Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage (4 page)

She gave a blithe smile. ‘I assure you, knowing that Hawk, Lucian and Sebastian would instantly consign you to the devil is of tremendous comfort to me!’

Darius’s mouth thinned. ‘And if I were to admit to you right now that I
was
indeed responsible for my first wife’s early demise?’

Arabella drew in a sharp breath and looked at him
searchingly. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ she finally murmured.

Darius shifted impatiently. ‘Possibly because it is the truth?’

She frowned. ‘I believe you are trying to frighten me into refusing you!’

‘Am I succeeding?’ He scowled darkly.

‘No,’ she answered pertly. ‘Now, if you have quite finished voicing your reservations concerning our marriage—’

‘I do not recall voicing
any
of my reservations as yet,’ Darius rasped harshly. ‘The main one being, of course, that I have no use for a wife. Not now. Or in the foreseeable future.’

She blinked. ‘Yesterday evening you mentioned the necessity for heirs.’

His mouth compressed. ‘Which I would be just as capable of fathering in ten—twenty years as I am now. Arabella, have you seriously considered what it will mean to become my wife?’ he continued impatiently. ‘I am a man most of the ton still believe beyond the pale. A man who has only attained a tenuous respectability because of a title which should never have become mine.’ His expression darkened. ‘That would not have become mine if my brother had not died so suddenly and his legitimate heir, my nephew Simon, had not already been slain at Waterloo.’

Yes, of course Arabella had considered all of those things during the long hours of a sleepless night. But ultimately they had all been rendered insignificant against her own inexplicable desire to become this man’s wife.

Inexplicable because Arabella refused to search her heart too deeply in order to find the answers to that particular puzzle…

‘In that case, marriage to a St Claire can only but add to your newfound but shaky respectability!’

Darius could see from the firm tilt of those highly kissable lips and the stubborn light in those deep brown eyes that Arabella would not be swayed from her decision, that she was wilfully determined to become his wife whether he desired it or not.

And he most certainly did not.

But not for any of the reasons he had so far stated…

He admired Arabella St Claire. Desired her. He would not have offered for her eighteen months ago if he had not—an offer she had not hesitated to refuse when he was penniless and lacked a dukedom, he reminded himself testily.

He crossed the room in two long strides to reach out and grasp the tops of her arms, totally impervious to her sudden look of alarm. ‘I advise you to be sure of exactly what you would be doing by marrying me, Arabella,’ he growled.

Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed nervously. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I am a man used to doing as I please. Going where I please, when I please, as I please. A circumstance I would see no reason to change simply because I have a wife.’

Arabella’s eyes widened. ‘You are telling me before we are even wed that you intend to continue your relationships outside of our marriage? That you perhaps already have a mistress you intend to continue to visit?’

Darius almost laughed at the ludicrousness of those questions.

Ludicrous because there had been no women in his life, mistresses or otherwise, for some time now. His brief foray into marriage had shown Darius how unwise it was for him to have an intimate relationship with any woman. How detrimental that very intimacy could be to her health…

He looked down at Arabella. She was so very young. So beautiful. So utterly and completely desirable…

Darius suddenly realised how he could dissuade the stubbornly determined Arabella from going ahead with their betrothal and marriage. He had only to ruthlessly demonstrate how unsuitable a candidate he was as a prospective husband to send her running back to the safe and welcoming arms of her three over-protective brothers.

Yes, Darius knew exactly how to go about achieving that end. But he also knew that having done so he would be giving up any chance of renewing his addresses to her in the future, however far ahead he was looking. That, believing herself rejected by Darius, Arabella was contrary enough to accept the next suitor who made an offer for her and in doing so making it impossible for Darius to ever claim her.

No, as inconvenient and risky as it was for Darius to marry Arabella now, for him not to do so would certainly mean losing her for ever. A possibility that he found was even more unacceptable to him than this forced betrothal, than knowing that she only wanted to marry him now because he was the wealthy Duke of Carlyne…

‘I do not expect to need a mistress once we are mar
ried, Arabella.’ He finally answered her previous question. ‘I would expect you to cater to my physical needs. Whatever those might be.’

Arabella felt a shiver of apprehension down the length of her spine as she looked up into the hard implacability of his face. His mouth was a thin, uncompromising line. His eyes as hard and glittering as the sapphires in the necklace left to her by her mother.

