‘Dominic,’ she breathed and felt him move over her and kiss her all the more. She opened to him, wanting him to take her, needing to feel him inside her. And in response the probe of his manhood pressed between her legs. She wriggled her hips, her hands sliding to his firm flank to pull him against her.
‘Arabella,’ he groaned her name, and she could hear his need in his voice and feel it in the tension that vibrated throughout his body. For all that his movements were controlled she could sense the urgency beneath. His mouth left hers and he adjusted his position to slide lower down her body so that she thought he meant to kiss her breasts, to taste her, to suckle from her. Her nipples hardened with unbearable sensitivity just at the thought of it and between her legs grew even slicker.
But Dominic did not stop at her breasts. When he kept on moving she threaded her fingers through his hair and tried to guide him back to where her nipples ached for his touch. His gaze held hers, all dark and blazing with desire, and as she watched he placed a single kiss just below her ribcage. And then, keeping his gaze locked with hers, he kissed her again, this time lower, in the centre of her stomach…and then a third time, just at the line of her pelvis.
‘Dominic!’ She tried to close her legs. ‘You surely do not mean to—’
But he did.
His warm breath stirred the small patch of golden hair as his mouth touched to her secret woman’s place.
She gasped at that first kiss, at the wonder of the sensation that shot through her body. And by the time he was working a magic with his tongue she forgot to bite her lip and groaned her pleasure aloud.
‘Dominic,’ she whispered, but he did not stop and she was arching her back and driving herself harder into his mouth, reaching for him, needing him with an urgency that obliterated all else. And when his hands closed over her breasts and she felt his fingers pluck at her taut straining nipples she reached her climax, exploding in the sensation, her body soft and pulsing her pleasure against him.
He kissed her thighs, kissed the curve of each hip, kissed his way up to take her in his arms. And then he gently stroked the long wanton curls from where they spilled over her face and looked at her with such love that her heart welled with joy to see it.
‘Arabella,’ he whispered and she loved him in that moment despite everything, she loved him against all rhyme and reason.
She pulled him closer and felt his hardness press against her leg. She wanted to pleasure him as he had pleasured her. She reached down and touched him.
She stroked the long hard length of his manhood and heard the breath catch in his throat and felt the tremble that racked his body. He lay still and let her take him, giving her the power to do whatever she willed.
She moved back, wanting to see him, wanting to see her fingers as they caressed his member, stroking that silken skin from its tip all the way down to the base amidst the nest of dark hair.
The groan escaped him. She held his gaze and bent her head to taste him…just as a door slammed shut upstairs.
The noise brought Dominic crashing back to reality. He could feel that Arabella had frozen at the sound.
‘It is nothing, Dominic.’ Her voice was too loud, too desperate, and he saw the flash of fear from her eyes. ‘Let it not interrupt us.’
But then the thud of running footsteps sounded through the ceiling above.
Arabella’s eyes widened. Her hand gripped tighter to his shaft.
She tried to stop him as he pulled away from her and tugged on his breeches. ‘No, Dominic, please!’ She jumped up, pulling on her dressing gown and tying its belt quickly around her waist.
They could both hear the tumble of feet on the main stair case.
‘No!’ She ran in front of him, blocking his path to the door. Her hair was long and wild, her face devoid of all colour and in her eyes was desperation. ‘Dominic!’ she cried and tried to push him back. ‘Do not!’ She threw her full weight against him, trying to prevent his continued progress.
The footsteps grew louder as they headed along the passageway towards them.
He grabbed her wrists, secured her hands behind her, resting them lightly against the small of her back so that her breasts were thrust against his chest.
‘Who have you hidden in this house, Arabella?’ he asked, and even to his own ears his voice sounded harsh. He thought of Marlbrook and a wave of jealousy swept right through him.
‘No one!’ She struggled against him. ‘Please, Dominic, I beg of you!’
‘Mama!’ a child’s voice called and little fists pounded at the door.
The shock stole the words he would have spoken. He released his hold of her wrists. Her eyes were wide with anguish as she stared up at him.
‘Where are you, Mama?’ the child cried. ‘I dreamt that you and Grandmama had gone away and when I woke I was all alone.’
She turned and, opening the door, scooped the child, clad in a long white nightshirt, up into her arms. ‘Here I am, little lamb. It was just a silly old dream. I have been here all along, in my bedchamber, as I always am. Now hush, Archie, there is no need for tears.’ And she kissed the child and hugged him to her, and soothed a hand against his hair.
Dominic stared and his heart contracted as hard as if a fist had squeezed it, for the little boy in Arabella’s arms was the very image of himself.
Chapter Twelve
He watched as Arabella glanced around at the woman puffing breathlessly along the corridor.
‘Forgive me, Arabella.’ She hurried right up to Arabella and he saw at once who she was. ‘He was asleep and I was only gone for a minute to take care of my needs. I am so very sorry.’ And then Mrs Tatton glanced anxiously towards him standing there in the bedchamber. Her mouth fell open and she stared with an expression of horror at her daughter. ‘Dominic Furneaux! You did not tell me it was him! He is your protector? The one who has paid for all of this?’
