Courtship Wars: To Pleasure A Lady Part 9

Since it seemed to be a safe subject, Arabella was pleased to explain. "Lady Freemantle actually gave me the idea. We became friends after my sisters and I moved here to Chiswick. Winifred was the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, but she married far above her social station and was never accepted by her husband's family or friends. One day she confessed how difficult it had been for her, being the wife of a baronet, enduring all the slights and snubs, and that she wished someone had taught her the proper social graces so she might have competed in Sir Rupert's milieu. I began thinking that there must be other young women in similar circ.u.mstances. Most daughters of wealthy magnates are destined to be sold into marriage to gentlemen in need of rich wives, as Winifred was."

"So you proposed establishing the academy?"

"Not at first. When I suggested I might be of help to some of them-advise them on how to fit in to the Beau Monde and make their path easier-I only envisioned taking on one or two pupils. But Winifred leapt at the idea and offered to fund a much larger enterprise."

"But you don't run the academy solely on your own," Marcus said.

"I have significant help. I convinced two of my friends to partic.i.p.ate, and one a.s.sumed the post of headmistress. They oversee most of the cla.s.ses, but my sisters and I also teach at least one cla.s.s a day."

"Not the typical subjects, I collect?"

"No. Most of our pupils have been educated by private governesses, so by the time they come to us, they are usually proficient in sums and globe reading, music and drawing and needlepoint, those sort of genteel accomplishments. But they lack the polish and grace expected of a lady. So for the final two years before they make their comeouts, we instruct them on good deportment, rules of proper conduct, etiquette, and also expose them to the kind of culture and refinement they will find if they marry into the gentility."

"Apparently your academy is a great success. My solicitors tell me you have over two dozen pupils and that there is a long list of applicants waiting for admission."

Arabella smiled. "Yes. We succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Wealthy tradesmen and merchants are willing to pay huge sums to turn their daughters into refined young ladies. But our academy benefits us, as well. It not only provides us occupation and income but gratification for helping our pupils learn how to deal with society. I personally take great satisfaction in giving young girls more control over their fate. Their birth or breeding might not be of the highest, but they can hold their own in elite circles.

And they come to their marriages on more equal footing with their husbands."

"I can well imagine you would find that satisfying," he murmured.

When Arabella gave him a suspicious glance, Marcus returned a bland expression, but he found himself marveling at how much he had enjoyed watching her explain about her academy, her lovely face so animated and expressive. He admired Arabella's pa.s.sion for her cause. As he absently took a sip from his winegla.s.s, Marcus realized that he hadn't felt that pa.s.sionate about anything in a long while.

Finding this wine as bitter as the Madeira had been earlier, he immediately set down his gla.s.s. "I should like to visit your academy soon."

As he expected, Arabella's wariness increased. "Why would you want to visit?"

"I believe I told you. As your guardian, I will need to decide if I should permit you and your sisters to continue teaching there."

She looked worried for a moment as she anxiously searched his face, but she evidently recognized the teasing gleam in his eye, for her expression relaxed a little. "You are purposely trying to provoke me again, I collect."

"Now why would I do that?" he asked amiably. "Are you finished with your soup?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Good. I can't seem to stomach so much salt myself."

Marcus rang for the butler to clear away the dishes, almost glad for the presence of servants to interrupt his private moment with Arabella, since he was having difficulty controlling his l.u.s.tful thoughts.

She was near enough that the sweet scent of her rose up to tease his nostrils. And that elegant gown she was wearing made him want to discover what delicious secrets she was hiding underneath.

His imagination could supply some of the details. Her supple, slender body. The ripe curve of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her long, elegant legs...

Sternly Marcus returned his gaze to Arabella's beautiful face, but it did little to quell his awareness of her. This was the first time he had seen her hair completely uncovered. He had the urge to pull out the pins and see how that red-gold silk would look tangled after their lovemaking.

