He saw the pain that claimed Arabella’s features for a fleeting moment before she forced another smile. “How well I know,” she murmured. “But even so, it is not your affair.”
Marcus shook his head. “I understand why you resent me, Miss Loring, a perfect stranger taking control of your home-”
“I don’t begrudge you the title or estate. What I do resent is your callous assumption that we wish to marry.”
That made him smile. “It is hardly callous to offer to find husbands for you. The usual path for young ladies of quality is marriage. You act as if I’ve gravely offended you.”
By now Arabella was clearly biting her tongue. “Forgive me if I gave you that impression, my lord. I know you don’t mean it as an insult-”
“You cannot be foolish enough to turn down five thousand pounds each.”
“Actually I can-” Suddenly she broke off and gave a rueful laugh. The husky, sultry sound raked his nerve endings with pleasure. “No, I won’t allow you to provoke me, my lord. I came here this morning determined to be pleasant.”
Marcus found himself staring at her ripe, tempting mouth before he shook himself. Arabella was speaking again, he realized.
“Perhaps you see our decision as inexplicable, Lord Danvers, but my sisters and I do not choose to marry.”
“Why not?” When she failed to answer, Marcus hazarded a guess. “I suppose it has to do with the example your parents set.”
“It does,” Arabella admitted grudgingly. “Our parents were determined to make each other’s lives miserable and fought at every opportunity. After the acrimony we witnessed growing up, is it any wonder we have an aversion to arranged marriages?”
Marcus felt more than a measure of sympathy. “I’m familiar with the sentiment. My own parents were scarcely any more congenial.”
At his softer tone, she searched his face for a long moment. But then she dragged her gaze away to focus on a pool of sunlight streaming through the nearest window. “In any case, we have no need to marry. We have sufficient incomes now to support ourselves.”
“Incomes?”
“If you had troubled yourself to read my letters, you would know about our academy.”
“I did read your letters.”
She glanced pointedly at him. “But you were not courteous enough to respond. You merely instructed your solicitors to deal with me.”
“Guilty as charged. But to my credit, I intended to call upon you next week.”
When he smiled winningly, Arabella drew a sharp breath. After a moment, she took another tack. “Come now, Lord Danvers. You don’t want responsibility for us, admit it.”
Marcus couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Very well, it’s true, I don’t want it.”
“Then why don’t you simply forget about us?”
“I doubt anyone who has ever met you,” Marcus said dryly, “could simply forget you, Miss Loring.” When she gave him a piercing look, he sighed. “You are my responsibility now, whether either of us likes it, and I won’t abandon my duty to see to your welfare. You’ll find I’m not such an ogre. And I’m wealthy enough to fund your dowries.”
That made her chin lift. “I tell you, we won’t accept your charity. Our academy allows us adequate financial independence.”
Admittedly, learning of her academy had roused Marcus’s curiosity. “I understand this academy of yours is a finishing school?”
“Of a sort. We teach comportment and manners and correct speech to wealthy young women who were not born to the Quality.”
“The daughters of the working class, in other words. How very unique you are, Miss Loring.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You are making sport of me.”
“Perhaps.” Actually he wasn’t. He truly thought it admirable that Arabella and her sisters had found an occupation to support themselves, unlike almost every other lady of their station, who wouldn’t be caught dead employed in menial labor. But he couldn’t help wanting to provoke her, if only for the pleasure of seeing those beautiful gray eyes kindle again.
“And your sisters teach there as well?” Marcus asked leadingly.
“Yes, as do two other ladies who are friends of mine. Our patroness is Lady Freemantle. It was at her request that we opened the school three years ago. Are you acquainted with her? Her late husband was a baronet, Sir Rupert Freemantle.”
Marcus nodded. “I know her. But I’m not certain it is fitting for my wards to be employed at a school, no matter how refined. You realize that as your guardian, I will have to approve your participation?”
Arabella eyed him warily. “I assure you, it is a perfectly respectable endeavor.”
“Some would call your opinions bluestocking nonsense.”
It was very bad of him to goad her like that, but the pleasure of seeing her spirited reaction was too great to resist.
She seemed, however, to recognize his purpose. “You won’t provoke me into losing my temper, my lord.”
“No?”
When he took a step closer, she froze, staring up at him as if she found him fascinating. But then she straightened her spine and stood her ground, her gaze direct and challenging. Marcus had the sudden savage urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the nearest bed.
He’d never had such a primal reaction to a woman before-bloody inappropriate, considering that she was his ward.
Arabella drew a slower breath, clearly striving for equanimity, as he was. “I don’t believe your mental acumen is impaired, my lord. Why is it so difficult for you to accept that we don’t wish to be under your thumb? That we don’t want your financial assistance? You are under no obligation to support us.”
“The will says differently.”
“Then I will hire my own solicitors to contest the will.”
“How can you afford it? You don’t have the where-withal to contest my guardianship in court.”
“Our patroness will help us. Lady Freemantle does not believe that women should be compelled to marry, and she has promised us her support. She is not as wealthy as you, of course, but her father left her a fortune from his manufacturing and mining enterprises.”
“It should prove an interesting contest,” Marcus said amiably, crossing his arms over his chest.
His languid smile finally succeeded in igniting her temper. “You cannot force us to accept your settlements!”
“No, I suppose not. But once the size of your dowries becomes known, you will have suitors throwing themselves at your feet and hounding my door to offer for you.”
Her gloved fists clenched as she advanced toward him, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You won’t succeed in selling us, your lordship! It is outrageous that grown women are treated as mere property, no better than livestock. We are not broodmares to be hawked to the highest bidder!”
Judging by her impassioned speech, he had struck a nerve. There was fire in her eyes-a fire that filled him with admiration and attraction.
“It seems true after all,” he murmured, totally intrigued by the way Arabella was glaring daggers at him.
“What is true?”
“That eyes can actually give off sparks. Yours are bright as fireworks.”
It was that provocative remark that drove her temper over the edge. The growling sound she made deep in her throat was that of a taunted lioness-a low, dangerous rumble. “I have tried my utmost to remain patient,” she began. Marching past him to the table, Arabella swept up his rapier and returned to face him, bringing the tip directly against his chest.
“I was determined to use reason to convince you, and if that failed, I hoped to prevail on your better nature. Evidently you don’t have one!”
Utterly fascinated now, Marcus raised his hands slowly in surrender. “I make it a point never to argue with an armed female.”
“Good! Then you will promise me that you will abandon this ridiculous notion of marrying us off.”
“I fear I can’t make any such promise under duress, sweeting.”
“You can and you will!”
“No.” Despite his fascination, he was not about to be threatened into doing anyone’s bidding. But then his gaze fixed on Arabella’s face…the smooth ivory texture of her skin, her ripe mouth… He was struck with the fiercest urge to kiss her, which was astonishing, since he was not ordinarily a rash man. “Go ahead, do your worst, love.”