by Piper Stone
She sighed happily. It was a strangely intimate moment, quite domestic in fact.
Mr. Standen nodded, satisfied. He picked up a quilt and sat down with a cup of tea, pulling the coverlet over him.
“You cannot stay in here with me!” Arabella protested.
“Would you prefer that I leave your room unguarded? The crowd in the bar is becoming rather unruly, but if you choose to make new friends, who am I to demur?”
“No, that is, very well, you may stay.”
Mr. Standen nodded gravely, but his eyes seemed to twinkle in the candlelight.
Arabella scowled. “Why do you always look like you are laughing at me?”
“Perhaps it is because you are so small and delicate, but your spirit is as fierce as wildcat. If someone riles you, you puff up just like a cat, or a kitten, an adorable, angry kitten. I should call you that – Kitten.”
“You may address me as Miss Linton,” Arabella said haughtily.
“Yes, Kitten.”
Impossible man!
“Try to get some sleep, Kitten. Hopefully, the weather will improve on the morrow, and I can convey you to your home. Unless you prefer the stage?”
“I do not, but I don’t plan to return home either.”
“How enterprising. May I inquire as to your destination?”
“No, you may not.” Arabella pulled the covers higher. “I am on the run.”
“I see. What are you running from?”
“A wedding.”
Mr. Standen sipped his tea. “Yours, or someone else’s? Has your heart been broken by a faithless swain? Are you fleeing his nuptials to the beautiful yet heartless maiden who replaced you in his affections?”
Arabella regarded him in fuming silence; the hint of a smile curved his lower lip. “You are laughing at me again,” she said indignantly, “My tragedy is a source of amusement for you. How edifying.”
Mr. Standen set down his cup. “If you are really in trouble, I beg you to tell me. I will assist you in anyway I can.”
Arabella eyed him with suspicion. “You will?”
“You have my word.”
“Very well. I am escaping from a marriage that my parents arranged for me.”
“Is the groom so very repulsive? Or, even worse, poor?”
“Neither,” she said gloomily, “he is a duke. Although, he may be a repulsive one; I have no idea. I’ve never set eyes of the man.”
“Then, let me reassure you, my dear Miss Linton. Dukes are never repulsive.” Mr. Standen’s tone held an edge. Did he dislike the aristocracy?
“Well, I don’t intend on finding out. I plan to make a new life for myself.”
That surprised him. “I wonder if you are brave or foolish, or some hazardous combination of the two.”
“I won’t marry him, I won’t.” Arabella punched down her pillows and lay down.
“Things will look better in the morning.”
She could only hope that was true.
Chapter 3
Arabella sat bolt upright in bed. The gray light of dawn filtered through the dirty window. She couldn’t stay here. Mr. Standen would take her back to Bath, or even worse, home. She had not come so far just to tamely turn back now.
The chair Mr. Standen had occupied was empty. Had he gone to his own room, after all? No matter, she had been left alone. This was her chance. Arabella hastily washed and dressed, shoving her soiled clothing into her valise. She would make her escape while the rest of the passengers were still in bed.
She tiptoed down the hall, stopping when she encountered a loud creak in the floor. After a few anxious moments, while the inn remained silent, she crept to the top of the stairs and climbed down stealthily. The front door was locked. She made her way to the back of the inn. The kitchen door was latched, but it was the matter of moment to lift the latch and slip outside. She crossed the yard to the stables. The snow had stopped falling sometime during the night.
Arabella pushed open the stable door and snuck inside. It was warmer in here, smelling of horse and hay. She strained to see in the dim light. There, near the door, hung all the tack. She selected a saddle and bridle. A hard tap sounded behind her. Arabella froze, scarcely daring to breathe. Another tap. She turned her head and exhaled sharply in relief. It was only a horse, shuffling in its stall.