It was the face of a man who would brook no challenge to his indomitable will. Least of all from a wife he felt had been foisted on him by the dictates of Society rather than one he had chosen for himself.

Any woman not born a St Claire would have been daunted by the risk that he represented at that moment. Yet it only made Arabella all the more determined to penetrate his arrogant façade. To poke and prod at that mockery and cynicism until she reached the man beneath that apparently impenetrable shield.

Perhaps if she had not had the cynically remote Hawk and Lucian as her brothers, or the softer but just as arrogant Sebastian, then Arabella may have believed that outer shell to be all there was to Darius Wynter. But, as their petted and spoilt younger sister, Arabella had come to know her brothers’ natures well, and she knew all of them to be capable of deep and tumultuous emotions. To be men who were all deeply and irrevocably in love with their wives….

Was she hoping, once they married, that Darius would similarly fall in love with her?

Arabella stifled a disbelieving gasp at even the suggestion of such a hope. Did that mean she had feelings for Darius she hadn’t even dared to suspect existed?

Darius raised a brow as he saw Arabella’s reaction to his suggestion that she alone would satisfy his physical needs. ‘My physical needs are really not as debauched as the ton would have you believe.’ He eyed her teasingly. ‘I can at least assure you that there will be no whips or chains involved!’

‘Whips or chains?’ she gasped breathlessly, her face paling.

It was a response that reminded Darius more than any other, despite her claims to the contrary yesterday evening, just how innocent she really was when it came to physical intimacy. ‘I am sure you will very quickly learn to satisfy all my
very normal
sexual appetites, Arabella.’

Once again her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed before raising her chin proudly. ‘As, no doubt,
you
will learn to satisfy mine?’

She was a vixen. A little hellcat. Verbally spitting and clawing despite her obvious unease at discussing such an intimate subject with him. ‘That part of marriage I am already looking forward to with the greatest of pleasure,’ Darius assured her throatily.

A challenge entered the deep brown depths of her eyes. ‘I would prefer us to have a lengthy betrothal in order that we might become better acquainted with each other on a social level before—’

‘No.’

She eyed him uncertainly. ‘No?’

Darius looked down at her between hooded lids. ‘No,’ he repeated firmly. ‘If we are to marry at all, then it must be immediately.’

‘I—But—Why?’ Arabella didn’t even attempt to hide her bewilderment.

She had been envisaging spending the winter months as Darius’s betrothed. With perhaps the wedding planned for next spring or summer. Six, possibly nine months when the two of them could spend time together, tormenting and challenging each other if they must, before contemplating the complete intimacy of marriage.

The implacability of Darius’s expression told her that such an arrangement was totally unacceptable to him. ‘Take it or leave it, Arabella,’ he stated uncompromisingly. ‘You will either marry me by special licence next week or we will not marry at all.’

Next week? Was he
insane
?

Arabella pulled out of Darius’s grasp to move away from him. ‘I cannot possibly organise a wedding by next week!’

‘I fail to see why not.’ Darius appeared unmoved by her obvious shock. ‘Obtaining a special licence should pose no problem. All of your family and the majority of the ton have already gathered in town in order to attend your brother’s nuptials yesterday. Hawk’s duchess has proved she is capable of being hostess to a wedding supper at short notice. As I see it, a week is more than time enough for you to obtain a suitable wedding gown.’

As
he
saw it, perhaps. As
Arabella
saw it the idea of marrying this man as early as next week was unacceptable. Terrifyingly soon, in fact.

‘Why the rush, Darius?’ She made her tone deliberately light. ‘I realise that this situation has been thrust upon us by—by certain actions that took place between us yesterday evening, but we both know that there is no real reason for such a hasty wedding to take place.’ Her
cheeks burned at the memory of the intimacies the two of them had shared the previous evening.

Darius felt a sharp stab of sympathy for Arabella’s obvious bewilderment as to his insistence on a short betrothal and a hasty wedding. Reminding him that for all Arabella was a St Claire, and as such in possession of the same arrogant self-confidence as her three older brothers, she was nevertheless still only nineteen years of age. A very young and innocent nineteen years, despite her previous claim otherwise.

