Part 8 (1/2)
Since Arabella's broken engagement, f.a.n.n.y had taught her a good deal about men. f.a.n.n.y would know much better than she how to rout Lord Danvers.
Meanwhile, Arabella mused, she would be wise to use every resource at her disposal, which meant enlisting help from trusted allies, beginning with her housekeeper and butler.
Feeling an unexpected tingle of antic.i.p.ation, Arabella left her horse in the stables with one of his lords.h.i.+p's grooms and detoured to the kitchens to meet with Mrs. Simpkin. The housekeeper, who had *
also become cook when the rest of the staff was let go, regularly prepared tasty if modest meals with the aid of their one chambermaid. And even though three days ago the new earl had installed a dozen servants at the Hall, Mrs. Simpkin still held sway in the kitchens.
If the elderly woman was puzzled by Arabella's unusual request for that evening's dinner, she was too well-trained to show it. But the twinkle in her kind brown eyes suggested a willingness to abet the conspiracy.
”Oh, and Mrs. Simpkin,” Arabella added casually, ”I would be obliged if Simpkin would remain in the dining room when he waits on us this evening. I would prefer to be alone with Lord Danvers as little as possible.”
”I will tell him, Miss Arabella,” Mrs. Simpkin said. ”Would you also like Simpkin to be present beforehand? Lord Danvers has asked that you join him in the drawing room for a gla.s.s of wine before dinner.”
”Yes, please,” Arabella answered, glad that the housekeeper had readily agreed to aid her cause.
After was.h.i.+ng, Arabella dressed for dinner in the most conservative evening gown she owned. Her wardrobe was not extensive, and most of her gowns were outdated and had grown shabby with wear.
But upon opening the academy, she'd invested in several fas.h.i.+onable gowns to impress her pupils'
wealthy parents. After all, she had her image as a lady of quality to uphold.
When she regarded herself critically in the cheval gla.s.s, however, Arabella found her appearance rather dissatisfying. Her empire-waist gown of dark blue silk boasted long sleeves and a high neckline, and thus exposed little of her charms. But her flushed cheeks betrayed her excitement at the prospect of spending the evening in his lords.h.i.+p's company.
How dull her existence had become if his presence could enliven her life so profoundly! Or perhaps it was merely the antic.i.p.ation of locking horns with the earl as they strove to best each other.
At the thought, Arabella felt herself smile. She had every intention of besting him. She would play his game to win.
Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she left her bedchamber to launch her opening salvo in their courts.h.i.+p war.
When she reached the drawing room below, Simpkin awaited her outside in the corridor. The gray-haired, very proper butler offered Arabella the ghost of a conspiratorial smile before preceding her into the room and announcing her. ”Miss Loring, my Lord Danvers.”
Marcus rose when she entered. His blue gaze raked over Arabella, taking in her reserved attire, but he made no comment other than one of greeting. ”Welcome, my dear. I am pleased you could join me.”
At his avuncular tone, Arabella gave him a curious glance, but then realized he meant to treat her merely as his ward for the benefit of the serving staff.
”Come and sit beside me,” Marcus added, indicating the gold brocade settee that had seen much better days.
Arabella hesitated, reluctant to be seated so close to him. He looked infernally handsome in a blue evening coat and white satin breeches that molded to his athletic form, and an intricately-tied cravat that only enhanced his chiseled masculine features.
Deploring her rapid pulse, Arabella did as she was bid but took the far end of the settee. She caught the pleasant scent of citrus cologne as Marcus settled at the other end. He had evidently shaved for the evening, a disturbing realization since it implied he was taking his courts.h.i.+p of her very seriously.
”That will be all until dinner is served, Simpkin,” his lords.h.i.+p said when the butler had poured them each a gla.s.s of Madeira. ”You may shut the door behind you.”
Hiding her concern, Arabella met Simpkin's gaze and nodded slightly in resignation. Already Lord Danvers was scuttling her plan to avoid being alone with him. She was maddeningly conscious of his lithe, powerful body lounging so near to hers.
”Was it necessary to dismiss Simpkin?” she asked when the servant had withdrawn. ”It isn't quite seemly for us to be alone together like this.”
”Nonsense,” Marcus responded easily. ”There is no impropriety in a guardian sharing a gla.s.s of wine with his ward. And it is indeed necessary, since I need a measure of privacy in order to woo you.”
Not having a ready reply, Arabella took a sip of her wine and hid her grimace at the bitter taste...along with her satisfaction. Mrs. Simpkin had succeeded in making the brew unpalatable as she had requested.
”About our wager,” Arabella began, ”I have been thinking. Perhaps we should establish some basic rules of conduct.”
”Rules?”
”I suppose limits would be a better word. We should define what conduct is allowed and not allowed between us to prevent you from going beyond the bounds of a proper courts.h.i.+p.”
Marcus sent her a lazy smile that was full of charm. ”Haven't you heard that all is fair in love and war?”
Arabella found herself staring at his mouth. ”You know very well our wager has nothing to do with love, my lord. But that is precisely my point. How can I trust that you won't resort to something devious?”
”Because wagers are governed by a gentleman's code. My honor will only permit me to go so far.”
Her mouth curved. ”That is comforting to know.”
”You should not be comforted,” Marcus remarked. ”I still have a great deal of leeway within the bounds of the code.” He laughed softly at her worried expression. ”Never fear, sweeting. I won't do anything to you unless you are completely willing.”
Arabella swallowed. ”You won't find me willing.”
”We shall see. As for rules, I mean to hold you to your pledge to give me a fighting chance to win our wager.”
”Yes, but simply because I agreed to let you court me, it does not follow that I must make it easy for you.”
”True.”
”I intend to do everything in my power to foil you.”
His roguish grin made her breathless as he raised his gla.s.s of Madeira. ”So let the games begin.”
As he gazed at her over the rim of his gla.s.s, Arabella's heart accelerated in an erratic rhythm. Thankfully, the intimate moment was broken when Marcus took a swallow of wine.
Wincing at the taste, he set his gla.s.s aside on a table. ”I would never have expected your step-uncle to suffer such inferior quality wine. I will have to rectify that, since I intend to stay here for at least a fortnight. Tomorrow I'll have some casks delivered from my cellars in London.”
Arabella's heart sank at the reminder. A fortnight was beginning to seem an interminable length of time.
But perhaps she was going about trying to win in all the wrong ways. What if she could simply persuade the earl that he didn't want to marry her? ”You know, my lord-”
”Marcus.”
”Very well, Marcus. I don't believe you have fully considered what a marriage between us would be like. If you had, you would realize that we wouldn't suit in the least.”
”Why not?”
”For one thing, I wouldn't make you a comfortable wife.”
His mouth quirked. ”What makes you think I want a comfortable wife?”