Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Nor,’ Darius continued softly as he moved to stand in front of her, and so effectively shut the two of them off from their guests’ curiosity, ‘did I, in fact, threaten to beat you in the manner you describe. I assure you, Arabella, that I would endeavour to ensure that you thoroughly enjoy any…punishment that I choose to administer to you.’

  Arabella felt colour blaze in her cheeks at the bluntness of his conversation. ‘Perhaps the women you are used to associating with enjoy such—such rough treatment, Darius, but I assure you that I do not.’

  ‘I hope you will come to appreciate at least a little sport in our marriage bed, Arabella.’ His eyes gleamed down at her mockingly. ‘I assure you, there is nothing quite like it for rousing the blood.’

  Arabella felt herself becoming flustered. Had she, after all, taken on more of a challenge in becoming Darius’s wife than she was capable of dealing with?

  Darius had been married before, and had indulged in a prodigious number of affairs with ladies both in the ton and out of it. In comparison to those women Arabella knew herself to be very young and inexperienced. Perhaps too much so to sustain the interest of a man as experienced as Darius undoubtedly was?

  It was a little late for her to be having second thoughts now, when the wedding had already taken place and she would shortly be retiring for the night with her husband to Carlyne House!

  She looked searchingly into his face. ‘I believe, sir, that you are deliberately trying to alarm me…’

  His mouth quirked. ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes.’ Arabella felt more and more confident of the fact as she saw the humour deepen in his vivid blue eyes. ‘It is very cruel of you to tease me in this way, Darius.’

  He raised a wicked brow. ‘Perhaps in the same way it was cruel of you to tease me this past week?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I was not aware of indulging in any such teasing.’

  She was so very young, Darius realised ruefully. And so completely unaware, it seemed, of the physical provocation of the creamy swell of her breasts and the way her hips swayed so seductively beneath the soft material of her gown when she walked. Of the perfume that he had begun to associate only with her—a soft and enticing floral, womanly scent that he knew belonged uniquely to Arabella.

  Of how the soft gold of her curls enticed him to release those tresses from their pins and allow them to tumble down the length of her slender spine.

  Of how the soft fullness of her mouth just begged to be kissed.

  In fact, it was all he could do now not to totally scandalise their wedding guests by taking his wife in his arms and kissing her in a thorough manner that was guaranteed to shock the avidly watching ton and no doubt confirm all their suspicions!

  ‘I assure you, I have been well and truly teased by you,’ he confirmed abruptly. ‘Although I have high hopes of that situation changing very shortly—’

  ‘I am sorry to interrupt, Carlyne.’ William Bancroft, Earl of Banford and an active member of the House, had approached them unobserved. ‘I wonder if I might steal your husband away for just a few moments, Your Grace?’ He smiled warmly at Arabella.

  Arabella instantly found herself blushing at being addressed by her new title for the first time, but at the same time recognised that she would appreciate a few minutes’ respite from Darius’s overwhelming presence. ‘Of course, Lord Bancroft.’ She smiled graciously at the other man in an effort to make up for the fact that Darius looked intensely annoyed at the interruption.

  Which was less than gracious of him, considering that the Earl and Countess of Banford had been on Darius’s guest list rather than Arabella’s own.

  It was a fact that Arabella had found curious to say the least, and she had wondered if it was not Lady Bancroft, a woman reputed to have been mistress to several high-ranking male members of the ton before her marriage to the Earl three years ago, with whom Darius was better acquainted…

  ‘Can this really not wait, Bancroft?’ Darius felt no qualms about voicing his displeasure. ‘It is, after all, my wedding day.’

  ‘I require only two minutes of your time, I assure you,’ the older man placated him lightly.

  ‘I really should circulate amongst our other guests anyway, Darius.’ Arabella looked up at him reproachfully.

  ‘We will shortly be leaving, Arabella.’ Darius said. ‘Before anyone else feels themselves urgently in need of my company.’ He scowled darkly at the other man.

