by Eva Shepherd
Oliver cringed inside. There was no denying how much his father had admired actresses.
‘You’re right, Mother, she is a beauty,’ he said, looking over at Arabella, still talking to her friends the Duke and Duchess of Knightsbrook. She turned and looked at him. When their eyes met, she blushed slightly and quickly turned back to her conversation.
Oliver exhaled loudly. Even this engagement party was more than Arabella should be subjected to. She should not have had to meet Violet Bufford, but her father had invited Lord Bufford so there was not much he could do.
A gong boomed out loudly above the sound of the chattering guests, causing every head to turn in the direction of Somerfeld Manor’s entrance steps, where Mr van Haven was standing, his glass raised.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to propose a toast,’ he shouted out. ‘Arabella, Oliver, if you would please join me.’
Oliver looked over at Arabella and saw her take a deep breath, as if to brace herself for the ordeal ahead. Excusing himself from his mother, he walked across the lawn and offered his arm to Arabella. ‘Don’t worry. This will soon be over,’ he whispered in her ear.
Like a couple heading up the steps to the gallows, they climbed the stairs and took their place beside Mr van Haven. Oliver sent Arabella a reassuring smile and took her trembling hand in his, trying to still her obvious nerves. She smiled back at him, but even her acting abilities couldn’t stop the smile from quivering.
Her beaming father raised his glass higher. ‘I’m pleased you have all been able to join us today here at Somerfeld Manor to celebrate the engagement of my daughter, Arabella, to Oliver Huntsbury, the Fifth Duke of Somerfeld. So please, raise your glasses to Arabella and Oliver, the Duke and future Duchess of Somerfeld.’
A sea of glasses raised in front of them. ‘Arabella and Oliver,’ the guests cried out joyously.
‘But I’d also like to make an announcement to the cast and crew of the Limelight Theatre.’
Oliver felt Arabella tense beside him. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand to offer reassurance, but he could see the growing strain on her face from maintaining that false smile.
‘I intend to make a sizeable contribution to the theatre.’
A murmur of surprise and excitement rippled through the guests.
‘It can go to modernising your facilities, renovating the building, buying props, increasing the wages of all the cast and crew and it can provide all the necessary advertising to make your next production a success. Such improvements will increase patronage and make the theatre much more profitable. This is all part of my engagement present to my daughter.’
‘Engagement present? Engagement ransom would be more accurate,’ Arabella murmured so only Oliver would hear.
Enthusiastic clapping erupted from the cast and crew. They had no idea what a sacrifice Arabella was making so the theatre could survive. But Oliver did and it only increased his admiration for the young woman standing beside him.
‘Three cheers for Mr van Haven,’ one shouted, followed by a resounding chorus of hip-hip-hurrahs, and the waving in the air of many hats.
Even Oliver’s friends were getting caught up in the excitement, smiling and clapping approvingly.
Eventually Mr van Haven waved his hands, palms downwards, to bring an end to the rapturous applause. ‘And after discussions with Oliver’s mother, the Dowager Duchess, I have one more piece of good news to share with you.’
It was now Oliver’s turn to become tense, for his false smile to become strained. He wasn’t going to announce his engagement to Oliver’s mother. Was he? Such a thing could not happen so quickly. Could it?
‘The Dowager Duchess has recently shared some delightful information with me.’ Mr van Haven turned to Oliver and smiled victoriously. Oliver narrowed his eyes and glared back at Mr van Haven, letting him know that an engagement to his mother would be a step too far. It was something he would never countenance. He would do everything in his power to protect his mother from that grasping, despicable social climber.
‘I had been under the impression that the Duke would lose his title if he married before the age of thirty-five. It seems that my future son-in-law was mistaken.’ Mr van Haven’s victorious smile became a satisfied smirk. ‘Personally, I would like to see the happy couple married off right here and now, but it seems I must abide by tradition. The banns will be read in the local church, and in four weeks’ time my daughter and the Duke will be married. The Dowager Duchess has kindly consented to hosting the wedding at this magnificent estate, so I’d like to invite you all to return four Sundays from today to join the celebrations.’
The already excited crowd erupted into even louder cheers of enthusiasm. More hats were thrown in the air and a few couples were even dancing a jig. Everyone was excited by this wonderful announcement. Everyone, that is, except the future bride and groom.
* * *
Her father had won after all. How could Arabella have ever thought that he wouldn’t? She should have known he’d have an ace up his sleeve. Didn’t he always?
And now she was to be married. Married to a man who didn’t want her. A man who no woman in her right mind would want to be married to.
But what choice did she have? Looking out at the jubilant crowd, she knew she could never disappoint her colleagues and tell them that there would be no wedding, that there would be no money for the theatre, that their jobs and their futures were not secure. She could not be so cruel as to take away from them something that had secured their futures, even if it meant destroying her own.
She looked at Oliver, his face as crestfallen as her own. Obviously, the thought of marriage to her was filling him with the same sense of foreboding.
