He closed his eyes, struggling to get his breathing under control. “Arabella—”
Almost immediately her body stiffened. The delicate hands went up against his chest to push him away. A hurt look flashed across her face before the lush mouth once again looked as if she’d sucked a lemon. Her chin tilted arrogantly even as a wounded look filled her eyes.
Rowan tightened his arms, refusing to release her. She was so quick to anger. “Stop, Bella. I would not dishonor you.”
She froze at the sound of her pet name. “How fortunate it must be for your family to use their honor only at times deemed suitable.”
Angered at her words, and detesting her tone, Rowan grabbed her hips and forcefully pushed her down hard against the arousal that threatened to rip the seams of his breeches. “You may put your fears of rejection aside.”
Her mouth widened in shock, but her features softened. “Vile.” The word sounded almost affectionate. “I should never have offered you an ounce of gratitude or comfort.” Her voice had lowered again to a husky whisper. She gave a futile, tired struggle before curling herself upon his chest all the while hissing out her dislike of him.
Rowan closed his eyes, pressing a kiss against her temple, enjoying the feel of her in his arms and the sound of her voice. Her hair smelled slightly of bergamot, a strong scent more suited to a man than a woman. Somehow that fit her.
“Goodnight, Bella.”
* * *
She was in Grandfather’s coach. His coach was wonderful. It smelled of leather and pipe tobacco. Just like Grandfather. Arabella laughed as she popped another sweet in her mouth. Her brother, Nick, sat across from her. The Duke of Dunbar was in residence for the Season and she and her brother had spent the afternoon in the park with Grandfather before His Grace reluctantly sent them home. She often thought that even though he was a duke, Grandfather was lonely sometimes. Especially since Grandmama went to heaven.
Arabella missed Grandmama.
The coach pulled up to the town home her parents inhabited. It was much smaller than Grandfather’s and the staff not as well turned out. Papa and Mama rarely took she and Nick to the park. Her parents would certainly never buy them sweets. She hated this house. Just the sight of the dull gray brick filled her with a heavy foreboding.
‘Please Nick. Let’s not go in. Please. Let’s go back to Grandfather’s. I don’t wish to go in. Truly.” Something was wrong. She could feel it.
“Don’t be a cow, Bella.” Her brother gave her an annoyed look. “I bet Cook is making cherry tarts.”
Cherry tarts were Arabella’s favorite.
The coach stopped and Nick helped her out, grabbing her about the waist and swinging her to the ground before the footman could even put down the step. Her brother was big already and didn’t need the step.
She flung open the door and ran down the hall. Several of the maids were gathered together, their pails and mops set aside. “Sluggards!” Arabella trilled as she ran through them, scattering the maids like a flock of birds. One reached out to stop her, grabbing at her clothing. ‘Lady Arabella. Stop, I pray you.’
But Arabella didn’t stop. Instead, she burst into Papa’s study, Nick on her heels. She skidded to a stop at the sight before her, the lemon drop she sucked on falling out of her open mouth.
Blood everywhere. A rifle in Father’s mouth. Her mother lying on the floor, still clutching a cup of wine. A horrible screaming sounded, like the wild banshees the Irish cook told her about. It wouldn’t stop. It was coming from her.
‘Bella!”
She awoke with a start, shaking as the remnants of the dream left her. It had been years since she’d relived the nightmare of her parent’s deaths. Her mother’s outstretched hand grasping a goblet of wine even as a pool of blood widened around her. Father, with the back of his head gone, a crimson splatter behind him on the wall. Nick had flung her over his shoulder and run from the room while she screamed. Her brother must have taken her to the drawing room, but Arabella had no memory of him doing so. What she remembered next was Peabody kneeling beside her while Grandfather spoke to the staff. Then nothing but black. Every dress had been black for what seemed years until a pair of unkind girls began to caw like crows when she neared them while walking in the park.
Grandfather had told her not to worry, for those girls would bother Arabella no longer. Every little girl, he said, had a father or mother with secrets and Grandfather knew them all.
