred his horse to greater speed to return to his newest estate. He had missives to send to London. For the sooner he could devise a romantic courtship of Arabella, the sooner he could declare victory.

By the time she arrived home two hours later, Arabella had pondered the earl’s astonishing wager long enough to judge it imperative for her to develop an offensive strategy.

Lord Danvers believed he could seduce her into accepting his proposal of marriage, but while she was firmly resolved never to wed him, she was at a severe disadvantage in their competition, having so little experience in dealing with a nobleman of his stamp.

And he is almost irresistibly seductive, Arabella reflected as she dismounted in the stableyard. Involuntarily, her fingers rose again to her lips at the memory of his devastating kisses. If her melting response this afternoon was any indication, she would be hard-pressed to withstand temptation.

She was eager to begin, however, for she intended to win freedom for herself and her sisters. It might even prove enjoyable, trying to match wits with Lord Danvers.

The first step, of course, was to contrive a plan to foil his seduction. Certainly, if he hoped to woo her, she would have to make him work at it.

She also would have to write Fanny immediately and get her advice. Fanny Irwin was a renowned Cyprian who had once been a genteel young lady herself. She’d practically grown up with the Loring sisters in Hampshire, where they were near neighbors. Even after Fanny had run off at sixteen to make her fortune in London, they had maintained the close friendship.

Since Arabella’s broken engagement, Fanny had taught her a good deal about men. Fanny would know much better than she how to rout Lord Danvers.

Meanwhile, Arabella mused, she would be wise to use every resource at her disposal, which meant enlisting help from trusted allies, beginning with her housekeeper and butler.

Feeling an unexpected tingle of anticipation, Arabella left her horse in the stables with one of his lordship’s grooms and detoured to the kitchens to meet with Mrs. Simpkin. The housekeeper, who had also become cook when the rest of the staff was let go, regularly prepared tasty if modest meals with the aid of their one chambermaid. And even though three days ago the new earl had installed a dozen servants at the Hall, Mrs. Simpkin still held sway in the kitchens.

If the elderly woman was puzzled by Arabella’s unusual request for that evening’s dinner, she was too well-trained to show it. But the twinkle in her kind brown eyes suggested a willingness to abet the conspiracy.

“Oh, and Mrs. Simpkin,” Arabella added casually, “I would be obliged if Simpkin would remain in the dining room when he waits on us this evening. I would prefer to be alone with Lord Danvers as little as possible.”

“I will tell him, Miss Arabella,” Mrs. Simpkin said. “Would you also like Simpkin to be present beforehand? Lord Danvers has asked that you join him in the drawing room for a glass of wine before dinner.”

“Yes, please,” Arabella answered, glad that the housekeeper had readily agreed to aid her cause.

After washing, Arabella dressed for dinner in the most conservative evening gown she owned. Her wardrobe was not extensive, and most of her gowns were outdated and had grown shabby with wear. But upon opening the academy, she’d invested in several fashionable gowns to impress her pupils’ wealthy parents. After all, she had her image as a lady of quality to uphold.

When she regarded herself critically in the cheval glass, however, Arabella found her appearance rather dissatisfying. Her empire-waist gown of dark blue silk boasted long sleeves and a high neckline, and thus exposed little of her charms. But her flushed cheeks betrayed her excitement at the prospect of spending the evening in his lordship’s company.

How dull her existence had become if his presence could enliven her life so profoundly! Or perhaps it was merely the anticipation of locking horns with the earl as they strove to best each other.

At the thought, Arabella felt herself smile. She had every intention of besting him. She would play his game to win.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she left her bedchamber to launch her opening salvo in their courtship war.

When she reached the drawing room below, Simpkin awaited her outside in the corridor. The gray-haired, very proper butler offered Arabella the ghost of a conspiratorial smile before preceding her into the room and announcing her. “Miss Loring, my Lord Danvers.”

Marcus rose when she entered. His blue gaze raked over Arabella, taking in her reserved attire, but he made no comment other than one of greeting. “Welcome, my dear. I am pleased you could join me.”

At his avuncular tone, Arabella gave him a curious glance, but then realized he meant to treat her merely as his ward for the benefit of the serving staff.

“Come and sit beside me,” Marcus added, indicating the gold brocade settee that had seen much better days.

