Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage (9 page)

Arabella felt her cheeks burn as she looked up and saw that Darius’s gaze had followed her own. Her body was betraying her awareness of his hungry gaze in a way she had no control over, and she felt the pouting tips of her breasts harden to the fullness of ripe berries that begged to be eaten.

She drew in a sharp breath even as she wrapped her arms protectively about herself. ‘I really would like to rest now, Darius.’

Seconds slipped slowly by as he minutely regarded her flustered and overheated face. ‘Your body says otherwise, my dear,’ he finally said.

Her eyes flashed darkly. ‘My body responds to
my
commands, not the other way around!’

‘Really?’ Darius murmured, even as he took another step closer to her. A move that caused those betraying breasts to pucker in ever-increasing expectation. ‘I believe you will find, my dear Arabella, that it is
I
who now has command over your body and not you.’

Her chin rose proudly even as she met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘If you believe that then you are a fool, Darius,’ she bit out contemptuously. ‘Or perhaps just overly conceited.’

Despite the fire the night before—the sooty black streaks still upon Arabella’s cheeks were a clear reminder of that event, if Darius should need one—and the long and uncomfortable hours of the night they had spent riding in the carriage, Arabella still managed to look every inch the proud and haughty duchess she now was.

So much so that Darius did not have the heart to taunt her any longer. ‘Perhaps,’ he allowed curtly, and he stepped away from her to stride over to the door. ‘As I said, I will be busy for the rest of the day. No doubt we will meet again at dinner.’

‘No doubt.’ Arabella nodded abruptly, determined to hold on to her tears long enough for Darius to open the door and leave her bedchamber.

He paused in the open doorway. ‘You will inform either myself or one of the servants of your movements if you should decide to go outside to explore when you awaken from your nap.’

She frowned. ‘I am to inform one of the servants if I wish to go outside?’

‘Or myself.’

‘I will do no such thing!’

‘Oh, I think that you will.’ The steely threat beneath the softness of his tone was unmistakable.

Arabella held on to her temper with effort. ‘I have been surrounded by arrogant men all my life, but neither my father or Hawk ever felt the need to tell me what I should and should not do. As such, I am accustomed to come and go as I please in my own home!’

Darius’s mouth tightened. ‘Then you will have to become unaccustomed, will you not? I am your husband, Arabella, not one of your over-indulgent older brothers,’ he said harshly as she would have voiced a second protest. ‘You gave me every right to tell you what to do two days ago, when you vowed before God to obey me!’

‘Not when it is your intention to make me a prisoner in my own home!’ She met his gaze defiantly.

‘Obedience is obedience,’ Darius snapped, but his expression softened slightly as he suddenly saw the pallor of her cheeks. He said more gently, ‘Arabella, I am doing this for your own good—’

‘Is that not the claim of all tyrants and despots?’

His mouth tightened at the accusation. ‘You do not know the area, Arabella, and have no idea of the pitfalls or—or dangers of the surrounding countryside. And until you do—’

‘Considering that Mulberry Hall, my brother’s home, is only in the county adjoining this one—’

‘You will not argue with me any further on this subject, Arabella!’ A nerve pulsed rapidly in Darius’s tightly clenched jaw.

She swallowed hard. ‘So I am to be subject to your
whim as to whether or not I may so much as walk outside in the grounds?’

It was far from an ideal situation, Darius knew. So far removed from what he had hoped for his marriage to Arabella…

But the carriage accident, and the fire last night, along with William Bancroft’s warnings the night of their wedding, had ensured that Darius’s suspicions were well and truly roused. And until he apprehended the person responsible some of Arabella’s personal freedoms must necessarily be curtailed. Much as she might dislike Darius for enforcing such rules on her.

He nodded. ‘That is exactly what I am saying.’

Her eyes glittered deeply gold in her anger. ‘I believe you will find that I am your wife, Darius, and not a dog upon your hearth or a horse in your stables! As such—’

‘As such you will do precisely what you are told!’ Darius cut in forcefully, determined not to be thwarted in this. He dared not. Not when it had been made obvious to him that her own life was in as much danger as his own. ‘Do not force me into locking you in your room in order to ensure your obedience, Arabella,’ he warned darkly.

Those glittering golden eyes widened in alarm. ‘You would really do that?’ she gasped.

‘If you insist on defying me, then, yes, you will leave me with no choice but to lock you in your bedchamber!’

