by Shirl Anders
“Mr. Chicery said to choose any outfit you like, Miss Arabella, but I can see they are surely for a smaller figure. We can make do though, we will just have to tighten the corset up a bit,” Mary said holding up two dresses from the armoire she had just opened. A corset? Arabella had never worn one. Even her Mother had said that Jamaica’s climate was too hot, but papa had teased her saying it was just her excuse to get out of the accursed thing. Nevertheless, Arabella thought that she would do as Darth wanted of course, especially since it involved gaining clothes.
“Whose room do you think this is, Mary? It is quite lovely?” Arabella asked as she began to wash her long red-tinted auburn hair.
“Mr. Chicery never said, Ma’am, but I do know that Lord Peregrine has a married sister.”
The room was as vibrant in color as were the clothes and Arabella realized the room must belong to one of the women that she’d seen portraits of in Darth’s bed chamber. She finished washing her hair hoping that whomever the room belonged to would not mind her use of it.
The clothing proved difficult, Arabella was anxious about wearing someone else’s clothes without directly asking them. Yet, Mary kept reassuring her that it was all right, even going so far as to say the earl himself had ordered it. Still, the clothing was all very vibrant and bold in coloring and nothing really suited her tawny looks. Mary finally settled on an energetic yellow colored gown and that was when the real trouble began. The gown was too small in the bosom and Arabella was horrified when her body was shoved painfully into a corset.
“They are horrid!” she exclaimed to Mary, who was behind her tugging without mercy on the strings.
“Now, Miss, it only takes getting used to. And, oh, what they do for your chest. The earl will be unable to take his eyes off you,” Mary said, truly believing that she was helping matters.
Arabella gave in, though she really had no choice if she wanted to be dressed, so finally she was fitted into the frilly yellow gown and Mary turned her to face a mirror.
“Sweet Mary, I cannot wear this!” Arabella exclaimed. It was indecently low cut to begin with, but with the added fullness of her breasts, it was embarrassing.
“It is what all the ladies wear now, Miss,” Mary assured again, as she worked fixing Arabella’s hair.
Arabella would not know, she had never owned a dress like this in her life. In Jamaica they wore much simpler clothing, more light and loose fitting, but with high collars all the same. Either way there was no hope for it, so she brought her shoulders back, holding herself with as much dignity as she could manage, and then she proceeded to go to the dining room, expecting to meet with Darth.
Chapter Nineteen
Darth arrived back from the magistrate to many surprises. The first of which was the arrival of his younger brother Christian Beaumont Peregrine, affectionately called Beau. Darth was told at the stables that his brother, along with a friend, had stopped for breakfast on their journey from Cambridge to the seaside resort of Bath. Darth smiled to himself as he handed Raven’s reins to the livery boy. He had missed his brother, gone away to school, and he would enjoy the brief visit. On his way to the manor, Darth resolved to say nothing of Arabella, safely ensconced in his bedchamber. She would be unable to leave its proximity without proper clothes, so Beau would be none the wiser.
When Darth entered the manor, he turned abruptly toward the unexpected sounds of laughter coming from the dining room to his right. It was not the laughter that set his jaw in a hard line and furrowed his brow harshly. He would have expected the sound, especially with his brother’s arrival. Beau was a lighthearted and joking young man. Nay, what set his teeth on edge, and stretched the muscles tight across his back was the sound of a woman’s sonorous laugh filtering through the deeper bass chuckles. And that could only signify one thing.
Even through the red haze of fury gnawing at him, Darth recognized that Arabella presented a provocative picture. The blazing yellow gown she wore fell to an indecent low curve of her high mounded breasts, clearly at odds with the conservative French twist her long auburn hair had been fashioned into. All of it leaving a wealthy view of her slender neck and bared shoulders. Christ, the gown was as well as pasted over her ripe curves, he thought, as his fists rolled into tight balls. And Arabella was not without gentlemanly admirers. A very handsome dark-haired man, whom Darth had never seen before, fairly drooled over her left shoulder. The man’s gaze from behind her shoulder, before he bent over her, was fixed directly down the front of her gown. Darth had to give his brother credit though, because Beau at least stood away from the tempting display, leaning on the wall near the window.
