by Eva Shepherd
But how long would that last?
A leopard never changed his spots. He was not a one-woman man.
Eventually he would revert to type. He just had to ensure that he had set Arabella free before that happened.
He pushed away that thought. He did not need to think of it now. He ran his fingers down the soft, creamy skin of her shoulder and arm. She moved sensually in the bed. Her eyes opened and she smiled at him. Soon they would be parting and life would return to normal, but one more taste would do no harm. He leant down and kissed his wife’s waiting lips, then took her in his arms to make love to her one more time.
* * *
Making love to Oliver...it had to be the perfect way to start the day. Arabella smiled and stretched lazily in the four-poster bed, her body tired and sated. She was so happy. Last night and this morning had been more thrilling than she could possibly have imagined. Now all she had to do was ignore the little voice in the back of her head that was asking, What happens now?
She did not know how this was going to work. Last night, she had promised Oliver that she would not interfere in the way he lived his life and she would abide by that promise. There would be other women in his life and that was something she was going to have to accept. She would just have to learn to control the pain that clenched her heart whenever she thought of him with someone else.
That was the deal. He had promised he would do nothing to interfere with her career on the stage and he had abided by that. More than abided by it, he was actually helping her achieve her goals. And Arabella would do the same for him.
Well, she wouldn’t actually help him pursue other women. She wasn’t a complete martyr and he hardly needed any help in that area anyway.
But she would at least do nothing to stop him. No matter how much heartache it caused her.
In the meantime, she would enjoy this moment while it lasted. Feasting her eyes on her husband’s gorgeous body, she moved them slowly over every inch of him, as if committing each sculpted muscle to memory. Her fingers then followed the same path as her eyes, moving up those strong arms, across his wide shoulders, down the rock-hard chest to that flat, firm stomach. She smiled wickedly, her hand slowly moving lower.
It was amazing how last night had changed her. Those initial nerves had soon disappeared. She had felt so safe in Oliver’s arms, safe enough to release a delicious wantonness she had not known she possessed, a wantonness she had thoroughly enjoyed exploring.
He grinned when her teasing fingers reached their destination. ‘Again? Already? You will be the death of me.’
She laughed as his arms surrounded her.
‘But this would definitely be something worth dying for,’ he said, his lips finding hers and stifling her laughter.
* * *
They spent the day in bed together, never moving except to eat. When each discreet knock came at the door, Oliver would retrieve the tray left by the servants and they would picnic among the bedclothes, feeding each other an array of delicious treats prepared by the cook. Then they would make love again. Each time, when she fell back on to the bed, wondrously replete, Arabella was sure her hunger for him had finally been satisfied. They would remain in bed, talking and laughing, but before long that ache would start again, an ache that only he could soothe.
And so they passed another day and night together.
* * *
On the third day, the ever-thoughtful Nellie left a note to say she had prepared a bath in Arabella’s dressing room. Leaving the tangled knot of sheets and blankets, Arabella led a naked Oliver by the hand through to her rooms, stepped into the bath and lay back as the warm water wrapped around her.
‘Allow me,’ Oliver said, picking up a sponge and slowly lathering her body.
Bliss, was all Arabella could think as she closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the touch of the sponge, the warmth of the water and the scent of lily of the valley from the soap.
But there was something that would make this experience even more blissful. She opened her eyes and smiled invitingly at Oliver. ‘Join me.’
He frowned slightly. ‘There’s hardly room.’
‘Then we’ll make room.’ She sat up straighter and curled in her legs.
His frown turned into a mischievous smile and he climbed into the bath. The water level rose, lapping at the rim. His large frame filled the other end of the bath and he wrapped his long legs around her.
‘Right, now it’s my turn.’ She picked up the sponge, pulled herself into a kneeling position and rubbed the sponge along his shoulders, chest and slowly down his stomach.
Her attempts were thwarted when he grabbed her round the waist and kissed her, sending a tidal wave of water sloshing over the side on to the carpeted floor.
They both peered over the side at the mess they had made, then back at each other. ‘This is not going to work, is it?’ he said.
Laughing, she shook her head.
‘In that case...’ He scooped her up, dripping from the bath, and lowered her to her feet, her wet skin gliding against his glistening body. Taking one of the fluffy white towels left on a nearby wooden chair, he wrapped her in it and dried her slowly, then quickly ran the towel over himself.
‘Right, now that we’re clean, there appears to be a bed we haven’t christened yet,’ he murmured, scooping her up again and carrying her into her bedroom.
‘So how many bedrooms does Somerfeld Manor have?’ she asked as he lowered her on to her bed.
‘I’ve never counted them, but I believe there’s around forty.’
Arabella smiled, her toes curling in excitement. ‘It looks as though we’ve got a lot of christening ahead of us.’
Oliver laughed, joining her on the bed. ‘Then I’d better get busy, hadn’t I, and get this one ticked off our list.’
