by Eva Shepherd
No, Arabella’s initial assessment was right. There might be a saintly side to Oliver, but he was still more sinner than saint and that was something she would be wise to remember.
Chapter Eleven
The saint—or was it the sinner?—excused himself and walked across the room to join Arabella. She watched him stride towards her, unable to look away. There was no denying he was the most attractive man in the room. And Arabella’s eyes weren’t the only ones fixed on him as he cut a swathe through the crowded ballroom.
Yet, despite the numerous admiring gazes he was getting, his eyes never left hers and the effect on her nervous system was decidedly unsettling.
‘Arabella, I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you. But I see you’ve started talking to the guests.’ He looked in Greta Jones’s direction. ‘What were you talking about?’
It was a casual question, but there was an underlying apprehension in his voice. Why he should be concerned that she was talking to her father’s ex-mistress she didn’t know? Was he worried that she had found out that he was financially supporting Greta and many more of his father’s ex-mistresses and children? Surely what he was doing was a good thing. Or was he worried that she might start to see a side to him that didn’t fit in with the way the rest of the world saw him, as an unmitigated rake? There was only one way to find out.
‘She was telling me about the house you bought for her and how grateful she is that you’re paying for Jenny’s education.’
‘Oh, that.’ He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck and gave a strained smile.
Was the sinner embarrassed that his saintliness had been exposed?
‘She also mentioned that you are supporting all of your father’s ex-mistresses and children, and there’s rather a lot of them.’
He gave a snort of derision. ‘Well, someone has to. These women would be left on their own otherwise, struggling to survive in a world that is not easy for any woman and especially not a woman who has a child out of wedlock.’
‘And did your father not make provisions for them?’
His jaw tightened. ‘My father had no objection to me organising the allowances for them, but I’m afraid once he lost interest in a woman that was it. It didn’t matter how much harm he had caused, it simply never occurred to him to even try to undo some of the damage. He would be too interested in moving on to his next conquest.’
There was anger in his voice. Like her, he’d had a father who pursued his own goals without caring about how much harm it might cause others.
‘And you invited them all to the wedding?’
He looked down at her, his face serious. ‘Only Greta and her daughter. I’ve become quite close to them over the years and I didn’t want them to feel excluded. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind. I think it’s an admirable thing to do. I’m just surprised you’ve managed to keep all these secrets from your mother.’
Once again, he rubbed his hand slowly across the back of his neck. ‘Well, unfortunately, thanks to my father, I’ve had a lot of experience in keeping things from my mother.’
Arabella couldn’t stop a disapproving sigh from escaping. There might be a saintly side to this sinner, but he certainly had a lot of experience in keeping women in the dark. He was obviously a master at it.
She looked across the room at his mother. Was that to be her own fate, as well—to be kept in the dark and to have no idea what her husband was up to?
The Dowager Duchess looked in their direction, beamed a happy smile and walked over to join them.
‘Oh, Oliver, Arabella,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, not since my own wedding day.’
‘And you look beautiful, Mother,’ Oliver said, leaning down and kissing his mother on the cheek.
His mother smiled coyly. ‘But not as beautiful as this young lady. Arabella, you make a lovely bride. I’m sure you’re going to be a wonderful Duchess of Somerfeld and wife for Oliver.’
Arabella forced herself to smile and hoped it looked genuine.
‘And I truly hope the two of you are as happy as Oliver’s late father and I were.’
Arabella looked sideways at Oliver, who looked somewhat uncomfortable.
‘Mr van Haven was so excited that you and Oliver had married,’ she continued. ‘It was just a shame he had to leave so early. He said he had some urgent business to attend to.’
An exasperated sigh escaped Arabella’s lips. Her father had been the first guest to leave. As soon as the wedding breakfast had finished, he had departed, not even staying for the ball. Now that he had achieved his goal, he obviously saw nothing to detain him. She had little doubt that he would now be taking the first steamer back to America, to his beloved bank.
‘Yes, that was a shame,’ Arabella replied truthfully. Everything about her father forcing this marriage upon her had been shameful.
‘Well, I must circulate. There are so many lovely people here tonight.’
With that she departed and joined another group of women and Arabella wondered if they were yet more of her husband’s ex-mistresses, causing Arabella to wince in sympathy for Oliver’s poor, deluded mother.
‘My mother is talking to her cousins,’ Oliver said, seemingly reading her mind. ‘And, as surprising as it is, even my father wouldn’t try to seduce his wife’s relatives.’
‘No, he might have broken his vow and been found out.’
Oliver raised his eyebrows and gave a slight nod. ‘Yes, unfortunately you’re probably right. That most likely was his reasoning.’
The band leader announced the quadrille and couples took to the floor. Oliver sent her another of those mischievous smiles. ‘So, Your Grace,’ he said, performing a low bow. ‘Would you do me the honour of this dance?’
Despite herself Arabella smiled back at him. Why did his smile always cause her to feel warm inside, even when she told herself not to succumb to his charms?
