A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (11 page)

Araby sniffed and tossed her hair making an effort to hide her hurt at his abrupt change from tender lover to disaffected rogue. Didn’t Michael feel the magic between them? Despair tightened around her heart like an iron band. It settled in, mocking her and her dreams. Of course he didn’t. He’d felt nothing more for her than lust. While she....

“First,” she said with derision in her tone, “I didn't come in here with you. You grabbed me on my way to the retiring room and thrust me in here. You locked the door and you still have the key. Secondly, I would never permit liberties such as...as,” she waived her hands, as her vocabulary momentarily failed her, “such as that from someone like Edmond Bennet. He's an idiot and he'd carry the tale all over London within the hour.”

“What makes you think I won't do the same?” He regarded her with his cool, unruffled gaze, the one that said she was not as safe from him as she thought herself to be.

“Why would you? You've no wish to see yourself leg-shackled to a debutant even if she is The Incomparable and more importantly, Drew would be devastated if he knew you and I had kissed much less.... You'd never risk that.”

“You are a clever girl,” Michael remarked, surveying her thoughtfully, “but not even my erstwhile older brother, earl or not, could make me offer for you and it's best you understand that right now.”

Araby swallowed her hurt and gave him a careless shrug. “And why would I settle for an untitled second son, rich or not, when I shall be a future marchioness by the end of the Season?”

Michael's lip curled in derision. “And we're back to that, aren't we, precisely the reason you have no genuine regard for Drew. You simply like tormenting him.”

“That's not true,” she said angrily.

“For all your pretense you're no better than Edmond Bennet. Do you know what made me angriest at the Delafield's? Bennet stood in the library regaling anyone who'd listen about you comparing Drew's social standing to that of somebody’s by-blow. If those had been Bennet's own words, I'd have called him out then and there.” He strode towards her, his expression fierce. Arabella backed away from him. “As I’ve said before, count yourself fortunate you're not a man. Once you've returned the combs you'll stay away from Drew. No teasing, no flirting and,” he said gesturing to the room around them, “you will most assuredly never tell him what happened here tonight.”

“I'd never do something like that to him no matter what you think,” she cried. “Besides, it's not me doing the seeking. Drew won't leave me alone! I've asked him to, but he won't.” She felt tears fill her eyes and turned away. God, Michael made her feel so ashamed and rightly so. “Do you honestly think I want to treat him that way? I just don't know what else to do. He...he won't stop...caring and I....” She felt Michael's hand on her shoulder and he turned her towards him.

“You mean that,” He stated, reaching out with his thumb to captured the single tear that had worked itself past her defenses to flow down her cheek. “Lord, I forget sometimes how young you are.”

“Not that young, apparently,” she retorted trying to sound blase´, but failing at her attempt.

He gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. “No, not that young, just naive. I'll talk to Drew and tell him to stay away from you, though I doubt it will do much good.” Michael's gaze dropped to her mouth again and her heart jumped in anticipation. He quickly averted his gaze. “He's a young man who knows what he wants,” he said, the warmth leaving his voice.

Araby swallowed her disappointment at the lost moment. “Only until someone new strikes his fancy,” she offered. “I can't risk my future on someone who has only his ardency to recommend him. Drew doesn't love me. He loves the idea of me. He's young and rather immature and his interest is likely to fade with time. Marriage is a serious business for women,” she said, her anxiety making her voice sound particularly urgent. “It's the only business in which a lady may participate with society’s endorsement. The right marriage is our only acceptable opportunity in life.” She grasped his forearm to emphasize her point. “This is my Season, Michael, the most successful one I'm likely to achieve. The best anyone in society can hope for in marriage is funds, position and that one day mutual respect might become genuine affection. As much as I like Drew, and I do, I can't allow him to interfere in something that could have such far-reaching consequences for me. Please make him understand.”

Enlisting Michael’s aid like this was a risk. Drew could decide to take his brother into his confidence and then one of her greatest fears would be realized. Still it was a necessary risk. Drew needed to stay way from her before he brought disaster upon them. The same held true for his brother. He could be her undoing, but for entirely different reasons. She felt a pang in her heart as she realized there could be no more private interludes between herself and Michael. They'd been lucky to avoid discovery twice. Tempting fate a third time would be sheer folly.

