Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage
Emboldened, empowered by this evidence of Darius’s pleasure in the caress, Arabella stroked her tongue into his mouth. Again. Then again. And each time she felt the intriguing pulsing of the firm length of Darius’s thighs as they pressed into the welcoming well of her own heat.
What had started out as a game to Darius, a punishment for both that past slight in refusing his offer for her and Arabella’s scorn earlier this evening, was a game no longer. His arousal was hard and throbbing inside his pantaloons, and he was consumed by the overwhelming need to carry this interlude to its natural conclusion.
Darius satisfied himself momentarily by using his own tongue to duel for dominance. Finally winning that battle, he returned those delicate strokes of hers with penetrating thrusts.
Yet it was not enough—in light of the many months that Darius had desired this particular young woman perhaps it never would be—and he groaned his frustration with the clothes between them that prevented him from touching every inch of Arabella’s firm and ripe body.
Still kissing her, he manoeuvred her away from the door and guided her towards the huge desk that stood in front of the window.
The top of the desk was completely clear of the clutter that littered Darius’s own desk in Carlyne House, Belgravia—which of course it would be, this room being the fastidious Hawk St Claire’s own private domain!—and Arabella stiffened in surprise as she felt the backs of her thighs came into contact with that sturdy piece of furniture. At least Darius hoped it was sturdy enough for what he had in mind.
This young woman had accused him of being a rake and a scoundrel—amongst other things—and Darius did not intend to disappoint her. His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons on the back of her gown.
Arabella had absolutely no idea how it was that only seconds later she came to be sitting atop her brother’s desk, with her dress down about her waist and only the sheer material of her camisole to cover the firm thrust of her breasts.
Although the how ceased to matter as Darius gently pushed her gown up and her legs apart to stand between them, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. He slowly lowered his head to run his tongue expertly over the exact spot where the swollen tip of one of Arabella’s breasts showed dark against the creamy material.
Arabella gave a breathy gasp as that caress caused pleasure to course through her body, tingling down her arms, the length of her spine, before centring as an ache between her heated thighs.
‘You like that?’ Darius murmured with satisfaction as he slowly repeated the caress against her other breast.
Of course Arabella liked that! What woman would not enjoy such heady pleasure as these caresses aroused in her?
For all her earlier claims, Arabella had certainly never experienced such intimacy. Had never really known what transpired between a man and woman when they were alone together. Her mother had died when she was but eight years of age. And her Aunt Hammond, a widow for some years, had never discussed such matters with her. As for her three older brothers—Hawk, Lucian and Sebastian all considered Arabella to be still too young to even think about such things, let alone indulge in them. And Arabella, her outward demeanour deliberately one of a sophisticated young lady about town, was far too embarrassed by her ignorance on the subject to have questioned any of her sisters-in-law.
Which explained why Arabella had reached the age of almost twenty years without knowing of the sheer pleasure, the beauty of physical intimacy.
This time she was prepared for Darius’s kiss, but so lost was she in the heat of that kiss that she offered no objection as he slipped the straps of her camisole down her arms and bared her breasts completely for him to cup and caress.
Arabella had never known, never guessed that such pleasure as this existed. Her back arched as she pressed herself against the caress of Darius’s fingers. Light touches that made the rosy tips of her breasts swell to such an aching sensitivity that it sent an echoing surge of pulsing pleasure between her thighs.
Darius broke the kiss to seek out and taste the hollows of her throat, his lips warm, tongue moist, teeth lightly nipping at her sensitised flesh as he moved lower still.
‘You are so very beautiful here,’ Darius murmured throatily, his breath a warm caress against her bared breasts before he slowly drew one of those pouting tips into his mouth.
Arabella gasped and writhed in pleasure, her fingers becoming entangled in the silky hair at his nape as she held him tightly to her. She felt so hot. So needy. So very needy.
She trembled with that need as Darius pulled back slightly to look at her, and her cheeks were burning as she looked down and saw that her nipple was twice its normal size and much darker in colour than when she sometimes looked at herself in the mirror after bathing.
