“I'd never do something like that to him no matter what you think,” she cried. “Besides, it's not me doing the seeking. Drew won't leave me alone! I've asked him to, but he won't.” She felt tears fill her eyes and turned away. God, Michael made her feel so ashamed and rightly so. “Do you honestly think I want to treat him that way? I just don't know what else to do. He...he won't stop...caring and I....” She felt Michael's hand on her shoulder and he turned her towards him.
“You mean that,” He stated, reaching out with his thumb to captured the single tear that had worked itself past her defenses to flow down her cheek. “Lord, I forget sometimes how young you are.”
“Not that young, apparently,” she retorted trying to sound blase´, but failing at her attempt.
He gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. “No, not that young, just naive. I'll talk to Drew and tell him to stay away from you, though I doubt it will do much good.” Michael's gaze dropped to her mouth again and her heart jumped in anticipation. He quickly averted his gaze. “He's a young man who knows what he wants,” he said, the warmth leaving his voice.
Araby swallowed her disappointment at the lost moment. “Only until someone new strikes his fancy,” she offered. “I can't risk my future on someone who has only his ardency to recommend him. Drew doesn't love me. He loves the idea of me. He's young and rather immature and his interest is likely to fade with time. Marriage is a serious business for women,” she said, her anxiety making her voice sound particularly urgent. “It's the only business in which a lady may participate with society’s endorsement. The right marriage is our only acceptable opportunity in life.” She grasped his forearm to emphasize her point. “This is my Season, Michael, the most successful one I'm likely to achieve. The best anyone in society can hope for in marriage is funds, position and that one day mutual respect might become genuine affection. As much as I like Drew, and I do, I can't allow him to interfere in something that could have such far-reaching consequences for me. Please make him understand.”
Enlisting Michael’s aid like this was a risk. Drew could decide to take his brother into his confidence and then one of her greatest fears would be realized. Still it was a necessary risk. Drew needed to stay way from her before he brought disaster upon them. The same held true for his brother. He could be her undoing, but for entirely different reasons. She felt a pang in her heart as she realized there could be no more private interludes between herself and Michael. They'd been lucky to avoid discovery twice. Tempting fate a third time would be sheer folly.
Michael looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose I've never considered it from quite that perspective before. You're right. Unless you wish to become utterly shunned all you can do to secure your future is to marry well.” He frowned as if his new understanding were not something entirely comfortable to contemplate. He should try living it, she thought with no small amount of bitterness.
“Hence, your pursuit of Lord Iredale,” he concluded.
“Yes,” she said faintly.
“Tell me truthfully,” he demanded, his voice flat and clipped as though he hadn't kissed her moments before or loosened her gown and savored her breasts. His ability to remain so unmoved by her after what they'd shared stung her. She wished she could be equally dispassionate. “If my brother had a fortune and a title, would you consider his suit?”
I’d consider yours. She searched his hard, silvery eyes for some jot of feeling for her. There was none, only a remoteness that told her their stolen moments had simply been a diversion for him, as well as his method for teaching her that she could be just as vulnerable to seduction as any other girl. She refused to look away from him no matter the cost to her pride, or how bereft the blankness in his eyes made her feel.
“Of course I would consider it. My family would expect me to, but as I told you, Drew and I would be no happier together than would Edmond Bennet and I – for entirely different reasons, of course.”
Michael nodded in agreement. “However, you think Iredale can make a passionate young woman like you happy?”
She drew a ragged breath, willing herself not to think of Michael, his mouth, or the skillfulness of his caresses.Not like you could. Michael could make her forget about things like titles and an advantageous marriage – her duty. Some dreams were never meant to be, some feelings, best left buried in the heart where they couldn’t be seen and used to hurt you. Michael Lassiter had no interest in marrying her for any reason. He’d said so. For the first time since her debut Araby faced the painful fact that there was one man she could never have and as it turned out, he was the only one with whom she wanted to share her life. “I believe we have a chance to make a good, solid marriage,” she said carefully, an odd, empty feeling settling into her chest. “Yes, he could make me happy.”
His severe expression softened a little. “Then take my advice, Lady Arabella. Get yourself engaged to him as quickly you can. Leave London. To hell with the rest of the Season. No long, drawn out engagement, just marry and stay out of society for a while.”
Araby felt a chill as if someone walked across her grave. “Why do you say that?” Michael crossed the room as he pulled the key from his pocket. He unlocked the door, leaving the key in the lock, then turned back to her.
“Not everyone has my forbearance, Araby,” and answered curtly, “and The Furies have their share of enemies.” With that, he opened the door and looked carefully in both directions before slipping away.
Forbearance. That’s all this interlude had been to him, a lesson to her in his forbearance? The starkness of his dismissal drove the air from her lungs and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and give herself over to tears. That would never do. It couldn’t. There was too much at stake – her safety, for one and Mr. Lassiter had just proven to her that she was of no real importance to him. He would never save her.
