‘What do you mean?’ Arabella frowned her confusion as she turned back to him.
Darius forced his anger over the accident to the back of his emotions, to be dealt with at a later date rather than expressing it here and now in front of Arabella. ‘I was merely questioning the care that was taken in preparing the carriage for our use today,’ he explained.
Her breath drew in sharply. ‘I am sure that none of your grooms would have been negligent, Darius. After all, they were travelling on the coach too.’
‘Of course.’ Darius forced a tight smile. ‘It was just an accident, as you say. One that unfortunately seems to have left us a little distance from arriving outside Carlyne House,’ he added ruefully, realising they still had a quarter of a mile or so to travel before they reached his—their—London home.
‘I doubt that a walk will do either of us any lasting harm.’ Arabella tucked her hand into the crook of his arm with the obvious intention of beginning that walk immediately.
The dignity of her expression prevented Darius from pointing out how much in disarray was her appearance, with her hair loose and falling wildly down the length of her spine, and her gown less than pristine. It had several dirty smudges down its front and a slight tear in the material along one side. In that moment, dishevelled and still slightly unnerved by the accident, Arabella still managed to look every inch a duchess.
His duchess.
‘At least you now have a valid reason for the dishevelled state of your hair,’ he teased lightly as they began to walk along the street with every appearance of simply being out for an afternoon stroll.
Arabella had visited Carlyne House several times this past week, to be introduced to all of the household staff, as well as become acquainted with one of the houses that would become her home once she and Darius were married.
Having decided that the spring, when hopefully the weather would be more clement, was a much nicer time to honeymoon on the Continent, Arabella and Darius had instead made arrangements to travel to Winton Hall on the day following the wedding. They would spend several weeks there before travelling into Gloucestershire in December, to spend the Christmas season with Arabella’s family.
Arabella’s cheeks warmed slightly as she recalled the reason her hair was tumbled loosely about her shoulders and down her spine. That soft thrumming resumed in her body as she recalled the ardour of Darius’s kisses. Her heart started pounding as she wondered how much further he would have gone in his lovemaking if the accident had not brought such an abrupt end to their intimacy.
Then the warmth in her cheeks became due to embarrassment as Arabella recalled, and deeply regretted, her behaviour following the accident. That she had the excuse of her parents’ death in a carriage accident to explain her hysteria did not make it any less undignified.
She drew in a sharp breath. ‘I can only apologise for behaving like a—a ninny just now, Darius. It was inexcusable of me to take on so. I should not have screamed or clung to you in the way I did.’
‘I assure you I found your behaviour highly diverting,’ he said.
‘Diverting?’ she echoed sharply.
‘Why, yes.’ The humour that curved Darius’s mouth was also reflected in his eyes. ‘It is not every day that one sees the Lady Arabella St Claire appearing less than composed.’
‘You forget, Darius, that I am now Arabella Wynter, Duchess of Carlyne!’ she reminded him tartly, stung by his amusement at her expense.
He snorted. ‘That is even more reason to marvel at your recent loss of control.’
‘I am pleased to have provided you with some amusement!’ she huffed.
‘Are you?’
‘No!’ Arabella glared up at him in the moonlight.
‘Perhaps that is as well—as I am actually far from amused.’ His expression turned suddenly grim once more, his eyes taking on the cold sheen of ice.
A frown creased the creaminess of her brow as she looked up at him searchingly. ‘You are angry with me, Darius?’
With her usual intelligence Arabella had managed to pierce straight to the heart of Darius’s mood! It was anger he felt. Cold. Steely. Implacable. Remorseless anger. But he was not angry with her.
What had just happened only proved to Darius that he should never have persuaded himself into believing the best course of action to keep Arabella safe was for him to marry her. In his defence, it had been done in the mistaken belief that once their intimate interlude in Hawk’s study had become public knowledge—as it invariably would have done, thanks to Lord Redwood—it would be far safer for her if they married and then shortly thereafter removed themselves from London and became ensconced in the privacy and safety of Winton Hall.
Darius had certainly not expected the first attempt at an ‘accident’ to occur before they had even had a chance to leave London.
It was too much of a coincidence, too soon after his earlier conversation with William Bancroft, for Darius to believe that the wheel coming loose from his carriage was truly the accident it gave every appearance of being.
He knew he had made enemies this past eight years. Dozens of people, traitors to their country, who had every reason to want to cause him harm. Now that Arabella had become his wife, those same people might wish to cause her harm too.
One person in particular, perhaps…
But Arabella must be kept in ignorance of that, at least for now—she was still not recovered from her shock after the accident, and Darius had no intention of alarming her further with tales of possible mortal danger. He would have to tell her something else instead, to explain his mood to her.
‘There are so many reasons for the present state of my emotions, Arabella, that I hardly know where to begin,’ Darius commented as he came to a halt beneath the lamp in front of Carlyne House. ‘I have been treated with icy disdain this past week by at least one of your brothers, and with an equal amount of suspicion by your sisters-in-law. I have also just been forced into a marriage not of my choosing to a woman also not of my choosing.’
‘You did not seem to feel that same reluctance a year ago, when you offered for me!’ Arabella was stung into defending herself heatedly.