The dark-haired stranger actually brushed Arabella’s ear, when he bent down to speak to her, causing her to jump, then pull away. Had Darth been in a clearer frame of mind, he might have registered her reaction as significant, but he was beyond that into tempest fury. Fury that he would never consciously admit was jealousy of mammoth proportions.
His hand rubbed the scarring on the side of his face, in an unconsciously significant manner, as he stalked into the room. “Arabella! Why are you not in my bed, where I commanded you to be upon my return?” Darth shouted. “I believe that I will have to sell you back to that slaver. I will not tolerate this disobedience!” Darth heard Arabella cry out, unnerved, as she stood stumbling backward from his advance, while the dark-haired man moved in front of her as if to protect her.
Arabella was staggered, as the shame of Darth’s harsh words washed over her, and then she saw his charged advance. She cringed backward against the wall, sure that if the support had not been there, she would have slumped to the ground.
“Now just a minute!” Lamont exclaimed, putting out his hand as if to stop Darth.
“Would you dare to lay a hand on me or what is mine in my own home?” Darth thundered.
“Lamont!” Beau’s voice rang out. “Stand back or you will have to deal with me!”
Lamont hesitated for only a moment, and then stood aside, stiffly. Arabella took that moment to run, just as Beau was calling Darth’s name for attention. Tears blurred her vision so bad that it was hard to see her direction, but her terror drove her forward. She ran headlong into Beau, just as Darth bellowed, “Hold her!”
Which Beau did not, instead shoving her along. “Miss Ormonde, hurry now and I will try to hold him.” Arabella was never so grateful, as she ran out of the dining room, hearing Beau calling after her. “Find a locked door, Madame, quickly!”
“Damn you, Beaumont. Let me go!” Darth’s voice thundered behind Arabella.
Arabella was petrified and any reasonable mind that she had, fled beneath her panic. Escape was the only thing she could think of, and that headed her out the front door, instead of back up the staircase. She picked up the heavy skirts of her gown and her only thoughts were to escape. She heard Darth before she saw him. The sound of his boots sending terror to her voice, and she screamed. It was as if she were being hunted down, stalked for a ravaged killing, as she strove to find her breath from running, but the panic would not allow it. Her mind begged for air, and then suddenly she was seized from behind and dragged backward against the tempest fury that chased her.
Darth was brought up shortly, staggering to a halt, when he felt Arabella falling limp. Instinct alone allowed him to lift her up into his arms as he tried to retain his balance. He finally came to a stumbling halt with Arabella held unconscious and slack in his arms. Her long hair having torn loose with her flight was falling wildly about his thighs. Reason returned impetuously, driving the fury right out of him and with it his conscience returned.
“Christ, what have I done ... Arabella ... Arabella.” But there was no answer as Darth cradled her against his chest, shifting her so that her lax head rested against his shoulder. Quickly, he turned back to the manor, intercepted by Beau.
Beau could see the horror and regret in his brother’s eyes and he was grateful for his brother’s return to sanity. “She has only fainted, Darth, and it is no
wonder.” Darth brushed passed Beau without a word and walked back into the manor, then taking the stairs two at a time.
Beau decided it was better to wait for his brother’s return downstairs. He knew Darth well enough to know that Darth would not appreciate anyone’s interference. Beau felt confident enough in Darth’s look of regret, that his brother’s sanity had return enough to keep the lady from harm. Turning back to his friend Lamont, Beau wondered whether it might not be a good idea to get the man away from there. This left him to ponder the ominous events with his mind still caught on the word, “slaver.” My God, had Darth actually purchased the woman?
Darth laid Arabella carefully on the bed. God, she looked so small and fragile. His hand moved gently over her brow, and then down her delicate cheek. She moved slightly with her eyelids fluttering and he felt relief flooding through him.
