by Eva Shepherd
She melted into his arms, her body moulding against his in a perfect fit. It was as if this was where she was meant to be.
No. That was ridiculous. This was not where she was meant to be. This had to stop. Right now. Especially as his tongue was running temptingly along her bottom lip, causing her to part her lips so she could fully appreciate the experience.
No. This was outrageous. She had to put a halt to this before he deepened the kiss. Stop it before she started kissing him back. She ran her hands through his tousled hair, telling herself it didn’t matter how good his lips felt on hers. It didn’t matter how nice it was to be held so closely. No, it didn’t matter at all.
He pulled her in even closer, causing her to dissolve against his body. His strong body. How could she not fail to register the muscles of his chest? Hard, firm, powerful muscles.
Oh, yes, this was wrong. So wrong. But it felt so right to be kissed in such a manner. When that double-crossing Arnold Emerson had kissed her, it had been nothing like this. This time she was in the arms of an expert. Opening her mouth wider, she relished the masculine taste of him, loving the feel of his skin rasping against her cheek. She had no intention of stopping this pleasure. Not when she was enjoying herself so much.
But he had other ideas. He lifted her upright, back on to two feet, and sent her a quick wink and the most devilish smile she had ever seen. She stared back at him as if in a daze. Blinked to clear the fog, then looked over at her father and waited for his outburst.
Her father would now do what she should have already done. He would reprimand this man in no uncertain terms for taking such a liberty with a woman’s virtue.
But her father said nothing. Instead he took his time to scrutinise the stranger. Arabella watched expectantly as his gaze moved over the man’s well-tailored three-piece black evening suit. He smiled as he looked at the solid gold chain of his fob watch suspended between his pockets, the mother-of-pearl cufflinks. His smile widened. Arabella could see he was staring at the large gold signet ring on the man’s index finger, etched with a coat of arms. He then turned to the ruffians loitering at the door and his smile grew so wide he was baring his teeth, like a wolf who has spotted a tethered lamb.
‘I’m Mr van Haven,’ he said, extending his hand to the stranger. ‘And after a kiss like that I can only assume that you are my daughter Arabella’s fiancé.’
The stranger looked at her father, then over his shoulder at the ruffians, then back at the extended hand. ‘Indeed, I am, sir. And I’m very pleased to finally make your acquaintance,’ he said, giving her father’s hand a brisk shake.
Chapter Two
The phrase out of the frying pan and into the fire seemed disastrously apt, as Oliver continued to shake the smiling American’s hand while glancing back at the scowling Lord Bufford.
And it was a fire he was going to have to extinguish as quickly as possible. Being engaged was not for him and marriage was most definitely out of the question. Like his father before him, he was not a one-woman man. But unlike his father he would never subject any woman to the pain of being married to an unfaithful husband. He had vowed never to hurt a woman the way his father had hurt his mother and had sworn off marriage many years ago. That was why he only got involved with women like Lady Bufford and Lucy Baker, women who played by the same rules as him. Keep it fun, keep it casual and never expect commitment.
He looked over at the young woman he was now supposedly engaged to. She was certainly beautiful, the sort of woman many men would be happy to call their wife. But right now, his supposedly future wife was looking as disorientated as he felt.
Her long, slim fingers were gently touching her full red lips, her face was flushed a delightful shade of pink and those big blue eyes were quickly flicking from him to the older man and back again.
It was the same actress he had admired during this evening’s performance. The one whose acquaintance he was hoping to eventually make, although most definitely not under these conditions.
It was obvious they were father and daughter. Both had jet-black hair, although the father was greying at the temples, and both had those blue eyes, although on the daughter they gave her a soft, gentle appearance, while on him the eyes were icy blue, accentuating his shrewd, calculating demeanour.
It was also obvious the father was up to something, but whatever it was, for now, it seemed, the plans of Mr van Haven would serve Oliver’s needs as well.
He sent the young beauty a silent apology for what he was about to do and hoped that she would not just forgive him, but would also play along.
‘Arabella has probably already told you all about me, but allow me to formally introduce myself,’ he said, still clasping the American’s hand. ‘I’m Oliver Huntsbury, the Duke of Somerfeld.’
‘A duke? Well, well, a duke,’ Mr van Haven purred, his piercing eyes boring into Oliver’s. ‘My daughter really has made a good catch. We’d better be careful to make sure you don’t get off the hook. So, are you going to introduce us to your friends?’
They both looked towards the menacing presence looming at the door.
Friends? That was an exaggeration if ever Oliver had heard one. ‘Yes, of course. May I introduce Lord Bufford and his associates: Joe Butcher, Frank Thugger, Arthur Scarmaker, and Fred Killerman.’
Mr van Haven nodded a greeting, but got a line of scowling black looks in response. Perhaps Lord Bufford’s associates didn’t like the names he had assigned them, but at least they had the decency to hide their weapons behind their backs.
‘Lord Bufford is Lady Bufford’s husband,’ Oliver continued, looking in Arabella’s direction and giving her his most beseeching smile. She might not be Lucy Baker, but he could only hope she was as equally good an actress and would indulge in a bit of improvisation.
