Courtship Wars: To Pleasure A Lady Part 21

Eleanor was chatting gaily with an older couple when Arabella spied the stunning, red-haired beauty farther along the crowded corridor. When the lady approached Marcus and offered him a cool smile that held more than a hint of seduction, Arabella felt the strangest urge to scratch the woman's eyes out.

She was scolding herself for her absurd reaction when Winifred noticed her expression. "Don't be dismayed, my dear," her friend whispered. "By all reports their affair was over months ago."

"What affair?"

Winifred hesitated before grimacing. "You may as well hear the tale from me, so you won't leap to the wrong conclusions."

"What conclusions? Winifred, will you please stop talking in riddles?"

She sighed. "Very well, that lady is the Viscount Eberly's very wealthy widow. To put it bluntly, she had a romantic liaison with Lord Danvers years ago when he was still Baron Pierce. Then after her elderly husband obligingly went to meet his Maker, they resumed the relationship for a brief time last Christmas, but it didn't last. She was too possessive and fancied becoming Baroness Pierce, so he broke it off. To my knowledge they have not been seen together since."

Arabella suddenly felt a constriction tightening her chest. "They had an affair while her husband was still alive?"

"Well, yes. But it came to nothing in the end, and I doubt Lord Danvers is the least bit interested in her any longer."

Arabella stared in dismay at Marcus and his beautiful inamorata. She couldn't deny her jealousy, yet her distress was not only because the stunning Lady Eberly had once been his mistress; it was also because Marcus had pursued the lady while she was still another man's wife.

Dragging her gaze away, Arabella lifted a hand to her mouth.

"Are you all right, dear?" Winifred asked in concern.

She couldn't answer just then for the churning in her stomach. To think Marcus had been trying to persuade her to accept his offer of marriage while a.s.suring her that he was nothing like her father, who had harbored no qualms about committing adultery.

"It is nothing," Arabella managed to lie. "Perhaps I indulged in too many rich dishes at dinner. And the theater is rather warm. I believe I will return to our box, Winifred."

"Certainly, you should sit down."

She drew a steadying breath as they moved along the corridor, telling herself she had no right to feel such hurt. She had no real claim to Marcus. It was just that she had begun to trust him, to open her heart to him. You started to believe he was a man you could love.

She should have known his portrayal of the ideal suitor was too perfect to be real.

But seeing Marcus with his former mistress was a cold awakening to reality. Her father had indulged in countless affairs after marriage, showering his affection on his mistresses, leaving her mother to languish alone in humiliation and resentment and heartbreak, pining after an unfaithful man who could never love her. How could she trust that Marcus would be any different if she wed him?

Arabella felt the hot sting of tears burn her eyes. To think that she had actually attempted to picture herself as his wife. Clearly she had been indulging in pipe dreams. Marriage between them would never work out. She was foolish to have thought it might.

She was an even worse fool to let herself become so vulnerable to hurt after her first wretched experience with love. She had let her emotions become too involved with Marcus, obviously. If she didn't take care, she could end up making the same mistake all over again.

Arabella forced herself to swallow the ache in her throat. At least now there was no longer any danger of her falling in love with Marcus. Her resistance to him had been slipping day by day, softened by his seductive charm and his generosity toward her sisters. But she wouldn't allow it to weaken any further.

Their wager would be over in less than a week. She had only to survive until next Monday and then she could declare her independence from him. Meanwhile, she had to pretend to be unaffected by this new revelation about him.

Her thoughts were so distracted that she nearly ran into f.a.n.n.y Irwin, who was returning to her own box with her gentleman patron in tow.

"Do forgive me, f.a.n.n.y," Arabella murmured. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

f.a.n.n.y surveyed her in concern. "Is something amiss, Arabella?"

She returned a strained smile. "No, I was just wool-gathering. It is so good to see you again, f.a.n.n.y dear."

Her concern evidently allayed, f.a.n.n.y cast a glance farther down the corridor and then lowered her voice. "We shouldn't be seen speaking together in public, Arabella. Your blue-blooded friends will see you."

Arabella followed her gaze to glimpse Marcus's aunt, Lady Beldon, standing at the door to their box, observing her encounter with f.a.n.n.y with obvious disapproval.

"It is no matter," Arabella replied. "I have no need to cultivate her ladyship's good opinion."

"But what about-"

"I will write to you tomorrow, f.a.n.n.y. Winifred," she called over her shoulder. "You remember my good friend, Miss Irwin."

Smiling, Winifred offered a polite greeting. They spoke for a brief moment before Arabella continued on her way. By the time she entered Marcus's box to find his aunt already seated, she was calmer and thinking more rationally, yet she couldn't help reflecting on how right f.a.n.n.y had been to warn her against succ.u.mbing to the earl's seductive advances.

As she settled next to Winifred, though, she realized that Lady Beldon was addressing her. "You do realize, Miss Loring, that it is not proper for a lady to acknowledge a female of that stamp?"

Eleanor entered the box just then and resumed her seat between her aunt and Arabella. "A female of what stamp, Aunt?"

Lady Beldon sniffed. "Miss Loring knows whom I mean."

At the viscountess's censorious tone, Arabella stiffened. Earlier this evening, Lady Beldon had readily acknowledged the promiscuous Lady Eberly. It seemed highly unfair to forgive such wantonness in a married lady while condemning fallen women like f.a.n.n.y.

But Arabella struggled to keep her tone polite when she replied, "Miss Irwin is a childhood friend, my lady. We grew up together and were as close as sisters."

"That is no excuse for recognizing her now."

Eleanor's curious gaze went directly to f.a.n.n.y. With a light laugh, she made an obvious effort to smooth troubled waters. "Pah, Auntie, I think you are being too fastidious. Miss Loring should be commended for her loyalty in not cutting her friend."

Her aunt's lips pressed together in a tight line. "I trust I taught you how to conduct yourself in such situations, my girl."

Eleanor surveyed the Cyprian thoughtfully. "Yes, you did, dearest aunt, but that doesn't mean I must like it. I expect I would enjoy meeting Miss Irwin. She doubtless leads an intriguing life, with few of the restrictions we unmarried young ladies must suffer."

Marcus returned to the box at that moment, in time to catch his sister's statement. He frowned slightly as he offered his aunt and then Arabella each a gla.s.s of wine.

Still vexed at the viscountess, Arabella avoided looking at him as she accepted the gla.s.s. "Oh, I agree, Lady Eleanor," she murmured. "I quite envy Miss Irwin her freedom. She is her own woman, in charge of her life. She needn't fret about a guardian controlling her every action."

Casting an arch glance at Marcus, Arabella expected him to respond to her gibe, but Lady Beldon evidently was not finished with her chastis.e.m.e.nt. She spoke again just as Marcus's two friends resumed their seats behind them. "It is unseemly for a prospective countess to fraternize with lightskirts, Miss Loring. If you mean to have any future with my nephew, you will have to sever the connection with your friend, no matter how close you were."

Although enraged by now, Arabella managed a false smile. "Forgive me, my lady, but I have no intention of severing my connection with Miss Irwin. Instead, I will be severing all connection with your nephew.

After next week, he will no longer be my guardian, and I certainly won't continue our relationship by becoming his countess."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus's brows snap together. The other occupants of the box had gone silent.

Glancing over her shoulder, Arabella offered the Duke of Arden a brilliant smile. "Does that not relieve you, your grace? You don't wish me to marry Lord Danvers, I imagine."

The duke responded with a repressive arch of one eyebrow. "In truth, I don't," he responded coolly.

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, wishing 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 shift 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.