To Pleasure a Lady

Chapter Five

Do take care, dearest Arabella. Lord Danvers is reputed to be impossibly seductive.

– Fanny Irwin to Arabella

The odd sound of sawing woke Arabella the next morning. Prying her eyes open, she glanced at her bedchamber window. The curious noise was coming from outdoors, along with several male voices.

Puzzled, she rose to peer out the curtains and blinked in the bright sunlight. From her bedchamber, she could see the rear of the manor-the gardens and the terraced lawns beyond, which led down to the river. The grounds below were swarming with an army of gardeners, all pruning and clipping and raking years of overgrowth away.

Thoughtfully, Arabella turned from the window to wash and dress. She had risen later than usual since she’d slept poorly. In truth, she had tossed and turned much of the night, images of a certain sensual nobleman inhabiting her restless dreams.

She had just donned a gown of yellow sprigged muslin when she heard a soft rap on her chamber door, followed by Mrs. Simpkin’s low voice. “’Tis I, Miss Arabella. I’ve brought your breakfast.”

When Arabella bid entrance, the housekeeper bustled in with a laden tray, which she placed on the dressing table. “I suspected you didn’t wish to breakfast with Lord Danvers, so I took the liberty of bringing yours here.” She had also kindly sent up a dinner tray last night so Arabella wouldn’t go hungry.

“Thank you, Mrs. Simpkin,” Arabella said with genuine warmth, glad to avoid being alone again with Marcus so soon on the heels of their disastrous dinner. “By the way, who are those laborers in the gardens?”

“They are from London. His lordship sent for them to tidy the landscaping. Oh, and there are a half dozen tradesmen and merchants awaiting you in my accounts room.”

Her eyebrows rose with curiosity. “Awaiting me?”

“Yes. Lord Danvers sent to London for them as well. He means to set the manor to rights, to replace all the shabby furnishings and wallpaper and draperies in the house from top to bottom. But he said he wishes you to make all the decisions, since he doesn’t know brocade from buckram.” The housekeeper returned to the door but paused there to address Arabella again. “I must say it will be good to see the Hall live up to its former glory. And it will be even better to have a mistress here once more.” The smile the elderly servant gave her was somewhat secretive. “Perhaps his lordship isn’t so disagreeable as we feared.”

Arabella wondered what had precipitated Mrs. Simpkin’s sudden change of heart, for she’d been as worried about the new earl as his reluctant wards were. But likely the housekeeper was merely grateful that the manor would finally receive some beautifying after the former lord’s tightfisted ways.

“Perhaps Lord Danvers isn’t entirely disagreeable,” Arabella said noncommittally.

“At least he has forgiven me for the wretched dinner last evening.”

It had dismayed Arabella to think Marcus would hold the housekeeper responsible for her own actions. “I told him you weren’t to blame for the dinner, Mrs. Simpkin.”

“I know, but all the same, I don’t like to be in his lordship’s poor graces.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “Thankfully he decided not to bring any toplofty London chef down after all, and he gave me leave to hire a new cook. I will be glad for the respite from the kitchens, I must say. ’Twill be a full-time job to oversee all the maids he instructed me to employ. Simpkin is already hopping to keep up with the footmen Lord Danvers sent from his London house last week.” Again the housekeeper paused. “Shall I tell the merchants you will be down shortly, Miss Arabella? They are eager to show you their wares.”

“Yes, as soon as I finish breakfast.”

Mrs. Simpkin’s warning was true, Arabella learned when she had quickly eaten and gone downstairs to the housekeeper’s small office. Marcus had indeed summoned an army of tradesmen to refurbish the manor house. There were seven merchants eagerly awaiting her with armfuls of fabric samples and catalogues and sketchbooks.

All of them bowed politely to her, but when they began clamoring for her attention, Arabella held up a hand. “Pray, give me a moment, good sirs.”

Turning quickly, she went in search of Simpkin and found him occupied in supervising the group of new footmen in cleaning and polishing all the lamps in the house.

“Where may I find Lord Danvers?” she asked.

“I believe his lordship is in the study, Miss Arabella,” Simpkin answered.

She made her way through the house to the study, where she found the door open. When she entered and spied Marcus, however, she came up short. He was settled comfortably on a sofa, reading the morning papers, which must also have been delivered from London.

The sight of him made Arabella’s stomach flutter. He was dressed far less formally than last evening, in a russet-colored coat but no cravat or waistcoat. His linen shirt was open at the neck, showing an immodest expanse of chest, much like last week when she’d interrupted his fencing match.