But he was not trapped the way she was. He had choices. There was nothing to stop him from calling off this engagement, from refusing to get married. The cast and crew of the Limelight Theatre meant nothing to him. He was safe now from Lord Bufford’s ruffians. He could walk away from this ridiculous proposal.
He smiled down at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, Arabella. Even if we do have to tie the knot, our marriage will be as false as our engagement. You have nothing to fear.’
She could not return his smile. It was easy for him to say there was nothing to fear. He was a man. He wouldn’t be bound by the laws of the land that gave few rights to a married woman. When a woman married, she became essentially a man’s property. While he had said he cared not a bit if she appeared on the stage, once they were married there would be nothing to stop him from changing his mind and insist she give up the life she loved. She did not want to give that power to any man and certainly not to this man she had only just met. No, there were many reasons for her to fear being married to Oliver Huntsbury.
The greatest fear being that, for her, she would actually want more from Oliver than he was prepared to give. She pulled her hand from his grasp. Having his hand touching hers was doing nothing to calm her agitation. No, she needed a clear head, so she could think about how she was going to cope with this intolerable situation.
Because it was intolerable, intolerable to be forced into a marriage with a man who didn’t want her, intolerable to be engaged to a man who gave every appearance of wanting to bed just about every other woman in England.
‘We’re still not defeated, Arabella,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Let’s leave the guests to their celebrations and slip away so we can formulate a plan of action to get us out of this situation.’
Slipping away together was not a wise idea. Being alone with him was never a good idea. But they did need to formulate a plan. She had no idea how they were going to stop this marriage, but perhaps Oliver did. After all, he had come up with the seven-year engagement idea. Perhaps he was capable of doing the impossible and thwarting her father’s plans while still saving herself and the theatre. Arabella knew she was grasping a
t straws, but she nodded and followed him down the steps around to the side of the house, away from the sound of the celebrating crowd.
He took her to a small, white-painted pergola and once again he took her hands gently in his. And once again Arabella fought against her unwanted reactions. Her hands should not be burning. Her heart should not be racing at such a furious pace because he was touching her. And she most definitely should not be wishing he’d do more than just hold her hands.
‘I am so sorry, Arabella. I should have told my mother not to say anything. Although, unlike my father, she is a terrible liar, so even if I had informed her of our plans she probably would have told the truth anyway.’
‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ She looked up into his brown eyes, eyes that were no longer sparkling with mischief, but were gazing down at her apologetically. Arabella was unsure which was harder to bear, that wicked glint in his eye, or this look of concern. Both ignited a strange response deep within her core, causing her to lean towards him as if drawn by an invisible but powerful force.
She told herself to stand up straight. ‘None of this is your fault. It’s all my father’s fault. He has made it impossible for me to get out of this marriage without threatening the jobs of people I care about, but that shouldn’t affect you. You don’t have to go through with this.’
He stared at her for a moment, then slowly shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be the cause of your friends losing their livelihoods. They’ve done nothing wrong, so why should they suffer?’
She smiled at him. He cared about people he didn’t know. He cared about his mother and had protected her from the pain of being married to a reprobate. Despite the way he lived his life, there was definitely a lot of good in Oliver Huntsbury.
He smiled back and she wished he hadn’t. Not when it drew her gaze to his soft, sensual lips. Lips that had once kissed her. She bit the edge of her bottom lip and, with as much nonchalance as she could muster, she forced her eyes to move from his lips to his eyes. But that was no better. His warm dark eyes glittered, like sparkling black onyx, accentuating their devilish quality, causing her cheeks to erupt with heat and a tingling sensation to radiate out from her lips and race around her body.
She looked down at the ground. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper. She swallowed and slowly raised her gaze. ‘It’s very good of you to care about my colleagues,’ she repeated in a more assertive voice. ‘But it doesn’t solve our problem. If we don’t get married, my father will withdraw his money and the theatre and all the cast and crew will soon be ruined. But we don’t want to get married, do we?’
He shook his head. Then that delicious smile grew wider. ‘So, I’ll make them a better offer.’
‘You’ll what?’ she asked as he continued to smile that glorious smile.
‘My money is just as good as your father’s. There’s nothing to stop me from offering the theatre whatever your father has offered them and more. Then your friends will be safe. You won’t have to get married. We can tell your father we still plan to wed, but that we want a long, long engagement for propriety’s sake. You’ll be safe for a while yet from his matchmaking.’
Arabella’s heart leapt. He had done it. He had done the impossible. He had found a way out of their dilemma. ‘Oh, Oliver, that’s a wonderful idea. You’re so clever.’ In her excitement she threw her arms round his neck.
His hands slid to her waist and he laughed. ‘I never realised that one day a woman would become ecstatic because I promised I wouldn’t marry her.’
‘Oh, but that is the kindest thing you could do.’
