Arabella blinked. Nick and Miranda had been correct. Rowan was not as nice as he pretended to be.
“Brooch?” Lady White stammered and blinked. Realization dawned in her eyes as she gave Rowan a brittle smile. “Why, of course.”
Rowan continued to smile at Lady White, almost daring her to admit she’d received no brooch and the piece of jewelry had likely gone to Lord White’s mistress. Arabella herself couldn’t have given a better set down.
Lady Gwendolyn looked as if she wished to climb beneath the seat of their carriage. She stopped her mooning over Rowan and pretended to study a loose thread on her glove.
“Oh. Yes.” She pretended to recall the brooch. “A beautiful piece, isn’t it? Lord White does like to indulge in such tokens,” Lady White bit out, clearly horrified. “We must be on our way, my lord. Please give my regards to Lady Marsh.” She spared an ugly look at Arabella.
Rowan dipped his head. “Lady White, Lady Gwendolyn. He snapped the reins and the carriage moved forward.
After a moment, Arabella said, “Apparently I am not the only one who knows how to fling about an insult.” Her heart ached in a pleasant way at his defense of her. “I don’t think I deserve—”
“Probably not.”
Arabella hissed under her breath and swatted him against the shoulder with one gloved hand. He immediately grabbed her wrist and pressed a kiss to her pulse.
“Lady White insulted you while her daughter watched. I find that she did so intolerable.”
“Was there really a brooch?” Arabella questioned.
“Of course,” he gave her a look of disbelief. “Quite beautiful. He was bragging about the gratefulness of his mistress for the gift. I believe she’s an actress, a terrible one I understand. At any rate, Lady White will go home now and confront her husband. She will remind Lord White that while she does not have his affection, she would have his respect. She will rail at him and demand her own, more expensive, brooch. He will go off to his club and sulk.” He winked at her. “No actual harm done, except to Lady White’s ego. She will not insult you again.”
Arabella laid her fingers on his sleeve, enjoying the feel of his muscles bunching beneath the coat. “You surprise me.”
“Shouldn’t you be telling me how I must allow you to flee to Italy? To become fat and learn to paint? Which,” he laughed, “I sincerely doubt you have the patience for.” He looked down at her and grew serious. “I find Bella, that you surprise me, as well.”
26
He’d never thought watching a woman enjoy a lemon ice would be such an erotic experience.
Arabella made small sounds of satisfaction as she enjoyed her treat, and he wondered what other sounds she was capable of making. Even the way she licked her spoon gave Rowan improper thoughts. Her eyes were dark and mysterious as she watched him over her ice, one sable curl dangling over her shoulder as she ate. She’d surprised him by wearing a lovely frock of forest green and wearing her hair in a relaxed style. Her ensemble even included a matching reticule and earbobs. He imagined she’d chosen a scandalous chemise to compliment her dress as well, though he hadn’t asked her. Arabella had a dark sensual quality to her making her more desirable than any other woman he’d known. And she was far more intelligent than he’d supposed.
Rowan found that particularly arousing.
She made another sound as she ate the remainder of the lemon ice and Rowan’s blood surged between his legs. He’d heard that sound before as he stroked and caressed her after the opera and Arabella truly gave herself to him. Rowan wanted more. All of her. Even the secrets he sensed she still kept from him.
“I don’t suppose I could have another.” A wistful smile pulled at her lips.
“You are beautiful when you smile.” His eyes followed the movement of her tongue as she licked lemon ice off the corner of her mouth. “I long for you to do so more often.”
Arabella shot him a sideways glance. “I know what Newsome is.” She placed her empty spoon down, ignoring the compliment. But her cheeks pinked.
“Do you?” He hadn’t really discussed his plans with anyone for the textile mills, only telling Nick they’d come into his possession. The properties needed modernization but more importantly, they required a way to get whatever they produced to market.
