Part 21 (2/2)
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, wis.h.i.+ng 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?”
”Certainly, it is only a short drive home,” Arabella answered, even though reluctant to be alone with Marcus, knowing he meant to grill her about her altercation with his aunt.
As soon as the door had been closed by a footman and the coach began moving again, Marcus spoke.
”I trust you mean to explain that little outburst of yours?”
Arabella lifted her chin stubbornly. ”It was hardly an outburst. And I had sufficient cause to be angry at your aunt's disparagement of my friend f.a.n.n.y.”
Marcus appraised her with a measuring gaze. ”She is right, you know. It would be better for you and your sisters to have no further a.s.sociation with f.a.n.n.y Irwin.”
Arabella bristled at that. ”Perhaps so, but I will tell you the same thing I told Lady Beldon: I have no intention of cutting the connection. And you cannot forbid me to see her.”
”I wouldn't try,” Marcus replied curtly.
She was still fuming, however. ”Your aunt's att.i.tude galls me. It seems the height of hypocrisy that single ladies are denounced for their sins when married ladies like your former paramour can have countless lovers and even commit adultery but are still received in society.”
He regarded her a long moment before finally exhaling. ”I suppose you saw Julia.”
Arabella forced a taut smile. ”If by 'Julia,' you mean Lady Eberly, then yes. I could hardly miss her.”
His expression was more sympathetic than defensive. ”You needn't concern yourself with her. I broke off our liaison three months ago.”
”Oh, indeed, that long ago?” Arabella commented sarcastically.
Marcus's mouth tightened. ”I am not a saint, Arabella. I never claimed to be. I'm a man with a healthy s.e.xual appet.i.te.”
She gave him an icy look. ”I never supposed you to be a saint, but you claimed you were nothing like my father.”
”I am not like him.”
”No? Then why do you consort with married women, without any consideration for holy wedding vows, just as he did?”
Marcus was silent for a long moment. ”My affair with her was a mistake,” he said quietly.
”So you say now, when you are trying to persuade me to accept your offer of marriage.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. ”I intend to remain faithful to our wedding vows, Arabella. I would not take a mistress once we are married.”
”It makes no difference to me either way,” she lied. She turned to gaze out the window, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes. She couldn't trust herself to believe Marcus's promises.
Oh, he desired her physically, she knew that much. But carnal desire before marriage was a far cry from fidelity afterward. Their wager was all a game to him. As soon as he won, as soon as the chase was over and he had legally made her his countess, his interests could very well s.h.i.+ft elsewhere. And she would be trapped in a loveless, heartless marriage just as her parents had been.
”You needn't be jealous of Lady Eberly,” Marcus a.s.serted when she remained silent.
Arabella's tumultuous emotions reached a boiling point and she turned back to stare at him. ”Jealous! I am not in the least bit jealous. I don't care if you take a hundred lovers. Your affairs and infidelities are of no consequence to me, since I have absolutely no intention of accepting your proposal.”
”Arabella...” Marcus said, striving to contain his impatience. ”Listen to me carefully, for I will only repeat this once. I won't take any lovers after our marriage.”
Her expression remained obdurate. ”Well, I would! If I did wed you, Marcus, I would certainly have a lover-perhaps more than one. I wouldn't be content to remain at home like a dutiful wife while you catted about all over England.”
She saw him go rigid; her brazen declaration had apparently made him nearly as angry as she was.
”You are not taking any lover but me,” he said through gritted teeth.
Her chin jutted out furiously. ”If I wished to, you couldn't stop me!”
”You don't want to test that theory, sweeting. I could and I would stop you.”
Seething now, Arabella clenched her own teeth and tore her gaze away from him. There was no question now of her losing to Marcus, she promised herself. She would play out the rest of their wager as promised, for she intended to win freedom for herself and her sisters. But once it was over, she would never even speak to him again!
Marcus, too, fell into a simmering silence. It was an effort to keep control of his temper, but he forced *
himself to wait until they were both calmer to discuss the explosive issue of lovers any further.
The moment the carriage drew to halt in the drive, Arabella opened the door and jumped down before the footman could even lower the step.
Marcus watched darkly as she ran up the front stairs to the house. He followed in time to hear her being greeted by the butler, Simpkin, who was waiting for his mistress's return in the entrance hall, despite the lateness of the hour. When Simpkin offered to fetch her abigail, Arabella shook her head.
”No, don't disturb Nan's rest,” she said tightly, throwing a wrathful glance over her shoulder at Marcus.
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