“Begging your pardon, your lordship.” It was Chicery, standing at the open door as Darth swung his head around to look.
“Not now, Chicery.”
“I am sorry, sir, but it cannot wait. It is my fault, sir. You cannot blame, Miss Arabella.”
Darth stood in bewilderment, and then he walked toward the open doorway. He had never seen Chicery quite so distressed. Of course someone would have had to help Arabella. The gown, he now realized was one of his sister’s and the door, Darth was sure he had locked the door.
“Sir, Miss Arabella truly did question the lady’s maid, Mary, as to whether it was right to take the clothes and Mary without knowing, because I had not told her, assured Miss Arabella that you had given the order. And then, your brother’s arrival was so unexpected, Lord Beaumont caught Miss Arabella at breakfast, which I had set out for her in the lower dining room.”
“You did not tell them to give me the use of these clothes, Darth?” Darth turned to see Arabella sitting upright on the bed. Her lips were trembling and her eyes were wide with fear.
“No, I did not.” Darth turned back to Chicery with his hand unconsciously rubbing his scar. “Go now, and tell this lady’s maid that I have supposedly hired, to come up here and bring the packages from my office.”
“Yes, your lordship,” Chicery replied with a worried glance at Arabella before he left the room.
When Darth turned back around, he saw Arabella cringe on the bed and he was never more regretful for anything in his life, than he was at that moment.
Arabella watched Darth stop his motion of returning to her side, and then he just stood there looking at her. Gone were the terrible anger and the rage that had contorted his features earlier, and she felt some of her fear ebbing away. Yet her eyes were locked onto his as if by chains, and she could read the emotions flickering in their turbulent depths. Pain, she saw the sharpness of it, before he turned and strode to the mantel, to look down into the fire, silently.
She had not realized that she had been so tightly caught in Darth’s gaze and steeped in the apprehension of what he might do, that she was shaking. As soon as he turned away, she felt the release, and her body went limp as she sank back against the head of the bed. Still she could not tear her gaze away from Darth, standing so powerful and lithe, yet in some type of dark isolation that seemed to shroud him even in the bright light of day. Moreover what caused a fluttering of pain to seep across her chest and constrict her throat was the way Darth rubbed his fingers over the scarring along his face. Over and over, as if he could somehow rub it away. She had never seen him use this heartbreaking gesture before and her fear dissolved into compassion.
“Miss Arabella? Oh my!” Mary stood in the doorway — her hands had been full of packages, which now lay strewn on the floor as her hands clamped over her mouth.
Oh, good heavens, it was only a scar, Arabella exclaimed inside of her mind, but to Mary she said, “Come here, Mary, do not run away.” Then Arabella turned to Darth and said, “Quit scowling so fiercely at her, my lord. Any woman would take fright for their life with such a man’s fearsome scowl.”
Arabella did not wait for Darth’s answer or reaction as she stood and started toward Mary. “His lordship truly is only mad at me, Mary, for I have done something wrong, even still, he will not punish me too severely, for actually he is very kind.” Arabella stopped in front of Mary and she saw gratefully that Mary had composed herself, somewhat.
“Oh, Miss Arabella. I am so sorry.”
“Hush, hush, now. Lord Peregrine’s scar affects everyone that way at first. It simply takes a good first look, and then the newness wears off. Is that not right, my lord?”
Arabella’s heart skipped a beat, before she turned to look at Darth, hearing his deep voice steady and firm. “Tis the surest piece of wisdom I have heard in years, Arabella.”
Arabella continued to turn around, offering Darth a tentative look, as she saw his face relax with a slight grin pulling at his firm, if severed lips. It made all the difference in his countenance as far as she was concerned. “My Lord Peregrine, this is Mary, apparently the new lady’s maid,” Arabella said.
Darth stepped forward slowly as Mary did her best to look at him. “Look closely for a while, Mary, but take care if you linger, for I will wonder why such a pretty lass pursues me.”
That did it, Arabella thought with an inward smile.
“Oh, your lordship.” Mary blushed in pleasure and even managed a tilting curtsy. Then Darth did a wonderful thing and he stooped down to begin picking up the packages.