“Newsome is the name of a family in Surrey who owned several floundering textile mills. The river that powered the mills and was used to bring their goods to London has long been damned, resulting in financial difficulties. A land dispute I believe.” She leaned forward. “And I’m told the father gambles.”
The father did indeed gamble and poorly. He’d been no match for Rowan’s skills. “How would you know such a thing?” He had the urge to reach across the table and kiss her which would shock everyone at Gunter’s.
“You may find this hard to believe, Rowan, but as I mentioned before, I do happen to read. Also, my brother was trained from an early age to run the duchy and our various family interests. Since I could not abide being separated from my brother, I was there for the tutelage as well. I speak French passably, adore mathematics, and know a reasonable amount of history. Particularly military history as the subject was a passion of my brother’s.”
“Why?” He knew part of the answer but wished to know all of it. All of her.
“I suppose because my grandfather knew my father could never run the estates, so he made sure Nick had the finest education from nearly the time he was born. I liked mathematics especially. I’m very good with sums.”
“So am I.” Rowan shook his head. “What I meant was, why could you not bear to be separated from your brother?”
Arabella looked down at the remains of her ice. She went very still. “I’ve told you,” she said in a low voice, “he was all I had.”
She had told him. At least some of it. The motivation for her deceit. There was more, but he resolved to leave the subject alone for now and not spoil the day.
“Why would you want the Newsome mills? You’ll have to modernize them and there’s no longer access to water. The river has been damned. You cannot run the mills without the river.”
He raised a brow at her assumption.
“Steam also powers looms.” Her dark eyes watched him. “As it does ships. And our ships as we discussed earlier, will soon be converting to steam. My brother cannot avoid it. Steam will shorten the journey back and forth to America and you will get your cotton sooner, won’t you?”
“Clever girl.” Rowan’s heart thudded with desire for her. “What else?” His gaze flew to her lips, then lingered on the swell of her breasts. “I like the dress, by the way. Have I told you?”
“Yes.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “If I guess correctly, will I receive another lemon ice?”
Rowan adored this playful, teasing, Arabella. “Absolutely.”
“I think that the Newsome textile mills are only a hobby.” She drew circles with her fingertips and all Rowan could think of was how badly he wanted her to touch him.
“A hobby?” He scoffed. “Why would you think that? Because I’m titled and should not be in trade? Your brother and his ships are not the only exception.”
“No. You are much more ambitious than I realized. What you really want is a reason to build a railroad. The Newsome mills are only an excuse, aren’t they?”
Rowan picked up her hand and toyed with her fingers, before bringing them to his lips. “I’ll go get you another ice.” It was incredibly improper, regardless of their betrothal and impending marriage, to behave in such a way, but Rowan didn’t care.
Let them all look.
“I’ll return in a moment.”
Arabella nodded. “Of course, my lord.” And she was smiling.
* * *
Arabella was having a marvelous day. She even felt lighthearted, an emotion she hadn’t experienced since she was a child. Peering through the crowded interior of Gunter’s she could just make out Rowan’s tall form as he disappeared to bring her another ice.
I must have guessed correctly.
And he appreciated her business sense. Nick did, of course. Truth be told, she and her brother operated more as partners in regard to the Tremaine fleet, then as the duke and his younger sister. She’d grown up learning the shipping business from Grandfather, among other things. Her family had long been known not just for their success at trading goods, but also trading in secrets. Taught from an early age to never discard information, Arabella hoarded facts and bits of gossip. She sensed the same hoarding of information in her future husband.
She could see Rowan’s tall form through the window speaking to the clerk. As he waited, two men approached him. The younger man was speaking to Rowan urgently while his companion nodded every few seconds in agreement.
Arabella caught Rowan glancing out to the terrace to check on her before he began speaking to the two men.
She turned away from the window as the shadow of a man, directly behind her appeared.
“I didn’t think he was ever going to give us a chance to talk.”