Arabella nodded as she rocked the child gently in her arms.
‘How could you, Arabella,’ Mrs Tatton burst out, ‘after what he did to you?’
Arabella made no sign of having heard her mother’s words. She spoke to the child again. ‘Now, Archie, you must let Grandmama take you back to bed, for it is too early to be up and about.’ She kissed the little boy’s forehead and smoothed the tangle of his dark locks. ‘Be a good boy—I will be up to see you soon.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ the child said and when she set him back down upon the ground he dutifully took hold of Mrs Tatton’s hand, and glanced with curiosity at Dominic as she led him from the room. Mrs Tatton followed the boy’s gaze and if looks could have killed the one that the older woman shot him would have had him dead upon the floor. The door closed with a brisk click behind them.
Arabella had not moved. She stood where she was, her eyes hooded and cautious, her face pale.
‘He is my son, isn’t he?’
She did not answer, just stood there so still yet he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the dressing gown and feel the strain in her silence.
‘Isn’t he, Arabella?’ he demanded and he knew his voice was harsh with the shock that was coursing through him.
‘Of course he is your son! Why else would I have married Henry Marlbrook in such haste after you left me?’ The words exploded from her. ‘But do not think, for one minute, that I shall let you take him from me, Dominic!’ There was something of the tigress in her eyes, a ruthlessness, a strength, an absolute determination, and he knew that she would fight to her last breath to defend their child.
‘I have no intention of taking him from you.’ Mrs Tatton’s words echoed in his head: …after what he did to you… The hostility of the woman’s attitude, and of Arabella’s own words—after you left me—prickled a warning at the nape of his neck. And foreboding was heavy upon him.
‘You speak as if it was I responsible for our breaking apart,’ he said slowly.
‘How can you deny it?’ she retorted with eyes that flashed their fury. ‘You just up
ped and offed without so much as a word. Not one consideration for my feelings, not one for what you might be leaving behind. I was nineteen, Dominic. Nineteen!’
His blood flowed like ice. His stomach was brimful with dread. ‘What do you mean, Arabella?’
‘You know very well what I mean!’ she shouted.
‘I do not.’ He forced himself to remain calm, to carry on despite the dread deep in the marrow of his bones. ‘Tell me.’
‘John Smith saw us coming out of Fisher’s barn that last day. He told my father and my father had the truth from me. He already knew, Dominic, and I could not lie to him. He was angry and disappointed. He went to your father, the duke, and told him that our betrothal must be made formal and the wedding arranged as soon as possible.’
That Mr Tatton had ever visited on such a mission was news to Dominic. He had a terrible premonition of what his father had done.
‘Why are you even making me tell you all this?’ she cried. ‘Was it not cruel enough the first time round?’
‘Tell me, Arabella.’
She pushed at him and tried to turn away, but he grabbed hold of her and pulled her back round to face him, knowing he needed to hear every word of the nightmare. ‘For God’s sake, tell me,’ he insisted. ‘What did my father say?’
‘That the matter would rest with you and you alone. And like a fool I thought everything would be all right.’ The tears spilled from her eyes to roll down her cheeks.
‘Arabella,’ he whispered and tried to wipe them away, but she struck his hand away as if she could not bear to have him touch her. And then she hit out at his chest, pushing him, trying to free herself, again and again until he captured her wrists and held her still.
‘You coward!’ she yelled through the tears. ‘To send your father in your stead because you had not the courage to tell me yourself!’
The ice spread through his veins. ‘You are saying that my father visited you.’ It was no question for he could already see the whole horrid story beginning to unfold before his very eyes.
‘You know that he did, for you sent him, Dominic!’ She ceased struggling, but she was crying in earnest now, the tears streaming all the harder.
‘No, Arabella, I did not,’ he said, ‘I did not send him, Arabella. I did not even know that your father had come to the house.’ He felt numb and sick and furious all at once.
‘Why are you lying?’ she cried. ‘Have you not humiliated me enough? Is it not enough that I am your mistress? That you own me? Must you seek to hurt me more with these lies?’ She bowed her head that he would not see her crying.
‘Arabella, look at me!’ And when she would not he took her face between his hands and made her. ‘I am not lying.’
She fought against him.
‘I am not lying, Arabella.’
And something of his sincerity must have reached her for she seemed to still and hear what he was saying properly for the first time. She looked up into his eyes. And there was such vulnerability there, such hurt that it made everything he had felt across the years pale in comparison.
‘I am not lying,’ he said for a third time, soft as a breath against her face. ‘I swear it on all that is holy.’ His hands slid down to her upper arms, holding her in place, supporting her. He could hear the small shudder in her breathing and feel the tremor that ran through her body.
‘I do not understand.’ Her words were a cracked whisper.
‘I think I am beginning to,’ he said grimly. ‘Tell me what my father said to you, Arabella?’
‘He explained it all very carefully. That you did not want me. That young men will be young men and sow their wild oats. And when my own father pointed out that young men must be held responsible for their actions and demanded that you be forced to wed me, he said that he would do no such thing—for surely we could all see that, despite my gentle birth, I was too poor and lowly to be a future duke’s wife. He said that such a marriage would be a mésalliance and that we had never really been betrothed.’