Ah.
Darius’s mouth compressed. ‘An offer I seem to recall that you did not hesitate to refuse.’
Arabella opened her mouth to protest. And then closed it again. Not only would it be disloyal of her to admit that Hawk had not even consulted her over that offer, but it would also allow Darius to pose the question as to whether or not she would have accepted the offer if she had known of it—and she wasn’t ready to answer that yet…
She looked up at him haughtily. ‘No woman of good sense would have accepted such an offer.’ Which meant, perhaps, that Arabella was not a woman of good sense—because she most certainly would have accepted a marriage offer from him!
Darius’s eyes gleamed coldly in the moonlight as he looked down at her. ‘No doubt because my…circumstances were far different a year ago from what they are today?
‘In that you mean you had not yet conveniently inherited the fortune of the woman who was stupid enough to accept your offer?” Arabella snapped back—only to draw back in dismay as she saw the way Darius’s face had darkened ominously.
‘This is the second occasion upon which you have voiced such slanderous accusations, Arabella.’ His tone had become as icy as his demeanour. ‘I would advise, for your own sake, that there not be a third.’
Arabella felt a shiver of apprehension down the length of her spine as she realised she really did not know the man who was now her husband. ‘You are right, Darius. This is not the best time for such a discussion. Nerves are obviously frayed, and tempers even more so.’
‘On the contrary,’ he drawled in a deceptively soft tone. ‘It has been my experience that it is exactly when nerves are frayed and tempers roused that the truth tends to be spoken.’
Perhaps, Arabella allowed heavily. But she would far rather her words had remained unspoken tonight o
f all nights!
She gave a heavy sigh. ‘I spoke in the heat of the moment only, Darius.’
‘If that is in the nature of an apology, Arabella, then let me assure you that it falls far short of the mark.’ Darius didn’t know which of them he was more angry with. Arabella—or himself, for actually allowing her words to pierce the guard he invariably kept about his emotions.
In truth, her accusations were not so different from the many others levelled at him over the years. He was a rake. A womaniser. A gambler. A fortune-hunter. A possible murderer.
Hearing them spoken by one’s own wife, however, was extremely unpleasant.
He looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘Perhaps you even believe that I arranged the carriage accident just now, in the hope of ridding myself of my second unwanted wife?’
Her shocked frown showed him that the idea had not even occurred to her until he had voiced it. She recovered quickly. ‘Not when you were a passenger in the carriage, too!’
Darius sighed heavily. ‘I believe it is past time we went inside.’ He curled his fingers about her upper arm and ascended the steps to Carlyne House; if someone was watching them, possibly the perpetrator of the coach ‘accident’, then they had already lingered far too long outside than was wise.
Arabella had no idea what to do or say in order to dispel the tension that now existed between herself and Darius. A tension that was so at odds with the intensity of passion they had shared in the carriage such a short time ago.
The cold and remote man who swept so arrogantly into the marbled hallway of Carlyne House the moment the door was opened by a footman brandishing a candelabra was not the man who had made love to Arabella either a week ago or earlier this evening. This man was a stranger to her. A cold, aloof stranger to whom she was now married and who questioned her belief over whether the carriage accident had even been an accident at all…
‘Ah, Reynolds,’ Darius spoke to the butler as he appeared in the hallway. ‘There has been a accident. No one was injured,’ he assured the butler quickly as the man looked alarmed. ‘But I am afraid we were forced to abandon the carriage and walk home. It is my intention to return to the scene and check on progress with the carriage. I am sure Her Grace would appreciate being shown to her bedchamber, and then provided with a tray of tea and dainties.’ Darius’s expression was forbidding as he released Arabella to turn back towards the front door, which the footman instantly swept open once again, allowing a blast of cold night air to swirl about the hallway.
Arabella shivered as that coldness pierced the thin material of her gown in accompaniment to the ice creeping through her veins at Darius’s announcement that he intended leaving the house. Leaving her on their wedding night!
‘Darius?’
Narrowed lids hid the expression in the deep blue of his eyes as he paused in the open doorway to turn and look at her. ‘What is it, Arabella?’
Pride—the St Claire pride so embedded in her own nature, as well as that of her brothers—dictated that she could not demand an explanation in front of the listening butler and footman as to why Darius felt it necessary to return to the broken carriage tonight of all nights.
Yet incredulity at his obvious intent of leaving the house on such a fool’s errand, rather than remaining with his bride of but a few hours, dictated that she could not just let him leave the house without some show of disapproval at his actions, either!
On top of which, Darius had absolutely no right to instruct that she be ‘shown to her bedchamber’ in what was effectively now her own home!
She forced a cool smile to her lips, although the blaze in her eyes as she looked across at him gave the lie to that air of serenity she was projecting. ‘Perhaps you would care to join me in a reviving cup of tea before venturing back out into the cold?’
At any other time Darius would have enjoyed taking the time to indulge his wife’s request for his company—as he would no doubt have enjoyed even more the consequences of quelling her obvious sparks of temper!
At this moment, however, he had far more pressing matters to attend to—he had to think about her safety above all else, even if she wasn’t aware of it.