Her breasts seemed altogether larger, as if they had swollen beneath the caress of Darius’s hands and lips. But Darius had said her breasts were beautiful, so perhaps that was supposed to happen?
‘May I …?’ Arabella now longed to touch Darius as intimately as he had just touched her, and her hands were moving hesitantly to the buttons on the front of his waistcoat as she waited for his reply.
Darius nodded briefly in the darkness and as he straightened, eyes glittering darkly. ‘That seems only fair,’ he invited huskily.
At that moment, aroused as he was, Darius could have denied Arabella nothing. He drew in his breath on a sharp hiss as she peeled his waistcoat and tailored jacket down his arms to allow them to drop to the carpeted floor, before unbuttoning his shirt down to the middle of his chest, and he felt the first touch of the slender warmth of her exploring hands upon his bared and heated flesh.
Darius gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as her hands trailed in a soft caress over his chest before she found the hardened nubs nestled amongst the mat of golden hair that lightly covered them.
She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, her bared breasts a proud thrust, her waist so slender, Darius thought he might span it with his two hands. It was all he could do to restrain himself from the urge he had to lay her across the length of the desk before moving between her parted thighs and burying the throbbing ache of his arousal inside her.
‘Kiss me, Arabella!’ he encouraged hoarsely.
He almost became undone completely when he felt the first moist lap of her little pink tongue against his nipple. As it was Darius had to clench his hands into fists at his sides as he fought to stop from spilling himself like some callow youth.
Instead he reached up and entangled his fingers in Arabella’s golden curls to press her mouth harder to his sensitive flesh, drawing in a harsh breath as she copied the caress he had so recently given her.
‘I am sure that you must have been mistaken, Lord Redwood,’ Hawk St Claire, Duke of Stourbridge remarked pleasantly as he pushed open the study door. ‘My sister the Lady Arabella has absolutely no reason to enter the privacy of my study—’ The Duke broke off his disclaimer as the candelabra he carried in his hand to light the way clearly revealed that his sister had every reason to have entered the privacy of his study..
Chapter Two
‘Perhaps you would care to give me your explanation as to exactly what Lord Redwood and I interrupted earlier?’ Hawk, Duke of Stourbridge, Arabella’s beloved eldest brother, was icily calm as he faced her across her bedchamber, but Arabella wasn’t fooled.
She did not think she would ever forget the look of horror on her brother’s face when, accompanied by Lord Redwood, he had walked into his study to find her and the Duke of Carlyne in a state of undress atop his leather-topped desk!
She gave an embarrassed groan just thinking of how her wilful determination to disprove Darius Wynter’s mockery of her claim to experience had led to what was now undoubtedly her complete disgrace.
That Hawk, whom Arabella so looked up to and wanted to think well of her, should have found her in such a compromising situation was unbearable. That Lord Redwood, a member of the government and a man who had campaigned against and spoken in the House on the subject of immorality within Society, should also have been witness to both Arabella and Hawk’s shame was beyond enduring..
Regret was an emotion that Darius seemed patently incapable of feeling. He had certainly displayed no indication of it when Hawk had turned to hurriedly usher Lord Redwood from the study. Instead Darius had simply moved away from Arabella to calmly refasten the buttons on his shirt and straighten his cravat, before once again donning his waistcoat and jacket and neatly arranging his snowy white linen at the cuff. A single sweep of one elegant hand through his hair had tousled those golden locks back into their normally rakish style.
And all the time he was doing those things Arabella had been hurriedly straightening her own clothing, her fingers shaking and her face deathly pale as she realised the enormity of her indiscretion. As she considered what the repercussions of her impetuous actions might be.
Immediate banishment to the Stourbridge ducal estate in Gloucestershire would, Arabella felt sure, be the least of those punishments!
Now, she moistened her lips before answering. ‘What explanation did Darius—er—the Duke of Carlyne give when the two of you spoke together just now?’
To Arabella’s further dismay Hawk had returned alone to his study only minutes after that embarrassing interruption, his disposition stiffly disapproving as he sent her up to her bedchamber so that he and Darius might converse privately together. Until Arabella knew what had been said during that conversation she had no idea what answer to give her brother.