‘That bastard!’ The curse could not be bitten back. ‘He knew that I loved you and meant to marry you. Hell, he even knew about the locket!’
‘My father showed him the locket, and the duke laughed and said that it was no proof of a betrothal and that we could hardly sue for breach of promise. He gave my father money and told us it would go better for us if we kept quiet.’ Every word that she spoke was like a cut to his heart. Every word revealing the terrible enormity of what his father had done.
He shook his head, even now hardly able to believe it. ‘My own father did this,’ he whispered, more to himself than Arabella. The man he had loved and respected and admired. The very foundation on which he had built his life shifted, making a mockery of everything in which he had believed for the last years.
‘My God!’ There was a sickness in his stomach and he felt chilled to the very core of his being. It took every last drop of his determination to hang on to his self-control.
Arabella could see the strain in Dominic’s face, his pallor, the tight press of his lips as he struggled with the magnitude of emotion. In his eyes was such a deadly rage that she almost felt afraid. And she knew from the terribleness of his reaction that he was telling the truth. And if he was telling the truth, then that meant…
The floor beneath her feet felt as unsteady as everything else in her world. She was reeling, floundering with a realisation beyond anything she could ever have imagined. She swayed and felt him clutch her hard against him.
There were a thousand thoughts milling in her head, all of them tearing at the beliefs she had constructed for herself over the years. She felt chilled all the way through, so cold that she could never imagine being warm again. And she knew that she was trembling, but she just could not stop no matter how hard she willed it.
Dominic swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed where he sat her down on its edge and swathed the covers around her.
‘Why would he do such a thing, Dominic?’
Dominic’s face was hard and cynical. ‘My father,’ and his lip curled with disgust as he spoke the words, ‘did not think you a suitable match, Arabella. He said that you were a young man’s infatuation. That I would tire of you eventually. That I had a duty to the dukedom to marry either money or status.’
She had known her own unsuitability even then, but Dominic had told her that he would make his own choice and that his choice was her. ‘But the old duke was only ever affable to my face. He never so much as suggested a murmur of these thoughts. I believed him understanding of our betrothal.’ She shook her head at her own naïvety.
‘It was my father who persuaded me to keep the betrothal quiet and informal. He said that if it lasted then he would give it his blessing and make a formal announcement. I never imagined for one minute that he would stoop to such a level.’
‘I cannot quite comprehend what you are telling me, Dominic,’ she whispered; she felt frozen and numb inside.
‘I can barely credit it myself.’ His voice was soft, but she shuddered to hear the intensity within it.
He sat down on the bed by her side. And they just sat there in silence.
‘Tell me what happened to you,’ she said. Every word was torture, but she needed to know. And she knew he needed to tell her. ‘You went away.’
‘He sent me to my uncle in Scotland. Told me some story of a sudden illness and that he did not feel up to making such a long journey. Could I go in his stead?’ His voice was low, his words deadened almost, with a something of a terrible unnatural quiet to them. ‘I was forced to leave that very night, but I wrote you a note of explanation and left instructions for its delivery to you. And then I wrote to you every day from Scotland.’ He gave a laugh so hard and cynical that it made her blood run cold. ‘Little wonder that there was never a reply. You did not receive my letters, did you, Arabella? My father saw to that.’
She shook her head. ‘There was no note of explanation. There were never any letters.’
&
nbsp; ‘Was my uncle a part of this ruse? Was he even really ill at all?’ He stared into the distance as if he could see the past there. ‘Will we ever really know the level of treachery, Arabella?’
She could not answer. She did not know.
He shook his head as if he had his own answer.
‘I stayed with him during what I thought was his convalescence and when I returned home you were gone. Married to Marlbrook, they said. A man old enough to be your father.’ He looked round at her. ‘I thought you had forsaken me for him, Arabella.’
‘Never.’ Her voice was thick with strain. ‘What choice did I have once I realised our child was growing in my belly? Henry was kind. He knew of my situation and was prepared to overlook it.’
‘That is why you married him. At last I understand. You thought I had abandoned you.’
‘For all these years,’ she whispered.
‘You were my love, Arabella. My heart. My life.’ His voice cracked and she saw the restraint within him shatter and the great storm of emotion unleash. He sprang to his feet. ‘Damn my father to hell! Damn him, Arabella. I would kill him myself were he not already dead! He has ruined my life, and your life, and that of an innocent child!’ His voice shook with passion. ‘I have a son, Arabella, and I did not know! A son!’ The words tore from his throat as he turned away and punched his fist hard into the door. His head drooped and in the resounding silence that followed she could hear only the raggedness of his breathing. He turned to her then, and looked at her and the agony on his face was terrible to see.
‘Tell me, Arabella,’ he said quietly, ‘did my father know the truth of that too?’
‘No.’ She could spare him that at least. ‘My own father was a proud man. He said that the duke had already made his feelings clear and he would not go back on his knees and beg. He thought it bad enough that we had taken his money and that it was as if you had enforced the droit de seignuir from the old feudal days when the lord thought he had the right to take the maidenhead of his serfs.’
Unmasking the Duke's Mistress Page 13