His slow smile of greeting suggested he understood the affect his casual attire had on her.

“Arabella, what a pleasure,” he said, rising. “I confess surprise that you would voluntarily seek me out after hiding from me in your room all morning.”

Resolving not to let herself be provoked, she repressed a wry retort and instead asked about his decision to spend what surely would be a fortune. “I don’t understand your desire to refurbish the entire house. Why would you go to such expense?”

“This is my home now, as well as yours.”

“But you needn’t redecorate so completely.”

“I think it time, since the furnishings are a century old.”

“Is that why you hired so many merchants?”

Marcus shook his head. “I’ve left the actual hiring to you. And you aren’t required to use them all. I only thought to give you a wider choice. You have full authority to decorate any way you wish.”

“But why would you allow me so much authority?” Arabella asked in bewilderment.

“Because you undoubtedly have better taste and experience than I, for one.”

“This is not simply a way to soften my resistance?”

His sensual smile lit the room. “Of course it is, darling. You know I mean to do everything in my power to persuade you to become my wife.”

Biting back amusement, Arabella gave him a measuring glance. “Throwing your wealth around will do little to persuade me.”

“But it won’t hurt, either. I am not entirely witless when it comes to understanding the female mind. You ladies like to be in charge of a household.”

“I am not in charge here, Marcus.”

“Of course you are. You are mistress here now, and that will continue when you are my countess.” When Arabella raised her gaze to the ceiling, he chuckled softly. “I thought you would be pleased by my gesture.”

“You have certainly made Mrs. Simpkin happy,” she said drolly. “It was clever of you to have increased the servant staff so generously, for there is no surer path to her heart.”

“What about the path to your heart?” When Arabella refused to answer, Marcus laughed. “Mrs. Simpkin and I have come to an understanding.”

“Which means you charmed her into doing your bidding.”

“That, and I told her I was courting you. She approves, by the way.”

A look of exasperation claimed Arabella’s features as she turned and silently exited the room. It didn’t surprise her that Marcus would use any means necessary to win the housekeeper’s support, for she herself had vowed to employ all her resources to prevail in their wager.

Yet Arabella had to admit she was pleased to see him putting Danvers Hall to rights. The manor was indeed beautiful, and the estate deserved to be worthy of an earl. She only wished Roslyn were here, since her sister had impeccable taste and had been better trained by their mother to fill the role of lady of the manor.

Arabella spent the entire morning with the merchants, appraising the formal rooms of the house and choosing fabrics and furnishings. The task occupied her so intensely that she paid no attention to the passing time.

She was trying to decide between a forest green velvet and blue brocade for the drawing room draperies when Simpkin appeared in the doorway. “Miss Blanchard has called to see you, Miss Arabella.”

Arabella raised her head in surprise. “Oh, my word. I completely forgot my class.”

It had slipped her mind entirely that she’d been expected to teach at the academy at eleven. Her closest friend and fellow teacher at the school, Tess Blanchard, had no doubt come to see why she had uncustomarily failed to appear.

“Where have you put Miss Blanchard, Simpkin?”

“She is waiting in the entrance hall, since I couldn’t find a parlor not covered with fabric and wallpaper swatches.”

Arabella was about to leave the drawing room when the butler cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Arabella, but where do you wish me to place all the flowers?”

“Flowers?”

“The ones Lord Danvers had delivered from London. They have been unloaded in the entrance hall at his lordship’s request.”

Puzzled, Arabella hurried down the corridor, only to find the hall filled with masses of flowers in a breathtaking profusion of colors and scents. There were blossoms of all kinds-lilies and roses and daffodils in particular. Marcus must have raided every flower stall and shop in London, was Arabella’s first thought.

Her friend Tess was admiring an enormous vase of red roses but left off when she spied Arabella. “What on earth is going on, Arabella? I was concerned when you didn’t appear at school, so I came to investigate, only to find you have sprouted a garden.” She sounded half amused but a bit worried also.

“Tess, I am so sorry for missing my class! I entirely lost track of time.”

Tess lowered her voice to avoid being overheard. “How are you faring with the vexatious earl, as Lily calls him?”

Glancing around to make certain Marcus was nowhere in sight, Arabella answered ruefully, “Not well, I’m afraid-as you can see.” She gestured at the enormous display of flowers. “I believe this must be his notion of a romantic courtship.”

“Courtship?”

“Come with me.” Arabella drew her friend down the hall to the small parlor so they could be private.

