“And you, Drew?”
“If I must,” he replied more reluctantly.
Marcus smiled. “Good. I expect you both to be on your best behavior. Arabella has a decided distaste for rakes, and all of us qualify to some extent. I want her to see that we do have a few estimable qualities.”
Heath raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say that she is a prude?”
Marcus laughed softly, recalling Arabella’s enthusiastic reception of his lovemaking. “Not in the least. But her father was a champion philanderer, so she wants nothing to do with men of his ilk.”
His friend nodded slowly. “I suppose that is understandable, but you had best take care not to let her turn you into a tame milksop.”
“I have little fear of that. Arabella has no fancy for milksops, either.”
“What about her two sisters?” Heath asked thoughtfully. “You say they are both beauties?”
“Yes, why?”
“If you find them half as intriguing as your eldest ward, I might like to meet them.”
He did indeed find them intriguing, Marcus mused. His second ward was the most exquisite of the three, although he preferred Arabella’s earthier appearance-red-gold tresses and flashing gray eyes-to Roslyn’s golden princess image. Lilian was as captivating but wholly different from either of her sisters; her bold dark eyes and vibrant chestnut hair gave her a vividness that brought Gypsies to mind.
“The middle sister, Roslyn is an extraordinary beauty,” Marcus said, “but a bit on the delicate side for your taste, Heath. The youngest, Lilian, is a true spitfire-more up your alley. Perhaps you might like me to introduce you.”
Heath responded with a grin. “I might at that. I have yet to meet the woman who could tame me enough to make me wish to settle down, but one can always hope.”
“If you would offer for her, I could be rid of the responsibility for her. What about you, Drew?” Marcus asked. “With her elegance and intelligence, Roslyn might kindle your interest.”
“Are you out of your skull?” Drew demanded with a look of mock horror. When Marcus chuckled, Drew skewered him with a glance. “Don’t press me, you sorry bleater. It’s enough that I am willing to withhold judgment of your new infatuation until I meet her. With any luck, the eldest Miss Loring will have the good sense to rebuff you permanently, so we can return to our normal peaceful existence.”
At that cynical comment, Marcus held his tongue, yet he had no desire to return to his normal existence. He was making slow but sure progress in his courtship of Arabella, and he had every intention of wedding her, despite her tenacious reluctance. Arabella was an ideal match for him, even if she refused to see it yet.
His chief difficulty was holding a tight rein on his lust. He deserved an award of some kind for keeping his hands to himself these past few days when he wanted Arabella so badly. It required extreme fortitude to let her retire alone each night, when he would far rather sweep her upstairs to his bed and spend the next fortnight exploring her lovely body and teaching her about passion.
Hopefully, however, his restraint would not be necessary much longer.
Marcus seemed to be intensifying his courtship, Arabella decided as she eyed the large copper bathtub in her dressing room. The tub was appropriately filled with hot water, but much of the surface was covered with pink rose petals. She wondered how he had slipped into her dressing room without being seen by her new abigail, who had taken charge of her elegant new wardrobe.
“Don’t those petals smell fine, Miss?” Nan asked cheerfully. “His lordship asked me to sprinkle them in yer bath.”
“Lord Danvers asked you to put them here?”
“Aye, he did. He says you have a fondness for roses, and that petals are good as rosewater to make a body smell sweet.”
Well, at least he hadn’t tried entering her private apartments himself, Arabella thought with amusement as she undressed and sank into the hot water. In fact, until this maneuver, Marcus had made no intimate overtures toward her in days.
Feeling the petals caress her skin reminded Arabella keenly that she hadn’t seen much of Marcus since the ball. He’d spent last night in London on business, and his absence had disappointed her a little, perhaps because she had decided to give his courtship a real chance to develop. She couldn’t deny, either, that she had missed his company at dinner last evening.
She also couldn’t deny how much she was anticipating the upcoming evening. It would be a delightful treat to dine at the Clarendon Hotel and attend Covent Garden Theater in such distinguished company as Marcus had promised. Arabella was admittedly eager to meet his sister and aunt and his two closest friends. She only hoped she could hold her own with them.
She was glad, therefore, to be able to wear her new evening gown of rose twilled silk and the stunning ruby pendant and earrings that Marcus had sent up. When she studied her attire in the cheval glass, her image gave her pause. She looked very much the regal lady, worthy of being his countess.
Arabella’s expression grew thoughtful. Should she perhaps give his proposal earnest consideration after all?
She was even gladder to see Marcus when she went down stairs to find him awaiting her in the entrance hall. At the sight of him, warmth blossomed out from her belly, and she felt her heart flutter rather alarmingly. He looked breathtakingly handsome in a long-tailed burgundy coat, gold brocade waistcoat, and white satin knee breeches. She took his arm gingerly, though, resolved to conceal her pleasure at seeing him again.
It was a lovely afternoon, cool from this morning’s rain but with fleecy white clouds floating across the blue sky. They were starting early in order to make the nearly hour-long drive to London.
His coachmen drove them to collect Winifred, who settled beside Arabella with an approving glance. “Your gown is perfect, my dear, and that scent you are wearing is quite pleasant.”
Arabella returned a puzzled look, since she was not wearing any perfume.
“It must be the rose petals,” Marcus murmured provokingly.
“What rose petals?” the older lady asked.
“Never mind,” Arabella said quickly, giving him a quelling glance.
Otherwise, the evening began promisingly enough. Marcus’s well-sprung carriage made the journey in relative ease, and from the moment they arrived at the elegant hotel, his party was treated like visiting royalty. They were led to a private parlor, where the staff leapt to anticipate his lordship’s every wish and plied them with three delicious courses and a dozen removes. Lady Freemantle claimed to be highly impressed and expressed gratitude to Lord Danvers for the privilege of sharing his illustrious company.
When they arrived at Covent Garden two hours later, Arabella was even more grateful, since without him, she likely would have found the glittering crowd intimidating after four years of being shunned by their supercilious ranks.
The cream of society filled the upper tiers-the lords and gentlemen dressed in formal finery, the ladies dripping in satins and jewels. Since many of them had only come to see and be seen rather than to enjoy the play, the din was quite loud as Marcus escorted Arabella and Winifred upstairs.
His box, Arabella saw when they arrived, was already occupied by two ladies and two gentlemen, who all rose in greeting.
Marcus made the introductions, starting with his Aunt Beatrix, Lady Beldon. The tiny, silver-haired woman had curious bright eyes that reminded Arabella of an inquisitive bird. Without any prompting, Marcus’s sister, Lady Eleanor, stepped forward. The raven-haired beauty wore diamonds threaded through her short curls and a smile of welcome as she clasped Arabella’s hands warmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Loring. My scoundrel of a brother has been keeping you a secret.” She sent Marcus a laughing glance. “He never mentioned a word about you until two days ago.”
“Because I didn’t wish to frighten her off with your atrocious manners, minx,” Marcus said fondly.