Arabella hadn’t known what Grandfather meant by that at the time; she’d thought he was only comforting her. Of course, now she knew exactly what he had meant.
She lay still, listening to rain batter the windows. The parlor was dark, the fire in the hearth beginning to dim. The wind continued to howl, but not as loudly. Arabella wiggled and stopped. Warm muscles lay beneath her cheek, accompanied by the steady beat of a heart. Rowan’s heart. She was curled up in his lap.
Her head moved slightly with the rise and fall of his chest. When Arabella tried to move away, his arms tightened around her.
“Malden?” she whispered. When he didn’t reply, she lifted her head, taking the opportunity to study him up close. The strong lines of his nose and cheekbones stood out starkly against the fading light of the fire. She wished to run her fingers along the seam of his mouth. Touch his lips.
He’s beautiful.
The tip of her finger scraped against his jaw where the line of stubble was rapidly filling in. He’d have a rather nice beard if he went much longer without his valet. The shirt he wore was unbuttoned just enough to expose a small triangle of flesh at his throat.
“Malden?” She waited again for him to respond. Assured that he would not wake, Arabella boldly touched the exposed skin. The flesh beneath her finger was warm and smooth. Sneaking one more look at him, she touched the tip of her tongue to the same spot, tasting salt and heat. He was delicious. She shivered and not from the chill that permeated the room.
Foolish. I am foolish.
In the cozy little parlor, cuddled in Malden’s arms, it was easy to forget the outside world. Corbett, Jemma’s treasonous father, her brother’s anger and her own bitterness all faded away. At this moment, here, in Malden’s lap, she was safe from all of it. Closing her eyes again, she burrowed into his chest, inhaling deeply of his scent. Tomorrow would come soon enough. Tonight, she would only allow herself to feel the pleasure of this moment.
15
Arabella opened her eyes to find herself in the chair, with one of the quilts given to them the night before tucked around her. She looked to the other chair but found it empty. No rain beat against the windows.
And she was quite alone.
Sour wine clung to the inside of her mouth. Water was an immediate necessity. And her tooth kit. Gingerly she moved her head, careful least she intensify the pounding headache behind her eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window across from her, shining on a field of wildflowers. Birds darted by, singing their morning song. A bloody bucolic scene. She truly detested the country.
Well, I couldn’t have behaved more like a wanton last night. Mother would be impressed.
“Stop your singing,” she spoke out loud to the warbling birds. She was irritated. Her head hurt and she was more than a little ashamed of herself. The coach ride back to London with Malden sitting across from her would be unbearable.
A timid knock on the door was followed by the older woman from last night, carrying a tray with tea and toast. “His lordship said you’d be wanting something to eat this morning.” A crock of butter and jam lay next to the plate along with a steaming pot of tea. “He said you’d want something light.” She gave Arabella a knowing look.
Wonderful. In addition to feeling rather immoral, the innkeeper and his wife thought her a drunkard. She’d managed to become her parents within the space of a few hours.
“Thank you.” She stood and threw off the quilt. “Please leave the tray.”
The woman bobbed and left the room. “I’ll bring you water to
wash.”
Arabella waited until the woman left before flouncing back on the chair. Perhaps she’d dreamt the events of last night. Maybe this entire journey was nothing but a nightmare brought on by eating spoiled fish. She would wake up in her bed at Twinings wondering when Nick would allow her to come home.
No. This was no dream. She’d nearly married Corbett and she’d kissed Malden.
More than that, you nearly allowed him further liberties.
Arabella moved to the tray and took a piece of toast, slathered it with butter and munched away. She was starving and wished there was something a bit more substantial on the tray. And the tea was weak.
Tasting the jam and deciding it suitable, she spread some on top of her remaining piece of toast. Apparently, she wasn’t frigid, which was a bit of a relief. She was certain her attraction to Malden was only because of the situation they’d found themselves in, not because of any genuine feeling. Except Arabella didn’t feel especially distressed over recent events and what of Malden?
