The Arrangement

by Sylvia Day

  A throat cleared.

  The vicar shut his Bible with more force than necessary.

  Brook wasn’t amused but leisurely took his time and broke the kiss.

  Her eyes were smoky with desire, her lips swollen and bee stung, her face flushed with pleasure, and in a moment of unguarded mental clarity he questioned if he’d ever seen someone quite so beautiful.

  Pushing the thought out of his mind, he released his hold on her shoulders and re-grasped her hands.

  “May I present Lord and Lady Barrington,” the vicar announced; the lack of applause was a loud silence. Thankfully someone took pity on them and started to clap, leading the rest of the guests into the customary action.

  Brook led his new wife out the door, to their awaiting carriage, and helped her alight, noticing that she’d been quite silent.

  As he took his own seat in the carriage, he turned to her, expecting. . . something.

  “Well, that was interesting,” she commented, smoothing her skirt ever so properly.

  “Pardon?” he asked, expecting a remark about his consummating kiss.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Vicar Peters quite so flustered.” She held a gloved hand to her mouth, and her body started to shake. Her hand moved to her eyes, as if trying to hold back tears.

  Dear God.

  No. No crying.

  Of all the reactions, he wasn’t expecting tears. Perhaps a good scolding, or a cold shoulder. He’d dealt with plenty of those in the past. However, to think that his kiss had actually caused her to cry, it was rather emasculating actually.

  Then he heard a small snort.

  Freezing, he was waiting to figure out just what the bloody hell was going on, and heard the most curious noise.

  A laugh.

  And not the simpering laugh of a debutante, no. A belly laugh, one that was rollicking and full of life and joy and hilarity—he couldn’t remember when he’d seen someone quite so overcome with laughter. Her face transformed into a wide grin, she covered her face, then removed her hand and reached over, smacking his knee playfully. “That was my favorite part. I’d kiss you all over again just to see his face. He’s such a straight-laced pain in the . . .” She paused. “You can figure it out, I’m sure. But, dear Lord, it was glorious. Thank you.” She sighed, recovering from her mirth.

  And he stared at her, like a bloody idiot.

  She was . . . happy? Not hysterical, not frantic, not emotionless, but . . . finding humor in something as mundane as irritating a local vicar. It was oddly endearing, disarming actually. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with it . . . with her. He was used to calculating things—numbers, people, business transactions, and mistresses. Everyone had a price; everyone had a gamble they were willing to make; everyone had something that jaded them.

  Except her, apparently.

  And as they made the short journey to his estate, he realized a sobering truth.

  He was in danger.

  Danger of actually liking his wife.

  CHAPTER 6

  She wasn’t quite sure what was more entertaining: the look on Vicar Peters’s face after that quite impressive kiss, or the look on her husband’s when she started to laugh.

  To say that Lord Barrington was surprised was an understatement. Once she had garnered some control over her mirth, she’d cast a glance in his direction only to find a slightly fading expression of panic that melted into a more relaxed grin. He must think her daft. Oh well, it was probably true, after all. Here she was, marrying someone she barely knew—for money. It was as simple as that. She and her sisters had often scorned the marriages of the London Ton as mercenary, and here she was doing the very same thing. It was sobering and humbling, but it was too late now. She might as well make the best of it.

  “I have plans to leave for London in the morning,” her new husband mentioned as they made their way to his estate.

  “Am I to come with you?” she asked, not assuming anything.

  His gaze, which had been fixed on the window, shot to her with a piercing clarity. “Of course. You will be quite occupied once we get to London as well. We are to have a party to present you within a week, so please quickly acquaint yourself with Mrs. Highbury; she is the most sought-after modiste in London. I sent word to her as soon as your agreement was given to the marriage. She is expecting you, and will have several gowns you’ll need fitted quickly. As the Countess of Barrington, I assume you understand the need for appearances.”

  Diana nodded politely, wondering if the man ever actually sat still. Already she had made several deductions about her new husband. It was clear that he was always thinking ahead, planning, making assertions and, she assumed, contingency plans if those original plans didn’t work out as expected.

  “I suppose the next logical question is: What do you want me to represent as your wife?”

  His earlier words made her wonder just what part she was to play. A slight panic had tickled her fingers, causing them to go slightly numb as she considered that he might want her to be a fixture in society functions that would demand her conversation and intrigue skills to be much sharper than they were at present.

  “I expect you to be at the pertinent social functions, and to meet the peers who will approve of my settling down. Nothing too trying, I’m sure.”

  “If it’s so simple, why such articulate planning?” she asked, suspicious.

  He tipped his head as if trying to comprehend such an odd question. “Planning makes all things go smoother. It’s so much better when you know what to expect.”

  “I see.” And she did. It fit perfectly into the picture she was creating in her mind of how her husband worked. It also gave her the strongest impulse to re-arrange his careful plans just to see his reaction. It was a childish notion, but it was a real one, nonetheless. She had expected him to be a devil-may-care type of person. Even the kind that tossed caution to the wind, and by sheer dumb luck fall into fortune. But that clearly wasn’t the case, and it was oddly comforting as much as it was tempting to disrupt.

