by Heather Boyd
When she reached the top of the stairs and started down, she was surprised at seeing Rothwell rushing up them toward her. He barely saw her before they would have collided. She jumped aside, only to run into him when he swerved too.
“My apologies,” he said quickly, his breathing rushed, his riding coat half off, and his cravat dangling from his fingers.
Arabella dragged her eyes from the patch of chest exposed by his undressing. “None needed,” she reassured him, fighting the blush threatening to give away her feelings. “I am sorry to be in your way.”
“I was on my way to see you, actually. But I’d wanted to change first.” He grinned and lifted his arm to his nose. “I fear I smell of the stables. I’m just back from Tattersall’s with one of my men and a new horse. I was on my way to change just now.”
She swept her gaze over him and liked what she saw. Even though he appeared slightly rough around the edges, the air of vitality brought about by exercise and likely excitement over the purchase suited him well. “I see that.”
A throat cleared nearby and when Arabella peeked around Rothwell’s broad shoulders, she found Holland waiting on a lower stair.
Rothwell grinned again. “Where will you be in twenty minutes?”
“Downstairs, if that is all right with you.” She waved the book in her hand. “I need a new book.”
“Perfect. By all means, help yourself to anything you like. I’ll join you shortly if you’d enjoy company.”
She nodded quickly. It had been a long, slow day with only her own company for amusement. Rothwell’s eyes glowed with pleasure and he leaned just a little closer—just enough that the scent of horses did reach her. She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose.
He eased back quickly. “Do excuse me.”
He passed her by quickly without another word, leaving Arabella standing with only Holland for company. The older man nodded to her, his gaze speculative, and then followed Rothwell at a more sedate pace to his bedchamber.
When the door shut with a solid thud, Arabella hurried down the remaining stairs. The more time she spent with Rothwell, the more she wilted beneath those smoldering eyes, which caused her no end of blushes.
As she’d noticed before, the household was a quiet one, but there were masculine voices coming from parts of the house sure to be servant’s quarters. She paused to listen. In the days she’d been here, there had been few whispered conversations to be overheard. Rothwell’s servants were quick and efficient and, to her surprise, rather happy in his service. As she thought about that, she discovered a surprising fact. She’d only ever heard male voices in the town house. There might be no other women beneath this roof aside from herself.
As she remembered from her arrival, a door to the right led to a drawing room where she’d warmed herself by the fire. That room had not contained any books that she remembered seeing, so she turned beneath the staircase and made her way to the rear of the house. There was a closed door at the end of the short hall and she leaned her ear to the door. After listening a long while and hearing nothing, Arabella released the latch and let herself in.
She smiled at what she found—an empty room but for the books behind glass doors and dozens of rare orchids littering every other space. Rothwell had said he dabbled, but this was so much more than dabbling. He truly had a green thumb.
She inspected each plant gently, smiling at the variations he’d chosen to cultivate. So very pretty and not at all the type of plant she’d expected a man like Rothwell to have. She shook her head. The man was a walking contradiction. Wicked in public, proper in private. At no time had she thought he might fall on her in a passion.
She turned next for the nearest bookcase and tugged at the door. Locked. She glanced around uncertainly. No sign of a key anywhere. Rothwell had said she might read anything she liked in his collection. He’d never mentioned needing a key to get to them though.
She eyed the desk as doubt filled her. Should she disturb him or attempt to find the key herself? It was not on the desktop or around on any other surface. That left inside his desk to investigate, although she was not sure he’d meant her to do so. Arabella bit her lip as she slid open a shallow upper drawer. A folded note lay on top of a stack of papers, but she could just make out the edge of a metal key hiding beneath. Arabella lifted the note and claimed the key quickly, casting a nervous glance at the door.
Snooping through Rothwell’s papers hadn’t been part of her plan. She was just about to close the drawer when curiosity got the better of her. She flicked the large note open and then stared in shock. Rothwell had a special license to marry, though the bride’s name had not been filled out.
The paper tumbled from her numb fingers. Good grief, when would she learn to mind her own business and ask permission first? The discovery answered her questions and raised yet more still. Rothwell was always going in and out in a rush, but given her recent isolation, she had no idea who he was planning to marry. She’d never suspected he had formed an attachment to anyone in London. Which meant her presence in his home was indeed an imposition.
“Ah, good. You found the key?”
Arabella looked up, sure that guilt was writ large on her face. Instead of a scowl, Rothwell stood at the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, smiling in a way that immediately set her heart racing. Instead of angry, he looked quite delicious. Maybe he hadn’t seen her reading his private papers. She hoped not. It would make her seem an ungrateful wretch, given his current generosity. She quickly nudged the drawer closed and moved away from the desk. “Yes, just this moment.”
She glanced at him and then paused as she took stock of his appearance: neatly pressed, boots gleaming, gloves and top hat in hand. He was devastatingly handsome in a finely tailored navy-blue coat and embroidered waistcoat. Her awareness of his appeal multiplied. “Are you going out?”
His finger dug beneath his cravat to loosen the starched material as if he wished to be rid of it entirely. “To the park in an hour to meet with an acquaintance.”