She opened the stall and approached the horse, holding out her hand. It snuffled at her in a friendly manner. Arabella ran a soothing hand along the horse’s mane and placed the saddle on its back, attaching the bridle, before leading it out of the stall. The stable door creaked as she swung it open. Arabella winced and waited. Silence. She went outside, the horse trailing behind her. She led it over to the mounting block.
A feeble shaft of sunlight pierced the dim light as she climbed the block. What had she done? It wasn’t a sidesaddle. Arabella glanced back at the stables. No, she didn’t dare return. No matter, she had often ridden astride as a young girl, coursing over the fields with her brothers.
Arabella hitched up her skirts and swung a leg over the saddle.
A very large, very warm hand grasped her thigh. “Going somewhere?”
Arabella screamed and fell off the block, ending up in a pile of snow, with her rump up in the air.
“A perfect position,” Mr. Standen said and smacked her right on her bottom.
Arabella’s squawk was muffled by the snow, but she came up fighting. “How dare you touch me again?”
He pulled her out of the snow and dusted her off. “How dare you be so foolish as to think you can run away again, all alone, riding a horse like a boy? Where precisely did you intend to go?”
Arabella thrust out her bottom lip in defiance.
Mr. Standen’s gaze fell to her mouth. “Is that an invitation?” he asked softly.
“What? No!”
She pushed his chest, but he was too big and strong to be moved. His large hand clasped her much smaller one. “Kitten, you will be the death of me. Now, let us put this poor horse back to bed and go inside to discuss things properly. I can’t just let you run off into the countryside, alone.” He urged her towards the inn. “It’s too dangerous, little one. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
Arabella, cold and upset, thwarted by Mr. Standen, burst into tears.
“So many feelings,” he murmured. “My poor, confused girl.” He ushered her into the private parlor, pulling the chair nearer the fire. “I’ll be right back.”
A large white handkerchief appeared over the back of the chair and Arabella grasped it gratefully. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
Mr. Standen returned some minutes later with two steaming tankards. “Mulled wine. It will warm you.”
Arabella obediently accepted the wine. It was tangy and sweet as it slid down her throat. “It’s very good.” She glanced up to find Mr. Standen staring down at her with an odd expression on his face.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said slowly, “I believe that everything is absolutely right. For the first time in a very long while.”
How peculiar. Well, his peculiarities were not her concern.
“I am not going back home,” she announced. “I have a plan.”
“Why does that fill me with foreboding?”
Arabella tossed her head. “I don’t know. I am traveling to my old nanny’s house in Oxford. She’ll take me in while I find a way to avoid this marriage.”
Mr. Standen bit his lip. “I see.” He turned away abruptly, his shoulders shaking.
“Are you laughing at me, again?” she demanded.
“Kitten, you ran away from school, took the public stage, and was stranded at a common inn. Your flight has all the characteristics of a romantic heroine. And yet, instead of fleeing to meet some dashing rake, you are on your way to your nanny’s.”
Arabella stomped her foot. “Stop laughing at me!”
The sound of crashing glass echoed beyond the parlor door. “Stay here,” Mr. Standen
ordered. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Bother the man. She was not his to command.
Mr. Standen returned some minutes later. “The stranded passengers who spent the night in the tap room have woken up. I recommended the landlord provide them with hot coffee in an attempt to sober them up.”
Arabella shrugged, concerned only with her own problems.
“How many times do you plan to run away?” Mr. Standen asked pleasantly. “I only ask so that I may be prepared.”
“Until I finally escape from your high-handed interference,” Arabella flashed.
“My dear Kitten, I am saving you from yourself.”
“Oh!” Arabella said, “I am too furious to speak with you right now.” She marched over to the door.
“Not so fast.” Mr. Standen crossed the room to stand behind her, so close she could feel his warm breath on her hair. “You are not going anywhere until we sort this out.”
She spun around. “What does that mean?”
“It means, my naughty, impetuous Kitten, that you are going over my lap for a richly deserved spanking. After which you will apologize for all the trouble you’ve put me through. And, then, we’ll discuss where we go from here.”
