To Pleasure a Lady

Chapter Six

I promise I will take care, Fanny, even if his kisses are as seductive as you warned me.

– Arabella to Fanny

Arabella did dream of Marcus…all night long. But she awoke determined to regain the offensive in their rivalry. As soon as she had washed and dressed, she joined Marcus in the small dining parlor.

He looked surprised to see her as he rose politely from the table.

“To what do I owe this honor?” he asked as he settled Arabella in her chair and returned to his seat beside her.

“I am fulfilling part of my daily quota. I realized that if I must share your company, it would be best to do so in broad daylight.”

Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “You realize that won’t deter me.”

“Yes, but somehow I feel safer.”

He surveyed her gown of blue muslin. “Had I known you intended to join me for breakfast, I would have dressed more formally.”

He wore no cravat or waistcoat again this morning, Arabella saw, and his shirt was open to his breastbone. She had the most scandalous urge to touch that broad male chest, to feel the muscled flesh she glimpsed beneath the fine cambric.

Instead, Arabella cleared her throat. “Are you occupied this afternoon?”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that depends on what you have in mind.”

“I have decided to invite you to tour our academy. You said you wanted to judge whether teaching there is an appropriate endeavor for your wards. Well, this is your chance.”

“Then I accept.”

“I am instructing a class at four. We usually take tea then, and I thought to use your visit as a learning opportunity for our young ladies. They rarely receive gentlemen callers, so they can practice on you.”

His amusement deepened. “So I am to be your test subject.”

“I don’t doubt you are up to the challenge.”

“And you will have protection in numbers,” Marcus observed shrewdly.

Arabella smiled. She had indeed counted on that advantage. With two dozen schoolgirls to divert Marcus from his wooing of her, he would have little chance for intimacy, and she would use up much of her obligatory four hours in his company. “There is that benefit, too,” she agreed.

“Very well, I will concede to tea if I must. Are you free for a ride this morning?”

She shook her head. “I am afraid I won’t have time. I am meeting with the merchants again, and then I am expected at the academy at one. But I’m certain you can enjoy a ride without me. If you will arrive at the academy at half past three, you may inspect the premises before tea.”

“I will be counting the minutes,” Marcus replied in pained resignation.

Having postponed Marcus’s courtship for the time being, Arabella spent a busy morning choosing furnishings for the remainder of the main floor. Later, when she went out to the stableyard, intending to drive herself in the gig to the academy, she found the earl’s carriage waiting to take her there.

The afternoon crept by with surprising slowness. Absurdly, Arabella caught herself glancing frequently out the windows in anticipation of Marcus’s visit. When his carriage arrived promptly and halted on the gravel drive before the entrance hall, she accompanied the school’s headmistress outside to greet him.

“Gentleman caller reporting for duty,” he said as he stepped down from his barouche.

Arabella introduced him to Miss Jane Caruthers, the elegant spinster who ran the day-to-day operations of the academy. Allowing Miss Caruthers to lead the tour of the grounds, Arabella remained a few steps behind, yet she found herself watching Marcus intently, surprised to realize how eager she was to have his approval.

Of course, if he saw the good she and her sisters were doing here, he would be more likely to sanction their continued employment. Yet her desire for his approbation was more personal than acquiring his legal consent, she knew. The academy was mainly her creation, her pride and joy, and she wanted Marcus to understand how much it meant to her.

The school was actually comprised of several buildings so as to prepare pupils for the varied experiences they would encounter in high society. Classes were usually held in a large manor house such as one might find on a nobleman’s country estate, and a second, more formal mansion that was representative of where the London Quality dwelled. The academy also boasted a large stable and park to practice outdoor skills, and a large dormitory to lodge the young ladies who boarded full-time. The vast majority of the pupils lived in the dormitory, except during summer term when only a handful remained on the premises.

Arabella couldn’t hide the little glow of warmth she felt at the tour’s conclusion when Marcus praised the facilities.

“Impressive,” he said sincerely. “I can see why merchants would want to send their daughters here.”

She smiled with pleasure. “The accommodations are excellent thanks to Lady Freemantle’s generosity, but our parents appreciate even more the quality of the instruction their daughters receive. Come, let me show you.”

