The poor groom had paled considerably. “Yes, my lady.”
Once in the carriage, Arabella clasped her hands together firmly and told herself all would be well despite the rising sense of dread she felt.
32
Rowan handed his coat to the waiting footman and took his wife’s arm as they entered Lord and Lady Galspred’s home. As they made their way towards the ballroom, Rowan snuck another appreciative look at Arabella. She was stunning tonight in a gown of deep evergreen trimmed with gold braid. The globes of her breasts rose and fell against the fabric, threatening to flee the tight confines of her bodice. He doubted she had ever worn anything quite so daring. Lust shot through him as he caught a whiff of bergamot in her hair. Even though he’d taken her against the wall of their dressing room just a short time ago, he wanted her again. There was bound to be a deserted alcove or small parlor in this house somewhere where they could disappear for a discreet moment.
He felt the movement of Arabella’s hand against her skirts a sure sign of her agitation. He released her elbow to lace his fingers through hers. “Buck up Lady Malden, it’s only a ball, and a rather small one at that.” While Arabella had become comfortable acting as hostess in their own home for his business associates, Rowan still felt her hesitation at attending larger events, especially without her formerly severe persona at her disposal.
A low hiss came from her lips. An annoyed Arabella was much preferable to one who was nervous.
Rowan chuckled softly. “Be charming.” He said sternly. “And pray try to smile. Just a bit. Not like a crocodile about to devour a child.” Pulling her close, he pressed a light kiss to her earlobe to take the sting from his words.
He and Arabella had not been hiding from the ton, but neither had they sought out the company of society. With Miranda gone to Egypt and Lady Cupps-Foster visiting Bath, Arabella’s lack of callers was noticeable. The only invitations she received were for charity teas or luncheons, most of which requested a donation from her. Rowan’s own mother should have called on her new daughter-in-law, but in a breach of etiquette, she had failed to do so. The rest of the ton, sensing Lady Marsh’s displeasure, followed suit.
Rowan would deal with his mother later. His tolerance of her behavior was at an end.
Arabella immediately lifted her chin as they approached their hosts, her armor of bored disdain already evident on her face. No one would dare cut a Dunbar of course, but Arabella still expected the dislike of society. He’d told her several times Lord Galspred and he were old friends. Lady Galspred, a lovely woman whom society adored, would take Arabella under her wing.
“Malden.” Galspred clapped his shoulder.
Rowan smiled. “May I present my wife, Lady Malden.”
Galspred’s eyes roved discreetly over Arabella, paying a bit more attention than Rowan liked to the gentle swell of her breasts. “Lady Malden, a great pleasure to finally meet. No wonder we’ve seen little of Malden. I should not wish to leave you waiting at home either.”
Arabella’s lips tilted. “You are too kind, Lord Galspred.”
“My wife, Lady Galspred.” Galspred turned to a woman next to him wearing powdered blue and a great spray of peacock feathers in her hair. Winnie, as Galspred referred to his wife, was small and delicate, with light brown hair and enormous blue eyes.
Lady Galspred took Arabella’s hand. “Welcome, and congratulations on your wedding, Lady Malden.”
Winnie hadn’t a mean or malicious bone in her body, but neither did she possess an ounce of intelligence. Arabella would swallow poor Lady Galspred in one bite if she became annoyed.
Arabella murmured a low greeting followed by a pleasant smile.
“Come, Lady Malden.” Lady Galspred took her arm. “Let me introduce you to some of my other guests.”
Arabella allowed herself to be led away, dark eyes narrowed as she spared Rowan a backward glance, promising retribution.
Behave. Rowan mouthed to her. He would sleep with one eye open tonight, though seeing Arabella in that dress, he doubted he would sleep much.
“You’ve allied yourself with a very powerful family, though I wouldn’t have thought it necessary as your cousin is already wed to the Duke. Tell me, are the rumors true?” Galspred’s eyebrows wiggled. “Witchcraft and black magic?”