Arabella stared at him incredulously and she realised by the rigidity of Darius’s expression that he meant what he said.

Had she known anything at
all
before today of the man to whom she was now married? Arabella wondered
dazedly. Or had she merely allowed herself to be dazzled by his golden good-looks? Challenged by his arrogant disregard for the women of the ton, who had thrown themselves at him before his brief first marriage and afterwards? Could it be that Arabella had behaved totally recklessly in her determination to ignore all the gossip that had circulated amongst the ton concerning Darius this past year, which should have warned her away from him?

What if that gossip were all true, after all?

As Arabella looked at the cold and remorselessly unbending man who had just threatened to lock her in her bedchamber if she did not obey him, she could well believe that it might be…

‘A
m I going to be subjected to this sulky silence all evening, Arabella, or do you think that at some stage you might indulge me by engaging in a little polite conversation?’ Darius eyed his wife down the length of the highly polished table in the candlelit dining-room, with a warm fire crackling in its hearth.

They had eaten their soup, followed by the fish course, and were now enjoying perfectly cooked roast beef—all without Arabella doing any more than answering yes or no to Darius’s attempts at conversation.

‘I never sulk, Darius.’ Brown eyes glittered as Arabella stared back at him.

Darius raised sceptical brows. ‘No?’

Arabella took a sip of her wine before answering him. ‘From what I have observed one has to feel strongly about something in order to sulk over it.’

‘Ah. I see.’ Darius sat back to rest his elbows on the arms of his chair to look at her above steepled fingers. ‘In that case I am gratified to hear you do not feel
strongly enough about anything I have said or done today to feel the necessity for such an emotion.’

‘You are welcome.’ She bestowed on him a sweetly insincere smile.

What a little liar she was, Darius mused ruefully. If there had been a knife handy earlier today, when he had instructed Arabella that she was to stay within the confines of the house unless she informed a servant, then Darius had no doubt he would have found it buried up to the hilt between his shoulderblades as soon as he had dared turn his back on her!

His bride looked absolutely enchanting this evening, in a long-sleeved gown of golden-brown silk which was an exact match with her eyes as they changed colour with her mood, with a ribbon of the same colour threaded through her honey-gold curls. Her throat was bare, as were her earlobes. Arabella’s only jewellery was the plain gold wedding ring Darius had placed upon her finger but two days ago.

Deliberately so? Probably, Darius acknowledged ruefully, even as he determined to pierce the frosty politeness with which his wife had been treating him all evening. ‘Then you acknowledge I had a perfect right to confine you to your bedchamber earlier today?’

A nerve pulsed in the tightness of her suddenly clenched jaw. ‘As I recall, you confined me to the
house
, not my bedchamber.’

Darius would have much preferred to confine Arabella to her bedchamber for the day, and to have joined her there so that they might continue their lovemaking of last night.

Instead of which he had spent an unsatisfactory day
questioning his grooms, Arabella’s maid and his own valet, in an effort to see if any of them had any information concerning the carriage accident or the fire. As was to be expected, all had denied knowing anything.

Darius could only hope that his time had not been completely wasted, and that whoever was responsible would at least now be alerted to the fact that his suspicions were aroused concerning both incidents.

His mouth tightened. ‘I trust you are well rested now?’

Arabella looked down the table at Darius from beneath lowered lashes and searched his face as to any hidden meaning to his question—for instance, if she were ‘well rested’ enough not to be in any immediate need of further sleep!

Arabella had been far too angry to sleep after Darius had left her bedchamber this morning. Instead she had paced the room restlessly for some time as she plotted and planned suitable retribution for his highhandedness. It had been several hours later before she’d come to the conclusion that most if not all of those plans were impossible.

Boiling him in oil was not practical. Throwing all his clothes in the bathtub would no doubt only result in his choosing to walk about naked. As for causing him physical damage…Darius was obviously so much stronger than she that that idea was rendered as impractical as boiling him in oil.

Another plan had occurred to Arabella as her maid had helped her to dress in preparation for joining Darius downstairs for dinner. That of leaving Winton Hall altogether by commandeering one of Darius’s own car
riages and travelling to her family’s home in neighbouring Gloucestershire. Once there, she could claim sanctuary with Hawk and his wife.

Of course it would cause the most terrible scandal if Arabella were to leave Darius so soon after their wedding, and she knew that Hawk would try to talk her out of it once he learnt of the circumstances under which Arabella had left Winton Hall. What had Darius done, after all, but suggest Arabella stay in her bedchamber and rest following the burning down of the inn in which they had been staying the night before?