Hawk strode further into the bedchamber, tall and austerely handsome, his eyes a cold, forbidding glitter. ‘He offered no explanation at all,’ her brother answered testily.
She frowned. ‘But he must have said something!’ Hawk gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘He offered marriage.’
Arabella’s eyes widened incredulously. Darius had offered for her?
It was the last thing, positively the last thing Arabella had been expecting when she considered Darius’s cold and distant behaviour in those minutes after they had been dis covered together.
‘An offer you will, of course, refuse,’ Hawk added autocratically, his top lip curled back with distaste.
Arabella stiffened with resentment at her brother’s arrogance. She had already suffered the indignity of being mocked by Darius this evening. Then being made love to by Darius and, once discovered, sent to her bedchamber by Hawk as if she were a naughty child. And now it seemed she was also to suffer being told what to do by her arrogant eldest brother.
In truth, Arabella was not sure that she even liked Darius Wynter, let alone wished to marry him. She found his good-looks compelling. His physical attributes exciting. Was intrigued by his reputation. Had been infuriated earlier by his taunting as to her knowledge of physical intimacy. But like him? No, Arabella’s feelings towards Darius could never be described by an emotion so … so lukewarm as liking!
Even so, her rebellious nature was such that she did not appreciate Hawk telling her what she would or would not do in regard to Darius’s offer of marriage.
She held herself proudly. ‘Surely that is for me to decide, Hawk, not you?’
Her eldest brother eyed her disapprovingly. ‘The man is totally unsuitable.’
‘His rank is every bit as prestigious as your own!’ Arabella found herself defending the very man she had minutes ago been so angry with.
‘His rank, perhaps, but not the man,’ Hawk bit out contemptuously. ‘Arabella, I cannot tell you how strongly I would disapprove of a match between you and Carlyne.’
She raised her chin in stubborn defiance of that disapproval. ‘I am sorry you feel that way.’
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is your intention to accept Carlyne’s offer, then?’
‘I have not decided,’ she answered coolly. ‘I will give you my answer once I have given Darius his.’
Her brother straightened, looking every inch the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge. ‘He has asked to speak to you in my study before he leaves.’
Arabella gave a haughty inclination of her head. ‘In that case I really must not keep him waiting any longer.’ She swept regally from the bedchamber and down the stairs.
Before her courage failed her!
‘Your brother has graciously granted us five minutes alone together in which we might discuss this evening’s events,’ Darius said dryly when Arabella rejoined him in the now candlelit study.
Hawk St Claire was so damned toplofty. He obviously believed himself to be far superior to Darius in every way. He had seemed not to care a jot for the fact that Darius was himself now a duke, and therefore the other man’s social equal, as he’d coldly informed him exactly what he thought of him for daring to dally with his sister.
Until Darius’s offer of marriage—his second in regard to Lady Arabella St Claire—had robbed the other man completely of speech!
‘So I understand.’ Arabella looked at him with the same haughty disdain as her eldest brother had only minutes ago.
Even so, Darius could not help but admire the rebellious glitter in her eyes and the defiant tilt to her chin as she looked down the length of that haughty little nose at him. Not too many women he knew would be half so sure of themselves after being so recently discovered in a compromising situation with a scandalously notorious rake like him.
That Darius had ceased to publicly live up to that reputation since taking on the mantle of the Duke of Carlyne appeared to have gone unnoticed by the majority of the ton; it was a case of once a rake always a rake, it seemed. Not that this reputation was in the least a hindrance to Darius’s eligibility. As Arabella’s youngest brother Sebastian had once informed him, inheriting a dukedom tended to bring on a bout of amnesia amongst the ton concerning a man’s previous indiscretions.
Which brought Darius back full circle to the purpose of this five-minutes conversation with the young lady standing before him.
His mouth compressed. ‘I doubt we will need the whole of the allotted five minutes for me to make a formal offer for you and for you to refuse it.’ Darius studied her from beneath hooded lids as he clinically admired her undoubted beauty: those deep brown eyes, that pert little nose, the perfect bow of her lips. Lips that had only minutes ago responded to his with a passion that had far exceeded any of Darius’s expectations.