Arabella hesitated, reluctant to be seated so close to him. He looked infernally handsome in a blue evening coat and white satin breeches that molded to his athletic form, and an intricately-tied cravat that only enhanced his chiseled masculine features.

Deploring her rapid pulse, Arabella did as she was bid but took the far end of the settee. She caught the pleasant scent of citrus cologne as Marcus settled at the other end. He had evidently shaved for the evening, a disturbing realization since it implied he was taking his courtship of her very seriously.

“That will be all until dinner is served, Simpkin,” his lordship said when the butler had poured them each a glass of Madeira. “You may shut the door behind you.”

Hiding her concern, Arabella met Simpkin’s gaze and nodded slightly in resignation. Already Lord Danvers was scuttling her plan to avoid being alone with him. She was maddeningly conscious of his lithe, powerful body lounging so near to hers.

“Was it necessary to dismiss Simpkin?” she asked when the servant had withdrawn. “It isn’t quite seemly for us to be alone together like this.”

“Nonsense,” Marcus responded easily. “There is no impropriety in a guardian sharing a glass of wine with his ward. And it is indeed necessary, since I need a measure of privacy in order to woo you.”

Not having a ready reply, Arabella took a sip of her wine and hid her grimace at the bitter taste…along with her satisfaction. Mrs. Simpkin had succeeded in making the brew unpalatable as she had requested.

“About our wager,” Arabella began, “I have been thinking. Perhaps we should establish some basic rules of conduct.”

“Rules?”

“I suppose limits would be a better word. We should define what conduct is allowed and not allowed between us to prevent you from going beyond the bounds of a proper courtship.”

Marcus sent her a lazy smile that was full of charm. “Haven’t you heard that all is fair in love and war?”

Arabella found herself staring at his mouth. “You know very well our wager has nothing to do with love, my lord. But that is precisely my point. How can I trust that you won’t resort to something devious?”

“Because wagers are governed by a gentleman’s code. My honor will only permit me to go so far.”

Her mouth curved. “That is comforting to know.”

“You should not be comforted,” Marcus remarked. “I still have a great deal of leeway within the bounds of the code.” He laughed softly at her worried expression. “Never fear, sweeting. I won’t do anything to you unless you are completely willing.”

Arabella swallowed. “You won’t find me willing.”

“We shall see. As for rules, I mean to hold you to your pledge to give me a fighting chance to win our wager.”

“Yes, but simply because I agreed to let you court me, it does not follow that I must make it easy for you.”

“True.”

“I intend to do everything in my power to foil you.”

His roguish grin made her breathless as he raised his glass of Madeira. “So let the games begin.”

As he gazed at her over the rim of his glass, Arabella’s heart accelerated in an erratic rhythm. Thankfully, the intimate moment was broken when Marcus took a swallow of wine.

Wincing at the taste, he set his glass aside on a table. “I would never have expected your step-uncle to suffer such inferior quality wine. I will have to rectify that, since I intend to stay here for at least a fortnight. Tomorrow I’ll have some casks delivered from my cellars in London.”

Arabella’s heart sank at the reminder. A fortnight was beginning to seem an interminable length of time. But perhaps she was going about trying to win in all the wrong ways. What if she could simply persuade the earl that he didn’t want to marry her? “You know, my lord-”

“Marcus.”

“Very well, Marcus. I don’t believe you have fully considered what a marriage between us would be like. If you had, you would realize that we wouldn’t suit in the least.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I wouldn’t make you a comfortable wife.”

His mouth quirked. “What makes you think I want a comfortable wife?”

“Most noblemen do. You want a lady to bear your heirs and manage your household, and to look the other way when you flaunt your mistresses or engage in various dalliances and indiscretions. I could never be so agreeable, my lord.”

When Marcus remained silently studying her, Arabella went on. “Lady Freemantle told me a great deal about you and your friends. You are all notorious bachelors.” She refrained from adding that her ladyship had a great deal of admiration for the new Earl of Danvers.

“My friends?”

“Your fencing partners last week. Those are your close friends, the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the stories of your conquests and sporting exploits are repeated in drawing rooms even this far from London. Based on all the tales about you, I can say with utmost confidence that you would not make me a comfortable husband.”