He looked down at her, his laughter dying away. His dark brown eyes grew intense, staring into hers. As if mesmerised, she felt incapable of looking away. As she continued to gaze into the deep, fathomless depths a shiver rippled through her body. His hands were still on her waist, holding her firmly. His touch burned into her, through the fabric of her gown, into her skin, making it tingle with awareness. Her heart beating so hard she could feel it hammering against her chest, she knew she was incapable of breaking from him, did not want to break from his touch. Slowly, she moved her hands up his neck, her fingers curling through his thick blond hair. Parting her lips, she rose on her toes, moved her body closer to his, needing to feel the touch of his chest against hers, desperate to feel his arms close tightly around her. As if under the command of a puppet master, she pressed herself against him, rose even higher on her toes and tilted her head until her lips gently touched his.
And then he was kissing her.
Oh, this man definitely knew how to kiss! She had repeatedly dreamt of him kissing her again since the first night they’d met and now her dream was coming true. She parted her lips wider, her tongue lightly stroking his bottom lip, loving the masculine taste of him, the feel of his skilled mouth on hers.
He groaned slightly and pulled her in closer, his arms encasing her, holding her firmly. As if she was in one of her fervid dreams, she felt his tongue entering her mouth, tasting, probing, possessing her. She was hardly aware of what she was doing. All she knew was that she wanted this, wanted it with every inch of her aching body.
Like a starving man who had been invited to a feast, he deepened the kiss, pulling her in even closer. His powerful chest was now hard up against her breasts, breasts that were swollen with desire. Without thought she rubbed herself against him, desperately needing to be touched by him, to be desired by him, to be caressed by him.
As if following her unspoken command, he ran his hands down the back of her body, cupping her buttocks. His touch on so intimate a place released a tempest of need within her that was both exciting and frightening. Oh, yes, she wanted this man, wanted to experience every sensual pleasure he could give her. She arched her back, her buttocks moving sensually under his hands, letting him know how much she needed him, how much she had to have him, how desperate she was for him to relieve the fiery need burning within her.
‘Marking the happy occasion, are we?’ She heard a voice behind her, as if coming from a distant place.
He broke from her and she fell forward against him, her head tilted, her throbbing lips still desperate for his kisses.
‘I’m pleased to see you two getting on so well. But you should leave all this until the wedding night, you know.’
Her father’s voice invaded her foggy consciousness and she jumped back from Oliver as if from a raging inferno that was threatening to engulf her.
‘Father? What are you...why are you...?’
‘It looks like I’m saving you from giving yourself to this man before he’s even sealed the deal and put a ring on your finger.’
He took hold of Arabella’s arm and forcefully pulled her away. Oliver stepped towards her father, his eyes blazing with fury. But a fight between Oliver and her father would serve no purpose. Arabella had acted like a fool. Her kiss had revealed to Oliver exactly how much she desired his touch, something she had fought so hard to conceal. This whole incident had been embarrassing enough, without them fighting over her honour. An honour she had been more than happy to surrender to a man who was a master at the art of seduction.
She shook her head and placed her hand in the middle of Oliver’s chest to halt his progress. ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured, her voice cracking.
He continued to glare at her father but halted his progress and unclasped his clenched fists.
What had come over her? She was not going to marry Oliver Huntsbury. And she most definitely did not want to become one of his many mistresses, even if he was capable of kissing her into oblivion. This was all her fault. She should never have let her guard down and kissed him in the first place.
For once she had to admit her father’s interference was all for the best. If he hadn’t come along, who knew what might have happened. She might have given herself to him, just as countless other women had done bef
ore her and no doubt countless other women would do in the future.
Without another word to Oliver she turned her back on him and allowed her father to escort her back to the party, for once pretending to be the dutiful daughter she most certainly was not.
* * *
Oliver watched Arabella and her father walk away through narrowed eyes. ‘Leave it for the wedding night,’ her father had said. But there would be no wedding night. That meant he would never get to explore her tempting body, never get to fully taste what she had to offer. And if that kiss was anything to judge by it would be spectacular. She had kissed him with such passion, such urgency, such need. And the effect it had on him was devastating.
He had long ago lost count of the number of women he had kissed, the number of women he had bedded. He was all but blasé about kissing yet another woman. But Arabella, she was different. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something special about her. It wasn’t just her pretty face—he had kissed plenty of pretty women before—nor was it her gorgeous body, as tempting as it was. It couldn’t be her innocence. He had always shied away from virtuous virgins, seeing them as nothing but trouble. And he most definitely would be trouble for them. While the idea of deflowering a virgin appealed to some men, it most definitely did not appeal to him.
Perhaps it was her passion. A passion that was also evident in her determination to succeed as an actress, to succeed against her father’s wishes, despite the odds that were stacked against her. Perhaps it was that which made her so appealing to him. Or was it that she was utterly unimpressed by his title? For so many women his title was like a red rag to a bull. The thought of being the next Duchess of Somerfeld had seen many a young debutante throw herself in his path. But Arabella would rather have a minor acting role in a play at a rundown theatre than all the social prestige that came with being a duchess. Perhaps that’s what he found so attractive. That and her pretty face, gorgeous body and very kissable lips, of course.