The erotic thought was arousing enough to make him go hard, and was followed by more erotic thoughts. He could picture shoving away all the china and laying Arabella on the table in order to make a delectable meal of her. She would be far more tasty than the dinner had been thus far. Even more, he wanted her to taste the pleasure he could give her- But that would have to wait a while longer, Marcus reflected, finally disciplining his errant thoughts. He had promised himself not to rush his fences. This was supposed to be a romantic wooing, not simply a seduction, and he knew it would require much more than physical pleasure to win Arabella over.

It was no hardship, however, to simply share her company. He truly wanted to know all about her. And at least dining together gave them the perfect opportunity for intimacy.

The trouble was, the wine was so acidic as to be undrinkable. And the dishes Simpkin was setting *

before him looked even less appetizing than the soup had been.

Marcus tasted each one just to make certain: Mashed turnips with no seasonings. Boiled cabbage. And a burnt saddle of mutton that was so dry, it was nearly impossible to chew.

When he realized Arabella was watching him closely, however, Marcus began to wonder at her unusual interest in his reaction.

"As a cook, Mrs. Simpkin leaves much to be desired," he commented casually.

"Oh, do you think so?"

Arabella's tone was perfectly innocent, which aroused his suspicions even further. "Most definitely. If the meals continue to taste so wretched, I will have to send to London for my chef to replace Mrs. Simpkin as cook."

Her response remained blithe. "Do try the mint sauce. It improves the taste of the mutton considerably."

"Not nearly enough," Marcus said satirically, poking his fork at a charred rind. "I think perhaps I should have a few words with Mrs. Simpkin."

Arabella's guileless expression faded. "That won't be necessary, Marcus."

"No?"

"She can do much better than this."

"I don't know that I am willing to risk it. In fact, if she deliberately planned this unpalatable fare, I don't want her in my employ any longer."

His empty threat had the desired effect: Arabella sighed and came to the housekeeper's defense with a confession. "It was not Mrs. Simpkin's fault. It was entirely mine. I asked her to alter her recipes this evening."

Marcus lifted an eyebrow. "You requested that she burn the mutton and spike the wine with vinegar? I suspected as much." He eyed Arabella in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Let me guess. You're endeavoring to make my stay here as unpleasant as possible in hopes that I will give up on our wager."

"Well, yes," she admitted with only a faint blush of guilt. "And to spoil the prospect of any intimacy between us."

"Since starvation is not conducive to courtship."

"Precisely. But I warned you I would not make it easy for you to woo me. Are you vexed?" she asked sweetly.

Her smile held such satisfaction, Marcus had to grin in return. "Vexed? Not in the least." Exasperated, perhaps. And most certainly fascinated by the beautiful spitfire and her efforts to evade his courtship. But perhaps he could turn her machinations to his advantage...

He suddenly rose and held out his hand to her. "Come with me, Arabella."

That wicked smile instantly made her extremely wary. "Come where?"

"You'll see."

When he grasped her hand and drew her to her feet, she had no choice but to accompany him. They swept past a bewildered Simpkin and down the corridor, heading for the back stairs.

"Where are you taking me?" Arabella demanded uneasily.

"To the kitchens to find something more palatable to eat."

"There really is no need-"

"Indeed there is. I insist. You must still be hungry, and I know I am."

Arabella tried to pull back. "I think I would rather starve."

Marcus gave a low laugh. "But I would not. Come along, darling. You don't want to put me to the trouble of carrying you."

Suspecting that he would make good on his threat if she continued resisting, Arabella gave up gracefully.

When they reached the large kitchens, they found Mrs. Simpkin seated at the long wooden table where the servants took their meals, while the maid scrubbed pots and pans at the sink. The housekeeper rose abruptly, looking startled to see them. "My lord! Is something amiss?"

"I would say so, Mrs. Simpkin. The dishes you served tonight failed to satisfy our appet.i.tes."

"I can prepare another dinner, my lord-"

"That won't be necessary. You will excuse us, please."

The housekeeper suddenly looked worried. "What do you intend, Lord Danvers? If you mean to punish Miss Arabella-"

"I am merely going to feed her. Now, pray give us some privacy. Don't be alarmed, I won't harm your mistress."