* * *
Another rapturous day and night had passed. It was as if the outside world hardly existed. There was only this room, this bed and this man. And that was just how Arabella wanted it to remain.
Another discreet knock at the door alerted them to the arrival of more food. Arabella was famished. She had never felt more in need of sustenance, but then she had been indulging in some rather strenuous exercise recently.
Oliver disentangled himself from the sheets and strode across the room. She hummed with satisfaction as she surveyed his naked form from behind, all taut, powerful muscles. Was there anything more attractive than his firm round buttocks? Arabella doubted that very much.
He opened the door and retrieved the tray. She sat up, anxious to see what tasty food had been prepared for them. She had lost count of the time, did not know which meal it would be, but was sure that Cook would have once again prepared something delicious. It was funny how food tasted so much better when it was eaten in bed with your lover.
Removing the lid from the serving dish, she saw it was a selection of cold meats, cheeses, pâtés and bread. It must be lunch time, perfect.
Then she spotted a letter, standing upright between the silver salt and pepper shakers. She picked it up and turned it over. It was from the Limelight Theatre and addressed to Oliver.
Suddenly struggling to breathe, she handed it to him. ‘This is for you,’ she whispered.
He put down his plate and took the letter from her outstretched hand, read the address and handed it back to her. ‘It might be addressed to me, but it will be about your future. You should be the one to read it.’
With trembling fingers, she picked up the ivory letter opener that had been placed on the tray and slit open the envelope. She quickly scanned the contents, then re-read them again, more slowly, her stomach clenching as she absorbed each word. She handed the letter to Oliver and watched him carefully as he read it.
When he had finished, he looked up at her. They held each other’s gazes, his solemn expression reflecting exactly how she was feelin
g.
Chapter Seventeen
It was good news. Of course it was good news and Oliver would be selfish to think otherwise. But he was selfish. He wished they could continue to stay in bed together, let the world pass them by and forget everything and everyone else.
But for once in his life he would not be selfish. Arabella deserved more than that.
‘That’s excellent. Exactly what you wanted,’ he said, jumping out of bed and grabbing his robe. ‘You must return to London immediately.’ He pulled the bell cord to call for a servant and forced himself to smile at her with as much excitement as he could summon.
Arabella remained in bed, still clutching the letter in her hand. She didn’t look particularly pleased, Oliver mused. Perhaps it was because it was unexpected. Or maybe she was nervous about the part she had been offered in the new play, which, while not one of the leads, was more substantial than her previous role.
She smiled tentatively at him, slowly climbed out of bed and looked around for her discarded nightgown. After four days of being continuously naked, she suddenly appeared uncomfortable and self-consciously crossed her arms, covering her breasts. He picked up her nightgown and handed it to her. She took it from his outstretched hand and quickly pulled it over her head. Her body disappeared from his gaze. Oliver hoped and prayed he had not seen it for the last time.
She once again looked around the room, as if uncertain what to do next.
‘You are happy, aren’t you, Bella? This is what you want, isn’t it? You’re not worried about anything, are you?’
She nodded. ‘Oh, no, I’m not worried, and yes, yes, of course I’m happy. I’m just a bit taken aback that the reply came so quickly. That’s all. But, yes, of course I’m happy.’
It wasn’t how happy usually looked. Happy didn’t normally appear so confused or pensive.
A quiet knock at the door stopped him from questioning her reaction. He opened the door and told his valet to arrange for her trunks to be packed and for the carriage to be prepared so they could return to London on the next train.
Arabella tilted her head. ‘Will you be returning to London as well?’
Oliver nodded. ‘Yes, I have business to attend to there, so I might as well join you. Plus, it will give you a chance to get settled in at my town house.’
Business? What business?
Oliver was unsure. All he knew was that he did not want to leave Arabella. Not yet.
She remained standing in the middle of his room, staring up at him.
‘Perhaps you should summon your lady’s maid so you can prepare for the journey,’ he suggested.
Her gaze moved to their unmade bed, at the tray of now-abandoned lunch. ‘Oh, yes, of course.’
She exited through to the adjoining room and closed the door behind her. Another quiet knock came at his door and he opened it to admit his valet, carrying his shaving equipment and a bowl of hot water.
Oliver always preferred to shave himself, so while he lathered his face his valet prepared his clothing for the journey.
He would be returning to London. Back to his old life.
He paused and stared at his reflection in the shaving mirror, his razor poised at the edge of his soaped cheek.
Wasn’t that what he wanted? To go back to the constant round of parties, the gambling dens and the other delights London had to offer?
Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s who he was, after all. He ran the razor along his cheek, then washed the soap off the razor in the hot water. It was a good outcome for both of them, wasn’t it? The last few days had certainly been enjoyable, but it was time for things to get back to normal. And Arabella being offered a part in a new play was certainly all for the best. While he returned to his old life, she would be busy forging a career on the stage.