‘Lady Bufford and Arabella are the best of friends,’ he continued, turning to Lord Bufford. ‘The two of them have spent many an evening together, gossiping the night away. I’ve felt quite neglected, I must say.’
‘We have?’ the American beauty asked. He sent her another pleading look and tilted his head in the direction of the door.
‘Oh, yes, we have. Your wife is quite a delightful companion,’ she added, giving Lord Bufford a tentative smile.
Oliver smiled with relief. He had his alibi. Hopefully now that would mean the departure of Lord Bufford and his murderous entourage. And his own departure. As much as he would like to get better acquainted with the young, black-haired actress, and as much as he’d like a repeat performance of that kiss, it was a pleasure he would have to forgo. This situation was complicated enough already. It was time to simplify things by exiting, stage right.
‘As we’re all such good friends I’m sure Lord Bufford and his associates would like to join us for a late supper so we can celebrate my daughter’s engagement to the Duke of Somerfeld,’ Mr van Haven said smoothly.
Oliver’s smile faded. It seemed his departure was going to have to be delayed a while longer.
All three turned to look at Lord Bufford, whose lips curled back in a menacing sneer.
‘We’d be delighted,’ he growled, staring straight at Oliver.
Mr van Haven patted Oliver on the back. ‘Right, Lord Bufford, you and I will go and find a couple of carriages to take us all to the Savoy, and while we’re doing that you can tell me all about my future son-in-law.’
The four thugs turned to follow Lord Bufford and Oliver could see an opportunity to escape opening up. A quick apology and maybe a goodbye kiss to the young actress and he’d be off.
Mr van Haven held up his hand to halt the thugs’ progress. ‘Oh, no. You four can wait here. We won’t be long.’ He sent what could only be called a triumphant smirk in Oliver’s direction. ‘You can chaperon my daughter and the Duke while we’re gone.’
Chaperons? More like prison wardens.
With a sinking hear
t Oliver saw his opportunity to escape close off. It seemed only an unwise man would underestimate Mr van Haven—the man was a veritable mind reader. And he had made sure that Oliver would continue to be engaged to be married to his daughter, at least for a while longer.
* * *
Arabella stared at the stranger, this Duke of Somerfeld, her fiancé. He sent her an apologetic smile, a smile that was difficult not to warm to. It lit up his face and drew her eyes to his full, sculptured lips.
She was determined to be angry with him. This man who was obviously trouble with a capital T. But it was hard to maintain that anger while gazing into tawny-brown eyes that sparked with mischief, and a face so handsome that he should be on the stage. Arabella’s appraising gaze took in the small crinkles round his eyes, lines that showed he laughed a lot. She moved to his strong jawline with the hint of stubble, then back up to his lips, those lips that had kissed her into a state of oblivion.
At the time, it had felt as though he was kissing her as if his life depended on it. Now it was apparent that was not far from the truth, if the murderous looks of the four burly brutes still looming at the door were anything to go by.
Arabella gave herself a small shake. There was no point thinking of that kiss now. This was an impossible situation and they had to find a way out of it.
She stepped towards him and his smile changed from apologetic to appreciative. Arabella ignored both that look and the way her heart was beating harder now that she was so close to him. So close she could feel the warmth of his body. So close that his masculine scent was once again filling her senses.
‘So, who are you really and what are you doing in my dressing room?’ she whispered so the ruffians at the door wouldn’t hear.
He raised an amused eyebrow. ‘I really am Oliver Huntsbury, the Duke of Somerfeld, and I apologise for my somewhat unconventional entrance. I was looking for Lucy Baker.’
Arabella’s spine straightened and she tilted up her chin. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint you.’ She heard the offended note in her voice and mentally kicked herself. Who cared if it was Lucy Baker he had meant to kiss? He just shouldn’t have kissed her. He shouldn’t be in her dressing room and he most certainly should not have agreed to be her fiancé.
‘Believe me, I am not disappointed, anything but.’ He smiled at her again, that heart-stopping, devilish smile that made his eyes dance with amusement. ‘But you do deserve an explanation.’ He nodded in the direction of the door. ‘Lord Bufford and his associates have taken exception to my friendship with Lady Bufford. They were threatening to commit extreme acts of violence on my various body parts, so I was looking for Lucy, who is also a good friend, hoping she would provide me with an alibi to prove my innocence.’
Arabella’s posture became more rigid, her lips more pinched. ‘I take it Lady Bufford and Lucy Baker are actually more than just your good friends.’ She hadn’t meant to sound quite so judgemental. After all, this man meant nothing to her, so why should she care who he was or wasn’t good friends with?
He ran his hand along the back of his neck. ‘Well, yes, you could say that.’
Arabella huffed her disapproval. One of her questions had been answered. When he kissed her, she had suspected she was in the arms of an experienced man, a man who knew how to please a woman. And that was quite obviously the case. It explained why she had reacted to him the way she had. It was not her fault. It was simply his technique and experience that had caused her uncharacteristic response.