Michael looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose I've never considered it from quite that perspective before. You're right. Unless you wish to become utterly shunned all you can do to secure your future is to marry well.” He frowned as if his new understanding were not something entirely comfortable to contemplate. He should try living it, she thought with no small amount of bitterness.

“Hence, your pursuit of Lord Iredale,” he concluded.

“Yes,” she said faintly.

“Tell me truthfully,” he demanded, his voice flat and clipped as though he hadn't kissed her moments before or loosened her gown and savored her breasts. His ability to remain so unmoved by her after what they'd shared stung her. She wished she could be equally dispassionate. “If my brother had a fortune and a title, would you consider his suit?”

I’d consider your
s
. She searched his hard, silvery eyes for some jot of feeling for her. There was none, only a remoteness that told her their stolen moments had simply been a diversion for him, as well as his method for teaching her that she could be just as vulnerable to seduction as any other girl. She refused to look away from him no matter the cost to her pride, or how bereft the blankness in his eyes made her feel.

“Of course I would consider it. My family would expect me to, but as I told you, Drew and I would be no happier together than would Edmond Bennet and I – for entirely different reasons, of course.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “However, you think Iredale can make a passionate young woman like you happy?”

She drew a ragged breath, willing herself not to think of Michael, his mouth, or the skillfulness of his caresses
.
Not like you could
.
Michael could make her forget about things like titles and an advantageous marriage – her duty. Some dreams were never meant to be, some feelings, best left buried in the heart where they couldn’t be seen and used to hurt you. Michael Lassiter had no interest in marrying her for any reason. He’d said so. For the first time since her debut Araby faced the painful fact that there was one man she could never have and as it turned out, he was the only one with whom she wanted to share her life. “I believe we have a chance to make a good, solid marriage,” she said carefully, an odd, empty feeling settling into her chest. “Yes, he could make me happy.”

His severe expression softened a little. “Then take my advice, Lady Arabella. Get yourself engaged to him as quickly you can. Leave London. To hell with the rest of the Season. No long, drawn out engagement, just marry and stay out of society for a while.”

Araby felt a chill as if someone walked across her grave. “Why do you say that?” Michael crossed the room as he pulled the key from his pocket. He unlocked the door, leaving the key in the lock, then turned back to her.

“Not everyone has my forbearance, Araby,” and answered curtly, “and The Furies have their share of enemies.” With that, he opened the door and looked carefully in both directions before slipping away.

Forbearance. That’s all this interlude had been to him, a lesson to her in his forbearance? The starkness of his dismissal drove the air from her lungs and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and give herself over to tears. That would never do. It couldn’t. There was too much at stake – her safety, for one and Mr. Lassiter had just proven to her that she was of no real importance to him. He would never save her.

Araby waited a few minutes before following him. It wouldn't do to return to the ballroom too closely on the heels of any gentleman. Reputations were delicate things, easily shredded and difficult to mend. She thought of Damaris Kingsford and her stomach churned uneasily. Michael had said they had enemies and he was right – Rafe Kingsford for one and Lord Ambrose for another, both formidable men. Arabella hastened her step thinking of the propitiatory way Kingsford had spirited Sarah away to the dance floor, as if he dared anyone to try and stop him.

“There you are,” said a voice at her elbow. Arabella jumped and whirled around to find herself looking into the hazel eyes of Leo Crispin, Lord Iredale. “I was beginning to think you'd forgotten our dance.” His tone held no real reproach merely amusement. Arabella laid her hand of his arm and allowed him to capture it with his own. She smiled her practiced smile, the one she employed without thought, when there was little to really smile about. Men never noticed. They seldom looked past the surface, and merely accepted her smile as their due. Her heart lurched in her chest. Accept for Michael Lassiter. He noticed everything whether she wished him to or not.

“Perhaps we could forgo the dance,” Lord Iredale murmured. “The air in here is a trifle close. Would you care to accompany me to the terrace? We'll stay within sight of the doors if you’re concerned.”