He cocked his head at her. “I doubt you want a comfortable husband, any more than I want a comfortable wife. Somehow I can’t picture a woman of your spirit settling for a milquetoast.”

Arabella gave a soft laugh of exasperation. “That is precisely what I have been trying in vain to make you see. I don’t want any sort of husband!”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” Marcus relaxed back against the settee. “But allow me to point out that your appraisal of my character is based on gossip and innuendo.”

“Perhaps. But I have little doubt you are the same ilk as my father.”

“Ah, we begin to get to the crux of the matter.” Stretching out his long legs, Marcus laced his fingers over his stomach. “You take a dim view of rakes.”

Arabella smiled a little bitterly. “Can you blame me? My father was a philanderer of the first order, and I have no intention of subjecting myself to any husband like him.”

“So you condemn me out of hand.”

“Is it really out of hand? How many mistresses do you have in keeping?”

A dark eyebrow rose at her impertinent question. “Is that really any of your affair, darling?”

“It is if you expect me to consider your proposal of marriage.” When he hesitated, Arabella smiled sweetly. “It is a simple question, Marcus. How many mistresses do you have?”

“None at present.”

“But you regularly employ one?”

“I have in the past. Most gentlemen of means do.”

She arched an eloquent eyebrow of her own. “I cannot take a blithe view of adultery. I would never tolerate affairs and infidelities from my husband.”

“Some men give up their mistresses upon marrying.”

“But I could never trust that you would do so, or that you wouldn’t relapse, even if you promised fidelity in the beginning.”

He held her gaze levelly. “I am not your father, Arabella. And you insult me to put me in the same category.”

The sudden intensity of his tone took her aback. “Forgive me,” she apologized with a strained smile. “I am only attempting to make you understand why I don’t want a marriage of convenience. If your parents had endured a marriage such as mine had, I’m certain you would be just as adverse to repeating their experience.”

His mouth twisted sardonically. “As it happens, my parents were much more discreet in their affairs than yours were. But I confess, their experience left me with no fondness for the institution of matrimony.” Marcus paused. “Apparently, though, your mother was as guilty as your father of faithlessness.”

Arabella’s smile faded. “I don’t like to speak of my mother.”

Victoria Loring’s initial transgressions had been nowhere near as severe as her spouse’s had been; her single affair had stemmed out of revenge against her husband’s countless infidelities. Yet she had committed a worse sin, to Arabella’s mind, by abandoning her family. For a moment, Arabella closed her eyes at the dizzying wave of pain that memory conjured up.

Marcus must have seen her expression, for he made a sympathetic sound. “You have not had an ideal time of it, have you, love? First the scandals and being forced from your home, then having to earn your living.”

Her eyes opened abruptly, finding his blue gaze alarmingly tender. “You needn’t pity me, you know. I have long since gotten over the pain and humiliation.” Which was a lie, Arabella added to herself. “In any case, adversity builds character, or so they say.”

“You and your sisters have had more than your fair share of adversity.”

She managed a shrug. “We were determined to make the best of our lot. The worst part was being dependent on our step-uncle’s largess, at the mercy of his whims. More than once he threatened to evict us. But thankfully, we were able to open our academy. It offered us gainful employment so we wouldn’t be forced into menial servitude or compelled to wed as our only means of survival.”

Marcus’s response was forestalled by a discreet knock on the drawing room door. When he bid entrance, Simpkin appeared to announce that dinner was served in the small dining parlor.

Glad to leave off such an uncomfortable subject as her family chronicles, Arabella took Marcus’s arm to accompany him in to dinner, an action she regretted immediately. Beneath his coat sleeve, she could feel the warmth radiating from him, could feel the hard muscles flex under her fingertips. The contact did strange things to her pulse.

She was glad to see that their places had been set at either end of the long table, with a significant distance separating the two.

Marcus shook his head at the arrangements, however. “We needn’t be so formal, Simpkin. I prefer to have Miss Loring seated beside me.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The butler obeyed, hurrying to rearrange the place settings. When Arabella was finally seated to his lordship’s right, Simpkin gestured at the two attending footmen to serve the soup course.

When that was done, Marcus nodded. “Thank you, Simpkin. I will ring when we are ready for the next course.”

All three servants silently withdrew, without shutting the door at least. Yet the open door couldn’t dispel the sense of intimacy Arabella felt at sitting so close to Marcus, or allay her tingling awareness of his nearness.