Was he courting a woman she knew? “You look very fine.”
“Thank you.” He leaned against the bookcase, a grin twisting his lips. His gaze roved over her body and caused a tremble in her legs. “You too look quite lovely, in fact.”
“Thank you.” A blush warmed her cheeks and she turned to the bookcase to unlock the door, willing her hands to cease their fumbling. She stared at the volumes before her, not really seeing them. Her mind raced at the notion that Rothwell was hunting a bride. The idea of him marrying had never occurred to her, although at his age he would have considered the necessity of taking a wife to acquire an heir long before this.
At that moment, Holland joined them, apologized for interrupting, and then crossed the room to check if the spirit decanters on a far table needed refilling.
“I’m glad to see you making yourself at home.” He pointed to the man across the room and smiled. “Holland’s been fretting again about your lack of company. Anyone would think he’s your father the way he’s been carrying on, and I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Do you have any family left? I’ve never heard mention of anyone from you or from Grayling in the past years.”
Arabella winced. “My parents died a year after I married. My mother first, and then my father very soon after, as if he couldn’t go on without her. The loss of them broke my heart because they were my whole world too. They were older when they had me, you see, but had married quite young and were never far apart. Any cousins or aunts I might have had are unknown to me. All we had was each other and our neighbors, but that was enough for them.”
“I’m so sorry.” Rothwell’s gaze softened and he reached out to squeeze her hand.
Rather than feel uncomfortable relating the impact of the loss that felt as fresh today as all those years ago, Arabella felt better. She hadn’t spoken of them in a very long time.
Rothwell turned away suddenly. “If only that were the case for me. I find it nearly impossib
le to escape my family.”
Holland’s head snapped around to stare at them. His cheeks grew red as he checked the time on his pocket watch. “Time’s passing, my lord.”
“Yes. Yes.” Rothwell shooed him out. “I’ll be there soon. Jimmy can just wait a few minutes longer.”
Holland bowed to Arabella and hurried out.
Rothwell merely smiled. “Since you are downstairs at last, may I ask if you have made any plans for the evening ahead?”
Arabella bit her lip. What would any lady Rothwell was courting think if she discovered Arabella had lived beneath Rothwell’s roof these past days? If it were Arabella being courted, she’d be utterly humiliated by the discovery.
Sure she’d overstayed her welcome and was about to be asked to leave, she shook her head. “I hadn’t made any as yet.”
He smiled and set his hands behind his back. “Well, I have an invitation to offer you. Join me for dinner. You’ve eaten in your bedchamber every night since you’ve come, and you must be utterly bored with your surroundings.”
She should say no and make immediate plans to be on her way, except she’d managed to push her decision from her mind time and again. She’d placed Rothwell in an awkward situation. “I don’t mind my own company.”
“As you wish.” He relaxed and eased away a step. “I thought you might have enjoyed furthering our acquaintance, but I will leave you to your own devices instead.”
As she realized she’d snubbed his company quite thoroughly and offended him in turn, she panicked and grabbed his arm. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out the way I planned. I just mean that I don’t mind being alone. I wasn’t in the best of moods these past days to be good company for anyone.”
Beneath her hand, a muscled arm, warm and solid, twisted. “Then you’ll dine with me?”
Arabella released him and nodded. One last night alone in his home and she’d find another situation for herself tomorrow. “I would enjoy that.”
“Excellent.” Rothwell passed behind her and moved to his desk.
Arabella sighed softly. She would be sad to leave him. However, the next moment her breath seized as Rothwell bent to pick up a paper lying on the floor. The special license. As his lips pursed, Arabella spun about, attempting to focus on the books before her rather than the man with the plan to marry. She hoped he didn’t ask her about disturbing his desk. Dropping it had been purely an accident, but not the fact that she’d read it and knew what it was. She pulled the first book her hand touched from the shelf and opened it, pretending to be considering the volume.
The drawer scraped open slowly and shut again with a soft click. “I’ll see you for dinner at eight, yes?”
Arabella swallowed nervously. “Yes, eight o’clock would suit me very well.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw him smile in return. He moved closer, fitting his hat to his head, pulling his gloves into place. His dark eyes searched hers. “Until then, my lady.”
His hand brushed her back softly, just across her shoulder blades, and her pulse raced beyond her power to control it. She bit her lip, saw his eyes follow the nervous gesture, and quickly released it to clear her throat. “Until you return.”
His mouth quirked into a sensual smile just before he headed to the door. When he was gone from the house, when all was silent again, Arabella snatched up two volumes at random and practically ran the whole way back to her bedchamber so she could blush to her heart’s content in private. She didn’t know the first thing about seduction, but from that one scorching kiss days ago and the brief touch just now, she was sure she wanted Rothwell to be her first lover.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Merrick tooled his phaeton through Hyde Park in a glum mood and considered his behavior of late. At his side, Lady Mary Crawford chattered nonstop, smelled of lilac, and mentioned at least a dozen times how much she admired his aunt, as if that were any incentive to call on her again.
