Margaret Moore (26 page)

Her hands moved up his strong back as she pressed against him, while his came to cradle her face.

“Oh, Arabella,” he murmured as his lips dragged along her cheek toward her ear. “I want you so much.”

“I want you, too,” she whispered, arching, letting her head go back as he continued to trail his mouth lower and lower yet.

Then slowly, without a word of suggestion, their bodies commanding, they slowly knelt upon the floor.

Arabella did not consider where she was or the morality of what she was doing. She did not wonder what the earl or anyone else might think.

All she knew and cared about was this man whose kiss inflamed her and who returned her love. They would marry and be happy for the rest of their lives.

So she did not protest as his hands fumbled with the laces of her bodice, loosening them. When his hand slipped inside her gown, she welcomed his caress. Then he broke the kiss and she sighed as he gently eased her bodice
down to expose her breasts to his lips and tongue.

She clutched at his shoulders and gasped. She had not known … She could never have guessed …

Wanting to pleasure him in some similar way, she opened her eyes, for a moment caught by the dark desire in his eyes as an animal can be startled by sudden sunlight.

And then she smiled, for this was right and good. Being here with him, feeling as she did, knowing that he loved her, too, could be no sin.

With trembling fingers, she pushed aside his jacket and opened his fine white shirt. His eyes closed as she ran her hands over the hard muscles of his chest. Learning from him, she leaned forward to gently tug his nipple into her mouth, letting her tongue swirl around the hardened nub of flesh.

Breathing rapidly, he groaned softly and clutched her upper arms as if he would collapse if he let go. “Don’t stop,” he sighed as she trailed her lips across his chest to capture the other nipple. “Oh, sweet heaven, don’t stop.”

“Only for this,” she whispered. And she lifted her face to kiss him deeply.

As they kissed, he sloughed off his jacket. Turning away for a moment, he quickly bundled it up and laid it beside him. Then, taking
her by the shoulders, he laid her down so that his jacket became her pillow.

She boldly pulled him down beside her for another passionate kiss. Desire burned hot and eager in her, inflamed even more as he began to stroke and caress her, his hands moving over her as if she were made of some soft and valuable material, velvet or satin or silk.

At his gentle prodding, she parted her legs, and he rolled so that his body was over her, his legs between hers. HQs hands continued their exciting, maddening exploration of her body while his mouth again took possession of hers.

Another instinct came into play, one of rhythm called forth by the hot blood throbbing through her veins. She began to move her hips to this primitive beat, not knowing or caring why or wanting to stop it.

Slowly, his lips again parted from hers to slide along her chin and the tender flesh of her neck, past her collarbone to her naked breasts.

She panted softly, awash with the sensation of his tongue flicking across her pebbled nipples while his hand made leisurely progress along her leg, pushing her skirt upward.

He stopped where the throbbing was most intense, resting his hand for a moment before pressing gently, that slight and subtle motion making her cry out softly.

His hand left her body and her eyes flew
open, for she felt suddenly abandoned.

She would not be alone or lonely ever again.

Emboldened by her desire, she ran her hands over his body. He caught his lip with his teeth and his eyes shut tight as she felt lower until she found what she sought.

Now it was his turn to be stroked and caressed. She watched his face, saw the growing tension there, matching the building need within her.

“I am yours, Neville,” she whispered. “I will be yours forever.”

His eyes opened, his passionate gaze intense as, with a low growl, he tore at her drawers, ripping the thin fabric from her body.

She didn’t care, for with equally eager fingers she struggled to undo his breeches.

In another moment, he was free. Placing both hands beside her and raising himself, never taking his dark piercing gaze from her face, he slowly pushed inside her.

There was one moment of doubt. One instant of knowledge that they were not married. That this union would be condemned in the eyes of God and man.

One moment, and then it was gone, because she was his and he was hers, and they must join completely.

Her rhythm became his as their hips moved in perfect unison. Their breathing, too, was synchronized as with each passing moment,
the desire and need and tension built in glorious agony.

And then, as he uttered a strangled cry, the tension within her shattered as a stone shatters the calm surface of a still pool, sending wave after wave to the farthest edge.

“Good God!” Lord Barrsettshire cried.

Chapter 18

A
rabella jerked her head around to stare at the enraged man standing in the doorway, hands clutching the sides of the frame.

Lady Lippet was behind the red-faced nobleman, staring open-mouthed like a fish in Billingsgate market.

At once, Neville withdrew. Fumbling with the ties of his breeches, he rose swiftly.

The realization of what she had just done assailing her, Arabella quickly pulled her bodice back into place with one hand and shoved her raised skirt down with the other.

“I … I believe I shall go home,” Lady Lippet mumbled through the handkerchief she pressed to her mouth, as if she needed to block the stench of sin.

“By all means, please go,” Neville agreed with iron in his words. “Jarvis, my father and
I will have no more need of you, so you may show Lady Lippet out.”

Jarvis waited for Lady Lippet to exit, then followed her, closing the door behind him.

“You!” the earl roared, glaring at his son. “You … you despoiler of women! How could you?”

Arabella waited with bated breath for Neville to explain that there was no need for such wrath, to tell the earl that although what they had done was wrong and a sin, there was no cause for such animosity, because they would be married.

Neville slowly turned to look at her.

Say it
, she urged silently.
Say you love me. Say we will be married.

The silence seemed to stretch forever.

Neville raised one quizzical eyebrow and looked at his father while he calmly finished tying his breeches.

“How could I?” he repeated with a sardonic little smile. “It was quite easy, really.”