He wished that he could grant Arabella the lengthy betrothal she so obviously desired—months during which the little minx had no doubt intended to tempt and bedevil him!—but the truth was, once their betrothal was publicly announced, Darius simply dared not leave her for any length of time without his full protection.

He dared not.

‘Next week, Arabella. Or there will be no wedding.’

Arabella looked up at him searchingly, knowing by the grimness of Darius’s expression—the stern set of his mouth and the coldness of his blue eyes—that he was unshakeable in his decision that she would marry him next week and be damned, or the two of them would not marry at all.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Very well, Darius.’ She gave a tiny inclination of her head. ‘I will inform Hawk that we have decided to marry as early as possible next week.’

‘
I
will be the one to inform your brother as to our intentions, Arabella,’ Darius cut in decisively, a cynical curl to his top lip. ‘As is my right as your future husband.’ He quirked one arrogant brow.

Arabella bit back the argument that had been hovering upon her lips, wisely deciding that prudence was probably the better course at this point in time. There would be plenty of opportunity after they were married for her to show Darius that she had no intention of being a conventional meek or obedient wife….

‘I
t is still not too late to change your mind, Arabella, if you have a single doubt as to the wisdom of marrying Carlyne.’

Arabella turned to look across her bedchamber as Hawk, her tall and imposing brother, stood in the doorway dressed in his own wedding finery of snowy white linen beneath a tailored claret-coloured jacket of the very finest velvet, black pantaloons and shiny black Hessians.

The rest of the family had already departed for St George’s Church in Hanover Square, but as the eldest of her brothers Hawk was to ride with Arabella in the bridal carriage, and then accompany her down the aisle before handing her into the care of her husband-to-be.

Into Darius Wynter’s care.

Arabella swallowed down her feelings of nervousness as she presented her brother with a widely confident smile. ‘I have no doubts at all, Hawk.’

This past week had been a busy one of hectic arrangements. Arabella had never been left alone for a
moment as the dressmaker was visited, the ivory silk chosen for her gown and fittings arranged, flowers obtained, and the menu for the wedding breakfast decided upon in consultation with Jane.

There had been little or no time for second or third thoughts, and with everything there had been to arrange or decide upon, Arabella had seen very little of Darius himself. Despite that, Arabella was more convinced than ever that her choice of husband was the correct one. For her.

Arabella knew herself well enough to realise that she could never be happy with a weak man, a man she could bend to her will by artifice or design. And Darius would never be such a man.

Despite their lack of opportunity to spend time together, Arabella had nevertheless had the chance to witness for herself what she viewed as the strengths of Darius’s character. His arrogance was more than a match for any of her brothers whenever they chanced to meet. He had been charm itself on meeting Jane and being faced with her obvious uncertainties as to his suitability as a husband for Arabella.

Most surprising had been Darius’s consideration and gentleness with his brother’s widow, the Dowager Duchess of Carlyne, when she had arrived in London three days ago for the wedding and the betrothed couple had been invited to dine with her that evening.

Arabella had reassured herself that any man capable of showing such kindness as Darius had to Margaret Wynter, even a man who preferred the ton to think of him as a rake and a cynic, could not possibly be all bad.

Hawk’s austere expression softened slightly as he
stepped further into the bedchamber. ‘You look so much like Mama today.’ He gazed down at her admiringly in the ivory silk gown, her golden curls enhanced by a matching bonnet, her bouquet a simple arrangement of deep yellow roses from the St Claire hot-house.

‘Really?’ Arabella glowed; she had been aged only eight when her mother and father were killed in a carriage accident, and over the years her memories of her warm and beautiful mother had become hazy at best.

‘Very much so,’ Hawk assured her gruffly as he reached out to take both her hands in his own. ‘How I wish our parents could be here to see how beautiful you look on your wedding day.’

Arabella squeezed his hands. ‘Perhaps they can.’

‘Perhaps,’ Hawk allowed gently.

She gave her brother a searching glance. ‘I
am
going to be happy, Hawk.’

‘So Lucian never fails to assure me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Even so, I am sure I have made no secret of the fact that Carlyne is not the man I ever envisaged as a husband for you.’

‘No.’ Arabella smiled slightly as she thought of the battle of wills that had ensued between Darius and Hawk on the few occasions the two men had met during this past week. Battles which Darius had—surprisingly—invariably won…

Her brother gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Perhaps if I had known of your preference for him then I would not have been so hasty in refusing him when he last offered for you.’