He was acquainted well enough with the three St Claire brothers to know that Arabella’s earlier claims to physical experience were a complete fabrication. Her brothers would never have tolerated even a hint of licentious behaviour in their young sister. But it had been her defiance that at the time Darius had been unable to resist challenging.
He had never had any serious intention of making love to Arabella, only to exact a little revenge for her dismissal of his offer eighteen months ago. That revenge had neatly rebounded on him when she had responded to his kisses and caresses with a passion that had just been waiting, it seemed, to respond to a lover’s touch.
His specific touch?
Somehow Darius doubted that very much. Since their first meeting Arabella had made her contemptuous opinion of him more than obvious.
‘Marriage is not something I either seek or want,’ he drawled now. ‘Nevertheless, I am aware of the obligation I have to make such an offer. An offer that you, having already assured me that I am a man no decent woman would ever align herself with, need only refuse to bring an end to it.’
Arabella felt a shiver down the length of her spine as she heard the steely edge to Darius’s tone as he repeated her earlier insult to him. An insult he had obviously taken exception to….
Enough to have deliberately made love to her a short time ago? No doubt. But it did not alter the fact that she had responded to him in such a wild and abandoned way.
Darius’s arrogant certainty that Arabella would refuse his offer rankled in the same way as Hawk’s cold assertion that she would refuse it had done earlier. ‘Well? ‘ she demanded haughtily.
Those deep blue eyes narrowed. ‘Well, what?’
Arabella gave him a pert smile. ‘I am waiting for you to make such an offer.’
Blond brows rose mockingly. ‘I believe I just did.’
‘No, you did not.’ Arabella shook her head. ‘You have explained that it is an offer you feel socially pressured into making. You have also said that I will refuse such an offer. You have yet to actually make me that offer.’
Darius gave an impatient grimace. ‘You want your pound of flesh? Is that it?’
Her eyes flashed in temper. ‘I merely want my offer!’
‘Very well.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lady Arabella, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife? ‘ He made no effort to hide the sarcasm behind his proposal, or the cynical twist to his mouth.
It fired Arabella’s temper anew. Darius Wynter was one of the most arrogant men she had ever met. He was just so absolutely sure of himself. Of Arabella’s refusal to even consider his proposal. Of his ability to escape any lasting repercussions concerning their lovemaking—leaving her to bear the brunt of them with regard to her immediate family.
All her life, it seemed, Arabella had been surrounded by arrogantly forceful men. Her father, Alexander. Her three older brothers. To tie herself to a husband who possessed that same arrogance would surely be the height of folly.
Or perhaps it would be the height of good sense?
Arabella had enjoyed her two Seasons, but only once during that time had she even come close to finding a man who held her interest beyond their initial meeting. And that man had been Darius Wynter himself.
His Grace was absolutely nothing like the young men who had flattered and flirted with her these past two Seasons, all proclaiming undying love for her until Arabella had become sickened by their attentions.
Darius, making no effort to hide his arrogance or his cynicism, had neither flattered nor flirted with her. Much to her regret …
Arabella’s pulse fluttered anew just looking at him: that golden hair, those dark and unfathomable blue eyes, his arrogant slash of a nose above sculptured lips and jaw. And his perfectly tailored clothes covered what she had discovered such a short time ago was a surprisingly hard and muscled body.
No, Arabella was positive she would never find herself bored in the company of Darius Wynter …
‘You are taking a deuced long time to refuse me!’ he eventually growled in his impatience with her silence.
Arabella couldn’t help giving a taunting, confident smile. ‘I am still considering your offer, sir.’
He scowled darkly. ‘What is there to consider?’
Arabella could no longer stand looking at the desk which had been the scene of her disgrace, instead strolling over to stand in front of the window to look out across the moonlit garden. ‘Well, for one thing, by accepting your offer I would become a duchess.’
‘The despised Darius Wynter’s duchess, do not forget,’ he reminded her harshly.