Hawk would have behaved in exactly the same autocratic manner, and he would not see that Darius had bullied or intimidated her. But Arabella understood it only too well. And she would not stand for it. She would not stand for it at all!

The decision made, Arabella knew she must somehow try to avoid her husband’s lovemaking for one more night at least; she wasn’t sure she would be able to leave Darius at all once he had fully made love to her…

She placed her knife and fork carefully down upon the virtually untouched food on her plate and now avoided meeting Darius’s piercing gaze. ‘My nerves are still rather—unsettled by the upset of the last few days.’

‘Really?’

Arabella looked up sharply as she heard the sarcasm in Darius’s tone. ‘Yes, really,’ she echoed firmly.

‘Perhaps a soothing bath before bedtime?’

‘Perhaps.’ She nodded coolly. ‘Although I believe a night of undisturbed sleep would be more beneficial.’

‘You do?’ Darius drawled, not fooled for a moment by the demureness of his wife’s demeanour.

Arabella was the least demure woman Darius had ever met in his life!

Rather, she was stubborn. Headstrong. Far too outspoken for a man’s comfort. Arabella was all of those things and more. But demure? No, he did not think so!

Which meant there had to be a reason for her appearing to be so now. ‘I believe we might try the bath first,’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps followed by massaging a little perfumed oil into—’

‘Darius!’ Arabella gasped, her creamy cheeks blushing hotly.

‘Into your temples,’ he completed wickedly. ‘My late stepmother certainly believed in its restorative powers whenever she had the megrims. Which was often.’ Darius’s top lip curled back with distaste at the memory of Clara Wynter, his father’s third wife, as she languished upon her bed or a chaise in a pose of deep suffering. Usually as accompaniment to something Darius had supposedly said or done!

Arabella’s eyes flashed darkly. ‘I do not have the megrims! I am merely fatigued—You have a stepmother?’ She frowned down the table at him, suddenly diverted by what he had said.

‘No longer, thank God.’ he replied.

‘She died?’ Arabella pressed softly.

‘Oh, yes,’ Darius murmured without regret. Why should he feel regret at the death of a woman who had made his life hell from the age of five until he was ten? ‘My father married three times in his lifetime,’ he expanded, as Arabella continued to look at him enquiringly. ‘He adored his first wife, my brother George’s mother, and was happily married to her for almost twenty years,
until her death. I have no idea how he felt about my own mother as she died only hours after giving birth to me. After which I was raised by a series of wet-nurses and nursemaids. George was more than twenty years older than I, already away from home when I was born, and I rarely saw my father for the first four years of my life. So perhaps it is safe to assume that he adored his second wife too, and as such blamed me for killing her.’

Arabella frowned. ‘Babies do not kill. God decides these things.’

‘Or conversely the Devil.’

Arabella felt a stab of guilt as she recalled it was not so long ago she had thought Darius was the Devil disguised as an angel! ‘And did your father adore his third wife too?’ she prompted huskily.

‘She was certainly beautiful enough,’ Darius replied harshly. ‘I was five years old the first time I saw her. I thought she was an angel come to earth.’ His face hardened into sharp, forbidding angles. ‘I was wrong!’

Arabella drew in a sharp breath. This was the most that Darius had ever talked to her about his early life, his childhood, and the picture he painted was not a pleasant one. In comparison with her own indulged childhood it sounded very unpleasant indeed.

Perhaps it explained some of Darius’s excesses in his adult life—that devil-may-care attitude that had labelled him both a rake and a wastrel…?

No! Arabella must keep firmly in mind that Darius had treated her most shabbily earlier today, and not allow her softer emotions to be touched by the things he had just told her.

As such, she repressed the impulse she had to rise
and go down to the end of the table where he sat. To put her arms about him. To assure him that he would never be alone again.

An impulse totally at odds with Arabella’s decision to leave Winton Hall—and Darius—in the morning!

‘Your stepmother ignored you, too?’ she said instead.

Darius’s eyes glittered deeply blue. ‘It would have been far better for me if she had,’ he ground out. ‘But, no, my dear stepmama enjoyed nothing more than comparing her six-year-old stepson unfavourably with the son she produced within a year of her marriage to my father.’ His mouth twisted distastefully. ‘I was sly. Deceitful. Utterly wild. Not at all a good example for her own darling Francis to emulate.’