Arabella’s eyed widened incredulously. ‘Darius has offered for me
before
?’

‘During your first Season,’ Hawk acknowledged heavily, releasing her hands to cross the bedchamber and stand with his back towards her as he stared out of the window into the busy street below.

‘I—But—Why did you not tell me?’ Arabella frowned in disbelief as she stared at the implacability of Hawk’s stiffly erect back and shoulders.

Darius had offered for her the previous year?

Before he had made a similar offer for Sophie Belling and been accepted, obviously.

Hawk turned, the sternness of his features twisted into a grimace. ‘I did not tell you because I was not—am still not—convinced as Lucien appears to be as to Carlyne’s suitability as a husband for you.’

‘So you refused his first offer for me without even consulting me?’ Arabella accused.

‘I did.’ Hawk looked haughtily unrepentant. ‘And I would have done so again this time if the—the circumstances had not been as they were. If you had not informed me it was your sincere wish to marry him.’ His expression was grim. ‘The fact that Carlyne offered for Sophie Belling too last summer, and then married her after approaching me in regard to you such a short time before, only confirmed to me that his reasons for offering for you then were of a mercenary nature rather than because his emotions were truly engaged.’

Arabella knew she couldn’t refute that claim. She doubted that Darius could, either. But for Hawk to have refused Darius’s offer without even asking her opinion was beyond belief.

Although it went some way to explaining Darius’s remark a week ago that a wealthy duke was obviously a
more attractive marriage prospect than a penniless lord. He obviously believed Arabella’s only reason for accepting him now was because he
was
now a wealthy duke!

Would she have accepted if she had known of Darius’s offer a year ago?

At the time he had been known as a rake and a gambler. A man who, with little personal wealth left at his disposal, was deeply in debt. A man whose only means of alleviating that debt had appeared to be in the taking of a wealthy woman to wife.

Hawk was Arabella’s guardian, charged with her welfare, and she knew that he had been perfectly justified in refusing him on her behalf when Darius had offered for her last summer.

But as the young woman who had compared every man she had met these past two Seasons with the devilish good-looks and magnetic charisma of Lord Darius Wynter—and found them all wanting!—Arabella could not help but feel resentful at Hawk’s highhandedness. She might not be in love with Darius, or he with her, but Arabella had absolutely no doubt that she would have accepted him the previous summer.

Much as she hated Darius to think badly of her, Arabella knew she would be wise to make sure Darius didn’t discover that she had not known until today of his previous offer for her, and to keep to herself her reasons for marrying him. The battle of wills that existed between them would be lost before it had even begun in earnest if Darius were ever to guess that Arabella was entering into their marriage with an eagerness for her husband’s kisses and caresses that would
be shocking if the anticipation did not feel so deliciously exciting…

‘You are looking very lovely today,’ Darius remarked dryly to his wife of two hours.

Hours during which he had smiled and been polite to both Arabella’s family—all those St Claire aunts and uncles and cousins—and numerous members of the ton, who ordinarily would have returned to their country estates this late in the year, but had instead stayed on in town to attend two fashionable St Claire weddings.

No doubt gossip and speculation about the second of the two weddings would sustain many a conversation on a cold winter’s evening before the ton returned to London
en masse
in the spring—with the added and erroneous assumption that the heir to the Carlyne dukedom would be born an indecently short time after the wedding!

‘Thank you.’ Arabella had no intention of returning the compliment by telling Darius how breathtakingly handsome
he
looked, in his snowy-white linen and austere black jacket and thigh-hugging black pantaloons, with his hair gleaming deeply gold in the reflection of the hundreds of candles illuminating the ballroom at St Claire House.

Seeing Darius in church earlier, as he’d stood at the altar waiting for her to join him, had literally robbed Arabella of her breath. So much so that for a few brief moments she had been unable to move as the organ began to play. Only the recently acquired knowledge of Darius’s previous offer for her, one that had been made
willingly
, had prompted her into moving forward on silk-slippered feet.

Apart from her three brothers, Darius now stood head and shoulders above their wedding guests. Even if he had not, the deep gold of his hair and the handsomeness of his features would have distinguished him from every other man in the room.

Or perhaps that was only Arabella’s biased opinion?