  Arabella shot the Earl a reassuring smile before taking her leave, but that smile was replaced by a frown as she could not help but overhear Darius’s muttered words to the other man.

  ‘What the hell can be so urgent, Bancroft,’ he rasped impatiently, ‘that you feel the need to bring it to my attention during my wedding celebrations?’

  ‘I thought, before you left town, that you should be apprised of how events are developing concerning a certain matter,’ the older man answered softly.

  Arabella had moved too far across the ballroom by this time to be able to hear what Darius said in reply. But that did not stop her from wondering to what ‘events’ Lord Bancroft was referring. Or in what way they had ‘developed’.

  Although the conversation did imply that it was the deeply respected Earl of Banford, after all, with whom Darius was acquainted, and not the other man’s beautiful wife…

  It was an indication to Arabella that there was still much she did not know about the man to whom she was now well and truly married….

  ‘Did you and Lord Bancroft manage to settle your differences earlier?’ Arabella asked Darius lightly.

  They were travelling together in the Carlyne ducal carriage some half an hour later, having just departed St Claire House to the cheers and well wishes of both their families and friends after Arabella threw her bouquet into a group of young unmarried ladies.

  The curtains were drawn across the windows, but a lighted lamp prevented the inside of the carriage from being in complete darkness. The reflection given off by the flickering light threw Darius’s face into darkly satanic relief as he scowled across at her. ‘I do not remember either of us stating that any such differences existed.’

  ‘No, of course you did not,’ Arabella accepted with a frown. ‘But you did not seem very pleased at his interruption.’

  ‘I believe my irritation with his intrusion to have been completely merited, considering this is our wedding day.’

  Darius rose suddenly to cross the carriage and sit beside Arabella on the cushioned seat, the hard length of his muscled thigh pressed intimately against her much softer one.

  Very intimately. Far too intimately for comfort. For Arabella’s comfort, anyway. Enough to once again make her feel flustered and a little unsure of herself. A little? Arabella was a lot unsure of herself!

  She moistened dry lips. ‘I admit it will be a relief to reach Carlyne House and remove all this wedding finery…’ Arabella’s words trailed off into embarrassed awkwardness as she realised that she had unwittingly broached the very subject she had been trying to avoid. ‘I meant, of course—’

  ‘I know exactly what you meant, Arabella,’ Darius drawled, deliberately moving closer to her as he turned in the seat to look at her before raising a hand and touching the flushed heat of her cheek. ‘As your husband, I assure you I consider it my duty to aid you in removing your wedding finery at the earliest opportunity.’

  ‘I had not thought you to be a man to whom duty meant very much.’ Her eyes gleamed challengingly.

  For all her youth and inexperience his little wife had the tongue of a viper!

  A tongue Darius was sure could be put to much better use than deliberately insulting him…

  ‘Usually only in regard to entertaining the ton,’ he reminded her. ‘But I am willing to make an exception when it comes to the comfort of my wife.’

  Darius held that snapping brown gaze as his hand moved to deliberately pull on the ribbon that untied the bow of Arabella’s bonnet, before removing it completely to reveal th
ose enticing golden curls, long fingers moving confidently as he systematically removed the pins that held those curls in place.

  ‘I—What are you doing…?’ Arabella raised a hand in half-hearted protest as her hair began to fall wildly about her shoulders.

  Darius smiled. ‘I believe it is called making love to one’s wife.’

  The creaminess of Arabella’s throat moved convulsively as she swallowed nervously. ‘Can you not wait until we reach Carlyne House and the privacy of our bedchamber?’

  ‘Why should I?’ Darius retorted. ‘You are mine now, Arabella. To do with as I wish, when I wish—remember?’

  Arabella felt a shiver of—of what…? Was it apprehension? Or excitement?

  This past week, despite all the rush and bustle of the wedding arrangements, Arabella had still found herself thinking of her wedding night whenever there was the slightest lull in those arrangements. Thinking of it. Anticipating it. Longing for it. For the touch of Darius’s lips and hands upon her once again. In the certain knowledge that this time he would not stop at touching but would take their lovemaking to its fullest conclusion.