‘I had totally forgotten that you have a younger brother!’ Arabella exclaimed.

‘Most people do—to his extreme annoyance,’ Darius commented.

Arabella vaguely remembered Francis Wynter as being a pale, nondescript version of Darius himself. ‘But he was not present at our wedding, was he?’

A nerve pulsed in Darius’s tightly clenched jaw. ‘Francis is currently travelling on the Continent. For his health,’ he bit out.

Arabella eyed him knowingly. ‘Is that not what a man usually does in order to avoid a scandal of some kind?’

‘Is it?’ Darius’s expression was grim as he lifted his glass and took a sip of the red wine.

‘You know that it is.’ She smiled reprovingly. ‘What did Francis do? Run up gambling debts he could not pay? Engage in a scandalous affair with a married lady? Or perhaps he killed a man in a duel?’

‘Nothing so honourable!’ The harsh denial was spoken before Darius could stop himself, and it visibly startled Arabella. To the extent that Darius knew he had said too much. Far too much, taking into consideration Arabella’s sharp intelligence.

Although her innocence concerning Francis’s movements had at least served to confirm Lucian’s claim that he had not discussed the events of the previous April with any of his family—least of all his young sister…

Darius forced himself to relax and smile pleasantly. ‘There is reputed to be a black sheep in every family, Arabella. Or perhaps you had assumed that to be me in the Wynter family?’ He raised mocking brows, knowing by the becoming flush that appeared in her cheeks that that was exactly what she
had
thought!

Arabella was totally unnerved by the guilty flush that darkened her cheeks. She wondered what misdeed Lord Francis Wynter could possibly have committed that was worse than his older brother’s notorious and well-noted exploits in gambling clubs and ladies’ bedchambers…

She raised her chin challengingly. ‘You must admit it is a reputation you have long nurtured.’

‘Must I?’

Arabella scowled at his obvious amusement. ‘It is not something of which you should be in the least proud!’

Darius laughed softly. ‘My dear Arabella, you look so very beautiful when you are indignant.’

‘Do not attempt to cajole and flatter me, Darius,’ she scorned. ‘After your behaviour earlier today, I assure you I am beyond being charmed by you.’

‘I thought we had agreed that you did not feel strongly enough about my behaviour earlier to be in the least concerned by it?’ he teased.

‘I am
not
concerned by it!’ Arabella snapped frustratedly. ‘But neither do I intend to forget it.’ The softening she had felt towards Darius a few short minutes ago had completely disappeared.

‘What—never?’

‘No!’

‘I cannot…
persuade
you into thinking more kindly towards me?’ he asked.

Arabella eyed Darius uncertainly, not in the least reassured by the way his gaze had darkened and warmed to the colour of cobalt as he looked at her so intently. Or the way those chiselled lips had softened so sensually. Nor by the languid ease of his muscled shoulders and chest beneath his black superfine and white linen. No, Arabella was not reassured at all!

She became even less so as Darius rose slowly to his booted feet to walk slowly, confidently, down the length of the table until he reached her side. ‘Perhaps it is time you retired to bed, after all,’ he murmured throatily, as one of his hands moved up to curve warmly against the smoothness of her cheek.

It was all she could do to stop herself from melting against that caressing hand. From purring like a kitten at the touch of his fingers against her skin and moaning softly at the shaft of pleasure that coursed through her traitorous body.

She was still so angry with Darius for his high-handed treatment of her earlier today, and had every intention of leaving Winton Hall—and Darius—come the morning.

Yet her body now responded to his lightest touch. Her breasts swelled, and she felt a fierce rush of heat between her thighs that made her shift uncomfortably against the brocade cushion of the dining chair.

She moistened dry lips, and in doing so felt how their swollen sensitivity betrayed her arousal. ‘I believe I am old enough to decide for myself when I wish to go to bed, Darius.’ Her voice was sharp with self-disgust.

How could she possibly allow herself to be physically aroused by a man who made her as angry as Darius did most of the time?

Darius didn’t answer her immediately. Instead he moved both his hands so that they rested on the arms of Arabella’s chair and turned that chair towards him and brought his face down to within inches of her own. ‘I was suggesting that we
both
go to bed, Arabella,’ he whispered, his wine-scented breath warm against her cheek. ‘But I will be just as comfortable making love to you here, if you that is what you wish.’