Trying her best to ignore him, Arabella applied herself to the bland-looking soup, which appeared to be greasy chicken broth with a few pieces of limp vegetables. She nearly choked at the first sip, since it was so salty as to be almost inedible.

After one taste, Marcus shot Arabella a questioning glance and then set down his spoon. Innocently, she forced herself to continue eating her soup.

“So tell me about this academy of yours,” Marcus said, his tone curious.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I am intrigued by it. And because I want to learn everything about you to aid my courtship.” When she grimaced slightly at the reminder, he merely smiled. “You said your academy is something of a finishing school? How did it start?”

Since it seemed to be a safe subject, Arabella was pleased to explain. “Lady Freemantle actually gave me the idea. We became friends after my sisters and I moved here to Chiswick. Winifred was the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, but she married far above her social station and was never accepted by her husband’s family or friends. One day she confessed how difficult it had been for her, being the wife of a baronet, enduring all the slights and snubs, and that she wished someone had taught her the proper social graces so she might have competed in Sir Rupert’s milieu. I began thinking that there must be other young women in similar circumstances. Most daughters of wealthy magnates are destined to be sold into marriage to gentlemen in need of rich wives, as Winifred was.”

“So you proposed establishing the academy?”

“Not at first. When I suggested I might be of help to some of them-advise them on how to fit in to the Beau Monde and make their path easier-I only envisioned taking on one or two pupils. But Winifred leapt at the idea and offered to fund a much larger enterprise.”

“But you don’t run the academy solely on your own,” Marcus said.

“I have significant help. I convinced two of my friends to participate, and one assumed the post of headmistress. They oversee most of the classes, but my sisters and I also teach at least one class a day.”

“Not the typical subjects, I collect?”

“No. Most of our pupils have been educated by private governesses, so by the time they come to us, they are usually proficient in sums and globe reading, music and drawing and needlepoint, those sort of genteel accomplishments. But they lack the polish and grace expected of a lady. So for the final two years before they make their comeouts, we instruct them on good deportment, rules of proper conduct, etiquette, and also expose them to the kind of culture and refinement they will find if they marry into the gentility.”

“Apparently your academy is a great success. My solicitors tell me you have over two dozen pupils and that there is a long list of applicants waiting for admission.”

Arabella smiled. “Yes. We succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Wealthy tradesmen and merchants are willing to pay huge sums to turn their daughters into refined young ladies. But our academy benefits us, as well. It not only provides us occupation and income but gratification for helping our pupils learn how to deal with society. I personally take great satisfaction in giving young girls more control over their fate. Their birth or breeding might not be of the highest, but they can hold their own in elite circles. And they come to their marriages on more equal footing with their husbands.”

“I can well imagine you would find that satisfying,” he murmured.

When Arabella gave him a suspicious glance, Marcus returned a bland expression, but he found himself marveling at how much he had enjoyed watching her explain about her academy, her lovely face so animated and expressive. He admired Arabella’s passion for her cause. As he absently took a sip from his wineglass, Marcus realized that he hadn’t felt that passionate about anything in a long while.

Finding this wine as bitter as the Madeira had been earlier, he immediately set down his glass. “I should like to visit your academy soon.”

As he expected, Arabella’s wariness increased. “Why would you want to visit?”

“I believe I told you. As your guardian, I will need to decide if I should permit you and your sisters to continue teaching there.”

She looked worried for a moment as she anxiously searched his face, but she evidently recognized the teasing gleam in his eye, for her expression relaxed a little. “You are purposely trying to provoke me again, I collect.”

“Now why would I do that?” he asked amiably. “Are you finished with your soup?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. I can’t seem to stomach so much salt myself.”

Marcus rang for the butler to clear away the dishes, almost glad for the presence of servants to interrupt his private moment with Arabella, since he was having difficulty controlling his lustful thoughts.

She was near enough that the sweet scent of her rose up to tease his nostrils. And that elegant gown she was wearing made him want to discover what delicious secrets she was hiding underneath.

His imagination could supply some of the details. Her supple, slender body. The ripe curve of her breasts. Her long, elegant legs…

Sternly Marcus returned his gaze to Arabella’s beautiful face, but it did little to quell his awareness of her. This was the first time he had seen her hair completely uncovered. He had the urge to pull out the pins and see how that red-gold silk would look tangled after their lovemaking.