Arabella wasn’t naïve, and she didn’t consider herself to be quite as innocent as most unwed ladies. Her parents were not discreet, and she and Nick happened upon them having sexual relations often, and very rarely with each other. Once, she’d needed to retrieve a doll mistakenly left in the family’s private drawing room and interrupted Mother and one of her lovers. The man had been nonplussed at the sight of Arabella, only giving her a sly grin before walking out of the room, naked, his clothes bunched in one hand.
Arabella knew exactly what had been pressed against her bottom last night.
She set her cup of tea down with a clatter, spilling some on the tray. The tea was terrible. She didn’t even bother to wipe it up. Instead, she stood and began to pace around the room. Nothing like what occurred last night must ever happen again. Ever. She would avoid Malden like the plague, insisting he ride on horseback for the remainder of their journey. If he brought up her previous lapse in judgement, she would pretend ignorance.
Satisfied, Arabella began to search through her things for the tooth kit.
* * *
She need not have worried about avoiding Malden.
He was waiting for her in the courtyard, solid and handsome, with nothing more than a polite look on his face. There was no hint of the passion he’d displayed for her the night before. Had she not known better she would have thought them meeting for the first time.
“Good Morning, Lady Arabella. I trust you slept well?”
She searched his face for some hidden innuendo and found none. Arabella wished to reply that no she hadn’t slept well. His lap hadn’t been at all comfortable. Nor had she cared to be kissed senseless then left wanting more.
“Yes, quite. Thank you, Lord Malden.”
He assisted her into the coach, waiting patiently as she settled her skirts over the warm brick he’d procured. She felt his eyes on her the entire time as she pulled the rug over her lap and finally clasped her hands.
“It’s a fine day. I believe I’ll ride the remainder of the journey and leave you the coach. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable.” Malden was the very epitome of politeness.
How annoying she found his manners today. “I appreciate your courtesy.”
“We’ll be in London by nightfall.” Malden’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned and shut the door. She heard him speaking to the coachman and the jingle of reins as he mounted his horse.
Malden stayed slightly ahead of the coach for the remainder of the day, not even allowing himself to ride alongside, probably to avoid any opportunity for her to speak with him. When they stopped briefly to change horses and she saw to her own needs, Malden stayed with the coach.
Coldness settled over her. This is what became of letting your guard down. She completely disregarded the fact that her intent had been to avoid him. Rejection was a feeling Arabella knew well. She just didn’t like it. All things considered, Malden’s manner was for the best. If he ever realized she had lied about Corbett, his rejection would become full blown hatred.
Arabella must have dozed off because when she awoke, the light in the coach had turned to the dim mistiness of twilight. The coach moved slowly, winding through London’s evening traffic. As the noise of the streets filtered into the coach, she allowed herself a small smile.
I’m home.
Lights twinkled in the windows of the rather imposing town home which took up the entire back section of the cul-de-sac. The London residence of the Duke of Dunbar was massive and bespoke of great wealth and power, but to Arabella, the brick structure was home. As the coach slowed, a sense of urgency filled her. She wished to be safely inside where she could allow Peabody to fuss over her. Tired and dusty, she longed for a bath in the sanctuary of her own room.
As the coach rolled to a stop, Arabella was surprised to see Malden open the coach door. She had honestly wondered if he still traveled with them. His tall form had been absent from view the entire afternoon. The waves of his dark brown hair blew about his face and curled about his ears. His cheeks held a touch of red owing to the days spent riding outside. He looked so vital, so masculine and unbearably attractive that Arabella had trouble looking at him.
I’ve touched that skin. Tasted him.
The brief touch of his fingers jolted down her arm. Immediately she shook him off and moved quickly towards the steps leading to the front door.
Malden gave a small sound of frustration as she shook him off.
“I’ll inform my brother of your assistance and he will reimburse you for any monies owed for my care and travel.” Arabella marched up the steps without looking back at him. “I’m certain you wish to be on your way so I will bid you goodnight. I appreciate your care in seeing me back to London.”
Legs brushed against the back of her skirts causing her skin to prickle deliciously.