She gave a haughty inclination of her head as she turned to face him. ‘There is that to consider, of course.’
His mouth twisted. ‘And have you also forgotten that I was so “conveniently” rid of one wife but one short year ago?’
Arabella had forgotten!
‘You must also be aware that none of the ton has a good word to say about me,’ Darius said, pressing his advantage.
Arabella frowned slightly. ‘My brother Lucian speaks very highly of you.. ‘
Darius’s mouth tightened. ‘We are friends. Of a sort.’
She nodded. ‘And I know that his wife, Grace, has taken several people to task for daring to criticise you within her hearing.’
His mouth quirked. ‘We are related, after all.’
‘Only tenuously.’ Arabella dismissed the connection of him being Grace’s half-uncle by marriage, or some such nonsense. ‘My new sister-in-law, Juliet, was also most insistent that you be a guest at her wedding today.’
Darius’s expression softened slightly as he thought of the gracious and beautiful Juliet Boyd, now Lady Juliet St Claire. ‘Only because it was jealousy of my own friendship with the lady that was instrumental in bringing your brother up to scratch.’
Arabella’s eyes widened. ‘You had a—a romantic interest in Juliet?’ ‘Not in the least.’ Darius gave a firm shake of his head. ‘Sebastian thought I had a romantic interest in her,’ he corrected. ‘She and I were both aware at all times that that was not at all the case.’
‘Why not?’
He raised surprised blond brows. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why were you not attracted to Juliet?’
‘I simply was not.’ He snapped his impatience with the subject. ‘Contrary to popular belief, I do not set out to seduce every beautiful woman I meet.’
Arabella frowned once more. ‘I had not realised you were present at the Bancrofts’ house party when Sebastian and Juliet met this past summer.’
Darius gave her an irritated glare. ‘I see no reason why you should have been informed.’
Arabella’s cheeks burned at the obvious derision in his tone. ‘Were you there when the French spy was apprehended?’
It took great effort on Darius’s part to keep his outward appearance coolly neutral. ‘What French spy? ‘
Arabella shook her head. ‘I have no idea. Sebastian and Juliet deny any knowledge of it. But rumour has it that the man was masquerading as someone’s servant before the arrest?’
Rumour, as usual, was wrong. Darius knew with certainty that the French spy in question had been a woman.
‘The incident must have happened after I had left,’ he said. ‘Now, could we get back to our own conversation? Our allotted five minutes was over long ago, and at any moment Hawk is likely to join us and demand to know our decision.’ Darius would use any means at his disposal—even reminding her of his marriage offer—to deter Arabella from showing any further interest in that French spy!
‘My decision,’ Arabella corrected haughtily. ‘After all, I am the one who will decide whether or not we are to be betrothed,’ she explained at Darius’s questioning glance.
Darius studied her through narrowed lids, easily noting the glitter of challenge in those deep brown eyes, the high colour in her cheeks, the determined set of her mouth and that stubbornly angled chin.
All things that told him Arabella was seriously considering accepting his offer….
An offer she had felt no compunction in refusing the previous year. Before he became a rich widower. Before he inherited the title of Duke of Carlyne.
Darius’s expression hardened. ‘And have you now decided?’
She drew in a ragged breath. ‘I … I believe I need more time in which to consider the matter.’
‘How much more time?’ Darius rasped harshly.
Arabella shrugged slender shoulders. ‘These things cannot be rushed, Your Grace. After all, we are talking of the rest of my life, are we not?’
‘And mine,’ he grated between clenched teeth.
She eyed him knowingly. ‘Perhaps you should have considered that before making love to me earlier?’
‘Perhaps I should,’ Darius said tersely. He had never met a young lady more deserving of having her backside paddled than Lady Arabella St Claire did at this moment. In hindsight, that was probably what Darius should have administered earlier this evening in response to her challenge, rather than making love to her!
She looked down her tiny nose at him. ‘I suggest, Your Grace, that in view of the lateness of the hour I consider your offer overnight and you call on me again tomorrow morning so that I might give you my answer.’