Tess was a beautiful woman, with sable hair and a flawless complexion and figure that were the envy of nearly every lady in the district. She was a year younger than Arabella, yet she had remained a spinster after losing her betrothed in the Peninsular Wars. They’d become fast friends when the Loring sisters moved in with their step-uncle four years before, and grown even closer when Arabella opened the academy. Despite Tess’s genteel upbringing that dictated ladies shouldn’t soil their hands with menial employment, she had willingly joined as a teacher in hopes that keeping occupied would help her to overcome her sorrow.

Since they had shared so much, Arabella felt no qualms at confessing her dilemma to Tess. “Lord Danvers has proposed marriage to me.”

Dumbfounded, Tess stared. “I thought he was trying to marry you off to a total stranger.”

Arabella laughed at her friend’s expression. “He was. But then he decided to kill two birds with one stone-to be rid of the responsibility for me as his ward and to secure a wife to produce heirs for him at the same time.”

“You don’t mean to accept him?”

“Of course not. But I agreed to allow him to court me.”

She told Tess about the wager and how Lord Danvers had promised to grant her and her sisters their legal emancipation if Arabella could resist his seduction for a fortnight.

“Lily will certainly be pleased to be free of his guardianship, as will Roslyn,” Tess said slowly at the conclusion.

“How are my sisters?” Arabella asked eagerly.

“Well enough, considering they have severely curtailed their daily activities so as not to be seen by the earl. Lily is fretting most at being confined indoors, naturally, but even Roslyn is growing restless.”

“I can well imagine. Thank you for taking them in, Tess, and for seeing to my class this morning. I know this makes scheduling lessons difficult for you.”

“Don’t mention it, dearest. You have done more than enough for me these past few years. I couldn’t begin to repay you.”

“If you don’t mind,” Arabella added, “I would prefer my sisters remain with you a few days more until we can be certain of the earl’s intentions. As long as our wager holds, he will likely leave off seeking to arrange marriages for them, but I don’t know him well enough yet to trust him unconditionally.”

“Certainly I don’t mind,” Tess said. “Roslyn and Lily are more than welcome to stay for as long as necessary. In fact, they are proving invaluable, helping me to make up baskets for the Families of Fallen Soldiers. It’s an enormous task, stitching shirts and knitting stockings for so many needy children, and with your sisters’ contribution, I should be able to increase the number this year to two hundred.” Tess smiled. “Amazingly, even Lily has pitched in wholeheartedly, despite her dislike of sewing, since it is for such a good cause. So tell me about Lord Danvers. Is he the overbearing tyrant you feared?”

Arabella hesitated. She had to admit Marcus was nothing like what she had feared. He might be more than a little arrogant, but he certainly didn’t resemble a tyrant. Indeed, he had shown remarkable understanding for a nobleman of his stamp. He had listened intently last evening when she spoke of her academy. And more astonishingly, he appeared to respect her as the mistress of the estate even though her step-uncle had treated her and her sisters as poor relations dependent on charity.

But of course Marcus was showing his most amiable side in order to persuade her that he would make her an acceptable husband.

“No, he is not as bad as we feared,” Arabella conceded. “He is rather arrogant and high-handed, as most noblemen are, and accustomed to getting his own way. But I cannot truthfully call him a tyrant.”

“I am flattered, sweeting,” a lazy masculine voice drawled from the doorway. “Your resounding endorsement warms my heart.”

Giving a start at the intrusion, Arabella spun to eye Marcus with reproach. “Did no one ever tell you it is impolite to eavesdrop?”

An amused gleam lit his eyes as he sauntered into the room. “Politeness never won a fair maiden. Moreover, I see no reason to change my methods, since they appear to be working. I am clearly making progress if I’ve improved your opinion of me so significantly in barely one day. At this rate, we will be married by month’s end.”

Arabella’s mouth twitched with the effort to quell a laugh. “You are indulging in a pipe dream, my lord.”

“A very pleasant pipe dream.” His provocative look sent the most unsettling shiver of awareness down her spine. “Will you introduce me to your guest? Or do you mean to keep her hidden from me, as you have your sisters?”

She flushed as she finally remembered her manners. “This is Miss Tess Blanchard. Tess, my guardian, Lord Danvers.”

Marcus bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Blanchard. I understand you teach at the Freemantle Academy with Arabella.” When Tess arched a cool eyebrow, Marcus sent her a winning smile. “I had my solicitors give me a full report on your school, since my wards are so heavily involved. You are a close friend of Arabella’s, I gather.”