“I’ll see you in.”
The door was flung open to reveal Peabody. He took one watery look at Arabella and clapped his hands as a look of utter joy suffused his craggy features. “Lady Arabella! Thank the heavens!” The butler’s hands shook, too well trained to hug her.
“Peabody.” She took hold of the butler’s hands, much to his surprise. “I am so very glad to see you.” How often she’d taken Peabody for granted, a man who’d seen to her well-being since she was a child. Arabella wasn’t certain she’d ever touched him before.
The butler smiled at her regard, the tops of his cheeks pinking. “We are most glad you are home, Lady Arabella.”
She was suddenly so exhausted Arabella thought she would faint at the butler’s feet. “A bath, Peabody, please, then something to eat.” Malden still stood behind her, but she ignored his presence, wishing he would leave on his own. She moved towards the stairs. “Please see Lord Malden out.”
“There you are.” A deep, husky voice boomed from the direction of her brother’s study. “I was wondering when my sister and her betrothed would arrive. I insist you and Malden join me.”
Her brother Nick, the Duke of Dunbar was home.
16
His Grace, Nicholas Tremaine, the Duke of Dunbar had lingered in his study after dinner, expecting his sister and Malden to arrive at some point this evening. According to gossip, the pair weren’t terribly far from London, and he thought only bad weather had delayed their return. The same he and Jem had experienced while traveling from Scotland.
After dinner, Nick ordered his pregnant wife up the stairs to bed. Well, ordered being somewhat of a stretch. One did not order Jem about. She’d wished to stay with him to await Arabella’s return, even attempting a bribe in the form of a fencing challenge. If he won, she would bow to his wishes and go to bed. As with most things concerning his duchess, there was a catch. Jem would fence only in her chemise, which guaranteed his loss. He wouldn’t be paying the least bit of attention to his form, only to her form.
Nick reminded her, rather sternly, of her delicate condition. He would join her in a bit after speaking to
his sister and Malden. Jem and Arabella detested each other and if they were both present, any discussion was bound to dissolve into a fight. And Nick wished the truth for the situation was beyond comprehension.
Then there was Malden.
The news of his sister’s abduction greeted he and Jem as they alit at Dunbar House. Jem was beside herself as they’d missed the ball celebrating the marriage of Lord and Lady Kilmaire. They’d been forced to stay an extra day at the home of Baron Kelso, Nick’s cousin, due to Jem’s aversion to the bouncing of the coach. Spence was not in residence but in India, nonetheless, Nick commandeered the place, worried for Jem and the baby’s health.
Peabody greeted he and Jem, tearful and wringing his hands like one of those plump matrons who’d lost their dogs in Hyde Park. He was surprised to find that Aunt Maisy was also in residence. His dearly loved aunt floated down the stairs just in time to collapse into a fit of tears. She babbled and sobbed, her words making little sense until she said ‘Corbett’. Nick surmised the rest.
Peabody, hands shaking, produced a note from Malden, Jem’s cousin. Malden had conveniently been visiting at the time of Aunt Maisy’s arrival, apparently to warn Nick that Corbett was still in England. According to Malden’s note, he’d had no choice but to go after Arabella in Nick’s absence.
There were constables, bow street runners and Dunbar solicitors aplenty. Malden did not have to go after Arabella himself even with Aunt Maisy begging him. No sane man would. The fact Malden had gone after Arabella was particularly interesting to Nick. Malden was one of the sanest men in London which made his behavior all the stranger.
As Nick sought to comfort his weeping aunt and Jem took Peabody’s hand to calm the older man, Nick caught the eye of his wife. Understanding passed between them. Arabella could have orchestrated her own kidnapping. She was nothing if not consistent in her machinations. But Aunt Maisy denied such a thing. Arabella had fought against the footman, Barker, as he’d pulled her from the coach. And she’d had to beg Lord Malden to go after Arabella. A bow street runner could not be trusted with such a delicate operation. Discretion was necessary to protect Arabella’s reputation.
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 8