  Yet now that the time had come Arabella found herself both shy and not a little apprehensive!

  To their obvious embarrassment—and Arabella’s own, if the truth be told—she had spoken with all of her sisters-in-law this past week concerning what her role should be in the bedchamber.

  Jane had advised that lovemaking was a mutual giving and receiving of physical pleasure.

  Grace had said that it was perhaps best if Arabella allowed her husband to take all the initiative until they knew each other’s likes and dislikes.

  Juliet’s slightly flustered opinion, when Arabella had questioned her shortly after her arrival this morning, was that husbands were sometimes appreciative of the woman taking the initiative.

  Advice which had left Arabella more confused than ever as to what Darius might expect of her in the marriage bed.

  So far there had certainly been no mention at all of what Darius might expect of her as they travelled in the coach to Carlyne House!

  ‘Better,’ he murmured appreciatively now, as he ran his fingers through the heavy thickness of her hair so that it cascaded loosely over her shoulders and down the length of her spine. ‘Whenever we are alone, Arabella, I would prefer that you wear your hair just so.’

  She touched her loosened curls self-consciously. ‘I—What would the servants think?’

  He raised blond brows. ‘I do not pay them to think, Arabella.’

  ‘Yes, but—’ Her words ceased as Darius’s hands cupped either side of her face, the soft pads of his thumbs a light and evocative caress against the softness of her lips. ‘Darius…?’

  Darius was fully aware of Arabella’s uncertainty, knew she had no idea how sexually provocative she looked at this moment, with her golden curls wild about her shoulders, eyes dark and uncertain beneath lowered lashes, and her parted moist lips in a full and inviting pout.

  He had begun this flirtation with his wife as a means of diverting her from questioning him any further as to his earlier conversation with Bancroft, but now Darius found that his gaze was fixed upon the invitation of Arabella’s parted lips, and ruefully he recognised that his only desire now was to taste them.

  Arabella felt small and slightly fragile as he curved his arms about her waist and crushed her breasts against his chest, pulling her hard against him before lowering his head to capture those pouting lips with his own.

  She tasted of wine and peaches, which Darius now recalled were the only two things Arabella had consumed at their wedding feast. The wine perhaps to allay some of her nervousness? The peaches because they were light and exotic? Whatever the reason for Arabella’s choice, they were a heady combination to Darius’s senses. Intoxicating, as well as inviting.

  As Arabella herself was intoxicating and inviting.

  It seemed to Arabella at that moment as if no time had elapsed at all since Darius had made love to her in Hawk’s study a week ago. The desire she had known then was once again bursting into flames as he kissed her with a thoroughness that took her breath away and made her body burn.

  All of her sisters-in-laws’ contradictory advice fled as Arabella returned the heat of those devouring kisses, pressing against Darius to make even closer contact as her arms entwined about his neck and her fingers became entangled in the thick silkiness of the hair at his nape.

  His lips were firm and commanding against her own, teeth gently biting, tongue tasting as it explored the shape of her lips before slipping into the heated cavern of her mouth.

  Arabella gasped slightly when she felt Darius’s hand curve around one of her breasts as he continued to kiss her. His thumb caressed unerringly over its sensitive tip as it pressed against the soft material of her gown, sending rivulets of desire coursing down between her thighs, readying her, she felt sure, for even deeper intimacies.

  It was—

  There was a sudden shifting, a lurching of the ducal coach, and it tilted precariously to one side, tossing Darius back against the door, his arm still about Arabella’s waist. Her eyes went wide with shock and fear as Darius pulled her down on top of him to land on the floor of the coach in a tangle of arms and legs. The lamp swayed precariously for several long seconds before it too fell to the floor beside them, extinguishing the candle inside and plunging them into complete darkness.