“I am, my lord,” Tess answered, scrutinizing him with interest.

“Then perhaps you might advise me on how to advance my suit with her. I need every advantage I can get.”

“You don’t expect me to aid the enemy, do you?”

He laughed softly. “You see, that is my dilemma. I have been dubbed ‘the enemy’ without a chance to prove myself.”

When her friend smiled in return, Arabella was amazed that Marcus could charm even Tess, who was extremely wary of rakish noblemen after an unhappy encounter with one in her past.

“Lord Danvers is obviously well-versed in using charm to get his way,” Arabella said dryly.

“True,” Marcus agreed. “But even my best efforts fail to have much effect on you.” He directed his gaze at Tess once more. “Will you stay for luncheon, Miss Blanchard? I hope to persuade you to tell me some of Arabella’s secrets.”

That won another faint smile from Tess. “Thank you, but I cannot stay. I must return to the academy. I only called because Arabella missed her class.”

“I fear that was my fault. I have kept her occupied with my affairs all morning.”

When Tess gave her a curious glance, Arabella felt her cheeks warming. “Lord Danvers plans to renovate the Hall and asked me to oversee the work.”

“I see,” Tess said slowly, although the frown creasing her brow showed a hint of concern.

“Don’t worry,” Arabella said with an arch glance at Marcus. “I have no intention of becoming Lady Danvers simply because I enjoy decorating his manor.”

With Marcus following, she accompanied Tess to the entrance hall, where the forest of blossoms greeted them. Arabella went straight to the vase of roses her friend had been admiring earlier. “Here, pray take these with you, Tess. I know how much you love roses, and you will appreciate them better than I.” She turned to the butler, who was waiting by the front door. “Will you have the other flowers delivered to the academy, Simpkin?”

“All of them, Miss Arabella?”

“Yes, all. You may distribute them among our pupils with the complements of Lord Danvers.” She glanced at Marcus with a wicked smile. “I’m certain our young ladies will be grateful that a nobleman of your illustrious station thought to brighten their day. And I don’t like to squander such lovely blooms, even though they are wasted on me.”

When he inclined his head, acknowledging her slight victory, Arabella felt her pulse leap at his very male smile.

Dragging her gaze away, she ushered her friend outside to her gig to say a private farewell. When she returned, she found Marcus still waiting for her. “Did you wish something of me, Lord Danvers? I should return to the drawing room, where I left our merchants.”

“I wanted to invite you to ride with me after luncheon. I thought you might enjoy the exercise.” When Arabella hesitated, Marcus added, “I sent for some of my horses in London on the assumption that you and your sisters would appreciate decent mounts for a change. The slugs in your step-uncle’s stables are hardly worthy of the name. We can consider a ride part of my daily quota of your company.”

She would indeed enjoy riding, Arabella reflected. And mounted on horseback, she would stand a better chance of frustrating the earl’s persistent courtship. “I would like that, my lord.”

“Good. Then I shall meet you at the stable at two.”

Arabella returned to the drawing room, unable to ignore a tremor of excitement at the prospect of riding on such a lovely spring day, or the more deplorable anticipation of matching wits with Marcus again.

Arabella was not disappointed by either the weather or her new mount. When she reached the stables, Marcus was waiting with a beautiful bay mare for her. He lifted her into her sidesaddle, then mounted a strapping chestnut gelding.

She led the way out of the yard and down the gravel drive to a tree-shaded lane. At the next crossroad, they turned off and set out across the countryside at a leisurely canter, negotiating lush green fields and pastures and glades that flanked the winding Thames River. They finally slowed when they came to the crest of a hill, where they could see a wide valley below.

A pleasant silence had fallen between them. Arabella raised her face to the sun, drinking in the golden-bright afternoon, savoring the rare pleasure of having a spirited horse beneath her and a charmingly attentive gentleman beside her. If not for the wager, she would have keenly enjoyed Marcus’s company, she acknowledged.

“Thank you for this delightful treat,” she said, patting her mare. “She is a beauty. You clearly have superb taste in horseflesh.”

“I buy all my sister’s mounts for her,” Marcus replied.

“And is she a good horsewoman?”

“The best, since I taught her myself. Eleanor rides neck or nothing, just as your sister Lilian reportedly enjoys doing.”

“Lily does indeed ride like a hellion,” Arabella replied with a fond smile.

“I should like to meet her and Roslyn one of these days.”

She sent Marcus a provocative glance. “We shall see.”