  “As a general rule, I do not ask women what they are thinking. I’ve learned the foolishness of such an action, but since we are to be in close proximity for the foreseeable future, it would be helpful for me to learn the way your mind works.” He gave his head a slight shake. “And honestly, your expression is quite unreadable and I find that frustrating.”

  “So . . . all that to say . . .” she encouraged, teasing, drawing him out.

  “You’re taking all this better than I thought. So I’m curious to if you’re actually as calm as you appear or if I shoul—”

  “Wait for the daft part of me to surface?”

  “I was going to say it in a more gentlemanly way.”

  “No need. Quite honestly, since we are, indeed, being honest, your reputation precedes you, and ‘gentlemanly’ is not quite one of the adjectives I’ve heard used to describe your person. However, you may rest assured that I’m an irritatingly calm person, my lord. Feel free to ask any of my sisters. I’m utterly rational at most times . . . most times.” She arched a brow to punctuate her words.

  “I see.” He rubbed his chin. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t repeat the . . . adjectives . . . you’ve heard about me.”

  “I find it hard to believe that you’re sensitive about a reputation that it seems you’ve worked quite hard to create.”

  “I’m not ashamed as much as I’m trying to . . . rectify it.”

  “Turning over a new leaf?” Diana asked, honestly curious as to why he would make such a drastic change.

  “Something like that,” he murmured as the carriage stopped just before his estate. In short work, they were entering the house and ushered to the dining hall where their wedding breakfast awaited. Her family would arrive soon, which would be a comforting balm. She wasn’t overly nervous, oddly enough, but it was a welcome distraction. The carriage ride had illuminated much. Astonished, she found her new husband to be quite interesting, and even easy to t
alk with. Of course, it could be said that it was no shock he could talk with women easily, since he’d spoken with so many. However, it allayed some of her trepidation. If they could have a rational conversation, that was a good omen for their non-conventional marriage. And for him to be so detailed, it was interesting; truly all of him was interesting. At least he wasn’t dull.

  As he offered her the seat beside him at the head of the table, she sat carefully and waited till he was seated as well, then offered a smile.

  He quickly returned it, then reached over and patted her hand.

  As the other guests started to file in, Diana was thankful to realize that while she wouldn’t ever love her husband, at least she might end up finding him a friend.

  It was more than she had expected.

  And she wouldn’t ask for more.

  CHAPTER 7

  The wedding breakfast had gone well, and he was sure the news was spread far and wide. It would only serve his purpose to have his marriage a well-known occurrence.

  As he signed off one last missive, he bit back a grin. Some poor bloke at White’s was probably losing a fortune right now. The peers of the realm often took bets on events and happenings. Surely someone had bet another that the Devil’s Bachelor would remain unmarried forever. Gambling was a heartless mistress, and thus Brook had avoided it like the plague. Rather, he’d go watch, find entertainment and some willing courtesan, and discover delight in another way. There were much better uses for money.

  No need to gamble it away.

  He wrapped up his business in his study and paused at the bottom of the stairs. His wife was upstairs, waiting for him. It was both disconcerting and erotic, both sensations vying for dominance in his mind. She’d be easy to bed, no trial there. She was beautiful, with a sharp mind and wit. He’d gotten lucky, that was for certain. But he also was quite certain she was a virgin, which meant that, as a gentleman, he should go slow and make it a pleasurable experience for her. He knew that wasn’t too difficult of a requirement, but the fact that he was . . . right . . . was somewhat flummoxing. It wasn’t a debauched evening of illicit sex; it wasn’t a courtesan, or a mistress trained in the art of seduction : it was his lawful wife. To take her virginity would be the right thing to do, holy and all, which was so very strange compared to how he’d lived his life. As he started up the stairs, he pushed the rather revelatory thoughts to the back of his mind.

  Pleasure.

  He would focus on the best part of it, and in that he’d help her find her own pleasure as well. As natural as breathing.

  Yet he found his heart pounded a little harder than usual.

  Knocking on his door, he waited for her to bid him enter.

  At her request, he opened the door, and paused, taking in the scene before him.

  She was sitting by the fire, her hair a dark cascade down her back and over her night rail, making a sharp contrast between the white of the cloth and the dark luster of her hair. She slowly set a book down on the table, then stood. “I wasn’t sure when . . . you’d be here, so I borrowed your book. Don’t worry; I saved your page.” She pointed to the table and the book upon it. “It’s quite a fantastic story.”

  He nodded, then tugged at his cravat. Never before had he interrupted a woman from reading, which only made him consider the caliber of women he’d been entertaining. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Do you read many books? Fictional, that is,” she asked.

  “Yes, I confess to reading quite often; it’s very . . . relaxing . . . Diana.” He whispered her name, watching as her eyes widened, then she nodded once, glancing back to the book.