  Arabella began to scream.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Calm down, Arabella! Arabella, I order you to stop that noise instantly and allow me to think!’ Darius said firmly.

  His words had no effect on her obvious hysteria. Not that he could exactly blame her for her distress, when they were blanketed in darkness inside the tilting carriage with a cacophony of noise outside made up of men shouting, dogs barking, and horses whinnying in a horrible manner that seemed to imply at least one of them had been injured in the crash.

  For a crash it had most certainly been. Whether they had collided with another vehicle or not, the precarious tilt of the Carlyne carriage proclaimed that the vehicle had somehow either been damaged or had lost a wheel and was now lurched dangerously to one side.

  The door above them on the other side of the carriage was suddenly wrenched open and one of the grooms, his grey wig askew, peered down at them in the darkness. ‘Your Grace?’ he gasped as he gazed in upon the tangle of legs, arms and bodies. ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘I myself am not,’ Darius answered grimly as he attempted to sit up and found Arabella’s arms so tightly clutched about his neck he could barely move. ‘Are you hurt, Arabella?’ he asked with concern, and he released her clinging fingers and held her slightly away from him so that he might inspect her for obvious injury.

  ‘I do not—do not know.’ Her voice was faint and slightly shaky. ‘Please get me out of here, Darius.’ Her eyes glittered wildly in the darkness as she reached up and clung to him once again. ‘Please!’

  Darius had become accustomed to her stoicism this past week, her bewitching and tempting air of self-sufficiency that challenged him into wanting to tame her. In his bed, if not out of it. To see her reduced to such trembling distress by a simple carriage accident seemed totally out of character.

  Until, that was, he suddenly recalled that the ninth Duke of Stourbridge and his duchess, Arabella’s parents, had both been killed in a carriage accident eleven years ago….

  Darius’s face was like stone as he turned to look up at the groom. ‘I am going to lift my wife so that you can remove her to safety.’ He wasted no time in suiting his actions to his words as he placed his hands about Arabella’s waist and lifted her up, allowing the other man to pull her outside into the darkened night. Darius quickly followed by placing his hands either side of the open doorway and levering himself up and out of the badly listing carriage.

  Another of the grooms had managed to quieten the horses by the time Darius lowered himself down onto the cobbled road beside a now quietly sobbing Ar
abella. He moved to place his arms protectively about her as he turned to take in the scene of the accident.

  There was no other carriage in sight, but one of their nearside back wheels had come completely adrift and lay some distance away. The terrible screeching noise Darius had heard earlier had obviously been that of the axle of the carriage as it was dragged along the cobbles for several feet before the groom had managed to bring the horses to a halt.

  Luckily they had not been travelling at any speed when the wheel had parted company with the carriage, which accounted for the lack of any serious injury. Even so, Darius’s face was stern as he turned his attention back to his distraught young wife. ‘You really must calm yourself, Arabella.’ He frowned as he realised how harsh his voice sounded. ‘It is all over now and there is no harm done,’ he added in a much gentler tone.

  Arabella was shaking so badly, her teeth chattering together so loudly, that for a moment she didn’t hear Darius, let alone comprehend what he had just said to her. Even once she did understand his reassurances she could not stop the trembling of her body or the shaking of her hands as she still clung to—and no doubt ruined—the lapels of his jacket. ‘I thought—I believed we were about to—to—’ She broke off with a telling shudder.

  ‘I understand, Arabella.’

  Looking up into Darius’s face, Arabella saw that he did indeed understand the reason for the depth of her distress. Understood it, perhaps, but the harshness of his expression implied that he also found her hysteria less than becoming in his wife. In his duchess. His rigidly controlled demeanour was so like Hawk’s would have been in the same circumstances that Arabella instantly calmed, straightening her back and shoulders and releasing Darius’s jacket before turning to look at the carriage.

  ‘The grooms and horses also escaped injury?’

  ‘Yes. But at a guess more by luck than judgement.’ Darius nodded, his eyes narrowed as he looked again at the precariously tilted carriage.