Araby waited a few minutes before following him. It wouldn't do to return to the ballroom too closely on the heels of any gentleman. Reputations were delicate things, easily shredded and difficult to mend. She thought of Damaris Kingsford and her stomach churned uneasily. Michael had said they had enemies and he was right – Rafe Kingsford for one and Lord Ambrose for another, both formidable men. Arabella hastened her step thinking of the propitiatory way Kingsford had spirited Sarah away to the dance floor, as if he dared anyone to try and stop him.
“There you are,” said a voice at her elbow. Arabella jumped and whirled around to find herself looking into the hazel eyes of Leo Crispin, Lord Iredale. “I was beginning to think you'd forgotten our dance.” His tone held no real reproach merely amusement. Arabella laid her hand of his arm and allowed him to capture it with his own. She smiled her practiced smile, the one she employed without thought, when there was little to really smile about. Men never noticed. They seldom looked past the surface, and merely accepted her smile as their due. Her heart lurched in her chest. Accept for Michael Lassiter. He noticed everything whether she wished him to or not.
“Perhaps we could forgo the dance,” Lord Iredale murmured. “The air in here is a trifle close. Would you care to accompany me to the terrace? We'll stay within sight of the doors if you’re concerned.”
“I'm not concerned, my lord,” Arabella said, slanting her gaze up to his from the corner of her eye. “I'd be happy to accompany you.” This is it, she thought. He's going to declare himself. She should be elated and she was, yet, if she were so happy, why couldn't she get Michael Lassiter's silver eyes out of her mind? Why did she see the curve of his lips as he gave a small, half smile and long to trace the line between them with the tip of her tongue? She could almost feel the brush of his body against her own. She briefly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. It was time say goodbye to foolish fancies, to put behind her the unforgettable feel of being held in the arms of a man who moved her, body and soul, but who would never offer her marriage. She had her future to consider, all their futures, and so Arabella tightened her grip on Lord Iredale's arm and glided throug
h the french doors, laughing musically into the night.
Chapter Six
A week later the official announcement of Lady Arabella's engagement to the future Marquess of Branfel appeared in the society pages. It was hailed as the love match of the Season and virtually everyone in London, from shop keeper to reigning hostess, held an interest in their union. The first of The Furies was to marry and it made for good business and good guest lists alike. Drew hardly stirred from the family townhouse following the announcement and Michael spent an inordinate amount of time at his club consuming brandy. He told himself he sought the relative peace of his club to avoid Drew's melancholy and his mother's righteous indignation on behalf of her youngest son. Although the dowager countess knew Drew never had a chance of securing Lady Arabella's hand, she bitterly decried the young lady's heartlessness to the point where Michael began to believe that she felt herself more slighted than Drew.
Between Drew's moroseness and their mother's almost irrational anger, the family residence was an unhappy place without the cheerfulness of the earl and his countess. Michael hoped Henry's trip to Italy resulted in the production of a future niece or nephew – anything to occupy his mother's time. Unfortunately, Fiona didn’t get on well with her mother-in-law, who continually interfered with the running of the earl’s households and liked nothing more than upstaging Fiona at every opportunity. It was probably a matter of one too many queens in the hive, he supposed.
Michael remained at the family residence keeping an eye on Drew and their mother at Henry’s request, but the cloying atmosphere spurred him to complete the renovations to his own townhouse so he could establish a separate residence as soon as Henry returned from the Continent. He snapped the pages of the newspaper he held to refocus his attention on the financial story he'd been attempting to read for the past several minutes. The girl's marriage meant nothing to him, he assured himself and even if it did, the fact that his brother still held a tendre for Araby, whether real or imagined, prevented Michael from having any interest in her. He'd made the mistake once of vying for the affections of another man's grand passion with devastating consequences.
“Business can't be that dismal, can it?” Michael glanced up at Rafe Kingsford keeping his expression unwelcoming. It had no effect on the other man who settled into the chair next to his.
“What do you want, Kingsford?” he asked, although he already knew.
“You haven't replied to Ambrose's dinner invitation for next week,” Kingsford said flatly. “He's expecting you to attend.”
“Since when have my social engagements been your concern?” Michael drawled.
“Since Iredale got himself engaged to that Winston bitch.”
“Have a care, Kingsford,” Michael said as he folded his paper and tossed it onto the table beside him. “I understand your feelings about the girl and I've made allowances for them in the past, however, a gentleman's club is no place to bandy about the name of a young lady of good family.”
Kingsford snorted his contempt. “If it were up to me,” he said, his lip curling, “she would be sullied past all redemption. They all would be. Men would place bets on who took their virginity and who got to have them next.” He waved his cheroot to signal a footman. A young man quickly stepped forward offering a lucifer for Kingsford's use. Michael watched as he lit his cheroot, puffing until the end glowed red. “I know you don't know my sister, but Strathmore is your friend. I'd think you'd at least want to see him avenged.”