  She fit her name, he decided. Diana. She hadn’t given him leave to call her by her Christian name yet, but as he was now her husband how could she fault him for such an innocent liberty? Diana. Goddess of fertility—he smiled at the appropriateness of the deity.

  “That reminds me, what do you wish me to call you?” she asked, turning her gaze back to him.

  He un-tucked his shirt, the feeling of freedom relaxing. Feeling more in his element, he shrugged. “My friends call me Brook, but you can call me by my Christian name as well, Charles.”

  She tipped her head slightly, studying him. “Charles.” She spoke as if testing the word on her lips.

  Hearing the sound of his Christian name on her lips was an interesting feeling. It was the name his mistress in London always used, and it didn’t quite fit the moment.

  “No.” She twisted her lips. “Brook.” Then she nodded. “Yes, I do believe I’ll call you Brook, if you are comfortable with it.”

  It was a better fit, and he nodded his agreement. “Brook it is.”

  “After all, I do believe that with time, we might actually become friends. Forgive me for being overly optimistic.” She gave a cheeky grin.

  “Ah, the optimism is indeed overflowing. To be friends with one’s husband . . . that is dangerous waters.”

  “Isn’t it? I will have to watch myself,” Diana teased, smiling.

  “It would be wise,” he added soberly, enjoying the lighthearted teasing. It was unexpected, but that was a common thread with her; “unexpected,” “surprising,” those were the adjectives he’d use to describe her if given the chance.

  “I’m sure you’re more than aware, but because I’m a painfully frank person, I’m going to remind you that this is . . . not something I’ve done before, so . . .” She blushed crimson, then glanced away.

  Brook watched with rapture as she fumbled with the tie of her night rail. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a woman blush. It was enticing in a way he’d never imagined. A predatory smile threatened to break through, but he bit it back. “You have nothing to fear.”

  “I didn’t say I was afraid,” she replied quickly, her eyes darting up. “I’m not fearful of you.”

  He nodded, taking a step toward her. “My apologies. You’re . . .” He made a hand-sweeping motion for her to fill in the blank.

  “A virgin,” she answered, then gave him a curious expression as if it were a rather insipid question.

  “No. What I was trying to do was encourage you to elaborate; clearly you have something on your mind.” He closed the distance between them. Reaching out, he pulled her hand away from the tie of her night rail and laced it through his.

  “I’m quite sure I know the mechanics, but . . . I’m encouraging you to keep your expectations realistic. Let’s just say that while your reputation precedes you, mine does not, and it would probably be a good idea for you to remember that.”

  He bit back a grin at her rather inarticulate way of describing her inexperience. “You are exactly what you should be, and will be exactly what you should be. Don’t worry about . . . that.” He made a concentrated effort to be kind; he could see her vulnerable expression and didn’t wish to wound her. It wouldn’t be in either of their best interests.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, tightening her grasp on his hand, then rose up on her tiptoes, kissing him before he had a chance to realize her intention. She mimicked the earlier kiss, and he would have bet his first pound that this was only her second kiss. But she was clearly a quick learner as he tutored her mouth with his. Her one hand tightened on his while her other started to trail up his arm to his neck, her hands threading through his hair.

  It was a delightful discovery to find that his wife wasn’t just accepting his attentions, but initiating them.

  She leaned into the kiss, and he sensed a slight tremble to her fingers. Which only said that she was thinking too much, overthinking really. Which was utterly unnecessary. Sex was natural, it was instinctive, and soon she would realize it was as easy as breathing . . . when he was leading.

  He would take it slow, but not too slow. The whole idea was to stop the thought process in every way, to just feel.

  So with a smile that broke the seal of the kiss, Brook decided that the only gentlemanly thing to do was seduce his wife.

  CHAPTER 8

  Diana’s m
ind was spinning as she tried to think of how to kiss, how to hold his hand, how to move her hand up his arm without trembling, without seeming afraid.

  If her stupid thoughts would just stop moving so quickly through her mind, she might actually enjoy some aspect of it! Yet as soon as she had the last thought, it was like something shifted in the air. The rather gentlemanly man she was kissing had released her hand and stepped back and was watching her with an expression that could only be explained by a sensation: burning.

  And in an instant, her thoughts froze, her body started to hum, and she forgot how to breathe. Brook—it fit him—gave a devastatingly handsome grin, one that made her realize how so many women had fallen prey to his charms, and quickly swept her into his arms, his lips seeking the side of her neck, nibbling, breathing, tickling her sensitive flesh with his wicked tongue. Before she could properly appreciate the sensations coursing through her, he set her on his bed and quickly covered her body with his, clothing and all.

  The pressure of him over her was heady. He sought her mouth with an intensity that was both delicate and consuming; it was a kiss that demanded surrender, and she was more than happy to wave the white flag. Her senses reeled, and her mind, once so overly analytical, could hardly keep up with all the movements of his fingers, his tongue, his hands, and before she could realize what his intentions were his hand had trailed up from her knee to her thighs, teasing the flesh that no one, save herself, had ever touched.