“I'm not concerned, my lord,” Arabella said, slanting her gaze up to his from the corner of her eye. “I'd be happy to accompany you.” This is it, she thought. He's going to declare himself. She should be elated and she was, yet, if she were so happy, why couldn't she get Michael Lassiter's silver eyes out of her mind? Why did she see the curve of his lips as he gave a small, half smile and long to trace the line between them with the tip of her tongue? She could almost feel the brush of his body against her own. She briefly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. It was time say goodbye to foolish fancies, to put behind her the unforgettable feel of being held in the arms of a man who moved her, body and soul, but who would never offer her marriage. She had her future to consider, all their futures, and so Arabella tightened her grip on Lord Iredale's arm and glided through the french doors, laughing musically into the night.

Chapter Six

A week later the official announcement of Lady Arabella's engagement to the future Marquess of Branfel appeared in the society pages. It was hailed as the love match of the Season and virtually everyone in London, from shop keeper to reigning hostess, held an interest in their union. The first of The Furies was to marry and it made for good business and good guest lists alike. Drew hardly stirred from the family townhouse following the announcement and Michael spent an inordinate amount of time at his club consuming brandy. He told himself he sought the relative peace of his club to avoid Drew's melancholy and his mother's righteous indignation on behalf of her youngest son. Although the dowager countess knew Drew never had a chance of securing Lady Arabella's hand, she bitterly decried the young lady's heartlessness to the point where Michael began to believe that she felt herself more slighted than Drew.

Between Drew's moroseness and their mother's almost irrational anger, the family residence was an unhappy place without the cheerfulness of the earl and his countess. Michael hoped Henry's trip to Italy resulted in the production of a future niece or nephew – anything to occupy his mother's time. Unfortunately, Fiona didn’t get on well with her mother-in-law, who continually interfered with the running of the earl’s households and liked nothing more than upstaging Fiona at every opportunity. It was probably a matter of one too many queens in the hive, he supposed.

Michael remained at the family residence keeping an eye on Drew and their mother at Henry’s request, but the cloying atmosphere spurred him to complete the renovations to his own townhouse so he could establish a separate residence as soon as Henry returned from the Continent. He snapped the pages of the newspaper he held to refocus his attention on the financial story he'd been attempting to read for the past several minutes. The girl's marriage meant nothing to him, he assured himself and even if it did, the fact that his brother still held a tendre for Araby, whether real or imagined, prevented Michael from having any interest in her. He'd made the mistake once of vying for the affections of another man's grand passion with devastating consequences.

“Business can't be that dismal, can it?” Michael glanced up at Rafe Kingsford keeping his expression unwelcoming. It had no effect on the other man who settled into the chair next to his.

“What do you want, Kingsford?” he asked, although he already knew.

“You haven't replied to Ambrose's dinner invitation for next week,” Kingsford said flatly. “He's expecting you to attend.”

“Since when have my social engagements been your concern?” Michael drawled.

“Since Iredale got himself engaged to that Winston bitch.”

“Have a care, Kingsford,” Michael said as he folded his paper and tossed it onto the table beside him. “I understand your feelings about the girl and I've made allowances for them in the past, however, a gentleman's club is no place to bandy about the name of a young lady of good family.”

Kingsford snorted his contempt. “If it were up to me,” he said, his lip curling, “she would be sullied past all redemption. They all would be. Men would place bets on who took their virginity and who got to have them next.” He waved his cheroot to signal a footman. A young man quickly stepped forward offering a lucifer for Kingsford's use. Michael watched as he lit his cheroot, puffing until the end glowed red. “I know you don't know my sister, but Strathmore is your friend. I'd think you'd at least want to see him avenged.”

Michael hadn't received a reply to his letter, but knowing Jules he was making the best of a bad situation and happily schooling his young bride in the merits of performing her more intimate wifely duties. “I'm waiting to see if Jules believes his situation merits revenge. If he does he's perfectly capable of designing his own intrigues without any help from me. Now that your sister belongs to him doubtless he will see to any redress on her behalf he finds necessary.” Michael considered Kingsford. “You'd do well to remember that while Ambrose is powerful, Lord and Lady Bellwood are not without powerful connections as well. The lady, herself, would not take kindly to you mentioning Lady Katherine in conjunction with betting books and although the Saunders family wouldn't dane to dirty their aristocratic hands in trade, they could destroy your business interests on a whim.”Kingsford

Kingsford's eye narrowed and he smiled coldly. “Lady Bellwood wields that sort of power now, but I wonder for how much longer. Ambrose is no happier with that old trout than he is with Seaton. We have it on excellent authority Lady Bellwood funded the abduction.”