Arabella felt as if Neville had knocked her to the ground.

“She is ruined!” the earl roared. “Utterly ruined! Though you are my son, I should kill you for what you’ve done!”

Arabella got slowly to her feet, shame and dismay warring within her.

Quite easy.
Making love with her was quite
easy, and she had quite easily let him.

She had made love to a man to whom she was not married or even formally betrothed. She had told him how she felt and he had said he loved her, yet now he stood there as if what they had done was nothing to him at all.

“I am to blame for her ruin, am I?” Neville inquired.

“Who else?” the earl demanded. “I see no other man in this room.”

“Did it not occur to you, Father, that she could be responsible? That she might have tempted me into sin?”

“Me?” Arabella gasped. “Tempt you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Lord Barrsettshire bellowed.

“You still think her a moral, virtuous woman deserving of my inheritance?”

Neville raised an eyebrow as he slowly turned to regard her. “Fortunately, I have just proved that she is no more virtuous than I. I’faith, considering she is a woman, her sin is all the greater, is it not?”

The import of Neville’s words struck Arabella like another blow.

“You seduced me only to prove that I am not worthy of your father’s trust?” she whispered. “You would sink that low?”

She had made the most horrendous, shameful mistake of her life. She had believed Neville
Farrington’s smooth words and apparent sincerity.

She had been a lustful, naive fool, a sinner unable to resist temptation, who should have known better than to trust in men’s words or smiles or kisses.

Even his.

Especially his.

Neville didn’t meet her gaze.

He would not look at her anymore.

She had not said one word in his defense, even though she had been as eager to make love as he. After all her declarations of love, she had not refuted the accusation that he had ruthlessly seduced her. She had not accepted any responsibility for what they
both
had done. She would let him take all the blame.

What kind of love was that, that would abandon him to his father’s poor opinion?

As his mother had all those years ago.

“Good God, you are beyond redemption!” his father growled. “I am ashamed to be your father!’

Neville regarded him as he might a flea he had picked off his clothing. “I have merely done what I set out to do. I have proved that even Lady Arabella is capable of sin, like any other mortal, and so not worthy to usurp my inheritance.”

“I do not want your inheritance!”

“You miscalculated, boy!” his father replied,
ignoring her. “You have only proved your complete unworthiness.”

“She sinned as much as I”

“She is but a weak woman.”

“I
was
weak,” Arabella began, “but I—”

“The same could be said of Eve, and God made no allowance for her weakness, as you would make no allowance for mine,” Neville retorted.

“Don’t you dare to speak of the Bible to me!” the earl snarled. “It is a wonder you are not struck dead!”

“That would please you, wouldn’t it? Your rogue of a son conveniently dead in an instant. But then who would look after your money, Father? You would be bankrupt in a year!”

“You’ve gone mad! Since when have you done anything but spend my money?”

“Since I first arrived in London and your bankers came to see me. Tell me, Father, did you not find it odd that after years of pestering you regarding your debts and loans, they suddenly fell silent?”

“They understood that I was not to be bothered with such minor irritations. There was no need for me to know every small detail of the business of my estate.”

“You know
nothing
of the business of your estate, and you never have, because you prefer to ignore it. If I had not taken charge, you would be penniless now.”

“That’s a lie!”

“Is it? Ask Mr. Pettigrew. Or Mr. Hutchins. They can confirm all this.”

“Do you mean to tell me they have given you free rein with my money? I will have their heads on London Bridge if that is true!”

Neville ground his teeth in frustration. It was useless. His father would never believe he owed his prosperity to his son. He was glad Arabella was here, so that she would see why he had kept silent—

She was gone. At some point when he had been arguing with his father, she had left the room.

Just as his mother had left him without a word of farewell.

Convinced that love was nothing but a delusion after all, he strode to the door, threw it open and marched out, determined never to set foot there again.

The next morning, Arabella sat alone in her bedchamber, staring out the window as she had for the whole of the night. Before dawn a thick fog had drifted up from the Thames, so that all she could see was a soft, dull gray beyond the droplets on the panes of glass.

Her eyes burning, she twisted a handkerchief in her fingers and thought that soon she would begin to pack. Soon, when she was in command of herself again. When she could
stop thinking of her terrible, shameful mistake and the horrible argument she had not been able to endure.

When she could think of Neville Farrington without feeling like a naive simpleton. When the tears would finally come to wash away her pain.

There was a soft tapping at the door. Jarvis, she assumed, and bade him enter.

She looked up when the door opened, to see Lady Lippet standing on the threshold.

She was plainly dressed, her large, black hat and black gown trimmed with only a few inches of scarlet ribbon. She wore little powder and not a single patch.

She looked as if she might be in mourning.

“May I, my dear?” she asked, her sepulchral tone matching her clothing.

“If you wish,” Arabella replied, rising and gesturing at her vacated chair.

While Lady Lippet sat and arranged her skirts, Arabella inwardly prepared herself for the denunciations to come, which she fully deserved.

“You look so tired!”

“I did not sleep last night.”

“No, no, of course not. Such a to-do! I’m afraid we all got rather upset.”

With good cause.
“Yes, we did.”

Lady Lippet leaned closer, a conspiratorial
look on her face. “There is no use in weeping over it.”

“I have not.”

“No, no, I can see that you haven’t,” Lady Lippet replied, adjusting her hat and clearing her throat delicately. “So now you must carry on as best you can. This business will not matter to certain people. Certain important people. Certain
royal
people.”