The erotic thought was arousing enough to make him go hard, and was followed by more erotic thoughts. He could picture shoving away all the china and laying Arabella on the table in order to make a delectable meal of her. She would be far more tasty than the dinner had been thus far. Even more, he wanted her to taste the pleasure he could give her-

But that would have to wait a while longer, Marcus reflected, finally disciplining his errant thoughts. He had promised himself not to rush his fences. This was supposed to be a romantic wooing, not simply a seduction, and he knew it would require much more than physical pleasure to win Arabella over.

It was no hardship, however, to simply share her company. He truly wanted to know all about her. And at least dining together gave them the perfect opportunity for intimacy.

The trouble was, the wine was so acidic as to be undrinkable. And the dishes Simpkin was setting before him looked even less appetizing than the soup had been.

Marcus tasted each one just to make certain: Mashed turnips with no seasonings. Boiled cabbage. And a burnt saddle of mutton that was so dry, it was nearly impossible to chew.

When he realized Arabella was watching him closely, however, Marcus began to wonder at her unusual interest in his reaction.

“As a cook, Mrs. Simpkin leaves much to be desired,” he commented casually.

“Oh, do you think so?”

Arabella’s tone was perfectly innocent, which aroused his suspicions even further. “Most definitely. If the meals continue to taste so wretched, I will have to send to London for my chef to replace Mrs. Simpkin as cook.”

Her response remained blithe. “Do try the mint sauce. It improves the taste of the mutton considerably.”

“Not nearly enough,” Marcus said satirically, poking his fork at a charred rind. “I think perhaps I should have a few words with Mrs. Simpkin.”

Arabella’s guileless expression faded. “That won’t be necessary, Marcus.”

“No?”

“She can do much better than this.”

“I don’t know that I am willing to risk it. In fact, if she deliberately planned this unpalatable fare, I don’t want her in my employ any longer.”

His empty threat had the desired effect: Arabella sighed and came to the housekeeper’s defense with a confession. “It was not Mrs. Simpkin’s fault. It was entirely mine. I asked her to alter her recipes this evening.”

Marcus lifted an eyebrow. “You requested that she burn the mutton and spike the wine with vinegar? I suspected as much.” He eyed Arabella in amusement. “Let me guess. You’re endeavoring to make my stay here as unpleasant as possible in hopes that I will give up on our wager.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted with only a faint blush of guilt. “And to spoil the prospect of any intimacy between us.”

“Since starvation is not conducive to courtship.”

“Precisely. But I warned you I would not make it easy for you to woo me. Are you vexed?” she asked sweetly.

Her smile held such satisfaction, Marcus had to grin in return. “Vexed? Not in the least.” Exasperated, perhaps. And most certainly fascinated by the beautiful spitfire and her efforts to evade his courtship. But perhaps he could turn her machinations to his advantage…

He suddenly rose and held out his hand to her. “Come with me, Arabella.”

That wicked smile instantly made her extremely wary. “Come where?”

“You’ll see.”

When he grasped her hand and drew her to her feet, she had no choice but to accompany him. They swept past a bewildered Simpkin and down the corridor, heading for the back stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” Arabella demanded uneasily.

“To the kitchens to find something more palatable to eat.”

“There really is no need-”

“Indeed there is. I insist. You must still be hungry, and I know I am.”

Arabella tried to pull back. “I think I would rather starve.”

Marcus gave a low laugh. “But I would not. Come along, darling. You don’t want to put me to the trouble of carrying you.”

Suspecting that he would make good on his threat if she continued resisting, Arabella gave up gracefully.

When they reached the large kitchens, they found Mrs. Simpkin seated at the long wooden table where the servants took their meals, while the maid scrubbed pots and pans at the sink. The housekeeper rose abruptly, looking startled to see them. “My lord! Is something amiss?”

“I would say so, Mrs. Simpkin. The dishes you served tonight failed to satisfy our appetites.”

“I can prepare another dinner, my lord-”

“That won’t be necessary. You will excuse us, please.”