“Perhaps I’ll invite Eleanor here for a visit. She would enjoy riding here far more than the tame environs of Hyde Park.”

“She lives in London with you?”

“In London, but not with me. With our elderly aunt, who acts as her chaperone. Eleanor moved there for her comeout three years ago and chose to stay.”

“If you have been her guardian for so long, did you try to marry her off the way you planned to do us?”

Amusement curved his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to play matchmaker for my sister. Thankfully there is no need, since as an heiress, she can have her pick of suitors. At the moment, like you she is resolved to remain single-although she has been betrothed twice. Both times she called off the engagement. Our aunt fears Eleanor is earning a reputation as a jilt.”

Arabella’s eyebrow rose quizzically. “I expect she had a good reason.”

“She decided she wasn’t in love after all,” Marcus answered lightly. He turned his head to study Arabella. “I am curious about your betrothal. Did you love your viscount?”

Arabella couldn’t restrain her wince. It was still painful to remember her former betrothal to George, Viscount Underwood. She had indeed loved him. She’d believed in a future with him, the hope for children.

Realizing that Marcus was waiting for her reply, however, she composed her features to blandness. She was reluctant to answer such a personal question, but perhaps he deserved to know why she had no intention of entertaining his offer of marriage.

“Yes, I loved him,” Arabella said, keeping her tone even. “It was the only reason I accepted his proposal, even though it was considered an excellent match and precisely what was expected of me. After my parents’ experience, I wasn’t willing to settle for a marriage of convenience.”

“He obviously didn’t love you. If he had, he would never have let the scandal come between you.”

She was better prepared this time to hide her wince. “No, he didn’t love me,” she agreed.

Strangely, Marcus’s jaw hardened with something resembling anger. “It was hardly honorable of him to withdraw his suit once you became betrothed.”

Arabella gave a dismissive shrug. “True. But I soon realized how fortunate I was that we didn’t actually marry, since he didn’t love me as he claimed. Our marriage would likely have deteriorated into nothing more than a cold legal union at best.” She managed a smile. “In any event, it was four years ago, when I was young and naive. I have grown much wiser since. But you see why I am not eager to repeat the experience?”

Marcus was still studying her closely. “I can see I will have to prove to you that I am nothing like your viscount.”

Arabella couldn’t help but be amused by the comparison. Her viscount was very little like Marcus. Not nearly as physically attractive or as…forceful. George was a gentle man, very unlike her powerful, dynamic, libertine father, also-which was primarily what she had found appealing about him. But he had turned out to have little backbone.

“You have nothing to prove on that account, Marcus,” she said. “There are few similarities between you.”

“You may be sure I won’t run at the first hint of scandal.”

“No, I can’t imagine you running from anything.” Arabella gave him a genuine smile. “And truthfully, I have become almost grateful for the scandal. In a way, it liberated us. My sisters and I are able to rule our own lives now”-she flashed him an ironic glance-“or we would if we didn’t have an unwanted guardian to contend with.”

His intent expression fading, Marcus grinned. “Sorry, love.”

“You aren’t sorry in the least,” Arabella replied lightly. “But as soon as our fortnight is up, I will be rid of you.”

“You don’t want to be rid of me. You are enjoying our wager too much.”

“Am I indeed?”

“Most definitely. You relish the exhilaration of challenging me and matching wits with a worthy opponent.”

Arabella arched an eloquent eyebrow. “How can you presume to know what I feel?”

His reply was more serious than she expected. “Because I feel the same exhilaration. One I haven’t known in years.”

“It must be dyspepsia.”

Marcus chuckled. “Come now, admit it. Your life has been deadly dull without me here to enliven it, with only your school to occupy your time.”

Arabella regarded him silently, unable to refute his claim. Most of the time her life was oppressively dull, except for the occasional interesting incident at her academy. And she was indeed beginning to find her time with Marcus exhilarating. She would chew nails before she admitted it to him, though.

“You have a highly elevated opinion of yourself, my lord,” she said sweetly before gathering her reins. “And I can find far more exhilaration in a good gallop.” With her heel, she urged her mare into a canter. “I wager I will reach the Hall before you!” Arabella called over her shoulder.

Marcus found himself grinning at her obvious attempt to avoid any further intimate conversation. But as she galloped away, he took up her challenge.

When she realized he was hard on her heels, Arabella bent over her mare’s neck, urging the horse to greater speed. It became a full-fledged race, one that symbolized the fierce competition between them. One they both were determined to win. Arabella set a wicked pace, and Marcus did his best to catch her.