“Not in the least.” Rowan took a glass of wine from a passing servant, frowning slightly at his friend’s remark. This was the type of stupid innuendo Arabella had been tolerating her whole life. The remark annoyed Rowan.
“I’d heard rumors of Lady Arabella, of course. I was given to understand she was unpleasant and generally dressed like an elderly matron. I’m glad to find my information to be untrue, at least on one part.” He stroked his beard. “I’m sure the enormity of her dowry would more than make up for a shrewish nature.”
“She isn’t a shrew.” Rowan’s gaze followed Arabella as she floated along behind Lady Galspred. The sable mass of her hair was caught up in a loose knot at the back to allow several curls to tumble seductively about her shoulders. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room and the most intelligent. Even though she was across the room from him, Rowan still felt tethered to her, her every movement drawing him along in her wake.
And she’s mine.
Male eyes turned in appreciation as Arabella moved across the ballroom. If she was aware of the looks she garnered, she showed no sign. Several ladies, eyes widening at Arabella’s appearance, snapped open their fans to confer behind them.
He caught the mulish tilt of Arabella’s chin and knew she had noticed the women likely gossiping about her. Looking over his glass, Rowan caught a flash of ash blonde hair.
Lady Gwendolyn.
Seeing Rowan across the room she fluttered her fan and eyelashes to gain his attention.
He nodded politely but did not approach her. He assumed her parents to be somewhere in the ballroom and instantly regretted coming this evening. Lord White’s badgering to forgive his debts had grown more insistent, especially now that Rowan had married Arabella.
Lady Galspred was making introductions to a small group clustered in one corner. A young man, tall and lean with red gold hair leaned over Lady Galspred’s hand, looking in appreciation at Arabella, awaiting an introduction.
“Mr. Longstreet.” Galspred caught Rowan’s glance. “He’s related to someone with a title but for the life of me, I can’t remember just now. Winnie will know.”
Longstreet was buzzing around Arabella like a very determined bee. He was smiling over her hand and must have said something amusing for his wife laughed.
Jealously slammed into Rowan. He was the only one to make his wife laugh. He had the sudden urge to tear young Longstreet limb from limb.
“Malden? Are you well?”
“Why do you ask?” Rowan bit out, his eyes never leaving the lecherous Longstreet. He grabbed another glass of wine from a passing servant.
“You appear a bit hostile just now towards young Longstreet. Don’t worry; he’s harmless. His heart belongs to some squire’s daughter, I believe. Can’t marry her as he’s poor as a church mouse. Fancies himself an artist.”
“Then why is he hovering about my wife?” Rowan spat out before he could think.
“Probably wishes to paint her, Malden.” Galspred gave him an odd look and lowered his voice. “The story you and she were secretly courting and rode to Scotland on a wave of passion, changed your minds and decided to wed properly is ridiculous. You’re meticulous in your plans. Once you’ve set on something you see it through, rarely altering your path. I doubt you would have done something so impetuous.”
Rowan stayed silent, too busy watching Longstreet hovering about Arabella to be concerned with Galspred’s assumptions.
“We were all shocked of course, that you didn’t offer for Lady Gwendolyn. Lord White—”
“Was incorrect. I never had any intention of wedding his daughter.”
Galspred nodded. “So it would seem. Most of London bel
ieves you wanted the alliance with Dunbar and your wife’s enormous dowry. The betting book at White’s is ten to one Dunbar tripled her settlement to ensure your agreement. A veritable king’s ransom.”
“Careful, Galspred.” Rowan sipped his wine as the anger slowly spooled inside of him. “Besides, you shouldn’t be betting on anything.” Galspred’s lavish lifestyle had nearly driven him to bankruptcy. Rowan had lent his friend a substantial amount of money to keep the debt collectors from the door so Winnie could continue to throw frivolous events such as these.
A surprised look crossed Galspred’s face at Rowan’s anger. “I meant no disrespect.” His eyes widened. “Good Lord. You wanted to marry her. You were courting her.”
“Shut up, Galspred.” Rowan walked away from whatever else his friend was unwise enough to say. What he’d just admitted to Galspred was something Rowan hadn’t even admitted to himself.
