Avoiding her siblings, however, proved impossible. When Arabella attended the academy that afternoon, Roslyn and Lily caught her daydreaming about her magical night with Marcus. As soon as the class ended, they drew her into a private parlor to question her.
“What is wrong, Arabella?” Roslyn asked in obvious concern. “You were distracted all during your lesson on deportment, and there are circles beneath your eyes.”
“Are there?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. “I suppose I got too little sleep last night, since we returned from London rather late.” When Lily eyed her with a frown, Arabella added cheerfully, “I am perfectly well.”
“You don’t look it,” Lily replied bluntly. “And you have been extremely secretive of late. You told us you were to attend the theater with Lord Danvers, but you said nothing about meeting his sister and aunt or his noble friends. We had to rely on Winifred to learn of it.”
Roslyn’s tone was more gentle. “Winifred also said there was a contretemps between you and the earl last night.”
“So what happened?” Lily asked.
“Nothing of any consequence.” Except that I wound up in Marcus’s bed and relished every moment of it.
“Then why are your cheeks so flushed?”
With effort, Arabella refrained from raising her hand to her warm cheeks; the true cause of her distraction was not a proper subject for her sisters’ tender ears.
“Lord Danvers and I had a disagreement about our future,” she prevaricated. “He still believes he can persuade me to accept his marriage proposal, and I was simply setting him straight on the matter.”
Both her sisters frowned as they scrutinized her intently. “Should we be worried for you, Arabella?” Roslyn asked.
“Whatever for?”
Roslyn searched her face. “We are concerned that you are becoming too susceptible to the earl. That you may be growing overly fond of him.”
“Yes,” Lily explained. “We fear you will let yourself fall in love with him, and he will break your heart just like that blackguard Underwood did.”
Arabella felt her cheeks flush further. “You needn’t worry. I have no intention of falling in love with the earl.”
“Are you certain, Arabella?” Lily asked earnestly.
Arabella smiled reassuringly. “There is no reason for you to worry, truly.”
“But that dreamy look in your eyes…You had that same look the last time you were in love.”
“It is merely sleeplessness,” she insisted. Her dreamy-eyed look had nothing to do with being in love with Marcus. It was merely that she was so new to carnal relations. Every touch, every caress, was a novel experience; every sensation he made her feel was burned into her memory.
But her heart was safe enough now that she had renewed her resolve to keep it well-guarded.
“I think perhaps it is time we came home,” Roslyn said slowly.
Arabella’s instinctive response was to object. She didn’t want her sisters at Danvers Hall just yet. Not when she still had four more nights with Marcus.
“You need us to help defend you against him,” Lily added with conviction. “Tess can spare us, since we have nearly finished sewing all the garments for her war widows and orphans.”
Managing a smile, Arabella shook her head. “Truly, there is no need for you to come home. I am capable of fighting my own battles. And the wager is almost over. Only four more days until I will have won.”
“And what happens then?” Roslyn asked.
“Why, then we will be free of Lord Danvers and his guardianship, and we can resume our normal lives,” Arabella said brightly, determined to disregard the dubious looks her sisters were giving her.
She was indeed perfectly capable of handling her relationship with Marcus on her own, Arabella repeated to herself two hours later when she dressed for dinner. She had every intention of treating him with cool, rational dispassion.
The difficulty was that the moment she saw him, she forgot every bit of her resolve. When he joined her in the drawing room just in time for dinner to be announced, there was nothing cool or rational about her body’s response to him. Her heart leapt and her pulse soared, while her skin instantly turned hot at the intimate look he was giving her.
His blue gaze was sensual and very male. That, combined with the low, husky sound of his voice when he merely apologized for his tardiness, stroked Arabella’s nerve endings with pleasure and turned her limbs to jelly.
It took all her willpower to greet Marcus in kind and allow him to escort her in to dinner. When she placed her hand on his arm, she actually felt it tremble. They were lovers now, and all her senses were trumpeting the fact.
His behavior was all that was proper, however, no doubt for the benefit of the servants. It was only when the soup had been served and the footmen had withdrawn that Marcus allowed the conversation to become more intimate.
“Simpkin said my sister called on you this afternoon. What did she want?”
“She wished for us to become better acquainted,” Arabella answered.
“I confess that worries me.”
Arabella gave Marcus a curious glance. “Why would that worry you?”
“If I know Eleanor, she did something outrageous such as request an introduction to your courtesan friend.”
Arabella smiled as she picked up her wineglass. “Not quite, but I imagine she would have accepted had I offered. Instead, she made me an offer. Your sister kindly invited me to London to visit her.”
Marcus gave her a penetrating look. “I trust you don’t intend to introduce my sister into Fanny Irwin’s circles.”
“Of course not. I have a perfectly good understanding of propriety, Marcus. I merely refuse to be ordered to abandon my own friendship with her, by your aunt or anyone else.”
Marcus’s mouth quirked. “As long as you don’t solicit any more of Fanny’s advice about lovemaking. Anything you want to know, I will teach you. We can continue your education when you come to my rooms tonight.”
Arabella arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you presuming a great deal, expecting me to share your bed tonight?”
“No. I still have to prove that you don’t want any other lovers after we are wed.”
She didn’t need proof. After Marcus, she was certain she would never want anyone else. But she had no desire to prolong their futile argument. “The question is immaterial because we won’t be marrying.”
His blue gaze narrowed on her. “If you think I will allow you to stray from our marriage bed, sweeting, you are gravely mistaken.”
Arabella narrowed her own gaze. “I thought we declared a truce last night.”
“That was last night. And truce or no, you won’t be taking any other lovers.”
There was an unmistakable ring of possessiveness in his tone, which unaccountably mollified Arabella’s vexation. The possibility that Marcus might be jealous somehow pleased her.
Unwilling to admit it, however, she returned a cool stare of defiance.
As if realizing how sharp their discussion had become, Marcus suddenly stopped himself and smiled-a charming, enchanting grin that warmed Arabella down to her toes. “You are right, love.” Taking her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips for a lingering kiss. “I am supposed to be playing the role of romantic suitor. Pray, let me rephrase. Will you do me the great pleasure of sharing my bed tonight?”
Arabella applied herself to her soup while she pretended to consider his request. “Perhaps.”
“You still owe me the better part of four hours of your time today,” Marcus reminded her as he lifted his own soup spoon. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “We can spend it exploring the depths of your sensuality.”
The mere thought sent a thrill of excitement and anticipation surging through Arabella. “Very well, since I owe you,” she allowed, ignoring the laughing gleam in Marcus’s dark eyes.
He knew perfectly well she couldn’t possibly refuse such an irresistible offer.
Later, after retiring alone to her bedchamber, she waited another three quarters of an hour for the household to settle down for the night before slipping down the silent corridors to the masters’ apartments. Marcus had prepared carefully for her visit, Arabella saw with surprise as she shut the door behind her. Flickering candle flames cast a golden glow about the room, illuminating the massive bed, which was strewn with crimson rose petals.