Unlike the last race, however, she was mounted on a swift horse this time, so she managed to win by a nose. Having achieved victory, Arabella slowed her mad dash into the stableyard and drew up laughing.

The bewitching sight hit Marcus directly in his chest before shooting down to his loins. With her beautiful face flushed with warmth and exertion, her lips parted breathlessly, her breasts heaving with exertion, she looked just as she would in the throes of passion, Marcus knew.

The image made his body tighten with desire and arousal. He wanted to pull Arabella off her horse and make love to her then and there. Wanted to sink inside that vibrant warmth-

Unfortunately, they had an audience, Marcus saw as two of his grooms appeared to take their sweating horses.

Denying them the chance to assist her, Arabella slid down from her sidesaddle and turned the reins over with a request to cool off the mare. Marcus did the same with his mount, then followed Arabella to the house.

He caught up to her as she entered the side door. “Will you join me for dinner this evening?”

She gave him a droll glance. “Do you intend to leave me any choice?”

“Of course. We could always complete the remainder of our four hours later this evening…after you retire to bed.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” she murmured at his subtle threat to invade her bedchamber.

“Dinner, then?”

Arabella exhaled an exaggerated sigh for his benefit. “Very well. I will join you for dinner. Just now I want to confer with Mrs. Simpkin regarding redecorating the house.”

Marcus watched her walk away, admiring the slight sway of her hips beneath the skirts of her riding habit while he mulled over her startling effect on him.

He had to acknowledge that his feelings for Arabella were more potent than desire, and much more complex. He felt a gut-deep exhilaration when he was with her. An excitement that he hadn’t known in years. She was all woman, intensely vital and alive, and she made him feel just as vitally alive.

After her confession about her former betrothed, though, Marcus realized more clearly what he was up against. Her suitor’s cowardly defection had only compounded her devastation at losing her parents and her home. The bastard’s betrayal, even more than her parents’ matrimonial battles, had left Arabella painfully gun-shy about betrothals and marriage.

Marcus blew out a slow breath. He hated to think of the hurt and mortification she’d endured at the desertion. But most assuredly he had his work cut out for him if he intended to make Arabella want him as her husband. She would try to foil his courtship every step of the way, just as she’d done this morning when she’d publicly rejected his romantic gesture, giving away his flowers to her pupils. The memory made him smile.

But he wouldn’t be deterred, Marcus resolved. He intended to chip away steadily at her defensive armor until she changed her mind about wedding him-beginning tonight. It was time he took the intimacy of his wooing a step further by introducing Arabella to the secrets of sensuality.

A corner of his mouth curved in anticipation. Romancing a reluctant young lady might not exactly be his forte, but the sensual game was one he would win.

Arabella went in search of Mrs. Simpkin to discuss her latest plans for refurbishing the house. Before they began, she asked for a bath in the dressing room she shared with Roslyn, so that by the time she went upstairs a half hour later, a copper tub had been filled with hot water for her.

Undressing, Arabella sank into the tub and sighed at the pleasure. It had been quite a while since she had indulged in the luxury of a long soak.

By the time she finished washing her hair, the water had grown tepid. After toweling off, she put on a wrapper and left her damp hair down to dry. When she came out of her dressing room, Arabella stopped short. Someone had strewn crimson rose petals over the ivory coverlet of her bed.

Marcus, was her immediate thought. The devil must have entered her bedchamber while she was bathing.

It was a novel use of rose petals, Arabella conceded, unable to quell a laugh. The entrance hall had been devoid of flowers when they returned from their ride, but evidently he had saved some of the roses for this latest salvo of his courtship.

She had to admire his inventiveness, and yet…he could have been seen by one of the servants, Arabella realized. She glanced at the closed door to the corridor. Their bedchambers were separated by the entire width of the house, since Marcus was occupying the lord’s apartments. There could be no reason for him to be on this end of the floor unless it was to visit the music room next door.

Stifling her amusement, Arabella decided that she had to have a cautionary word with him. When she had dressed and come downstairs, she found Marcus in the drawing room.

“Did you leave rose petals on my bed?” she asked as he offered her a glass of wine.

“Guilty as charged. I am wooing you, remember?” When she gave him a measured look, his eyebrow rose. “So you don’t appreciate my romantic gesture?”

“Not that particular gesture. It is much too intimate.”

He flashed a smile that came close to taking her breath away. “Arabella, darling, we haven’t begun to become intimate.”

Firmly disciplining her senses, she ignored his provocative comment. “But you might have been seen by a servant.”