‘When can we decently take our leave, do you think?’ Darius looked bored by the whole proceeding.

Arabella arched blond brows. ‘Decently?’ she prodded.

Darius shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Or indecently?’

‘I would have thought, having been through this once before, that you would have more knowledge of the correct etiquette than I? Or perhaps your previous marriage was of such short duration that you have simply forgotten?’ she taunted.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Have a care, Arabella,’ he warned her softly.

‘Or what, Your Grace?’

‘Or I might give myself the pleasure, once we are alone, of placing you over my knee and administering suitable punishment,’ Darius murmured huskily, and was instantly rewarded by the flush that appeared in Arabella’s cheeks.

Of anger? Or
anticipation
?

This past week had shown Darius that his new bride possessed all the courage he had imagined and more, as she had steadfastly refused to be daunted by any of the underlying displeasure of the ton in her choice of husband. Just as she had withstood all the gossip and speculation that had circulated around town after their wedding was announced. She had also, without fuss or
ado, aided her sister-in-law Jane with the arrangements of that wedding. Best of all, she had been gracious and compassionate to Margaret, his brother’s widow, a lady that Darius himself held in high regard, when they had dined with her.

In fact, Darius could not fault Arabella’s behaviour towards everything and everyone this past week. Everyone but himself, that was…

Whenever the two of them had chanced to be alone—which, admittedly, had not been often—Arabella had tended to be either sharply critical or coolly dismissive, giving him little idea as to how she really felt about him. But Darius had every intention of rectifying the coolness of her manner towards him later this evening, once they were finally alone together at Carlyne House.

In fact, the anticipation of at last being alone with her was only adding to Darius’s frustration with the social expectations it was so necessary to fulfil at one’s own wedding. He physically ached to finish what the two of them had started in Hawk St Claire’s study a week ago. Especially when he considered it had been that intimacy which had forced him into having to offer Arabella marriage!

His promised conversation with Lucian St Claire, once he’d finally managed to get the other man alone, had assured him of the other man’s silence. Lucian had confirmed that he had not in any way broken the promise he had given to Darius six months ago. Nor would he.

Arabella looked down her provocative little nose at him. ‘Am I to assume from that remark that I should ex
pect to be beaten on a regular basis in our marriage, Your Grace?’

‘You can expect to receive
something
on a regular basis in our marriage, Arabella,’ he warned harshly. ‘Especially if you intend to continue addressing me as “Your Grace” in that patronising manner.’

Her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘I am not sure that I altogether approve of a man who would threaten to beat his wife.’

Darius raised blond brows. ‘I do not believe I have ever asked for your approval, Arabella.’

No, he never had, Arabella acknowledged with a frown. In fact, she could never remember Darius, either as the disreputable Lord Wynter or the more respectable Duke of Carlyne, ever asking for, or indeed needing, anyone’s approval. Least of all her own.

Arabella grudgingly admitted that it was this very arrogance, the feeling of dangerous uncertainty whenever she was in Darius’s company, that made him so fascinatingly attractive to her….

‘Nor,’ Darius continued softly as he moved to stand in front of her, and so effectively shut the two of them off from their guests’ curiosity, ‘did I, in fact, threaten to beat you in the manner you describe. I assure you, Arabella, that I would endeavour to ensure that you thoroughly enjoy any…punishment that I choose to administer to you.’

Arabella felt colour blaze in her cheeks at the bluntness of his conversation. ‘Perhaps the women you are used to associating with enjoy such—such rough treatment, Darius, but I assure you that I do not.’

‘I hope you will come to appreciate at least a little
sport in our marriage bed, Arabella.’ His eyes gleamed down at her mockingly. ‘I assure you, there is nothing quite like it for rousing the blood.’

Arabella felt herself becoming flustered. Had she, after all, taken on more of a challenge in becoming Darius’s wife than she was capable of dealing with?

Darius had been married before, and had indulged in a prodigious number of affairs with ladies both in the ton and out of it. In comparison to those women Arabella knew herself to be very young and inexperienced. Perhaps too much so to sustain the interest of a man as experienced as Darius undoubtedly was?

It was a little late for her to be having second thoughts now, when the wedding had already taken place and she would shortly be retiring for the night with her husband to Carlyne House!

She looked searchingly into his face. ‘I believe, sir, that you are deliberately trying to alarm me…’