It also explained the high opinion he appeared to have of himself. His confident countenance was definitely that of a man who knew he could easily seduce any woman he chose. But she wasn’t so easily impressed by a handsome face and a strong, masculine body. Nor would she swoon just because she had been kissed until she almost lost all ability to reason. No, none of those things would deter her from thinking he was just a rake, a man of no substance, to whom no sensible woman would give a second thought.
She placed her hands firmly on her hips and tilted her head to emphasise just how much he was not affecting her. ‘Well, Lucy no longer performs at the Limelight Theatre. But that doesn’t mean you can just burst into the dressing room of any woman you choose and...and...’ She waved her hand in the direction of the place where he had taken her in his arms.
‘And kiss her.’ He sent her another devilish smile. ‘You’re right, that was a terrible affront to your virtue and I apologise if I upset you.’
Good, at least he had the decency to apologise, but that charming smile seemed to make a lie to any claim of regret.
‘Just because I’m an actress doesn’t mean you can treat me disrespectfully. People make all sorts of assumptions about actresses and they’re just plain wrong. Most of us are respectable women who take our art form seriously.’ It was an argument she had also had with her father, but it had fallen on deaf ears.
He nodded his agreement. ‘Yes, I know, and I can see that you are a talented actress. I saw your performance tonight, very impressive.’
Arabella’s hands left her hips. Her body relaxed and she couldn’t help but beam with pleasure as warmth rushed through her. ‘You saw my performance tonight? Really? And you enjoyed it? It’s only a small part, but I do appear in every scene and have lines in most of them.’ She was burbling, but couldn’t stop herself, it was so delightful that he had noticed her on stage.
‘You’re a natural. And you certainly gave a stunning performance here in the dressing room, too. I’ve never been kissed with such conviction by a total stranger.’
The warmth engulfing her turned to a fiery blush, exploding on her cheeks. ‘Well, you...you...caught me off guard. I was still in character. I was still acting. I was continuing to act as if I was still on stage. That was all.’
He gave a mock frown. ‘Didn’t you play a vestal virgin in tonight’s play?’
Arabella shrugged, her cheeks still burning. ‘Anyway, that doesn’t explain why you pretended to be my fiancé,’ she said sharply, hoping to move the conversation away from her overly enthusiastic response to his kiss.
He rubbed the back of his neck again. ‘I’m sorry about that as well. At the time my choices were, become engaged or become the victim of a violent crime. And engagement seemed the less painful option.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘Forgive me, but I have no intention of marrying anyone.’
Arabella flicked her hand to dismiss his excuses. ‘I’m not stupid. I realise that. And I have no interest in getting engaged either and even less interest in being married. It’s all my father’s idea. He wants me off the stage and married before he returns to America. It doesn’t matter who my husband-to-be is, or what he’s like, as long as he’s got a title. It seems you fit the bill.’
He stared at her, his brow furrowed, concern in his eyes. ‘And what of your mother? What does she have to say about this?’
Arabella gave a little shrug and ignored the hard lump that had formed in her chest. ‘My mother is dead.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ He placed his hand lightly on her arm.
She shrugged again. ‘It was a long time ago. Twenty-one years.’
He gave her an intense look and she could see him gauging her age and doing the calculations. Yes, she was twenty-one and, yes, her mother had died mere months after she was born, leaving her in the care of a man who had little interest in his daughter. And that lack of interest had continued throughout her life. It was only now that he could see how much use a daughter would be for advancing his position in both English and New York society that she had suddenly become something worth having.
‘That must have been very hard for you,’ he said.
Arabella shook her head. ‘Well, I’m sure if she was alive, she wouldn’t want her daughter married off to just any man. But my father doesn’t care who I marry and he’s not going to relent until I’ve got a title. But that doesn’t have to be your problem.’
‘When does your father intend to return to America?’
‘As soon as he gets me married off, which he’s going to want to do as quickly as possible. He’s already been away from his precious bank for over a month. I doubt if he’ll be able to bear to stay away much longer. He’s already starting to pine for the smell of freshly minted dollar bills.’
He tapped a thoughtful finger against his sensual lips. ‘Then leave this to me. I think I can save both of us from an unwanted marriage, while getting your father off your back for the foreseeable future and saving my valuable body parts from dismemberment, all at the same time.’
Chapter Three
The four thugs were starting to look bored. One thug was absentmindedly running his hand back and forth along his knuckleduster, another was tapping his cosh rhythmically against the door jamb. The third was repeatedly cracking the knuckles in his gnarled hands and, perhaps most surprisingly of all, the fourth one had wrapped a feather boa around his thick neck and was running his hands over the satin and silk fabric on the racks of brightly coloured costumes.
Oliver was unsure whether a bored thug was more dangerous than an angry one, but he didn’t appreciate being in the company of either.
He knew that at some stage he could make an escape from Lord Bufford’s henchmen, but that wouldn’t solve the problem of the delightful Arabella van Haven. What her father was planning to do to this talented young actress was inexcusable. It was reprehensible to sell her off in marriage to any passing man, just because he had a title. And now it appeared he was in a position to save this rather enchanting damsel in distress, as well as saving his own skin and preserving Lady Bufford’s reputation. In anyone’s estimation that had to count as a good night’s work.