When they returned to the “London” mansion, Arabella led Marcus upstairs to a large drawing room, where he instantly became the target of attention of two dozen bright-eyed young females dressed in afternoon finery.

Miss Tess Blanchard rose to welcome him with a polite smile. When Marcus had bowed over her hand, Arabella stepped forward to address her pupils. “Ladies, I am pleased to offer you a treat today. Lord Danvers has generously agreed to join us so that we might practice the art of properly receiving a gentleman when he calls. We will concentrate particularly on graciously pouring tea and making witty conversation. Miss Blanchard has already arranged the seating, so if you will please take your places, we may begin.”

The girls were to take tea with the earl in groups of six while the rest observed. There were servants standing by with tea services and trays filled with scones and crumpets and tiny sandwiches. When Arabella and Tess were seated with the first group, Marcus was announced by a “butler” and shown into the room.

Watching him over the course of the next hour, Arabella couldn’t help but admire his fortitude. Some of the girls were painfully shy, and some were crassly bold, but Marcus suffered them all with good grace. It was clear he fascinated them. He held their rapt attention throughout four practice sessions, charming the shy ones and deftly parrying the fawning banter of the flirtatious ones.

And in the third group, when one of the girls sloshed tea all over the lace tablecloth, he calmly withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket and mopped up the spill. Then when Sybil Newstead, a raven-haired beauty who had flirted brazenly with him for the past ten minutes in a transparent attempt to monopolize the conversation, scolded her classmate’s clumsiness, Marcus offered the mortified girl an irresistible smile.

“Don’t pay Miss Newstead any mind, Miss Fletcher. You have made me feel quite at home. My younger sister Eleanor doused me quite regularly when she was learning to pour. I don’t envy you ladies, having to negotiate so many delicate operations. I would be all thumbs.”

The scarlet-faced Miss Fletcher flashed him a worshipful look of gratitude, while Sybil Newstead shot him a sullen look of vexation.

Arabella, too, was supremely grateful to Marcus for his kindness, but she waited to tell him so until after the class had ended and Tess had shepherded all the girls from the drawing room.

“That was very well done of you, my lord,” she said after the footmen had withdrawn.

“I am glad you appreciate my sacrifice,” Marcus replied lightly. “You can’t imagine how painful it was, having to fend off a bevy of giggling schoolgirls. I was squirming the entire time.”

That brought Arabella’s laugh bubbling up. “No one could tell you were the least discomfited.”

Marcus eyed her narrowly. “You enjoyed seeing me at such a disadvantage, didn’t you, vixen?”

“Only a little.” She had indeed expected him to be disadvantaged by the circumstances she had purposely thrown at him, but he had won her admiration instead. “I do appreciate your sacrifice, truly. Our parents will be highly impressed that their daughters took tea with a genuine earl.”

His mocking smile was enticing. “Anything for you, my charmer.”

Arabella’s expression sobered. “Seriously, Marcus, I must thank you for today. You handled our pupils with admirable tact and grace, especially Miss Fletcher.”

“I’m pleased to have won your approbation, but you can thank my sister for educating me on how to deal with young ladies.” He rose from the settee and offered his hand to Arabella, who also stood. “Allow me to escort you home in my carriage.”

For once she was sorry to have to refuse his company. “Forgive me, but I cannot leave just yet. I need to speak privately with Gladys Fletcher to make certain she hasn’t suffered any lasting trauma from the spilled tea incident. And I want to have a word with Sybil Newstead as well.”

“She is a little witch, isn’t she?”

“Indeed. Girls that age can be savage, and Sybil is the worst. She is our wealthiest heiress and our most troublesome, even though this is only her first year. Keeping control of her has been difficult.”

“What did she do that was so egregious?”

“What hasn’t she done? She smuggled three bottles of brandy into the dormitory and made half her schoolmates drunk. She tried to seduce a footman and had him so flustered that he begged to be sent to another place of employment. She ran up enormous bills at her dressmakers, so that her father threatened to withdraw her from school if we couldn’t keep a tighter rein on her. Since then we’ve had to employ a full-time maid to keep a careful watch on her.”

Marcus chuckled. “Your other pupils are clearly fond of you. You have an impressive way with them.”

