She was an even worse fool to let herself become so vulnerable to hurt after her first wretched experience with love. She had let her emotions become too involved with Marcus, obviously. If she didn’t take care, she could end up making the same mistake all over again.
Arabella forced herself to swallow the ache in her throat. At least now there was no longer any danger of her falling in love with Marcus. Her resistance to him had been slipping day by day, softened by his seductive charm and his generosity toward her sisters. But she wouldn’t allow it to weaken any further.
Their wager would be over in less than a week. She had only to survive until next Monday and then she could declare her independence from him. Meanwhile, she had to pretend to be unaffected by this new revelation about him.
Her thoughts were so distracted that she nearly ran into Fanny Irwin, who was returning to her own box with her gentleman patron in tow.
“Do forgive me, Fanny,” Arabella murmured. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Fanny surveyed her in concern. “Is something amiss, Arabella?”
She returned a strained smile. “No, I was just wool-gathering. It is so good to see you again, Fanny dear.”
Her concern evidently allayed, Fanny cast a glance farther down the corridor and then lowered her voice. “We shouldn’t be seen speaking together in public, Arabella. Your blue-blooded friends will see you.”
Arabella followed her gaze to glimpse Marcus’s aunt, Lady Beldon, standing at the door to their box, observing her encounter with Fanny with obvious disapproval.
“It is no matter,” Arabella replied. “I have no need to cultivate her ladyship’s good opinion.”
“But what about-”
“I will write to you tomorrow, Fanny. Winifred,” she called over her shoulder. “You remember my good friend, Miss Irwin.”
Smiling, Winifred offered a polite greeting. They spoke for a brief moment before Arabella continued on her way. By the time she entered Marcus’s box to find his aunt already seated, she was calmer and thinking more rationally, yet she couldn’t help reflecting on how right Fanny had been to warn her against succumbing to the earl’s seductive advances.
As she settled next to Winifred, though, she realized that Lady Beldon was addressing her. “You do realize, Miss Loring, that it is not proper for a lady to acknowledge a female of that stamp?”
Eleanor entered the box just then and resumed her seat between her aunt and Arabella. “A female of what stamp, Aunt?”
Lady Beldon sniffed. “Miss Loring knows whom I mean.”
At the viscountess’s censorious tone, Arabella stiffened. Earlier this evening, Lady Beldon had readily acknowledged the promiscuous Lady Eberly. It seemed highly unfair to forgive such wantonness in a married lady while condemning fallen women like Fanny.
But Arabella struggled to keep her tone polite when she replied, “Miss Irwin is a childhood friend, my lady. We grew up together and were as close as sisters.”
“That is no excuse for recognizing her now.”
Eleanor’s curious gaze went directly to Fanny. With a light laugh, she made an obvious effort to smooth troubled waters. “Pah, Auntie, I think you are being too fastidious. Miss Loring should be commended for her loyalty in not cutting her friend.”
Her aunt’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “I trust I taught you how to conduct yourself in such situations, my girl.”
Eleanor surveyed the Cyprian thoughtfully. “Yes, you did, dearest aunt, but that doesn’t mean I must like it. I expect I would enjoy meeting Miss Irwin. She doubtless leads an intriguing life, with few of the restrictions we unmarried young ladies must suffer.”
Marcus returned to the box at that moment, in time to catch his sister’s statement. He frowned slightly as he offered his aunt and then Arabella each a glass of wine.
Still vexed at the viscountess, Arabella avoided looking at him as she accepted the glass. “Oh, I agree, Lady Eleanor,” she murmured. “I quite envy Miss Irwin her freedom. She is her own woman, in charge of her life. She needn’t fret about a guardian controlling her every action.”
Casting an arch glance at Marcus, Arabella expected him to respond to her gibe, but Lady Beldon evidently was not finished with her chastisement. She spoke again just as Marcus’s two friends resumed their seats behind them. “It is unseemly for a prospective countess to fraternize with lightskirts, Miss Loring. If you mean to have any future with my nephew, you will have to sever the connection with your friend, no matter how close you were.”
Although enraged by now, Arabella managed a false smile. “Forgive me, my lady, but I have no intention of severing my connection with Miss Irwin. Instead, I will be severing all connection with your nephew. After next week, he will no longer be my guardian, and I certainly won’t continue our relationship by becoming his countess.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus’s brows snap together. The other occupants of the box had gone silent.
Glancing over her shoulder, Arabella offered the Duke of Arden a brilliant smile. “Does that not relieve you, your grace? You don’t wish me to marry Lord Danvers, I imagine.”
The duke responded with a repressive arch of one eyebrow. “In truth, I don’t,” he responded coolly.
The Marquess of Claybourne, on the other hand, looked amused. “I am not yet certain how I feel about Marcus leg-shackling himself to you, Miss Loring. I think I should withhold judgment until I come to know you better.”
“Arabella,” Marcus interjected brusquely, “we will discuss this later in private.”
Her chin rose at his commanding tone, but she could feel his vexation. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was eyeing her piercingly.
“Of course, my lord,” she said with feigned sweetness. Leaning toward Marcus, however, she lowered her voice to a harsh murmur. “I don’t know what you told your aunt about us, or why she thinks I am eager to wed you-”
His terse reply cut into her reproval. “I told her I had proposed because I didn’t want her hearing the rumors from anyone else. I didn’t say you had accepted.”
“Then you should disabuse her of the notion at once,” Arabella hissed before directing her attention forward again, ignoring how his sister Eleanor was looking between the two of them, clearly aware of the sudden tension in the air.
To Arabella’s relief, the play resumed a moment later. She sat through the last three acts, determinedly ignoring the ache in her heart while longing for the evening to be over. All she wanted to do was to go home and indulge in a long bout of waterworks. Except that she suddenly recalled a memory from her youth, of her mother sobbing disconsolately into her pillow after another of her father’s infamous indiscretions.
The painful remembrance renewed Arabella’s resolve. She would not be marrying Marcus when their wager ended. And she most certainly would not be offering her heart to him to be trampled upon.
Her head was throbbing as painfully as her heart by the time the play ended. A disdainful Lady Beldon took her leave with bare civility before sweeping from the box. Eleanor, though, offered Arabella a fond smile and expressed the hope that they might meet again soon.
Marcus’s friends differed in their leavetaking as well; the duke treated Arabella with formal reserve, the marquess with good-natured charm.
When half an hour later, Marcus handed Arabella into his carriage, she sank back against the squabs and closed her eyes, wishing she didn’t have to speak to him for the rest of the evening.
Winifred apparently sensed the tension between them. Ordinarily she would have nodded off during the journey home, but tonight she kept up a brisk chatter for the entire drive, an evident attempt to defuse the strain. When eventually the carriage drew up before her mansion, Winifred hesitated to get out. “Will you be all right, my dear?”