He’d gone after Arabella. Saved her from Corbett. If anyone had a right to Arabella, all of Arabella, it was Rowan. Not that silly red-haired pup Longstreet who was currently fawning all over her.
Bloody Hell.
He was behaving like a jealous husband. Rowan clenched his fists and moved towards the gaming tables, determined to enjoy himself and not spend the evening dancing attendance on his wife.
Halfway across the ballroom, fingers lingered against his arm.
“Lord Malden. How lovely to see you.”
Lady Gwendolyn stood before him, her blue eyes wide and fathomless. She was a pretty girl with her blonde hair and petite figure. But there was none of the overt sensuality his wife possessed. Nor intelligence. Nor darkness. She would make some gentleman a wonderful wife for she would be pleasing and demure and unlike Arabella in every way possible. He would never have married her no matter his mother’s machinations.
Bowing he took her hand and greeted her. “Lady Gwendolyn, how nice to see you. I am glad to see you looking well.” She had probably been told to expect an offer from him at any time and was likely embarrassed nothing had come to pass. He felt a rush of sympathy for the lovely Gwendolyn and pasted a polite smile on his face.
“Lady Malden looks lovely this evening.” Her voice wavered slightly. “The dark green suits her. No wonder she’s collected so many admirers.”
Rowan raised a brow. “Has she?”
“Well, yes, Lord Malden. Your wife is quite sought after. I saw a man just the other day follow her down Bond Street just to speak to her.”
Rowan’s gaze flew to Arabella. Dear God, she was clapping her hands at something Longstreet said, which only made him angrier. He’d known she’d gone to Bond Street. Maybe she’d run into one of the acquaintances from one of the dinner parties they’d hosted. But if that were the case, why hadn’t she mentioned it?
She’s up to something.
He must have scowled because Lady Gwendolyn twittered. “Oh my, I’ve said something untoward.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I do hope I didn’t upset you.”
“Not at all.” Over the last month, Rowan thought he’d grown to know his wife well. He did not mistake what was between them, even though he wasn’t sure what to call the emotion. But the truth was, he still didn’t trust her.
“Excuse me.” He bowed to Gwendolyn. “I’ve a seat waiting at the tables.”
33
“Another.” He waved his empty glass at a servant. It had been several hours since Rowan left the ballroom and he’d been playing cards for the better part of the evening. Losing at cards would be a better term. He was drinking too much and playing poorly, his mind more focused on Arabella than the game. Nursing his boiling jealousy and doubt with scotch now instead of wine, Rowan thought it was high time he claimed his wife.
He stood and strode swiftly into the ballroom, searching the thinning crowd for a sign of Arabella. Had she been looking for him? Or had Longstreet or some other gentlemen kept her too busy to miss him?
Longstreet, his copper hair shining under the lights, was spinning around the dance floor with a dark-haired woman. A woman who belonged to Rowan.
Arabella.
He moved towards the side of the room to observe his wife. Not surprisingly, Arabella didn’t dance well at all. Lack of practice, he supposed, for she’d spent years either as a wallflower or not attending events where dancing took place at all.
Longstreet didn’t seem to mind.
Arabella was no longer smiling up at the young man; she was too busy concentrating on the movement of her feet.
Longstreet winced as she stepped on his toe.
She leaned in to whisper to Longstreet, probably an apology, as the dance ended. The pair strolled towards the group of ladies she’d been introduced to earlier.
Lady Galspred welcomed her with a smile and took her arm.
Longstreet lingered for a few more minutes, speaking to Arabella and completely ignoring the pretty young girl who was making calf eyes at him. Rowan found nothing to recommend the young man. Gritting his teeth, Rowan made his way to his wife’s side.
Rowan made a deep bow to the group. “I’m afraid Lady Malden and I must take our leave.”
Arabella narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing. She began to introduce him to Longstreet, but Rowan only nodded at the man and took her elbow to lead her away. Arabella tugged at his grip on her arm and he tightened his fingers.