* * *
The last two men Rowan expected to see at Gunter’s were Sir Chatsworth and Mr. Hind. He suspected they’d been looking for him and had managed to track him here. Arabella had been correct he was planning a rail line. The Newsome mills were worthless with their only transportation route, the river, damned up. There was no rail at all in that part of Surrey despite there being several large villages in the area. The most direct route would need access through the edge of the estate of Squire Tidwell, a prominent landowner. Tidwell wanted nothing to do with the rail line and was proving rather obstinate.
“Mr. Hind, Sir Chatsworth, I didn’t realize either of you gentlemen frequented Gunter’s.” He bestowed a smile on both men even though business was the last thing on his mind. Arabella was all he wished to consider at the moment.
“Malden, finally,” Mr. Hind began. “I’ve unfortunate news, I’m afraid. All of my efforts concerning Tidwell have fallen on deaf ears. He refuses to even consider allowing access to his land. Nor will he sell the parcel.”
Chatsworth nodded. “No amount of money it seems will sway him. The property is in trust for his daughter. The plot will come to her once she weds.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, the girl has not one suitor that we know of, my lord. Even so, there is no guarantee any husband would sell the land.”
The smile on Rowan’s face didn’t falter. Everyone had their price he just hadn’t found Tidwell’s yet. The land would be his. Somehow. “Gentlemen, may we continue this conversation at another time? I am otherwise involved.” He nodded to the terrace in Arabella’s direction, surprised to find her gone from the table they’d been sitting at.
“Excuse me.” Gripping Arabella’s lemon ice, Rowan made his way back to the terrace, wondering where Arabella had gone.
* * *
Arabella froze at the sound of Barker’s voice. The lemon ice curdled in her stomach.
“Perhaps you’d like to move to the edge of the terrace? There’s some lovely blooms for you to admire.”
“Get away from me,” she hissed. “How dare you approach me again.” Glancing inside, she could see Rowan was still engaged in conversation. Thankfully he hadn’t looked in her direction.
“You stuck that knife in Corbett to keep him from talking. Get up. Walk to the terrace.”
“I did no such thing. He was going to shoot—” She stood and slowly moved to the edge away from the window and bent her nose to a large purple flower. People moved past, but no one paid the least attention to her. Or Barker.
Barker laughed, an ugly guttural sound as he hovered a few feet to her left. “I saw you do it. I came up to help Corbett. He was my meal ticket. But you stabbed him. Weren’t your toff like he told the constable. See, that’s what they call intent. That’s what the constable would call it.”
The flower caused Arabella’s nose to itch. “It’s not true,” she whispered. Had she meant to kill Corbett? She panicked. Rowan could appear at any moment and must not see her with Barker. “How much? How much to make you go away?”
“Now see I knew we could come to an agreement.”
Arabella didn’t turn to look at him, instead she hurriedly searched through her reticle. “This is all I have.” She took all the coins in her reticule in her palm and held her hand behind her as discreetly as she could.
“Not nearly enough,” Barker snarled, taking the coins from her outstretched hand. “I’ll be in touch. Perhaps I’ll attend your wedding.”
She grasped the flower before her, holding the fragile stem so firmly it snapped. Filled with loathing both for herself and Barker, Arabella could think of nothing else but the stabbing of Corbett.
A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped, but it was only Rowan, holding out her lemon ice.
* * *
Arabella had blamed a headache, brought on by two lemon ices and the sun, for her somber mood on the drive home. She put a hand to her head, rather dramatically, and sighed.
Rowan wasn’t impressed with her acting skills.
As he’d walked towards the terrace, Rowan could have sworn he saw a man hovering at Arabella’s back as she looked at the flowers spilling from the railing. When he arrived at her side, there was no one there.
After leaving Arabella at the Dunbar residence, Rowan mused over his future wife as his carriage rolled through the streets. She was not only intelligent but highly educated. Her reasoning and ability to decipher what he was really doing with the Newsome properties was nothing less than brilliant.
Too bad I don’t completely trust her.
