by Eva Shepherd
Opening her eyes, she saw he was still staring at her, his eyebrows drawn together, questioning her unusual behaviour. How long had her eyes been closed while she tried to drive out that image of him kissing her?
Heat tinging her cheeks, she picked up her napkin and dabbed the edge of her eye. ‘I think I might have something in my eye,’ she said, her embarrassment rising with every word as she tried to explain her discomposure and odd reaction to his attention.
‘Here, allow me.’ He took the napkin from her hand and began dabbing at the edge of her eye himself. This was worse than Arabella could have imagined. He was now so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell his intoxicating masculine scent, picture the hard muscles under his crisp white shirt. She tried not to breathe, not to feel, not to think.
‘Open your eyes wider so I can see what the obstruction is.’
She did as he commanded, but stared up towards the ceiling so she would not have to look at his handsome face. This situation was uncomfortable enough. She did not need the extra discomfort of looking at that strong, chiselled jawline, or those full, inviting lips.
‘I can’t see anything. Perhaps when you closed your eyes you dislodged it.’
He lowered the napkin and Arabella lowered her gaze. That was a mistake. Now she was staring straight into his velvet-brown eyes and a delicious sensation of rich chocolate slowly melting on her tongue engulfed her.
She swallowed the sigh of pleasure that was threatening to escape and quickly looked down at her lap in a desperate attempt to still her fevered imaginings.
Why did he have to be so handsome? This whole encounter would be so much easier if he didn’t make her turn to jelly every time she looked at him.
There was absolutely no denying he was charming, but he wouldn’t have much success as a womaniser if he wasn’t charming, would he? And the one thing she did not want was to be charmed by a man who was well experienced in the art of seduction.
She drew in a deep breath. No, it did not matter how charming he was, or how handsome, or how captivating that mischievous smile, she would not succumb. She would keep firmly in her mind at all times the type of man he was. He was a rake, a reprobate, a debaucher. Not the sort of man she wanted in her life.
He handed her the napkin, which she tentatively took from his outstretched hand, taking every precaution to avoid contact with his skin.
If she couldn’t trust her body to act as sensibly as her mind, it was time to put some distance between herself and the Duke of Somerfeld. ‘Well, I think I’ll call it a night and let you get on with enjoying the rest of your evening.’
‘I’m in no hurry and you’ve eaten nothing of the supper.’
She looked at the array of dishes. The last thing she felt like was eating. ‘I’m not hungry, but please, don’t let me stop you.’
He waved his hand in dismissal, so she signalled to the waiter. ‘Would you please parcel up all this food and have it delivered to this address.’
She took a blank white card out of her beaded purse, wrote the address of the boarding house where her fellow cast members were staying and handed it to the waiter. They would appreciate the feast that would otherwise go to waste.
‘But as I said, I’m tired and I think it is time I went to bed.’ Heat exploded on her cheeks at the mere mention of beds and she was reminded of how his father had died. Had Oliver inherited that bed, the one made to take eight women? Was that where he would be spending this evening? And which of the women in this room would be joining him?
She threw the napkin on the table and stood quickly, anxious to get away from him and away from such disturbing images. ‘Yes, I really must be going,’ she said and looked around the room as if suddenly unsure of where she was.
‘Then allow me to escort you home,’ he said, rising, a teasing quirk to his lips.
He knew what she was thinking. That was why he was smiling at her like that.
Arabella’s embarrassment intensified. How could she be so transparent? She was an actress, for goodness sake. Surely she should be able to keep her feelings hidden from view. And surely she shouldn’t start blushing just because the word bed had been mentioned.
‘There’s no need to accompany me home. I’m staying here at the Savoy. I’d much rather be staying with the other actors, but Father would be horrified if I did. He sent me over to England a few months ago to marry an aristocrat, not to become an actress. He had one duke lined up for me, but my father’s ward, Rosie, married him instead. That’s why he is so determined to not let another aristocrat get away.’ Her words had tumbled out in a rush, but she seemed incapable of stopping herself from talking.
He smiled at her. ‘So you eluded one duke and got a job as an actress, now you’re trying to escape from another one. I can see you’re an enterprising young lady if you’re able to keep your plans secret from your father.’
‘Fortunately Father has spent so much time making deals and looking for good financial investments while he’s been here he’s hardly noticed what I’ve been doing, so it hasn’t taken too much enterprise on my part to creep out.’
The fire on her cheeks moved to her neck and the room suddenly seemed unbearably hot. ‘Not that I ever do creep out, except to go to the theatre. And afterwards I come straight home, where Aunt Prudence is always waiting for me. And if I don’t go to the theatre I always take a chaperon, either Aunt Prudence or my lady’s maid. So I never really creep out.’ Arabella knew she was still burbling, but it was essential that he knew she was not the sort of woman who flirted with men in public, or passed them secret notes, and she certainly had no intention of creeping out with him, tonight or any other night.
‘Well, at least let me walk you to your room,’ he offered.