“Malden, cease your death grip on my elbow if you please.”
“What did I tell you about calling me that?” His grip grew tighter, his anger hotter.
“I am glad for your arrival. I was about to pretend to have a fit of the vapors just to escape the inane banter but didn’t know where to find you. If you sought to torture me this evening you have succeeded beyond your wildest imaginings.” Arabella frowned. “Mr. Longstreet was the only bright spot and even my attention in him was beginning to wane.”
Rowan looked up and down the line of coaches and spying his own, led her over. “Home,” he instructed his driver as her lifted Arabella inside. “It did not appear so.”
She sat across from him and arranged her skirts, regarding him with a question in her dark eyes. “You’re in an ill humor. And you smell of scotch.” She leaned forward. “Are you foxed?”
* * *
Arabella sniffed the air again. Rowan was foxed. And angry. His large body fairly vibrated with ice cold rage as if she’d done something horrible. She hadn’t. She’d allowed the twittering Lady Galspred, a woman with the personality of a boiled turnip, to introduce her to a larger group of uninteresting ladies. She’d laughed at the inane banter. Danced with Longstreet and engaged him in conversation gleaning bits of information from him.
All because she’d promised Rowan she would behave.
It was exhausting to be social and she wasn’t at all sure she cared for it. Before her banishment to Wales, Arabella hadn’t really attended many social functions. If she did, it was usually to benefit a charity or some other worthy cause she supported. Sometimes she’d attend a ball or some other event if Miranda begged her, but even so the two of them only stood against the wall and whispered about everyone in the room. The ton had deemed Miranda scandalous and Arabella…sour.
Rowan was looking out the window, his hands curled into fists. He deliberately ignored her, barely glancing in her direction as the carriage rolled towards their home.
The first trickles of anxiety ran down her spine.
“Rowan?”
His eyes were glacial upon her. “Stop talking.”
Arabella fell back at the quiet growl, inching her body out of his reach. She’d never been afraid of Rowan; in truth, he had never given her cause. Despite the amount of sarcasm and insults she had often thrown his way he’d never once hurt her. Had Barker found Rowan and told him the truth?
“I can explain,” she whispered, prepared to beg his understanding.
He smiled at her. Not his usual charming twist of the lips which lit his handsome face, but a frosty grimace which filled her with apprehension.
“We’re home.”
The carriage barely stopped before Rowan leapt down, grabbing her wrist to lead her into the house. He only stopped to fling his coat at the butler before grabbing her wrist again and pulling her up the stairs.
“Rowan stop. The servants—”
“Will assume nothing if they wish to remain employed.”
He thundered up the steps, stopping just outside her bedroom door. He flung it open with a bang, dragging her behind him.
“Begone.” He commanded her maid. “I’ll see to my wife this evening.”
Arabella struggled against his hold on her wrist.
Her maid, Edith, look askance at them both. She shot a worried look at Arabella then back to Rowan. “My lord—”
“Get. Out.” Rowan’s voice was little more than an icy whisper.
Edith scurried out, bobbing once and then shut the door behind her.
“Have you taken to terrifying the servants?” Arabella shook him off. “I am in no mood for your foul temper. Nor your drunken bumbling. I witnessed enough of such behavior with my father.” Fear of discovery had made her waspish and she truly did not care for this hard, angry man who watched her as if he would pounce at any time.
“Take off your dress.” The words snarled out. “Now.” His eyes, cold and predatory, had darkened to a murky green.
“I am in no mood—”
“You should be more concerned about my mood,” he murmured in a silky tone. “Much more concerned.”
Arabella swallowed. “You’ve dismissed my maid.” Her fear only served to heighten the ache beginning between her legs. She was aroused and if the tightness of Rowan’s breeches were any indication, he was as well.
“How careless of me. I shall act as your maid.” He shoved his knuckles down between her breasts, ripping her gown to the waist. Several buttons fell and rolled about her ankles as the fragile silk hung shredded, gaping open to her chemise.
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 19