Michael hadn't received a reply to his letter, but knowing Jules he was making the best of a bad situation and happily schooling his young bride in the merits of performing her more intimate wifely duties. “I'm waiting to see if Jules believes his situation merits revenge. If he does he's perfectly capable of designing his own intrigues without any help from me. Now that your sister belongs to him doubtless he will see to any redress on her behalf he finds necessary.” Michael considered Kingsford. “You'd do well to remember that while Ambrose is powerful, Lord and Lady Bellwood are not without powerful connections as well. The lady, herself, would not take kindly to you mentioning Lady Katherine in conjunction with betting books and although the Saunders family wouldn't dane to dirty their aristocratic hands in trade, they could destroy your business interests on a whim.”Kingsford
Kingsford's eye narrowed and he smiled coldly. “Lady Bellwood wields that sort of power now, but I wonder for how much longer. Ambrose is no happier with that old trout than he is with Seaton. We have it on excellent authority Lady Bellwood funded the abduction.”
“Why would she do such a thing?” Michael asked skeptically.tupney
“Damaris is outspoken and she always gave those girls as good as she got. She also caused one of the Saunders girl's prime suitors to abandon his pursuit by forcing the girl to show her true colors in front of him. It turns out that Lady Bellwood is no more forgiving than I am.”
“ 'Marriage is a deadly serious business,' ” Michael murmured, thinking back on his conversation with Araby.
“I suppose. Still, you should join us next week whether you wish to assist us or not.”
Michael stood and met the other man's eyes. “I'll think on it,” he said, tipping his head in acknowledgment before taking his leave. He told himself it was none of his business as he strode down the front steps of his club. He'd warned Araby. If she didn't heed his advice it was nothing to him. Then he considered a pair of full, red lips, the way they'd curved into an unguarded smile for him – the way they'd felt against his own. He remembered her gasp as he'd plied his finger to the delightful task of strumming her nipples to turgid peaks. Araby Winston was an intriguing contradiction of beauty, studied charms and innocence all carefully blended with equal parts viper. More intriguing still was the fact that she'd never denied the less pleasant aspects of her personality. Perhaps it might not be a bad idea to attend Lord Ambrose's dinner after all.
***
My Dearest Arabella,
Your engagement to Viscount Iredale is welcome news, indeed. Your step-papa is pleased, of course, but he was so terribly disappointed that you were unable to bring Strathmore up to scratch. His heart was set on a dukedom, you know. Still, Iredale will be a marquess one day and he has a great deal of blunt to recommend him.
As I've told you, making a good marriage is the duty of every young lady of breeding and you have fulfilled your obligation to your family quite nicely. Your face has been your fortune, Arabella, just as your dear step-papa assured us it would be. You have eased your family's concerns for the future and elevated our status to what it should be. I pray you will continue to be a sensible and obedient girl. Your step-papa only wants what is best for us and we have been such a terrible trial to him at times during the years. He is such a kind and thoughtful man. Why, he's even offered to take the burden of planning your wedding from my shoulders. He is so concerned for my health as you know. I ask you to please resist the temptation to be headstrong and disobedient. A true lady should acquiesce to the greater wisdom of her father, or her husband in all things. Graciousness and humility are the greatest virtues a young lady can possess. Please follow your step-papa's guidance in everything for all our sakes.
Yours in Affection,
Mama
Araby carefully folded her mother's letter as she stared sightlessly in front of her. 'Your face is all our fortunes.' If she had a pound for every time she'd heard that phrase from the baron she'd have enough money to take her mother far beyond his reach. She'd only been a little girl the first time she'd tried to stop Seaton from beating her mother. When she regained consciousness her mother's bruised face was the first thing she saw.
Araby had expected her to be glad her daughter had tried to save her. Naive as she was, she'd expected her mother to promise they would leave him, but instead, she'd admonished her daughter for angering the baron and bringing more trouble upon them. The baron had apologized, she said. He loved them both very much, but it was their own willfulness that forced his ha
nd. Young Arabella had laid on her bed, aching and confused as her mother took the blame for her own beating. She should be a better wife, she said and Arabella must be a better daughter.
Her mother's words that night laid the pattern for every violent incident thereafter. The role of antagonist belonged to either Araby, or her mother, but never to the baron. Parents were supposed to protect their children, but her mother had never been strong enough to protect herself, much less her daughter and so Araby learned at an early age that the best thing she could do for both their sakes was to adopt manners and attitudes that garnered her stepfather's favor.
She learned to judge his moods and to distract him before they became out of hand. If it amused him for her to belittle a servant or make a biting remark then that's what she did. Sometimes she was more successful than others, but Arabella believed that in the long run she'd spared the entire household the weight of his fists more often than not. She had to believe so. Otherwise her jibes and mockery had scarred her heart for no reason.
“There you are puss.” She jumped at the sound of her stepfather's voice, fearing she'd somehow conjured him because of her reflections. “Did you enjoy your mama's letter?” He headed for the sideboard and the whiskey decanter. Araby noted the lightness outside. He began his drinking earlier these days.
“Yes, thank you, I did.” She answered him reflexively as she considered how best to exit the room without angering him.
He splashed an overly generous amount of liquor into his glass. “To each his own, I suppose. She bores me to tears with her endless prattle. Though she's quite correct to remind you of familial duty.”
A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Page 11