“Thank you,” Arabella replied earnestly as she accompanied him to the drawing room door. “I try to mold their characters as well as polish their manners, but mainly I strive to give them the confidence to overcome their lack of genteel birth. I don’t believe anyone should be condemned simply because her blood is not blue.”

“Your radical notions would not sit well with our peers,” Marcus said humorously. When they reached the corridor, he paused. “You will have dinner with me this evening?”

Arabella hesitated. “Yes, but I forgot to mention, I have invited our patroness, Lady Freemantle, to dine with us.”

Marcus sent her a knowing look. “So you can avoid being alone with me.”

She dimpled. “In large part. But also because Winifred is eager to make your acquaintance. She has met you on several occasions, although she doubts that you remember her.”

“Oh, I remember her. She is very hard to forget.”

“That she is,” Arabella agreed. Winifred Freemantle was a large, ruddy-faced woman with a booming voice and an accent that betrayed her lower class origins. “But she is a dear friend.”

“And obviously one of your staunchest allies. In that case, it will behoove me to try to impress her. I will have my carriage return here shortly to bring you home.”

Arabella nodded before summoning a footman with instructions to escort Lord Danvers to his carriage. When Marcus had taken his leave of her, she turned the opposite way in order to seek out her pupils, but she still felt that little glow of warmth that had lingered throughout his entire visit.

Her benevolent feelings did not last through dinner.

That evening when Lady Freemantle arrived, Marcus was all attentive charm, and Winifred succumbed to his blandishments like butter melting under a hot sun. By their first glass of wine, he was well on the way to winning her over as an ally.

In his defense, Arabella admitted with grudging admiration, he truly seemed to enjoy her ladyship’s company.

Nearly a decade older than Marcus, Winifred treated him with matronly affection, although there was nothing matronly about her heavy-boned, mannish features and coarse manners that were more at home in the stables than an elegant drawing room. But her jovial nature was so warm and infectious that the two of them were soon laughing and sharing tales of their London acquaintances. Much worse, Winifred began confiding in Marcus as if they were old cronies.

Arabella’s heart sank as she watched. She had counted on her friend to champion her cause against Marcus, but it was clear before they even went in to dinner that he had made another conquest.

Once again the meal was delicious-sole in cream sauce, fricassee of rabbit, pigeon pie, and Winifred’s favorite, a roast of beef, with tarts and syllabub for the sweets. Yet Arabella didn’t find the dishes quite as delectable when the subject somehow turned to matrimony.

“My beauty isn’t what appealed to Sir Rupert, as you can tell,” her ladyship said with frank good humor. “ ’Twas the size of my dowry, no mistake. A large dowry can cover up any number of faults in a female, even homely looks.”

Marcus sent Arabella an innocent glance. “I had planned to settle a large sum on my wards.”

Beaming at him, Winifred bobbed her head in approval. “I knew you were a right ’un, Lord Danvers. I’ve worried prodigiously about Arabella and her sisters these past few years. But a dowry will make it much easier for them to find husbands.”

“Winifred,” Arabella protested. “I thought you supported our intentions to remain single.”

“No, dear. I want you to have a choice about who…whom you wed, but you need to marry eventually. That’s the only future for a lady of quality.”

“I have been trying to tell her so,” Marcus said, his eyes laughing.

“You should listen to your guardian, Arabella,” Winifred said quite seriously. “Lord Danvers might even be willing to drum up some good candidates for you. Suitable husbands don’t grow on trees, you know. With his connections, you might be able to make a good match after all.”

“Well, actually…” Marcus remarked, “I already have found the ideal candidate for her.”

Winifred turned to him with keen curiosity. “Who?”

“Myself. I have proposed to Miss Loring, but she has refused.”

Her ladyship looked startled, while Arabella shot him a reproachful glance. She hadn’t yet told her friend about Marcus’s proposal or their wager, and she regretted that he had brought it up now when she would rather have explained the situation to Winifred in private.

Winifred was still eyeing him in disbelief. “Is that the truth? You proposed, my lord? I wouldn’t have taken you for the marrying kind.”

“I wasn’t until last week. I took one look at Miss Loring and was smitten.”

