“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.”