“No. I always take great care to be discreet.”

“Marcus…you cannot simply enter my bedchamber any time you please.”

“I know. But one day soon you will invite me there of your own accord. I like your hair down like that, by the way.”

Her expression turned exasperated. “I am not wearing it this way to suit you, but so it will dry.”

“I know that, too. Now taste your wine. You’ll find it much more palatable than last night’s vinegar. It’s claret from my own cellars.”

The wine was indeed excellent, and Marcus refrained from making any more provocative remarks. Since they kept the conversation to impersonal matters about the neighborhood, Arabella found the interval before dinner rather pleasant. She actually was enjoying being with Marcus by the time Simpkin came to announce that dinner was served.

The meal was delicious-creamed artichoke soup, turbot in lobster sauce, stuffed partridges, braised veal, cauliflower, and currant pudding for dessert.

As the footmen cleared away the dishes, Marcus addressed the butler. “Simpkin, pray send my compliments to Mrs. Simpkin. My London chef could not have done better.”

“Thank you, my lord. She will be pleased to know you approve.”

When the servants had been dismissed, Arabella glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and rose. “This was delightful, my lord, but I believe I have fulfilled my obligation to share your company for today.”

“Not quite, love.” Reaching up, he gently caught her wrist in his fingers.

She stared down into his blue eyes. “Surely our four hours are up.”

“I still have a quarter hour left. Time enough to begin your education.”

“My education?”

“To show you what you will be missing if you insist on remaining a spinster.”

Her heart started fluttering. “I do not need educating, Marcus.”

“You do, Arabella. You badly need a taste of physical pleasure. I want you to understand the connubial bliss you can expect when we are wed. How else can you make such an important decision about your future?”

The suggestiveness of his question momentarily rendered her speechless. When she remained mute, Marcus stood, still holding her wrist. “Come take a stroll on the grounds with me. The gardens should be pleasant, now that they are no longer a jungle.”

Arabella glanced at the French doors and swallowed. Dusk had fallen, and a half moon hung low over the horizon, silvering the trees that lined the river. “It is dark outside.”

“Dark is perfect for wooing.”

“Marcus, I won’t go outside with you. Whatever you intend, you can do right here.”

“I could, but I don’t think you want Simpkin witnessing my advances.” When she gave a huff of exasperation, Marcus added cajolingly, “I won’t kiss you this time. If I try, you can box my ears again.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered.

He smiled. “Do I tempt you, sweet Arabella? You tempt me.”

“I certainly don’t mean to.” Pulling her hand away, she strode to the door and drew it open.

Marcus followed her outside to the terraced gardens and then caught her arm. “Let’s walk down to the river. It will give us more privacy.”

Arabella felt her pulse quicken as he led her down the terrace steps to the sloping lawn. It was unwise to allow Marcus the kind of privacy he demanded, but in all fairness to the wager, she had to provide him the opportunity to woo her. She would have to summon more willpower than she’d shown thus far, however, if she intended to make his seduction difficult.

She could hear the soft ripple of water as they neared the river. When they reached the bank, Marcus drew her behind a chestnut tree. Enough moonlight shafted through the lattice of branches that she could see his handsome face and the midnight blue of his eyes simmering in the dark.

He stood watching her thoughtfully, though, until she finally broke the silence. “What do you intend to do, if not to kiss me?”

He dragged his sensual gaze over her in a lazy caress. “To show you the power of touch.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “Marcus…”

“I mean only to touch you this time. I want to show you how merely the brush of a fingertip can arouse powerful sensations between a man and a woman.”

“I am perfectly willing to believe you. I don’t need a demonstration.”

Marcus smiled knowingly. “You aren’t turning craven again, surely.”

His deep gaze had become a dare, which only heightened the quivery little feelings that were rioting deep in her body. “No, I am not craven. I just wish you would hurry and be done with it.”

“Patience, sweet Arabella. A proper wooing takes time.”

“You only have five more minutes by my calculation.”

“Five minutes should be ample time to teach you this lesson.”

Arabella tensed as he took her right hand and turned it faceup, yet she couldn’t help watching with fascination as Marcus began to trace small patterns on her palm with his fingertip.

When he reached the most sensitive curves, the simple caress made her shiver with awareness.

If she was wise, she would pull away, Arabella knew. Yet she stood immobile with her back to the tree trunk, with Marcus blocking her way. Then he pushed up the long sleeve of her gown an inch to expose her wrist and stroked the delicate flesh there, raising a flush to her skin.