“Why would she do such a thing?” Michael asked skeptically.tupney

“Damaris is outspoken and she always gave those girls as good as she got. She also caused one of the Saunders girl's prime suitors to abandon his pursuit by forcing the girl to show her true colors in front of him. It turns out that Lady Bellwood is no more forgiving than I am.”

“ 'Marriage is a deadly serious business,' ” Michael murmured, thinking back on his conversation with Araby.

“I suppose. Still, you should join us next week whether you wish to assist us or not.”

Michael stood and met the other man's eyes. “I'll think on it,” he said, tipping his head in acknowledgment before taking his leave. He told himself it was none of his business as he strode down the front steps of his club. He'd warned Araby. If she didn't heed his advice it was nothing to him. Then he considered a pair of full, red lips, the way they'd curved into an unguarded smile for him – the way they'd felt against his own. He remembered her gasp as he'd plied his finger to the delightful task of strumming her nipples to turgid peaks. Araby Winston was an intriguing contradiction of beauty, studied charms and innocence all carefully blended with equal parts viper. More intriguing still was the fact that she'd never denied the less pleasant aspects of her personality. Perhaps it might not be a bad idea to attend Lord Ambrose's dinner after all.

***

My Dearest Arabella,

Your engagement to Viscount Iredale is welcome news, indeed. Your step-papa is pleased, of course, but he was so terribly disappointed that you were unable to bring Strathmore up to scratch. His heart was set on a dukedom, you know. Still, Iredale will be a marquess one day and he has a great deal of blunt to recommend him.

As I've told you, making a good marriage is the duty of every young lady of breeding and you have fulfilled your obligation to your family quite nicely. Your face has been your fortune, Arabella, just as your dear step-papa assured us it would be. You have eased your family's concerns for the future and elevated our status to what it should be. I pray you will continue to be a sensible and obedient girl. Your step-papa only wants what is best for us and we have been such a terrible trial to him at times during the years. He is such a kind and thoughtful man. Why, he's even offered to take the burden of planning your wedding from my shoulders. He is so concerned for my health as you know. I ask you to please resist the temptation to be headstrong and disobedient. A true lady should acquiesce to the greater wisdom of her father, or her husband in all things. Graciousness and humility are the greatest virtues a young lady can possess. Please follow your step-papa's guidance in everything for all our sakes.

Yours in Affection,

Mama

Araby carefully folded her mother's letter as she stared sightlessly in front of her.
'
Your face is all our fortunes
.
' If she had a pound for every time she'd heard that phrase from the baron she'd have enough money to take her mother far beyond his reach. She'd only been a little girl the first time she'd tried to stop Seaton from beating her mother. When she regained consciousness her mother's bruised face was the first thing she saw.

Araby had expected her to be glad her daughter had tried to save her. Naive as she was, she'd expected her mother to promise they would leave him, but instead, she'd admonished her daughter for angering the baron and bringing more trouble upon them. The baron had apologized, she said. He loved them both very much, but it was their own willfulness that forced his hand. Young Arabella had laid on her bed, aching and confused as her mother took the blame for her own beating. She should be a better wife, she said and Arabella must be a better daughter.

Her mother's words that night laid the pattern for every violent incident thereafter. The role of antagonist belonged to either Araby, or her mother, but never to the baron. Parents were supposed to protect their children, but her mother had never been strong enough to protect herself, much less her daughter and so Araby learned at an early age that the best thing she could do for both their sakes was to adopt manners and attitudes that garnered her stepfather's favor.

She learned to judge his moods and to distract him before they became out of hand. If it amused him for her to belittle a servant or make a biting remark then that's what she did. Sometimes she was more successful than others, but Arabella believed that in the long run she'd spared the entire household the weight of his fists more often than not. She had to believe so. Otherwise her jibes and mockery had scarred her heart for no reason.

