Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage (13 page)

Arabella raised her head to look at him, reassured a little by the teasing she could see in his expression. ‘Was I too rough with you?’

‘You can ask that after I beat you?’ He gently rearranged her gown.

‘You did not beat me.’ She eyed him knowingly. ‘You used just enough force to arouse me rather than hurt me, did you not?’

Darius gave a rueful grimace at her perception. ‘Yes.’

She frowned. ‘You intended making love to me all the time?’

‘Not all the time, no,’ he drawled lazily. ‘But I admit the idea did occur to me after you had dismissed Gray with such haughty disdain,’ he revealed. Instantly realising his mistake as Arabella’s eyes narrowed and her mouth compressed determinedly. ‘Arabella—’

‘Tell me, Darius,’ Arabella bit out, ‘who is Helena Jourdan?’

Darius drew in a sharp, hissing breath as she so challengingly revealed that she
had
overheard far too much of his conversation with Gray than was safe. For himself. And for her….

D
arius’s movements were precise and restrained as he carefully disengaged himself from Arabella before lifting her to the floor, so that she might stand up to rearrange her petticoats and gown while he saw to the fastening of his breeches.

All the time he was wondering how much—or how little—he must reveal to Arabella to stop her from probing further into the subject of Helena Jourdan.

As Gray had pointed out to him earlier, the subject of that woman was an extremely delicate one. In fact, it would have been so much better for all of them if Arabella had not so much as heard mention of the other woman’s name.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Have you been spying on me, Arabella?’ That would surely be an irony: the spymaster being spied upon by his own wife!

Several of Arabella’s curls, so neatly arranged by her maid only an hour or so ago, had fallen down about her shoulders in the heat of their lovemaking. But Arabella
ceased trying to tidy them as she heard the disapproval in Darius’s tone.

Her chin rose defensively. ‘Despite your denials to the contrary, the woman was your lover until a few days ago, was she not?’

Darius became very still. ‘My
lover
?’

‘Mistress. Courtesan. Whatever term you wish to apply to the most recent woman to have shared your bed!’ Arabella’s top lip curled in disgust.

Darius arched mocking brows. ‘I believe
you
have that privilege!’

‘So far we have not shared a bed,’ she pointed out sharply.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Indeed—only a rug in front of the fire and a chaise.’

Arabella’s cheeks burned as Darius’s dishevelled appearance reminded her all too forcibly of the wild abandon of their most recent coupling. ‘Exactly.’

‘Something I intend to rectify at the earliest opportunity, I assure you.’

She frowned. ‘I think not.’

‘No?’

‘I see no privilege attached to sharing the bed of a man such as
you
!’ Arabella snapped.

Darius stilled. ‘A man such as me?’ he echoed dangerously.

Arabella’s cheeks became flushed as once again she heard the steel beneath the softness of Darius’s tone. The restrained stillness of his body was a warning that she had overstepped the line with that last insulting remark of hers.

‘You have not answered my original question,’ she said.

‘Neither will I,’ Darius retorted. ‘We were married four days ago, Arabella. I see no reason to account to you for any of my actions before that time.’

‘You see no reason…?’ she repeated incredulously, her eyes having become a glittering angry gold. ‘One of your ex-mistresses is still pursuing you, has apparently several times intended to do us both harm. but you see
no reason
to explain yourself to me?’

A nerve pulsed in Darius’s clenched jaw. ‘None.’

‘You are an unmitigated rake, sir!’

Darius gave a humourless grin as he made a mocking bow. ‘At last we are agreed on something.’

Arabella’s breasts quickly rose and fell as she breathed deeply in her agitation, and her hands were curled into fists at her sides. ‘I believe I might actually
hate
you, Darius!’

Something else they were in agreement on, then—because Darius hated himself at that moment.

Eight years ago, when Darius had first begun to tread this delicate path of spy for the crown, his life had been completely his own, and as such he had accepted that any repercussions and dangers his precarious career incurred would also be his own. It had never been his intention to place Arabella in that same danger.

In fact, since Hawk St Claire had refused his offer for her more than a year ago, Darius had gone out of his way to avoid showing any preference for Arabella’s company. What had occurred between them at Sebastian’s wedding had been completely unplanned on Darius’s part—a temptation he had no longer been able
to resist when the lady herself had so obviously been more than willing.