Her ladyship’s chuckle resembled something of a horse’s whinny, while her brown eyes started dancing. “I always heard you were a wicked charmer. I can see why you have a bevy of lovestruck mistresses and admirers all trying to set traps for you.”

“Winifred!” Arabella exclaimed again. “It is hardly proper to speak of a gentleman’s mistresses at the dining table.”

“Now, don’t be so missish, dear. You know I believe in plain speaking. And if you want my advice, you could do much worse than to wed his lordship.”

“See,” Marcus interjected with a provocative glance at Arabella, “even your patroness thinks you should accept me.”

Winifred continued as if Arabella wasn’t there. “You won’t find it easy to win her over, my lord, but don’t be discouraged just because she doesn’t want you right this minute. Persistence, that’s the key. You should take a page from my late husband’s book. He practically had to fight off my other suitors, which is why my papa chose him for me-because he admired Rupert’s persistence. And even though Rupert only wanted me for my fortune, it turned out to be a good enough marriage. We became right fond of each other.” Her eyes suddenly shimmered with tears. “I miss him with a powerful ache sometimes.”

She sniffed loudly, then turned her attention to Arabella again. “Which is why, my girl, you don’t want to remain an old maid all your life. I know you have your reasons for not wanting to wed, but loneliness is a bleak bedfellow.”

With effort, Arabella managed a smile. “I will keep that in mind, Winifred. Now, may we please change the subject? All this pointless talk about marrying Lord Danvers has diminished my appetite.”

Arabella was glad when they obliged, but to her chagrin, Winifred was not willing to give up the subject entirely. She brought it up again an hour later when she took her departure. While Marcus waited politely on the front landing, Arabella accompanied her ladyship down the steps to her carriage.

“I think you should seriously consider wedding Lord Danvers,” Winifred whispered in a voice loud enough to carry back to the house. “That magnificent specimen of manhood would make you a fine bedfellow, I’ll wager.”

Arabella felt her cheeks flame, knowing that Marcus had overheard. “That is not a wager I intend to take, Winifred.”

She was determined to pretend indifference, but when she returned to the house, Marcus stood blocking her way to the entrance hall, his blue eyes alive with humor.

“Don’t say it,” Arabella warned as she brushed past him.

“Say what, love?” he asked innocently as he followed her inside and shut the door.

“Whatever you intended to say. No doubt you meant to remind me of your superior qualities as a bedfellow.”

He chuckled but shook his head. “You malign me unjustly. I merely wanted to invite you to accompany me on a picnic tomorrow.”

She gave him a curious glance. “A picnic? I would not have expected you to be fond of picnics.”

“I am in this instance, since it’s how I wish to spend some of my allotted time with you tomorrow. I’ll order a lunch packed, and we’ll drive my curricle instead of riding. That way you won’t be able to gallop off and leave me to eat your dust.”

Arabella hesitated. The prospect of a picnic with Marcus was indeed appealing, even if it afforded him another opportunity to seduce her into accepting his proposal. Yet she had agreed to his terms, promising him a sporting chance to woo her. Moreover, she owed him for his kindness to her pupils this afternoon.

“Very well,” Arabella replied evenly. “I would be pleased to accompany you on a picnic tomorrow, my lord. For now…good night.”

When she mounted the sweeping staircase, however, Marcus remained only a few steps behind. And at the head of the stairs, when she turned left toward her bedchamber, he continued to accompany her.

When she was halfway down the corridor, Arabella came up short and gave him a look of exasperation. “What do you mean, following me this way, Marcus?”

“I am merely escorting you to your room.”

“I am entirely capable of finding my room on my own.”

“Of course you are, sweeting, but I want a moment of privacy with you.”

When he took her hand and drew her along the deserted corridor toward her door, Arabella tried nervously to pull back. “Our allotted time was more than fulfilled today.”

“I will borrow from tomorrow’s allotment.”

“You cannot enter my bedchamber, Marcus!”

“I don’t intend to.”

Although hardly reassured, Arabella ceased resisting, knowing it would do little good.

Guiding her into the adjacent music room, Marcus shut the door behind them and turned to face her. “This should prove adequate.”

“Adequate for what?” she asked, her voice suddenly breathless.

“For your next lesson. We won’t be interrupted here.”

“But I don’t need another lesson.”