‘No, there’s no need.’ The last thing she wanted was Oliver anywhere near her hotel suite. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. It was that she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust herself. Her own behaviour tonight had been so uncharacteristic and unpredictable, she was in danger of doing something reckless. She might even be tempted to encourage just one more kiss from him. She bit her bottom lip lightly to try to stop it from tingling at the memory of it.
She held out an unsteady hand to shake goodbye. ‘That won’t be necessary, I can find my own way to my room,’ she said more emphatically than she intended.
Oliver took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he leant over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.
Arabella froze.
His lips lingered.
Would he kiss her on the lips, too? Would he take her in his arms? Would he hold her body close to his? She knew she shouldn’t want that. But she did. Like so many other women in the room, Arabella was falling for the charms of Oliver Huntsbury.
But she was not like every other woman in the room. She refused to be like every other woman in the room.
She took a step backwards, almost colliding with the wall. ‘Well, goodnight,’ she stammered. ‘I suppose the next time we see each other will be at our engagement party.’ She gave a fake laugh.
He released her hand and Arabella released her held breath.
‘Until our engagement party.’ His eyes once again sparked with wicked amusement.
Arabella turned and all but ran out of the restaurant, not bothering to say goodbye to her father who was still engrossed in his latest deal.
She hurried away, sure her almost-fiancé’s eyes were still on her. Next weekend she would be engaged to him. Engaged to a man she didn’t want to be engaged to. A man she didn’t want to marry and, worst of all, a man who made her feel things she knew she shouldn’t be feeling.
* * *
Oliver watched his fiancée leave, her silk dress rustling as she departed rapidly without a backwards glance, then slumped back down on to his chair.
On most nights the evening’s enterta
inment would just be getting started at this late hour, but tonight he had no interest in visiting any of his usual haunts, no desire to see Lucy Baker or any of the other women who were currently providing him with delightful diversions.
Is this what happened when you became engaged? Oliver shuddered. Perish the thought. That was not him.
He pulled Lady Ambrose’s note out of his pocket and read the contents. As expected, it was a reminder that she was hosting yet another party. A particularly salacious party, if the wording on the note was any indication, and it was being held at her town house later this evening. Normally Oliver would be pleased by such an invitation. Lady Ambrose’s parties could even top his father’s when it came to inventiveness. But tonight, it seemed he wasn’t in the mood.
He looked towards the door through which Arabella had departed.
Nor, for some reason, did he feel compelled to follow up on any of the unspoken invitations he had received throughout the evening.
Instead he would return to his estate and tell his mother the news, that he was now engaged to be married.
At least his betrothal would bring pleasure to his dear mother. She, too, was an innocent and, despite being married to one of England’s most notorious rakes, she refused to think anything bad about her husband and still saw marriage as a wonderful thing.
To maintain his mother’s innocence, he had been forced to deceive her for many years. Oliver knew it would have destroyed her to know the man she loved and revered had been repeatedly unfaithful to her, with countless women throughout their marriage. So far his mother had continued to live in blissful ignorance, rarely coming to London and preferring to socialise with the genteel ladies in the Surrey countryside.
And now he was about to lie to his mother about himself. But it would only upset her if she knew the truth. That his engagement was not a love match, but merely a way to save one woman’s reputation and allow another woman to defy her father and to continue to perform on the stage.
But even if he was forced to lie to his mother, he would not lie to Arabella. While his mother was never aware of what her husband was really like, at least Arabella knew exactly what sort of man she was now engaged to. She was entering this arrangement with her eyes wide open and had accepted him for who he was.
He had vowed he would not be like his father in the way he treated women as mere playthings, with no feelings of their own. He would do everything he could to avoid causing Arabella emotional pain and the best way to do that was for him to never see her again once the engagement party was over.
He looked again at the door through which she had departed. Keeping that vow would be so much easier if he was engaged to a woman who wasn’t so damned attractive, a woman whose kiss did not hold so much promise of a passionate nature. But he had kissed her once, he would not do so again. He would not take her in his arms again. He would not feel that beautiful body pressed up against his, or taste those tempting lips again, not run his hands over her wonderful curvaceous figure.
He might not be able to forget their kiss, that would be asking too much, but it must never happen again. If it did, he was unsure whether he’d be able to stop at just a kiss and that would be a disaster. Arabella must retain her innocence until she met a man who was worthy of her, a man who could love her in the way she deserved to be loved.
He continued to stare in the direction she had departed and drained his champagne flute for the last time. No, a woman like Arabella was most definitely not for him.
He summoned the waiter and asked him to hail a hansom cab. Oliver would return to his town house, then catch the first train back to his Surrey estate and break the supposedly happy news to his mother. Then, next weekend, Arabella and he would go through the motions of an engagement party. After that, they would never have to see each other again.
Chapter Six
An engagement party should be a joyous time of celebration. Family and friends gathering together to mark the happy occasion. And the happy couple should be just that—happy.