The housekeeper suddenly looked worried. “What do you intend, Lord Danvers? If you mean to punish Miss Arabella-”

“I am merely going to feed her. Now, pray give us some privacy. Don’t be alarmed, I won’t harm your mistress.”

After a hesitant glance at Arabella, the housekeeper reluctantly left the room, followed by the wide-eyed scullery maid.

Marcus led Arabella to the table and pressed her down onto the bench. “Sit here while I raid the larder.”

She obeyed unwillingly. The warmth of the room, combined with the delicious aromas of herbs and cooking, was somehow pleasant, yet she couldn’t relax as she watched Marcus search the vast room. It was incongruous to see a tall, lithe aristocrat garbed in formal evening clothes foraging in these domestic surroundings, but it was utterly unsettling to imagine what he had in store for her. He was obviously retaliating in response to her tactics.

He inspected several pantries and then the cellar, gathering items for a feast and returning to deposit his prizes on the table before her. Then he went around the kitchen, putting out all the lamps, leaving only the glow of the hearth fire to provide light.

“What the devil are you doing?” Arabella asked, her voice suddenly uneven.

“I told you, I intend to feed you.”

“In the dark?”

He smiled at her protest. “Not total darkness. I want to be able to see your pleasure as you savor each bite.”

His answer unnerved her, as did his next provocative comment when he settled on the bench beside her.

“This is much more intimate than the dining room, wouldn’t you agree?”

This setting was indeed far more intimate than before. Clearly her plan had backfired.

“Marcus, this is hardly proper…” she began breathlessly.

His midnight blue eyes gleamed at her. “Hush, sweeting, and take your punishment like a good sport.”

She had no choice but to comply, Arabella realized, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat. She was keenly aware of Marcus’s potent masculinity as he leaned nearer, for she could feel his powerful thigh press against hers through her gown. The arousing contact sent heat coiling low in her belly and between her thighs, made her nipples tighten brazenly to hardened peaks.

What was worse, Marcus knew his effect on her, the fiend.

The pressure deliberately increased as he reached into a bowl and drew out a plump strawberry, the first of the season. Next he removed the cloth from another bowl and dipped the ripe fruit in clotted cream, then held the morsel to her lips.

He planned to serve her with his fingers, Arabella received.

She tried unsuccessfully to take the berry from him. “I can feed myself.”

“But it would not be nearly as enjoyable for either of us. Open your lovely mouth, Arabella, or I will have to kiss it open.” She chose the lesser of two evils, bending forward to bite off the fruit from the leafy stem. The tart-sweet burst of flavor in her mouth was delicious, reminding her that strawberries and cream was her favorite dessert. Yet she couldn’t enjoy the flavor, not with Marcus observing her so intently. His lips lifted in a slow, sultry smile as he watched her chew.

He fed her two more berries, until finally Arabella pushed his hand away. “Honestly, I am no longer hungry.”

“I am. Hungry for you.”

Her heart gave a fierce leap at his low murmur.

“I can imagine how delectable you would taste, love.”

Their gazes locked, and Arabella’s breath caught in her lungs. She had never felt this aching physical awareness before. Something tangible had kindled between them, and she couldn’t look away. She was experienced enough now to recognize the bright spark of desire that flared in Marcus’s blue eyes.

A shiver stole through her, even before he raised his finger to draw it along the wet line of her lips. “From now on, every time I watch you eat will be a taste of temptation.”

Her breath faltered entirely. Then his fingertips moved lower to touch the pulse quickening at the base of her throat. The tension thrumming between them was nearly unbearable.

Desperate to break it, Arabella surged to her feet. “I must go,” she exclaimed, yet she was prevented from fleeing for the door when Marcus caught her hand.

Laughter laced his voice as he protested, “But, darling, you have scarcely eaten a bite.”

“I have had more than enough, my lord!”

She snatched her hand from his grasp and escaped to the sound of his soft laughter. Her heart was still thudding moments later when she reached her bedchamber, her body still shivering with heat.

Arabella shut the door firmly behind her, then leaned weakly back against the panel. She was in serious trouble if she could not even withstand her first dinner with Marcus.

She had meant to foil his plan to woo her, but she had done a wretched job of it. Indeed, thus far she had come out the loser in every encounter with him.

Arabella shook her head stubbornly. Perhaps she had lost their initial battles, but she wouldn’t lose the war.