If they had not been found together in that compromising position in Hawk St Claire’s study, by none other than the morally upstanding Lord Redwood, then Darius would have simply walked away after the encounter. With regret, certainly, but nonetheless he would have walked away.

Faced with the choice of exposing Arabella to scandal once their alliance had become public knowledge—which without a doubt it would have done—or marriage, Darius had decided to marry her and be damned.

He should have recognised sooner that his actions were not protecting Arabella but placing her in the same danger as Darius was himself.

No, he
had
realised it, damn it! Had known and married her anyway.

His reasons for doing so were completely selfish, and certainly not something that the currently infuriated Arabella would be willing to hear….

Nor were they something that Darius intended even attempting to share with her until his enemy had been apprehended.

He eyed her mockingly. ‘That should add a little spice to our lovemaking.’

The heat of her glare was enough to burn him where he stood. ‘You are arrogant, Darius, to believe there will be
any
further lovemaking between us after this!’

‘I trust you are not once again entertaining the idea of leaving me, Arabella?’ Darius jeered. ‘Or perhaps you merely wish me to think that you might in order to…provoke me again?’

Arabella was sure that she had never been this angry in her life before. And since becoming betrothed to Darius Wynter there had certainly been plenty of opportunity for her to be so.

He was so arrogant. So mocking. So superior in every way. So—so wickedly handsome that just looking at him made her knees go weak!

How could she still find Darius so attractive when he made no attempt to deny what he was, or deny that the mistress he had denied having had been so upset at the ending of their affair and his marriage to Arabella that she was trying to do them both harm?

Was it really possible to love someone so much that losing them made you want to destroy the object of that love rather than allow anyone else to have them?

Arabella certainly felt violent enough towards Darius at this moment. She could quite cheerfully have hit him over the head with something painfully heavy!

But she was merely fascinated by Darius and not in love with him. Wasn’t she…?

No! She would not even
entertain
the idea that she might be in love with her husband. She would not!

‘I repeat my earlier statement, Darius—if you attempt to beat me again I will surely kill you.’ Her gaze raked over him scathingly.

He quirked a brow at her. ‘I take it you meant your comment earlier concerning lovemaking too?’

‘I always mean what I say, Darius.’

‘I remind you that so too do I,’ he bit out brusquely.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that if you so much as attempt to leave Winton Hall then I will come after you and bring you
back.’ His mouth thinned. ‘I guarantee you would not enjoy the punishment that would surely follow.’

‘Do not attempt to threaten me, Darius—’

‘It is a promise, Arabella, not a threat,’ he warned softly.

She gave him one last scornful glance before turning on her heel to stride from the room, her shoulders stiff and her back ramrod-straight.

Darius made no move to follow her, knowing there would be little point in his doing so. He could not confide the truth to Arabella—his role as spymaster prevented him from doing that—and as such had no way as yet of explaining his own actions, or Grayson’s reason for being here, to his wife.

The sooner Darius established whether it was Helena Jourdan arranging these ‘accidents’, as Gray seemed to think it was, or—as Darius himself was more inclined to believe—his own exiled brother Francis, the sooner he would be able to attempt to heal the rift that now existed between himself and Arabella.

Attempt
to—because Darius was not at all sure he would be successful….

‘I had not realised that you and my husband were such…close acquaintances, Lord Grayson.’ Arabella arched questioning brows at her guest as she presided over the teapot later that afternoon.

Teatime was a social nicety that only the two of them had bothered to attend, the footman having informed Arabella that the Duke was about the estate somewhere. No doubt with Westlake, as the butler was once again absent from his duties.

‘No. Well…’ Gideon Grayson looked decidedly un
comfortable at finding himself alone with his hostess in this way. ‘We have visited the gambling clubs together a time or two, I dare say.’

Arabella’s mouth was tight as she handed him his tea. ‘With Sebastian, perhaps?’

His gaze avoided meeting hers. ‘I’m not really sure…’

‘No? But I had the impression when we were all at Lady Humbers’s ball earlier this year that you and Sebastian were good friends.’ Arabella eyed the young Lord over the rim of her teacup.

‘We are. At least…we were.’

‘Were?’

He gave a pained frown as he glanced awkwardly about the drawing room. ‘The weather is tolerable for this time of year, do you not think?’

What Arabella thought was that the rakishly handsome Lord Gideon Grayson was avoiding the subject! ‘Tolerable.’ She nodded coolly. ‘Can it be that you and my youngest brother have suffered a disagreement?’