But Arabella could see nothing to be happy about. As Nellie, her lady’s maid, curled her hair, then lifted it into a bun high on her head and added the hair pieces that would give her already abundant hair an even more voluminous look, Arabella stared at the face reflected in the mirror. It was a face of a woman about to start a long prison sentence, not the look of a woman about to celebrate her engagement.
She just had to keep reminding herself it was not a real engagement. She was not going to be married. She had seven years in which to come up with a way to get out of this unwanted predicament. And it could be much worse, she could be tied to a man who repulsed her, instead of a handsome duke who made her heart beat faster every time he looked at her, whose kisses had caused her to forget who she was and what she was doing.
Arabella sighed. Was that better or was that worse?
Perhaps it would be better if he was some horrid old duke with bad breath and rotting teeth. Then there would be no problem, no confusion, she would know exactly how she felt and what she wanted.
Nellie teased out a few curls and allowed them to deliberately fall loose, so they had a carefree look about them, then stood back to admire her work. ‘Perfect, if I do say so myself. It’s just a shame that my perfect hair style is being worn by someone who looks as though she’s about to have her head cut off.’
Arabella sent Nellie a sad smile. Originally from Ireland, Nellie had joined the van Haven household when she first arrived in America at the age of thirteen. Arabella was only fourteen herself at the time. They had grown up together and were more friends than servant and mistress.
‘Sorry, Nellie. Yes, it looks lovely, as always.’
Nellie placed her hand gently on Arabella’s arm. ‘No, it’s me that’s sorry. I’m sorry you have to go through this, Arabella. Sorry your father is selling you off like this. Sorry that you can’t just be left alone to live the life you want to live.’
Arabella patted Nellie’s hand. ‘I could say the same for you, Nellie. You could be so much more than just a lady’s maid, if the world treated women better than it does.’
Nellie raised her eyebrows and sent her a mysterious smile. ‘Oh, I have my plans and I’m not going to let the world tell me what I can and can’t do.’
Before Arabella could question Nellie over what she meant, there was a knock on the door, and Nellie opened it to admit Rosie, Arabella’s best friend. Recently married to the Duke of Knightsbrook, Rosie was glowing with health and happiness.
She hugged Nellie and gave Arabella a kiss on the cheek. ‘Oh, Arabella, I was so sorry to hear about your engagement. I wish I’d been here to stop it.’
Arabella shrugged. ‘Never mind, Rosie. It’s only an engagement of convenience. Oliver is just as set against marriage as I am. He’s like you, a great one for coming up with clever plans, so I’m sure we will never actually have to get married.’
Rosie screwed up her face. ‘I hope he thinks things through a bit better than I did.’
Arabella smiled at her friend. She was referring to Rosie’s plan to save Arabella from her father’s last attempt to marry her off. Rosie had come up with what she thought was the perfect plan to put the duke off Arabella. While Arabella was pursuing work on the London stage, Rosie would meet him and pretend to be Arabella, then behave so badly that the Duke of Knightsbrook would have no interest in marrying her. Instead it had all gone terribly wrong, or gloriously right, depending on how you looked at it, and they had fallen in love.
‘I’m sure Oliver knows what he’s doing. And he has even more reasons for not wanting to get married than I do. So, no matter what, I’m sure he’ll make sure this marriage never happens. In the meantime, while I’m engaged to be married, it stops Father from throwing me in front of every passing duke, earl or viscount.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard the Duke of Somerfeld has quite a lot of reasons for not w
anting to get married,’ Nellie said and exchanged a knowing look with Rosie. It seemed Oliver’s reputation as a womaniser was known far and wide.
Nellie helped Arabella into a peach-coloured silk skirt and a matching embroidered jacket with a lacy neckline. Arabella had been tempted to wear black for mourning, but in the end had decided that might be taking things a bit too far.
While Nellie used a buttonhook to do up the buttons on Arabella’s white boots, Rosie told them of all the plans she and her new husband had for modernising the Knightsbrook estate. She was so full of enthusiasm and Arabella had to admit that marriage suited her friend. She had never looked more lovely. But she had married the man she had fallen in love with. She hadn’t been forced to become engaged to a man who was a notorious rake, whose sexual conquests were legendary.
Getting caught up in Rosie’s excitement, Arabella found herself actually smiling and laughing. It might not be a day of celebration for her, but it was good to be with her two friends and with Rosie by her side she knew she’d get through this horrid engagement party.
Once Arabella was dressed, Nellie gave her a critical once over, then departed.
‘Well, I suppose I had better get this over and done with,’ Arabella said. The best friends left the room arm in arm, walked down the grand staircase, through the expansive hallway of Somerfeld Manor, and out through the heavy oak doors at the entranceway.
When Arabella and her father had first arrived at Oliver’s estate, her father had wandered around, inspecting the house and the surrounding grounds with a satisfied smile. He had admired every piece of antique furniture and every ancestral portrait, and each time he saw the family crest, bearing two rampant stags and a shield, his smile had grown so wide he looked fit to burst. Arabella had quickly lost count of the number of times he had mentioned that the Huntsburys could trace their family back to the fifteenth century.