He did not think he imagined the man on the terrace behind Arabella. Possibly it was nothing more than coincidence. Maybe it had simply been a gentleman who happened to only pass behind her. But her behavior afterward betrayed her. She was nervous. Unsettled.
He couldn’t imagine what she could be hiding from him. Was she planning on fleeing to the Continent to avoid their marriage?
Doubtful. Her happiness at Gunter’s had not been practiced. Her enjoyment of his company did not ring false. If anything, the heat in her eyes matched his own.
Rowan pictured her eating the lemon ice again and moved his thoughts from her odd behavior and toward a more pleasant direction. Their wedding night for instance.
27
Rowan’s hand held hers firmly in the warmth of his. “You look beautiful. I am partial to you in blue. And red.”
Heat pinked her cheeks at his reference to her red chemise. For the wedding ceremony today, Arabella had chosen another dark blue gown, this one shot with deep green thread. She knew the color would please him as would piling the heavy mass of her hair into an array of curls left to dangle over her shoulders. She wore her sapphire earrings. Arabella had never felt so beautiful.
If only her new mother-in-law would cease her weeping.
She strove to keep from frowning at Lady Marsh. While Arabella and certainly everyone else was aware of Lady Marsh’s disapproval, the woman didn’t need to wail as if she were attending a funeral. Lord Marsh sat with a stony look on his face, though he was careful to not show his displeasure as strongly as his wife. Not with the Duke and Duchess of Dunbar present.
Rowan said his vows in a deep, sure tone, squeezing her hand as he did so, in a sign of encouragement. Last night she’d had nightmares of him leaving her as the vicar requested his vows, while his family clapped their approval. She’d even dreamt he’d laughed as Corbett appeared, announcing to everyone Arabella had promised to marry him as he took her hand to become her rightful husband.
Arabella did not have a restful night.
Her voice only trembled slightly as she spoke the words that bound her forever to Rowan. The vicar said something else, but she was so focused on the ruby and diamond ring placed on her finger she barely heard him. The ring was heavy and only a little lose. Before she knew it, Rowan had brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The smile he bestowed upon her was full of
wicked intent mixed with true affection and made Arabella’s toes curl inside her slippers. She may have sighed.
Lady Marsh sniffed loudly.
Rowan tucked her hand securely in the crook of his arm as they were offered hugs of congratulations and well wishes. A dark-haired man approached, a smile on his swarthy face.
“Brendan,” she cried happily, hugging her cousin. “I’d no idea you would venture to London for my wedding. You’ve not been to town in ages; I’d thought you’d forgotten the way. Rowan, may I introduce you to my cousin, Brendan, Lord Morwick.”
The two men shook hands as Arabella’s eyes took in her cousin. His hair, black as sin had grown overly long, nearly brushing his shoulders. His trousers didn’t appear to match his coat and he looked a bit rumpled. Brendan cared little for clothing or the trappings of being an earl. He was happiest crawling through the caves that littered the moors outside his estate and studying rock formations. Overly large in height and build, like every other man who shared the bloodline of the Duke of Dunbar, Brendan, with his wild hair and olive complexion, resembled a pirate more than an earl.
“Congratulations on your wedding, love.” Brendan whispered in her ear as she released him. “Let me know if he gives you any trouble.”
Arabella nodded solemnly. “I shall.”
The group proceeded to the dining room where an enormous wedding feast had been prepared in Rowan and Arabella’s honor. One dish after another was brought out from a steady stream of servants, the aroma causing Arabella’s mouth to water. She was starving. In addition to not sleeping, her nerves had not allowed her to eat anything.
As the conversation flowed around the table, Arabella sipped at her wine and waited for her nerves to calm. She looked at Rowan down the length of mahogany laden with food and found her new husband watching her. His mother was busy chattering away in one ear, but he seemed focused on Arabella and paid Lady Marsh no mind. When his gaze fell to her lips, heat flowed up Arabella’s chest.
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 15