Arabella folded her arms across her bosom. “No.”
“No to which part?”
She stuck out her chin. “All of it.”
Mr. Standen’s eyes narrowed. “Now that, my girl, was the wrong answer.” He swung her up in his arms and walked over to the sofa, sitting down and pulling her over his lap. “We’ll begin with that spanking.”
He gave her a hard smack that stung even through the layers of petticoats and skirt.
“Ouch. Blast you, stop it.”
“No.” Smack! “You won’t run from me again.” Smack!
“I will do as I wish.”
“Ha! You will not.” Mr. Standen raised his arm. “There is entirely too much fabric between my hand and your bottom.” He pushed up her skirt and petticoats, revealing her bare cheeks.
Arabella swallowed a sob. “Stop it, please. This isn’t right.”
Smack!
“I disagree. Your behavior warrants a stern intervention.” Smack! “And I am just the man to deliver it.”
He proceeded to scour her bottom with a relentless barrage of strokes, all over her sore cheeks, which began to feel huge and swollen.
“You’re hurting me,” she said in a small voice.
Mr. Standen paused. “I don’t want to hurt you, Kitten.” His voice had softened. “I’m trying to teach you a lesson, so that you don’t run around the world alone and unprotected.” He soothed his palm over her smarting skin. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” He adjusted her skirts and helped her up, only to pull her upright on his knee. He kissed her hair. “My sweet Kitten. Can’t you see that I’m trying to protect you?”
“My bottom smarts.” She thrust out her lower lip.
Mr. Standen’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “You have the most enticing lips,” he told her.
Gracious. That sounded… romantic.
“I don’t believe you should say such things to me,” Arabella said primly. “It’s not proper.”
He squeezed her bottom. “Not at all.”
Arabella glared at him. “How dare you, sir?”
Mr. Standen grinned. “If you had fur, it would be standing on end. My lovely, angry Kitten, how you do try my patience.”
Arabella slid off his lap and flounced over to the door.
“I’m still waiting for my apology,” he called after her.
She whirled around. “Then, sir, you will be waiting for a very long time.”
“How long?”
Arabella burned with rage and humiliation. “Till hell freezes over.”
“Poor Arabella, you seem upset.” Was he trying to provoke her?
“Upset is not how I would describe my feelings at this point in time,” she said between clenched teeth.
“Temper, temper.” When Arabella snorted, Mr. Stanton only laughed. He sauntered towards her. “Your fur is all ruffled and your eyes are shooting sparks.” He leaned in closer. “Tell me, Arabella, do you bite?”
“I sincerely hope so.”
“You’re adorable, even when you’re practically spitting with rage. You, Miss Linton, are a very dangerous woman.”
“I am?” she asked, quite forgetting her anger for a moment, intrigued by this dazzling new image. “How?”
Mr. Standen tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “Never you mind.” He prepared to leave the room, shaking his head. “Very dangerous indeed.” His voice held an undertone of something she couldn’t name, although it did make her insides feel hot and liquid. Arabella sighed. He was so very handsome. She heard him laugh when she ran from the room and up the stairs to her bedchamber. He was also high-handed, annoying, and likely to drive her berserk.
Hunger drove her downstairs to seek breakfast. The window in the private parlor, laced with frost, showed sunlight twinkling on the snowy landscape outside. The weather had cleared. Perhaps the stagecoach was mended, and she could continue her trip to Oxford.
Mr. Standen arrived with bad news while Arabella tucked into a country breakfast of eggs and bacon with toast dripping with butter. A new axle for the stagecoach had been sent for, but it wouldn’t arrive before tomorrow at the earliest.
“So, I am stuck here.” The school would know by now that Arabella was missing. And they would write to Mama and then… Arabella groaned. Her plans were ruined. She would be dragged back home to help plan her blasted wedding, and there would be no escape after that.
“Don’t look so downcast, Kitten. We can take a walk after breakfast and spend a quiet day while you rest up from the excitement of yesterday.”