Mention of Aunt Pen had the opposite effect, in fact. He didn’t need his aunt to loom large in his intended’s life. He wanted to marry a woman who didn’t need to please everyone she met, and most especially didn’t mind not having closer ties to his mother’s family.
But the truth was that the existence of that damned special license had soured his mood for courtship. He was certain Arabella had seen it. In truth, he’d felt somewhat embarrassed at having one. Would she be sitting in his home wondering about it? Speculating on whom he was with in the park with today? Who he’d been calling on at other times? So far he’d deflected her inquiries on his return from similar outings, but if he intended to marry by special license, there was a time limit to her stay. She would have to go before he could propose to anyone.
And he was quickly coming to the conclusion that he did not want her to go at all.
He nodded to acquaintances gracing the park for the fashionable hour, but his mind was firmly on deciding the fastest way to return Lady Mary to her parents. Looking down to talk to a woman, even while sitting, made him feel he was conversing with a child. The truth was, he’d grown used to speaking with Arabella. Sitting or standing, her height placed her almost eye to eye with him in every situation. Today he’d seen a glimmer of the woman he’d known before Farnsworth had abused her. Her confidence was returning, along with her blushes. And yet he still could not decide whether they were silent invitations or not.
At his side, Lady Mary fluffed out her gown like a bird feathering its nest. “Do you spend much time in the country, my lord?”
“Not really. London mostly or Needham Hollow and Wiltshire, visiting with friends.”
Her face creased with confusion. “Not Essex? Surely you are at Newberry Park with your cousins most often.”
He glanced at the young woman at his side and shuddered. “Good Lord, no. I’d rather spend a night in Marshalsea Debtors Prison than voluntarily visit my grandfather’s estates. I spend as little of my time as possible with them.”
“Oh,” Lady Mary said at last, a frown growing on her face. “I had not known that. What about your cousin’s wedding? It will be the talk of the season.”
“I’m sure the event will be a success without me. I make no apologies for the estrangement.” He smiled at her. “They like to meddle and I do not appreciate it.”
Lady Mary faced forward, her brow furrowing. “I spend much time with my family, so I always thought you’d be at the wedding.”
“I enjoy the peace without that sort of thing.”
“I see.”
At last the chit fell silent, her attention fixed on her gloves. Was she thinking as he did now? They would not suit. Not at all. She would want and miss her family, inflicting them on him when he craved peace and quiet. He would have to reconsider his choice of bride. He might have to reconsider quite a lot.
It was a sad fact that he compared each woman he met to Arabella. Their height, their manners, their interest in the natural world. Each time he’d discovered a similarity that gave him hope, he’d also found fault. Was there not one woman in London to come close to Lady Farnsworth in accomplishments? He was starting to believe he’d set himself an impossible goal. If there was no one like Arabella, then perhaps he should ask her to marry him instead.
However, she’d made it quite plain that she wasn’t keen to marry and nothing in the past few days of conversation had hinted at a change of heart. But perhaps her distaste for it was largely due to the arranged match with Lord Parker and the way she’d been given little choice. She might react very differently should he propose, but he might wait until he was confident his proposal wouldn’t send her running for the street.
Could she overlook his debauched past, accept the secrets he could not turn aside from, and consider another marriage? From what he had learned of her first, she had not liked being married. There was the possibility he would fail and be disappointed, but there was also an equal chance that he might succeed.
He deposited Lady Mary at her door and cheerily wav
ed good-bye, fully intending to never see her again as a would-be bride. He would return home and dine with Arabella and see if she might be interested in more than simple friendship.
The instant he stepped inside the door, he knew something was terribly wrong. Holland wore the expression he adopted when faced with being the bearer of bad news. Merrick braced himself. “What?”
“Lady Penelope Ford is waiting to see you.”
Merrick glanced left and right and then finally up to the ceiling. “Blast.”
“She hasn’t said anything,” Holland whispered. “I placed her in the parlor while she waited your return.”
“Thank you, Holland.” Merrick handed off his hat and gloves and strode into the room. He decided not to mince words today. Aunt Pen rarely made surprise visits to his home, and this was the worst possible time for one. “What do you want?”
His aunt paused with her teacup to her lips. “You’re in a mood, so I will come straight to the point. I’ve come to question you about Lady Farnsworth and her niece, Lady Cecily.”
As he’d suspected, his aunt’s arrival signaled trouble. “What about them?”
Aunt Pen leaned forward, her brow furrowing with deep lines of concern. “Lady Farnsworth and Lady Cecily have not been seen for some time. Lord Farnsworth tells quite a tale, that she ran away in terror of a horde of brigands.”
Merrick frowned at the growth of Farnsworth’s lie. Fairly soon it would be apparent to even a fool that nothing of the sort had happened. He had to tread carefully. It seemed possible that Aunt Pen knew nothing of Cecily’s elopement with Laurence, but the woman was a master at intrigue and could lie better than anyone he knew to serve her own purpose. “Something about midnight abductions and thievery.” He shrugged. “I saw Farnsworth at Mr. Milne’s just yesterday. I’m sure it’s all nonsense.”