He held out his hand and she lightly placed her gloved hand on his. As he led her on to the dance floor, she caught sight of Lady Bufford, grabbing her husband and dragging the reluctant man in their direction. The assembled guests formed themselves into groups of four couples and it became apparent what Lady Bufford was up to. She bustled herself and her now red-faced husband into their set. She was obviously determined to get an opportunity to dance with Oliver.
Arabella forced her jaw to unclench and her body to relax. What did it matter if Lady Bufford wanted to dance with her husband? She had no right to be jealous. But still, this was her wedding night after all and she didn’t want to share it with one of Oliver’s mistresses.
The band struck up. Oliver took her hand and they danced the first set of steps. They parted and he joined Lady Bufford for the second set.
Arabella fought hard to keep that little green monster under control as she watched Lady Bufford simper and smile, and whisper something in Oliver’s ear. Lord Bufford also appeared to be battling with his own demons and gave every appearance of a man fighting to restrain himself from leaping forward to pull his wife away from her lover.
Lord Bufford might be entitled to feel jealous at this blatant display, but Arabella did not. Hadn’t she promised Oliver freedom? Hadn’t she said that she didn’t care how many good friends he had? No, this was something she was going to have to learn to cope with. She was going to have to control her impulses to stamp her feet in rage, to pout, and to send her rivals looks that were designed to cut them to the quick.
But at the very least, she just wished Lady Bufford had the good manners to not be quite so obvious. Each time she danced with Oliver her face lit up like a modern electric lightbulb. She smiled up at him, giggled girlishly and continued to whisper in his ear. Surely she should have enough decency in her to restrain herself and keep her hands off the groom, even if it was just for this one night.
&nb
sp; When the dance finally came to an end Arabella released her tightly held breath, pleased to be led off the dance floor, away from that despicable woman.
The temptation to ask Oliver what Lady Bufford had been whispering to him was almost overwhelming, but she would not do it. She clamped her teeth tightly together to stop the words from escaping.
They were joined by Greta Jones, who was all smiles. ‘You two look perfect together,’ she said, taking Oliver’s hands.
Oliver bent down and kissed her cheek. ‘I hope you’re enjoying yourself, Greta.’
‘Oh, I am, I am, Your Grace. I’m so happy to see you married. But it’s time I went home. I just wanted to say goodbye to you and your bride. She really is delightful, Oliver. Just the sort of woman a good man like you deserves.’
Oliver and Arabella exchanged disbelieving looks. Arabella knew she was neither the woman Oliver deserved nor wanted for his wife, but wondered what sort of woman he actually did deserve. Greta had called him a saint. Did he deserve a saintly woman? That most certainly was not Arabella. Surviving a marriage to a man like Oliver was going to demand the patience and forbearance of a saint, but her reaction to Lady Bufford’s performance on the dance floor had shown her she definitely did not possess those qualities.
And as for the sinner, well, that man was obviously more than capable of getting as many women as he wanted, but whether he deserved them all was another question entirely.
They said their goodbyes to Greta and several other guests approached them to say farewell. The ball was starting to wind up and she would soon be alone with Oliver. Alone with her new husband.
While some guests would be staying overnight, they would be in a separate wing, far away from the rooms occupied by her and Oliver. Even his mother had announced that from the date of the wedding she would be moving into her own home on the estate and leaving Somerfeld Manor to the new Duchess.
So she would be alone with Oliver. What would happen then?
Several other guests approached them to say their goodbyes. Arabella made polite conversation, hardly aware of what she was saying. All she could think was that, with each departing guest, she was coming closer and closer to being alone with Oliver. Alone with a handsome rake with a notorious reputation. And she was his wife. Would it now be her turn to be the sole focus of his seductive charms? And how was she going to react if it was?
A tingling awareness raced round her body as heat erupted deep within her core. She would be alone with him.
As if sensing her body’s reaction, he looked up from a departing couple and stared intently at her. Her nerves jumped in response and she stared back, transfixed. Fire flickered in those dark brown eyes as his gaze scanned slowly from her face down her body, then back up again. Every inch of her body burned under his gaze, as if his eyes had softly caressed her sensitive skin. He was looking at her as if she really was his. It was a look of possession, of desire, of passion. It was how he looked at her when he kissed her. Was it how he would look when he took her in his arms, when he laid her down on his bed? Was that how he would look at her when he made love to her?
A mixture of panic and excited awareness raged a war within her. She would soon be alone with this man. A man who could bring her body alive with just one look. A man who made her feel things she had never felt before, who made her body ache with need. A man she knew she had to resist.
A woman pulled at his sleeve and dragged his attention away, breaking the spell between them. Arabella blinked several times to bring herself back to reality.
What had just happened?
Had she just experienced a taste of his seduction routine? Was that how he looked at women when he was planning to bed them? She could see why he was so successful with women. It had certainly worked on her. One intense look from those dark brown eyes and she had lost all ability to reason. That one look had driven her imagination wild, sent thoughts of giving herself to him running through her mind, of letting him do anything he wanted with her, of wanting him to do anything he wanted with her.
She closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths to force some control over her riotous nerves.
Well, if Oliver was planning on using his tried-and-true seduction techniques on her he would be wasting his time. He would not be seducing her, tonight or any other night. He was about to learn a valuable lesson: that not all women were his for the taking.
With each departing guest Arabella could feel that firm resolve fray more and more at the edges. She knew she was going to have to be strong. She just had to remember who he was, to keep in mind all those other women in his life. She might be his wife, but she did not want to be yet another one of his women, yet another good friend to add to the long list.
Finally, the last guests headed out of the room and departed in their carriages, leaving the couple alone in the suddenly quiet grand ballroom, with only a few servants remaining, who discreetly ignored the couple as they continued to clear the tables.
Now Oliver was about to learn his lesson. He was about to find out that she was not like other women. She would not be his latest conquest.
He turned towards her and Arabella’s heart seemed to jump into her throat, her cheeks grew hot and her skin burned under his gaze. A reaction she knew she should not be having if she was to remain strong. She closed her eyes briefly and forced herself to take in a few calming breaths.
‘It’s been a long day, Arabella. Now we can finally retire,’ he murmured. ‘Shall we?’ He held out his arm for her. Arabella nodded, unable to speak, and with trepidation she placed her arm through his.
This was it. They walked towards the stairs that led them up to their bedroom suite.
Arabella’s mind blurred with confusion. All she was conscious of was his strong body close to hers as they ascended the staircase, so close she could feel his warmth, imagine the strong muscles under his shirt and jacket. Unable to stop herself she drew even nearer to him, their bodies almost touching, sending a thrilling ripple coursing through her body.
In silence they walked down the long corridor. Arabella could not imagine what was going through Oliver’s mind as he led her towards their bedroom, but her own mind was a swirl of chaotic thoughts. Her body was even more confused and Arabella fought to slow the rapid drumbeat of her heart and get her breathing under control.
They reached the bedroom door and he stopped. Her breath caught in her suddenly dry throat as she looked up at him. He gazed down at her, those rich brown eyes staring deep into hers, as if penetrating through to her very soul. She waited, her treacherous body aching to feel his touch, a touch she knew she should not be wanting, but one her body desired with an insatiable need that could not be ignored.
He leant down towards her. Her lips parted in anticipation. She closed her eyes and moved towards him, her heart racing, her body throbbing. His lips caressed her warm cheek and she sighed. ‘Goodnight, Arabella. I hope you sleep well.’
Her eyes flew open and she watched in disbelief as he turned and walked off down the corridor. Without a backward glance he opened the door to the adjoining room and entered.
As if frozen to the spot, Arabella continued to stare down the now empty hallway.
Was that it? Was that to be her wedding night? She’d had every intention of rejecting his advances, but he hadn’t even tried to seduce her. The notorious rake, who desired almost every woman he met, did not desire one woman. His wife.
Well, so be it.
Abruptly Arabella turned and pulled open the door to her bedroom, slamming it shut behind her. Her hand flew to her mouth and she looked in the direction of Oliver’s bedroom. She hoped he hadn’t heard the bang of her door closing. It would be too humiliating if he thought she was in any way concerned that he had just rejected her.
She tiptoed across the room and reached for the bell pull to summon Nellie. Her hand paused in mid-air. If she called Nelli
e to help her undress, then her lady’s maid would know that she was spending her wedding night alone. Nellie was her friend and she would not judge, but still Arabella felt ashamed that it would not be her husband who removed her wedding gown, her stockings, her undergarments.
Instead she would do it herself. With much wriggling and contortions, she managed to undo the small pearl buttons up the back of her gown and release herself from the tight corset. When she was finally free, she threw the dress across the room. It landed on a chair in an abandoned pile of white embroidered satin and lace.
She released her hair and tossed the clips on to the dressing table.
Dressed in her virginal white linen nightdress, she climbed into the four-poster bed and scowled at the closed adjoining door that separated her room from Oliver’s.
The door was only made of oak, but it might as well be made of iron and be shut with a lock and chain, it presented such a barrier between them.
Leaning over, Arabella blew out her lamp with a decisive puff of air. The best thing she could do now was to sleep and forget all about the man in the next room. After all, it had been a long, tiring day. Instead she lay on her side, staring at the carved wooden door that connected their rooms.
Candlelight flickered along the gap under the door and she could see a shadow moving around. He was still up. Not yet in bed. Was he thinking of her? Was he going to change his mind? Would the door open and he would join her after all?
The shadow approached the door. It stopped moving. She sat up, pulled up the sheet to her chest and gasped in a breath. The doorknob appeared to move slightly. Or was that just a trick being played on her eyes in the darkened room?
The shadow moved away. The light under the door went out. He had retired for the evening. Arabella released her held breath. She lay back down. If he could go to sleep as if today had been just another normal day, then so could she.