“I will get these, Mary. It is my fault that they are here to begin with. And could you go and fix Miss Ormonde a cup of tea?”
“Oh yes, your lordship,” Mary answered with a better curtsy. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Another curtsy and Mary was gone, leaving Darth chuckling as he gathered the packages.
Arabella felt her heart warm at the sound, however she clutched it away. Just as she retreated into the room to achieve some distance from Darth, before she turned to face him. There was still warm amusement in Darth’s gray eyes and she hesitated for a moment. Then she remembered her feelings of shame and panic and she strove forward to do what she had to do. “I demand that you take me back to the slaver, as you called him. I will no longer stay here willingly, Darth. I will fight you at every turn. I will not obey you! I would rather be dead!”
“So would I, Arabella.”
“So would you, what, Darth?”
“Rather be dead, little dove.”
“Do not say that, Darth!”
“Then you should not either!”
“Oh, all right, Darth. I take your point, but still, you will have to beat me, and I...”
“Stop it, woman! Do not say that. I will not beat you ... ever again!”
“Well then, I do not know how you expect to ...”
“I don’t! How can I control you if I cannot even beat you just a little, and I know I could never do that again? It makes me skeptical about who is the master of this situation. And, Arabella, I apologize!”
Arabella’s rose-colored lips pursed in exasperation as Darth stepped closer and she backed up. But he only went over to the bed and set the packages down, not turning back around as he spoke. “An apology on my behalf is not good enough for my crime, Arabella. I want you to know that I realize that. I shamed you. I frightened you. I deserve your scorn. You have every right. Still, I can live with your scorn, but what I cannot live with is to take you back to Crom. Damnation, woman, he might sell you into even worse conditions!”
“Oh, Darth.” The sound of despair was tangible, making him turn. Darth told himself, after his earlier spectacle, he would not go to Arabella because it would not be right after how he had terrorized her. Yet the look in her golden irises drove him. She needed him, he could see that clearly and this was not a flowering sexual need. She was anguished and helpless against it. His arms were around her as he kept himself attuned to the fact of whether he was doing something she did not wish. No, it was all right. In fact her small body was clinging to him.
“Lord Peregrine, I apologize fo
r having to disturb you, but there is a man creating a disturbance in the entrance foyer. Demanding to see, you and Miss Arabella.” Chicery huffed as though he had run a great distance.
The door had been open and Darth could not blame the intrusion, if a man was creating a fuss in his hall that was something he needed to know. “Miss Ormonde? Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, he said, sir …” Chicery stuttered to a halt looking highly uncomfortable.
“Go on, Chicery.” Darth held Arabella in the crook of his arm and he could feel her body starting to tremble.
“It might be better in private, sir.”
“I know no one here, except my step-!” Arabella gasped, with her words coming to a halt, then she buried her face in his shoulder.
“Arabella ... Arabella! Get yourself down here now, girl!” The man’s voice was shouted from the downstairs hall.
Chapter Twenty
“Oh, no!” Arabella nearly swooned, but Darth held her up in his arms.
“Stepfather? That is what you were going to say, wasn’t it, Arabella?”
“Oh, Darth, yes. Please ... please, you have to help me ... and Nicholas. He said that he would kill Nicholas!”
Another man’s name. Darth’s gut tightened. It must be a man that Arabella held great affection for, to call out his name in her delirium, and then upon her first moment of waking. Darth’s jaw clenched tight, he did not like the direction of his thoughts at all.
“Stay here.” He started to disengage himself from embracing Arabella.
“No, if it is Nicholas, I must go. He could be here ... I cannot hide.”
Arabella appeared to try and collect herself, then she started toward the door. Darth tried to fight the black fury settling over him. A stepfather who had obviously abused Arabella, selling her to that villainous slave trader Victor Crom, might now be in his foyer. He and Nicholas. There was no other explanation. Darth had heard the caring in Arabella’s voice, she clearly loved this Nicholas. His control was cracking.