Those midnight blue eyes glinted down from beneath heavy brows. She had only to look into those compelling eyes, gleaming with wicked knowledge, to feel aroused.

“Yes, you do.”

Arabella felt her heart quicken alarmingly at the sensual smile that curved Marcus’s mouth as he advanced toward her. She retreated a step, holding up her hand to ward him off. “Aren’t you aware that when a lady says she doesn’t want a gentleman’s attentions, it is rude to disbelieve her?”

“Since I never attended your academy, I never learned that particular rule.” He caught her hand and halted her retreat. “I mean to educate your senses, sweet Arabella.” Raising her hand to his mouth, he pressed his lips to the tender middle of her palm. A soft gasp escaped her at the erotic feel.

“You did this yesterday,” she pointed out even more breathlessly.

“No. Yesterday I taught you about the power of touch. Today we’ll focus on the power of taste.”

“Taste?”

“Kissing, love.” His tongue flicked out to lightly dampen her palm, making her gasp again. “I won’t use my hands this time. I intend to teach you about kissing using just my mouth, to let you learn the taste of me.”

Her heart leapt with excitement. And even though she parted her lips to issue a protest, she couldn’t find her voice. The deplorable truth was, she wanted this lesson. She had no doubt that the tame pecks her betrothed had once given her would be nothing compared to Marcus’s devastating kisses.

When she didn’t reply, he offered her another enchanting smile. Still keeping hold of her hand, he turned Arabella and guided her until her back was pressed again to the wall. Then releasing his grasp, he bent his head.

His warm breath eddied and caressed her lips before he kissed her lightly. His mouth brushed sparks across the surface of hers, jolting her pulse into a wild rhythm, yet Arabella held herself still, fighting the overwhelming temptation to kiss him back.

Marcus lifted his head to study her. “No response? I see I will have to do better.”

His dark lashes lowering over his vivid eyes, he bent again, his mouth warm and vibrant as it settled on hers with slow, sure pressure. This time Arabella couldn’t keep still, not with all the incredible sensations spiraling through her.

“Open for me, Arabella,” Marcus murmured against her lips as she shivered.

His mouth coaxed and beguiled until she did as he bid. Immediately his tongue delved inside, exploring in a sensual invasion that dazed her with pleasure and completely stole her breath away.

It was a long, long moment before she realized he had broken off to ask her a question. “How does that taste?”

Delicious, was Arabella’s unspoken reply. The taste of him was exquisite and filled her with a hungry yearning. Her senses dazed, she gazed back at him mutely, grateful to have the wall supporting her back, since her limbs had grown so weak. When finally she licked her lips in response, she saw Marcus’s eyes flare.

He took his time, however, when his kiss resumed. This caress was languid and intimate, his mouth mating with hers while his tongue played in a leisurely, erotic dance. Arabella closed her eyes at the surge of desire sweeping through her, oblivious to everything but the movement of his enchanting mouth, his beguiling penetration.

She wanted to whimper in disappointment when at length he ended the kiss, but thankfully, he didn’t leave her entirely. Instead, his lips traveled upward, feathering across her cheek to her temple.

“You have the most erotic mouth I have ever tasted,” he murmured.

“So do you,” Arabella replied honestly.

His soft laugh was a warm burst of breath against her skin. The intoxicating sensation sent a shiver of pleasure rippling down her spine, but when he touched his lips to her ear, drawing the lobe into his mouth, she gave a helpless moan.

“I want to taste your breasts,” Marcus added.

His whispered words, so provocative and tantalizing, made her breasts tingle shamefully.

She should pull away, Arabella told herself when she felt his hands moving at her back, working loose the hooks of her gown, but all she could do was stand there quivering, her heart pounding. She watched, spellbound as he drew down her bodice to reveal the rounded swells of her breasts above her chemise and corset. Then he tugged down the edge of her chemise to expose the rose-hued crests.

His eyes flashed at the sight.

“Marcus…”

“Hush, you’ll like this.”

His husky murmur silenced her. Another tremor shook Arabella when she realized he meant to kiss her bare breasts, but she did nothing to stop him.

His gaze burned her as he bent lower, and then so did his breath as it fanned against her tender skin. At the delicate flicker of his tongue against her sensitive flesh, Arabella inhaled a sharp gasp. But when he grazed the tip of her nipple with his tongue, her breath fled altogether.