‘I think not, thank you, Arabella,’ he drawled. ‘It’s probably best if you do not wait up for me,’ he added dryly. ‘I have no idea when I will return, and you are no doubt tired after the excitement of the day.’
Darius could only regret the way her cheeks paled at his obvious dismissal, and he made a mental promise to himself—and her—to make up for the disaster of this, their wedding night, as soon as could be. As soon as they were both safely away from London…
Her dismay did not last long, however, as two bright spots of colour appeared in the pallor of her cheeks. ‘What a considerate husband you are, to be sure, Darius.’ The sweetness of her tone did not match the anger glinting in her golden-brown eyes.
He could only eye her appreciatively, even as he once again privately regretted his need to leave her. ‘I have no doubt that you intend being as considerate a wife as I am a husband.’
‘Oh, undoubtedly!’ she retorted.
Darius bit back a smile at the promise of retribution glittering in those bright golden eyes. ‘Pleasant dreams, Arabella.’
She gave him a sweetly saccharine smile. ‘I have no doubt they will all be of you, my dear Darius!’
In that case he very much doubted they would be pleasant dreams, but rather ones of a violent nature, no doubt culminating in some painful punishment dealt him by her for his desertion.
All humour left Darius’s expression as he strode back towards the disabled carriage, pondering what he was sure was an attempt on his life. And not just on his life, but Arabella’s too. Darius considered himself more than capable of taking care of himself. Indeed he had been doing so for some years now. But endangering Arabella in this way was unacceptable.
Someone would pay for this evening’s mischief.
Someone would pay dearly, he vowed grimly.
Arabella ignored the tray of tea things that had been brought up to her as she paced restlessly, agitatedly, angrily, up and down the spacious bedchamber that, as the Duchess of Carlyne, was now her own. It was a graciously appointed bedchamber that had been hurriedly decorated to her tastes in gold and cream this past week, in preparation for her arrival this evening, and it possessed an adjoining door to the room of her husband.
A husband whom, at this particular moment, Arabella dearly wished to throttle within an inch of his life!
Admittedly the broken carriage had to be removed from the street. The grooms must be returned to the house. The horses stabled and calmed after their ordeal.
Yet it was simply beyond Arabella’s understanding that Darius considered those grooms and horses more deserving at present of his solicitude than his own wife. Surely a senior member of his household could have sorted out the mess?
How could he treat her in this callous way?
How could he just turn her welfare over to the care of servants after the scare she had suffered such a short time ago?
How dared he just abandon her on their wedding night?
Arabella sat down abruptly on the gold brocade coverlet draped over the blankets of the huge four-poster bed that dominated the bedchamber. A four-poster bed in which she was expected to sleep alone.
On her wedding night…
After days, a week, of nervousness as she imagined herself and Darius going to bed together on the night of their wedding, Arabella instead found herself abandoned and alone. It was an unforgivable insult. A humiliation beyond endurance!
Arabella was well aware of the gossip of servants. They would all know that the Duke had not cared to share the Duchess’s bed on their wedding night. From which piece of delectable gossip certain conclusions would no doubt be made…
Either that the rumours were all true, and the Duke had already shared his bride’s bed before their marriage and so felt no particular compunction to share it again on their we
dding night. Or—more humiliating still—having dallied with her and then been forced into a marriage not of his choosing, the Duke felt no inclination to claim what was now his by right.
Darius would pay for insulting her in this way, Arabella vowed fiercely.
He would most definitely be made to pay!
Chapter Six
‘You are very quiet today, Arabella.’ Darius eyed his young wife across the width of the carriage—the second-best carriage, as the main ducal vehicle was once again safely in the stables at Carlyne House and awaiting repair—as they travelled from London to Worcestershire in the early-morning gloom.
Arabella turned from looking out of the window and returned his gaze coolly. ‘I prefer to think of it as being introspective, Your Grace.’
Oh, dear, they were back to the formality of Your Grace! ‘No doubt you have much to think on?’ he pressed.
‘No doubt.’ The smile that accompanied her reply did not reach the coldness of her eyes.
Everything about Arabella was cool today. The pale green gown and matching bonnet she wore for travelling. The pristine white lace gloves that covered her tiny hands. The pale, smooth alabaster of her face and throat. The deep, unfathomable brown of her eyes.
Not that Darius did not fully deserve Arabella’s coldness after the way he had left her so abruptly the night before—a desertion that had ultimately proved fruitless.
There had been nothing to gain from examining the wheel and axle of the carriage once it had been returned to the stables. Except to tell Darius what he had already guessed: the rivets that held the wheel in place had come loose. Whether by accident or design it had been utterly impossible to tell.
A visit to the home of William Bancroft, recently returned home from Darius and Arabella’s wedding celebrations, to continue their earlier discussion in view of this latest ‘accident’ had been of little help, either. Bancroft had no new information as to the whereabouts of Helena Jourdan, the French spy whose existence Darius had denied to Arabella, following her escape from custody the previous week. If, indeed, it was she who was trying to kill Darius. There was a second possibility, much closer to home, that Darius found even more unpalatable.
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