“There you are puss.” She jumped at the sound of her stepfather's voice, fearing she'd somehow conjured him because of her reflections. “Did you enjoy your mama's letter?” He headed for the sideboard and the whiskey decanter. Araby noted the lightness outside. He began his drinking earlier these days.

“Yes, thank you, I did.” She answered him reflexively as she considered how best to exit the room without angering him.

He splashed an overly generous amount of liquor into his glass. “To each his own, I suppose. She bores me to tears with her endless prattle. Though she's quite correct to remind you of familial duty.”

He’d read her letter. Of course. The baron never allowed letters to pass between herself and anyone else without reading them first. It was the reason she'd developed a code for her messages to Katherine and Sarah. Araby remained silent as she judged his mood. He'd come home in the small hours of the morning. Things must have gone poorly at the gaming tables. Apparently, his notion of celebrating her engagement was to lose more money. Not exactly reasonable thinking, but when had he ever shown restraint in his vices.

“I suppose I should start preparing for the evening. I'm to attend the theater tonight with Lord Iredale and his parents.” She dipped into a slight curtsey, keeping her eyes downcast. If luck was with her....

“Naturally, they extended their invitation to your step-papa as well,” he said, his tone biting. Luck was not with her.

“I'm certain they would have if the opportunity had presented itself,” she offered carefully as she edged towards the door. “Lady Blanche invited Iredale and I to join them during our carriage ride yesterday.”

The baron slammed his glass down on the sideboard. Araby wondered that it hadn't shattered from the amount of force he used. “You should have seen to my inclusion, Arabella. That is part of familial duty, you know. I will not be slighted by the Marquess of Branfeld, or his wife and you, my dear, will not allow it to occur again.” His bloodshot eyes filled with anger. “Don't forget who helped you secure your success. That fancy wardrobe of yours put us well inside Dun territory.”

They'd long been residents of Dun territory, truth be told, between the baron's gaming and his even more unsavory habits. She wisely kept her opinion to herself. “I assure you that no slight was intended.”

Her stepfather laughed harshly. “No? Then again you weren't present for the settlements, were you? Your dowry, such as it is, is a pittance.” Araby knew her uncle had grudgingly provided dower funds and that her stepfather had been furious not to have been given control of them years ago. “Never mind though,” he continued as he swept his eyes over her in a manner that made her feel queasy. “Young Iredale wants you in his bed badly enough to overlook it. He's agreed to pay off the majority of our debts after the wedding and settle a good portion on you as well, but his father refused to part with a shilling more. All those years of seeing to your welfare, of paying for your and your mother's upkeep and what do I get out of it? Nothing.” The last word came out in a hiss.

“Perhaps I can change his mind after we're wed,” Araby murmured. The door seemed miles from where she stood facing his anger.

“They'll be no perhaps about it,” he shouted. “You will make certain Iredale changes his mind. I will have my due one way or another, my girl. By god, I will.” He stepped up to her seizing her forearm in a relentless grip. Araby knew what came next if she were not extremely careful. At the very least he would grasp her arm hard enough to leave bruises, or at the worst he would twist her arm until she screamed and begged him to stop. Just a few more weeks, she told herself and then she'd be beyond his reach forever.

“If your husband can't be brought to see reason,” he continued giving her arm a warning tug, “you'll see things are made right as his widow.”

Her reaction came without caution and a fraction later she wished with all her heart she could recapture the words. “You can't hurt him. You can't! His family....” The rest of what she'd intended to say was cut off by her cry of pain as he twisted her arm behind her. Araby fell to her knees in an effort to ease the torturous position of her arm. It did no good. The baron merely shifted his grip.

“You forget yourself, puss. I have been too lax with you.” He twisted her arm until she screamed. “This is what comes of indulging you – of letting you forget what's owed me. You think to betray me.” Her vision blurred with tears, Araby looked towards the doorway, praying that someone, anyone would come to help her. No one would. No one ever did. The servants knew that turning a blind eye was what kept them safe. He twisted her arm a little farther and she feared this time he would break it. Dear God, the pain.