His teasing, velvet-rough tongue stroked her for a long moment, making her shudder with pleasure. Then with expert skill he drew the soft, swollen bud into his mouth, suckling the aching aureole. A whimper escaped her lips, while her hands rose to tangle in his raven hair. The brazen heat that coiled inside her was almost too intense to bear; it spiraled downward to the pulsing core of her body, weakening her further.

Eventually, though, Marcus shifted his arousing ministrations to her other breast, sucking more powerfully and sending another shaft of fire down to her loins. Stunned, Arabella arched toward him while the muscles of her inner thighs tightened almost painfully.

It was Marcus who drew back this time, however, leaving her hot and wanting.

Pressing his forehead against hers, he held himself rigid, as if straining for willpower. “I had best stop while I still can.”

“What…if I don’t want you to stop?”

He gave a ragged laugh. “God, don’t tempt me.” Finally he drew a measured breath and stepped back. “Go to bed, Arabella…Alone. Before I forget that I’m a gentleman and decide to join you.”

She swallowed in an effort to control her jagged breathing, yet it was impossible to recover her dazed senses so abruptly.

As she straightened her disheveled bodice, Marcus opened the door and checked the corridor. “The coast is clear.”

His hands moving to her shoulders, he pressed another light, all-too-fleeting kiss on her lips before turning her and sending her from the room.

Still half dazed, Arabella hurried down the hall and slipped into her bedchamber next door.

Her breath was still ragged as she shut herself inside, her nipples jewel-hard, her limbs hopelessly weak. It was a long while before her erratic heartbeat slowed, and even longer before she gathered her scattered senses enough to begin preparing for bed.

Arabella removed the pins from her hair and brushed out the red-gold tresses, then took off her gown, her task made easier because the hooks had been unfastened earlier by Marcus’s dexterous hands. When she entered her dressing room, she caught sight of her flushed face in the cheval glass. She looked like a perfect wanton.

Chiding herself not so much for her brazen conduct as her too-easy surrender, she hung her gown in the wardrobe. When she opened the door to the clothespress where she kept her nightclothes and undergarments, however, she froze as the scent of roses greeted her.

Arabella bit back a helpless laugh. Marcus had scattered red rose petals all over her lingerie.

There was no use protesting his wicked intimacy, she knew, for he would claim to be justified in using any means necessary to court her. And she had to admit his methods were effective. Knowing he had been here in her dressing room, touching her undergarments-her chemises, her corsets, her stockings, her nightshifts-brought a flood of sinful images to her mind, including a powerfully potent one…of Marcus divesting her of those same garments as easily as he had exposed her upper body a brief while ago.

Her skin flushed with heat as she remembered how he’d drawn down her bodice and kissed her bare breasts, how his wonderful mouth had lovingly teased and fondled her nipples. He’d demonstrated more than just the power of taste tonight; he’d shown her what he would be like as her lover.

At the burning memory, Arabella raised one of the rose petals to her lips, inhaling the sweet fragrance. His devastating kisses just now were his latest lesson in the spark and fire between a man and a woman, and admittedly, the experience had stunned her. He’d not only aroused feminine yearnings she had forcibly buried when her betrothed had deserted her four years ago; Marcus had ignited a desire-no, a hunger-in her that she’d never even known existed.

A hunger she couldn’t help wanting to explore.

And as she stood there quivering, she heard an insistent little voice whispering in her mind: What would happen if you gave in to him?

Wisely quelling the question, Arabella blew out a shaky breath as she began gathering up errant rose petals. The seductive devil was even more dangerous than she had feared. It unnerved her, the lengths Marcus was willing to go to to win their wager, even though she couldn’t help but secretly admire his tenacity. He was a man who controlled his own fate, who refused to let anything stand in his way, including her. He was determined to wear down her resistance-and he was starting to succeed, blast him.

In her own defense, Arabella reminded herself, any female in her right mind would be thrilled by his romantic wooing, and she was no different. She might have disavowed any prospects of love and matrimony, but she was only human.

The trouble was, the temptation to succumb to his beguiling seduction was growing more irresistible by the moment.