“We? Your vehicle was not damaged, was it?”
“No, but I won’t put my horses in danger from the icy roads. Once the weather settles, I will leave. In the meantime, you can keep me company.”
When Arabella didn’t respond, Mr. Standen’s voice turned teasing. “Please, Miss Linton. I beg you to indulge me with your delightful presence. We can play cards, and I might even let you win.”
“I suppose I have no choice.”
“Is my company so repulsive?”
Arabella threw up her hands. “You don’t understand. How could you? You are a man, with all the freedom that entails. I have been hemmed in, constrained for the whole of my existence. I don’t want to get married! I want my Season in London. I want parties and assemblies and balls. I want beautiful dresses, and men sighing over me.” Arabella’s smile was wistful. “I want to break hearts.”
“My dear Kitten, I’m sure you can do that without even trying. But why can’t you have all these things and a husband too?”
Arabella looked dubious.
“Married women have more freedom than debutantes. You need not be a prisoner, if you wed.”
Arabella’s eyes gleamed. “I suppose if my husband were compliant... I could take lovers,” she announced.
Mr. Standen’s lips twitched. “I don’t think any husband of yours would care to be a cuckold.”
Arabella blushed at his frankness.
“They would be too entranced to share you with anyone, Kitten. I know I would be.”
“Well, that is hardly likely, is it? Why on earth would you want to marry me?” She flounced over to the window to frown at the yard where the snow lay piled deep.
“I cannot imagine,” Mr. Standen murmured behind her.
“Nor I.”
What a liar she was, Arabella thought. Mr. Standen, so handsome and self-assured, so quick to take charge and protect her, even if he was rather authoritarian for her tastes, was well dressed and obviously a man of means. He would be targeted by any marriage-minded miss, even her. Marriage to a man like Mr. Standen would not be so terrible. She tried to imagine him claiming his marital rights and her pulse quickened. He would be skilled, she decided, a man of the wor
ld who knew what a woman liked in the bedroom. Forceful, perhaps, taking the woman in his bed to heights of ecstasy as he parted her thighs and drove his member deep…
“Miss Linton. Arabella?”
Mortified by her wayward thoughts, she blushed deeply. “I beg your pardon, I was not attending.”
“I am humbled.” Mr. Standen grinned. “Most of the young ladies I encounter are more interested in my conversation.”
Arabella heaved a sigh. Yes, she thought, they would be.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly, which surprised Arabella. She was marooned in this dreadful place, forced into the company of the overbearing Mr. Standen. But he proved to be an engaging companion, playing piquet for ridiculous stakes that made her smile. They knew a surprising number of the same people. Mr. Standen, it turned out, spent a lot of time in London. He described the delights of the capital, from shopping on New Bond Street to drinking punch at Vauxhall Gardens while enjoying the fireworks. Arabella dreamily tried to imagine a life in London. It was a life she could enjoy if she married the Duke of Rothley. That thought brought her down to earth with a thud. She would not be married against her will.
A loud crash, followed by a scream, interrupted their tête-à-tête. Voices rose from the direction of the taproom. It sounded like a brawl was about to take place. Mr. Standen told her to stay put and went to find out what was happening. He returned a few minutes later, a frown gathered between his eyebrows. Arabella had the fleeting urge to smooth it away.
“This situation is rapidly descending into near anarchy,” Mr. Standen told her. “One of the men in the taproom has broached a keg of rum and is distributing it freely to all comers. I must get you upstairs.”
He led her down the hall and up the stairs to her room, shutting the door behind him. “I do apologize, Kitten, but I can’t in good conscience leave you alone. I’ll take the chair again in your room and keep watch.”
“My reputation will be ruined!”
“I may have mentioned to the landlord last night that you are my wife. Simply to avoid any gossip.”
“Oh.” A loud crash echoed from the taproom, followed by cheering and wild laughter. “Very well, you may stay.”