‘Not at all,’ Lord Grayson denied sharply. ‘I—Look, I apologise if my being here is inconvenient.’ His expression was anxious as he sat forward in his chair. ‘Normally I would not have dreamt of intruding upon a newly married couple in this way. It was only—I felt—’

‘Yes?’ Arabella prompted.

‘Stop browbeating the poor man, Arabella,’ Darius drawled as he strolled lazily into the drawing room, his appearance impeccable in a dark green jacket worn over a muted gold brocade waistcoat and snowy white linen, his legs long and muscled in thigh-hugging buff-coloured pantaloons above black brown-topped
Hessians. ‘No doubt Sebastian and Gray have fallen out over a woman, and now Gray is too embarrassed to admit to it. It is what we rakes do, you know.’ He eyed her sharply and paused beside the tea trolley to pour himself a cup of tea as she made no effort to do so.

It was the first time that Arabella had set eyes on her husband since their disagreement this morning. Disagreement? It could be regarded as much more than a disagreement. The two of them had ended by clearly laying down their rules as regarded the continuation of their marriage!

Even now Arabella could not believe how heatedly they had made love this morning before just as heatedly arguing. Heated on her part, at least; Darius had remained coolly distant throughout. Arabella might feel more inclined to forgive him if he had not…

‘Lord Grayson and I were merely engaging in social chitchat,’ she dismissed evenly.

‘Really?’ Darius raised disbelieving brows. ‘It sounded distinctly like the Spanish Inquisition to me.’

‘You are being ridiculous.’ Arabella shot him a venomous glare.

Darius settled himself comfortably in one of the armchairs before stretching his long legs out in front of him to be crossed at his booted ankles. ‘A fault of all newly married men, no doubt. Perhaps the reason you have continued to avoid the unenviable state, Gray?’ He took a sip of his tea.

Grayson looked more uncomfortable than ever as he obviously sensed the increased tension in the room following Darius’s entrance. ‘I—Er…’

Darius gave a hard laugh. ‘My dear chap, I advise
you not to even attempt an answer; whatever you say is guaranteed to offend either my wife or myself.’

Gray frowned. ‘Perhaps in the circumstances it might be better if I were to take my leave of you after all, as soon as we have finished tea.’

‘You see what you have done, Arabella?’ Darius chided. ‘You have made our guest feel unwelcome.’

‘
I
have?’ She eyed him incredulously.

‘There, there, Arabella.’ That blue gaze openly jeered at her. ‘I am sure Gray perfectly understands that you are not as—as composed as you could be.’ He gave the other man a bored glance as he confided, ‘Arabella’s nerves are understandably still a little jittery from all the preparations and excitement of the wedding.’

In contrast, Darius’s own nerves were perfectly calm. With the cold inflexibility of steel, in fact. He and Westlake had just discovered that there had been an un-invited guest in the stables some time during the night. Several of the saddles had been tampered with. Including Grayson’s. A fact that seemed to imply the other man’s assessment of the situation might after all be the correct one; it had been the two of them who had been responsible for questioning Helena Jourdan following her arrest in the summer, and for ordering the death of her French soldier lover.

The sarcastic pleasantness of Darius’s present mood served to hide the fierce anger he was feeling inside. A cold, remorseless anger that promised severe retribution for someone.

‘I assure you my nerves are not in the least jittery, Darius.’ Arabella answered his previous taunt with sweet insincerity. ‘On the contrary, as I mentioned
earlier today, I find Lord Grayson’s presence a welcome diversion from the tedium of country life.’

‘There now, Gray.’ Darius’s eyes glittered as he looked across the room at the younger man. ‘I do not see how you can even
think
of depriving my beautiful wife of your company after she has so eloquently expressed a partiality for it.’

Grayson eyed him warily. ‘I am sure Her Grace was only being polite.’

Darius looked across at Arabella between narrowed lids. ‘Were you?’

Arabella shifted uncomfortably under that coldly direct gaze, not fooled for a moment by the mildness of Darius’s tone; beneath that calm exterior he was obviously furiously angry. With her, no doubt. ‘I hope that I am always polite, Darius,’ she replied noncommittally.

He gave a hard and humourless laugh. ‘Oh, I believe all of the St Claire family can lay claim to being
that
, Arabella—even when they are stabbing you in the back!’

Arabella’s eyes widened at the slight. ‘You dare to accuse any of my family of such a cowardly act?’