Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage. Carole Mortimer
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Carlyne in a state of undress atop his leather-topped desk!
She gave an embarrassed groan just thinking of how her wilful determination to disprove Darius Wynter’s mockery of her claim to experience had led to what was now undoubtedly her complete disgrace.
That Hawk, whom Arabella so looked up to and wanted to think well of her, should have found her in such a compromising situation was unbearable. That Lord Redwood, a member of the government and a man who had campaigned against and spoken in the House on the subject of immorality within Society, should also have been witness to both Arabella and Hawk’s shame was beyond enduring..
Regret was an emotion that Darius seemed patently incapable of feeling. He had certainly displayed no indication of it when Hawk had turned to hurriedly usher Lord Redwood from the study. Instead Darius had simply moved away from Arabella to calmly refasten the buttons on his shirt and straighten his cravat, before once again donning his waistcoat and jacket and neatly arranging his snowy white linen at the cuff. A single sweep of one elegant hand through his hair had tousled those golden locks back into their normally rakish style.
And all the time he was doing those things Arabella had been hurriedly straightening her own clothing, her fingers shaking and her face deathly pale as she realised the enormity of her indiscretion. As she considered what the repercussions of her impetuous actions might be.
Immediate banishment to the Stourbridge ducal estate in Gloucestershire would, Arabella felt sure, be the least of those punishments!
Now, she moistened her lips before answering. ‘What explanation did Darius—er—the Duke of Carlyne give when the two of you spoke together just now?’
To Arabella’s further dismay Hawk had returned alone to his study only minutes after that embarrassing interruption, his disposition stiffly disapproving as he sent her up to her bedchamber so that he and Darius might converse privately together. Until Arabella knew what had been said during that conversation she had no idea what answer to give her brother.
Hawk strode further into the bedchamber, tall and austerely handsome, his eyes a cold, forbidding glitter. ‘He offered no explanation at all,’ her brother answered testily.
She frowned. ‘But he must have said something!’ Hawk gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘He offered marriage.’
Arabella’s eyes widened incredulously. Darius had offered for her?
It was the last thing, positively the last thing Arabella had been expecting when she considered Darius’s cold and distant behaviour in those minutes after they had been dis covered together.
‘An offer you will, of course, refuse,’ Hawk added autocratically, his top lip curled back with distaste.
Arabella stiffened with resentment at her brother’s arrogance. She had already suffered the indignity of being mocked by Darius this evening. Then being made love to by Darius and, once discovered, sent to her bedchamber by Hawk as if she were a naughty child. And now it seemed she was also to suffer being told what to do by her arrogant eldest brother.
In truth, Arabella was not sure that she even liked Darius Wynter, let alone wished to marry him. She found his good-looks compelling. His physical attributes exciting. Was intrigued by his reputation. Had been infuriated earlier by his taunting as to her knowledge of physical intimacy. But like him? No, Arabella’s feelings towards Darius could never be described by an emotion so … so lukewarm as liking!
Even so, her rebellious nature was such that she did not appreciate Hawk telling her what she would or would not do in regard to Darius’s offer of marriage.
She held herself proudly. ‘Surely that is for me to decide, Hawk, not you?’
Her eldest brother eyed her disapprovingly. ‘The man is totally unsuitable.’
‘His rank is every bit as prestigious as your own!’ Arabella found herself defending the very man she had minutes ago been so angry with.
‘His rank, perhaps, but not the man,’ Hawk bit out contemptuously. ‘Arabella, I cannot tell you how strongly I would disapprove of a match between you and Carlyne.’
She raised her chin in stubborn defiance of that disapproval. ‘I am sorry you feel that way.’
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is your intention to accept Carlyne’s offer, then?’
‘I have not decided,’ she answered coolly. ‘I will give you my answer once I have given Darius his.’
Her brother straightened, looking every inch the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge. ‘He has asked to speak to you in my study before he leaves.’
Arabella gave a haughty inclination of her head. ‘In that case I really must not keep him waiting any longer.’ She swept regally from the bedchamber and down the stairs.
Before her courage failed her!
‘Your brother has graciously granted us five minutes alone together in which we might discuss this evening’s events,’ Darius said dryly when Arabella rejoined him in the now candlelit study.
Hawk St Claire was so damned toplofty. He obviously believed himself to be far superior to Darius in every way. He had seemed not to care a jot for the fact that Darius was himself now a duke, and therefore the other man’s social equal, as he’d coldly informed him exactly what he thought of him for daring to dally with his sister.
Until Darius’s offer of marriage—his second in regard to Lady Arabella St Claire—had robbed the other man completely of speech!
‘So I understand.’ Arabella looked at him with the same haughty disdain as her eldest brother had only minutes ago.
Even so, Darius could not help but admire the rebellious glitter in her eyes and the defiant tilt to her chin as she looked down the length of that haughty little nose at him. Not too many women he knew would be half so sure of themselves after being so recently discovered in a compromising situation with a scandalously notorious rake like him.
That Darius had ceased to publicly live up to that reputation since taking on the mantle of the Duke of Carlyne appeared to have gone unnoticed by the majority of the ton; it was a case of once a rake always a rake, it seemed. Not that this reputation was in the least a hindrance to Darius’s eligibility. As Arabella’s youngest brother Sebastian had once informed him, inheriting a dukedom tended to bring on a bout of amnesia amongst the ton concerning a man’s previous indiscretions.
Which brought Darius back full circle to the purpose of this five-minutes conversation with the young lady standing before him.
His mouth compressed. ‘I doubt we will need the whole of the allotted five minutes for me to make a formal offer for you and for you to refuse it.’ Darius studied her from beneath hooded lids as he clinically admired her undoubted beauty: those deep brown eyes, that pert little nose, the perfect bow of her lips. Lips that had only minutes ago responded to his with a passion that had far exceeded any of Darius’s expectations.
He was acquainted well enough with the three St Claire brothers to know that Arabella’s earlier claims to physical experience were a complete fabrication. Her brothers would never have tolerated even a hint of licentious behaviour in their young sister. But it had been her defiance that at the time Darius had been unable to resist challenging.
He had never had any serious intention of making love to Arabella, only to exact a little revenge for her dismissal of his offer eighteen months ago. That revenge had neatly rebounded on him when she had responded to his kisses and caresses with a passion that had just been waiting, it seemed, to respond to a lover’s touch.
His specific touch?
Somehow Darius doubted that very much. Since their first meeting Arabella had made her contemptuous opinion of him more than obvious.
‘Marriage is not something I either seek or want,’ he drawled now. ‘Nevertheless, I am aware of the obligation I have to make such an offer. An offer that you, having already