After a hesitant glance at Arabella, the housekeeper reluctantly left the room, followed by the wide-eyed scullery maid.

Marcus led Arabella to the table and pressed her down onto the bench. "Sit here while I raid the larder."

She obeyed unwillingly. The warmth of the room, combined with the delicious aromas of herbs and cooking, was somehow pleasant, yet she couldn't relax as she watched Marcus search the vast room. It was incongruous to see a tall, lithe aristocrat garbed in formal evening clothes foraging in these domestic surroundings, but it was utterly unsettling to imagine what he had in store for her. He was obviously retaliating in response to her tactics.

He inspected several pantries and then the cellar, gathering items for a feast and returning to deposit his *

prizes on the table before her. Then he went around the kitchen, putting out all the lamps, leaving only the glow of the hearth fire to provide light.

"What the devil are you doing?" Arabella asked, her voice suddenly uneven.

"I told you, I intend to feed you."

"In the dark ?"

He smiled at her protest. "Not total darkness. I want to be able to see your pleasure as you savor each bite."

His answer unnerved her, as did his next provocative comment when he settled on the bench beside her.

"This is much more intimate than the dining room, wouldn't you agree?"

This setting was indeed far more intimate than before. Clearly her plan had backfired.

"Marcus, this is hardly proper..." she began breathlessly.

His midnight blue eyes gleamed at her. "Hush, sweeting, and take your punishment like a good sport."

She had no choice but to comply, Arabella realized, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat. She was keenly aware of Marcus's potent masculinity as he leaned nearer, for she could feel his powerful thigh press against hers through her gown. The arousing contact sent heat coiling low in her belly and between her thighs, made her nipples tighten brazenly to hardened peaks.

What was worse, Marcus knew his effect on her, the fiend.

The pressure deliberately increased as he reached into a bowl and drew out a plump strawberry, the first of the season. Next he removed the cloth from another bowl and dipped the ripe fruit in clotted cream, then held the morsel to her lips.

He planned to serve her with his fingers, Arabella received.

She tried unsuccessfully to take the berry from him. "I can feed myself."

"But it would not be nearly as enjoyable for either of us. Open your lovely mouth, Arabella, or I will have to kiss it open." She chose the lesser of two evils, bending forward to bite off the fruit from the leafy stem. The tart-sweet burst of flavor in her mouth was delicious, reminding her that strawberries and cream was her favorite dessert. Yet she couldn't enjoy the flavor, not with Marcus observing her so intently. His lips lifted in a slow, sultry smile as he watched her chew.

He fed her two more berries, until finally Arabella pushed his hand away. "Honestly, I am no longer hungry."

"I am. Hungry for you."

Her heart gave a fierce leap at his low murmur.

"I can imagine how delectable you would taste, love."

Their gazes locked, and Arabella's breath caught in her lungs. She had never felt this aching physical awareness before. Something tangible had kindled between them, and she couldn't look away. She was experienced enough now to recognize the bright spark of desire that flared in Marcus's blue eyes.

A shiver stole through her, even before he raised his finger to draw it along the wet line of her lips.

"From now on, every time I watch you eat will be a taste of temptation."

Her breath faltered entirely. Then his fingertips moved lower to touch the pulse quickening at the base of her throat. The tension thrumming between them was nearly unbearable.

Desperate to break it, Arabella surged to her feet. "I must go," she exclaimed, yet she was prevented from fleeing for the door when Marcus caught her hand.

Laughter laced his voice as he protested, "But, darling, you have scarcely eaten a bite."

"I have had more than enough, my lord!"

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from his grasp and escaped to the sound of his soft laughter. Her heart was still thudding moments later when she reached her bedchamber, her body still shivering with heat.

Arabella shut the door firmly behind her, then leaned weakly back against the panel. She was in serious trouble if she could not even withstand her first dinner with Marcus.

She had meant to foil his plan to woo her, but she had done a wretched job of it. Indeed, thus far she had come out the loser in every encounter with him.

Arabella shook her head stubbornly. Perhaps she had lost their initial battles, but she wouldn't lose the war.