Unnerved, Arabella tried to draw her hand away.

“Be still,” Marcus commanded.

“That tickles.”

“It does much more than tickle.” He lifted his head, his gaze locking with hers, his eyes containing a gleam of wickedness. He knew precisely how his skilled caresses affected her, the devil.

Arabella clenched her teeth, determined to resist his beguiling touch. The man was too arrogant for his own good.

He left her wrist then and slowly skimmed his fingertips up her arm, over the silk fabric of her sleeve and along her shoulder in a trailing, seductive caress. She sensed the raw power even in this light touch, and when he found her bare collarbone above the high edge of her gown’s neckline, she shuddered at the heated rush of feeling assaulting her. The heat only increased when he drew a line down the silky hollow between her breasts.

“Arabella…” Marcus warned again when she made to move away.

She swallowed hard, finding it nearly impossible to remain still as he resumed. The truth was, she wanted to be touched this way, wanted him to touch her.

His hand glided upward over her skin, along the column of her throat. “Can you deny how pleasurable this feels?” His voice stroked her senses like velvet, just as his fingers were doing.

No, she couldn’t deny the pleasure. His arousing caresses vibrated through her, thrumming at all her nerve endings.

When she didn’t answer, Marcus put a languid finger beneath her chin and made her lift her gaze. As she met his dark eyes, her heart thudded erratically, beating a wild pulse in her throat.

He touched her there, pressing faintly against the vulnerable hollow. Then moving higher, he grazed her jawline with his thumb. Arabella quivered at the alluring feel.

His thumb brushed her jaw twice more, his touch lingering and provocative, before wandering with tantalizing slowness to her cheek.

His blue gaze engulfed her as his fingers teased her flushed skin. Arabella couldn’t look away. She was too enraptured by his expression and the tender assault of his fingers. She could scarcely breathe as his thumb traced her moist, parted lips, then dipped to penetrate the corner of her mouth.

Her heart beat painfully hard, and for a moment, she wondered if Marcus intended to kiss her. But his hand left her cheek to roam down her throat again, his palm skimming with feathery, delicious sensations, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.

When he drew a seductive finger along the line of her collarbone, her skin burned. Yet he stopped just as he reached the swells of her breasts. Instead, his hands settled with warm possessiveness on her shoulders, and he stepped closer.

Arabella inhaled sharply when he drew her fully against him. His body was warm, hard, strong.

“You said you only meant to touch me,” she said breathlessly.

“Holding is part of touching. Don’t you like the feel of our bodies pressing together?”

There was an insidious delight in being held against his hard, sheltering body. She could feel the rush of her own blood, could feel the tremors shivering through her. “No, I don’t, Marcus.”

“Liar,” he murmured softly.

To her surprise and disappointment, he released her. Yet he didn’t step back. He merely raised his hand to her bodice and feathered the tips of her breasts with the backs of his fingers, making Arabella gasp at the sparks that shot through her. “If you don’t like it, then why have your nipples grown so hard?”

It was true, Arabella realized. Her nipples had instantly hardened, betraying her arousal, while her breasts felt heavy and swollen.

And Marcus was doing his best to increase her desire, his knuckles slowly gliding over the silk-covered peaks. Then boldly he cupped one ripe swell, making her knees go weak. Fire radiated from the hand that held her throbbing breast, bloomed between her thighs, shocking her. Fanny had described such powerful feminine feelings as this, but Arabella had never expected to experience them for herself.

She closed her eyes against the pleasure. It was maddening the way Marcus drew out each brazen caress, yet she didn’t want him to stop. His touch was so tender, so wicked…so right. The sensations left her shaking inside, kindling a heavy ache deep in her lower body…

It was some time before she realized his demonstration had ceased.

“Do you understand now?” Marcus asked, his voice husky and low.

Dazed, Arabella opened her eyes. Oh, she understood perfectly. Marcus had intended to show her the power of a man’s touch-of his touch-and he had thoroughly succeeded. She was aching with nameless longing…aching for him.

“I want to return to the house now,” she said unevenly, her voice deplorably weak.

At her nonanswer, he gave a satisfied smile. “Of course. I think your lesson is sufficient for now. You’ll dream of me tonight, of me touching you like this…”

He raised his hand to her throat again, and another frisson of fiery sensation sparked from his fingers to her skin.

Arabella drew back sharply and gave Marcus a dismissive look. But as she slipped past him and turned toward the house on shaky legs, she was very much afraid his prediction about her dreams would come true.