It had all worked out perfectly. So why wasn’t he more pleased? He tilted back his head and ran the razor up his neck, scraping off several days’ stubble.
The answer to that question was obvious. Because he was selfish. He wanted to spend more time in bed with Arabella. He had not yet completely satisfied his need for her.
He rinsed the razor again and stared down at the bowl. When had that ever happened before? Never. He had never had to move on from a woman before he was ready. But it looked as though this time he was going to have to. And if he was to avoid acting like a petulant child who’d had his favourite toy taken away from him, he would have to keep his feelings to himself.
He finished off his shaving and rubbed a warm towel over his face.
This was a brilliant opportunity for Arabella and she did not need a husband who was thinking only of his own carnal needs holding her back.
He pulled on his shirt and his valet buttoned on the stiff white collar, then helped him into his waistcoat and jacket. All was not yet lost, Oliver reminded his reflection in the full-length mirror while his valet brushed down his jacket. They would be together at his London town house and maybe there, with any luck, he would have ample opportunity to satisfy his need for his wife and finally get her out of his system.
* * *
Arabella was meant to be happy. After all, how could she not be? This was wonderful news. So why did she feel as if she had suffered a defeat, not a victory? Until a few days ago the only thing that really gave her pleasure was the thought of being back on stage. Now she had experienced another source of exquisite pleasure, in the arms of her husband. And it was a pleasure she wasn’t ready to give up, not yet.
She sat in silence in front of her dressing table mirror as Nellie styled her hair. Like it or not, she was going to have to give up that pleasure. She was returning to London, back to where she had first met Oliver, back to his world, a world inhabited by an array of beautiful women like Lady Bufford and Lucy Baker. Here, at Somerfeld Manor, she’d had him all to herself, but now she would have to share him.
Getting a part at the Limelight was a victory, but losing Oliver to his real life was most definitely a defeat.
But she had told him she would accept him the way he was and put up no objections to the way he lived. It was now time to keep that promise.
She stood up so Nellie could help her into her travelling dress. There was no reason why she should feel sorry for herself. Didn’t she have everything she wanted? She was to resume work as an actress and had just experienced a few days of pleasure, the level of which she previously didn’t know existed. No, she had nothing to feel sorry about. So she wouldn’t. She would celebrate the victory and ignore the defeat.
Because when it came down to it, she had no other option. It was a defeat of her own making. Hadn’t she promised she’d make no demands on him? Hadn’t that been the only reason he had made love to her, gone against his rules of not seducing virgins?
She nodded decisively at her reflection. No, she had absolutely no right to feel sorry for herself. And there was no question about whether she would abide by her promise. Of course she would.
She forced herself to smile as Nellie brushed down her dress. She would be happy. She would return to London, her old life, her real life, the life that she loved.
She joined Oliver, waiting for her outside the house beside the carriage already loaded with their trunks. With as much enthusiasm as she could summon, she smiled at him as he helped her into the carriage which would take them to the train station.
Forcing herself to maintain a façade of gaiety, she made polite conversation throughout the trip. As the Surrey countryside passed them by, outside the train window, she worked hard to ignore that annoying voice reminding her that this was indeed the end of their journey together.
* * *
Arriving in London, they took a cab from the station to his Mayfair town house. The quiet of the neighbourhood was a stark contrast to the bustle of the railway station and the busy, chaotic streets they had travelled through, with horses, carts, ca
rriages, omnibuses and pedestrians all jostling for position on the teeming roads. It was hard to believe that they were in the centre of a busy city. It was so tranquil, the only sound being the twittering of birds, singing in the large trees that lined the pavement, and the subdued chatter of two passing nannies, pushing their large, black perambulators.
‘Rather pleasant, isn’t it?’ Nellie whispered to her, her hand on her hat as she looked up at the three-storey brick façade. ‘I’m going to enjoy living here.’
‘Don’t get too comfortable, Nellie. We’re not staying here. We’ll be moving into the boarding house along with the rest of the cast.’
Nellie rolled her eyes, but followed Arabella through the columned entranceway and into the house. Servants were rushing up and down the staircases, still making the house ready for their sudden arrival. Arabella looked up at the ornate carved ceiling, soaring above them three storeys high, each storey with a carved wooden balcony overlooking the entrance.
Yes, Arabella had to admit it was quite an improvement on the boarding house where the actors stayed. But she was committed to returning to her old life. Now that her father had left the country, she did not have to stay at the Savoy. While the cast and crew always treated her as if she was no different, Arabella was always aware that she came from a privileged background and, unlike them, was not dependent on the paltry wage that acting brought in.
So to prove to them that she would not be adopting any airs, now that she was a duchess, she would organise to join them at their humble boarding house. And it would prove to Oliver that she was really committed to returning to her real life.
