In the weeks leading up to their wedding, Rowan’s slow seduction had inflamed Arabella to the point she thought of little else but her wedding night. No wonder he was considered a bit of a rake amongst the ladies of the ton. He did not flirt overtly with her, instead his hands would glide down the length of her spine as she walked. Or he’d casually tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing his fingers to brush her cheek. He’d argue with her then kiss her savagely as if he would devour her whole.
Her desire for Rowan was rather terrifying.
After the meal was finished, the gentlemen retired to Lord Marsh’s study for a short time to ply Rowan with whiskey or brandy before he and Arabella would leave. Rowan had purchased a handsome town home a short drive away as a wedding gift to her. Having no idea how to proceed with the decorating and furnishing of such a house, Arabella was at a bit of a loss. She would need to consult with her aunt, or possibly Miranda. The polite thing to do, however, would be to consult her new mother-in-law, Lady Marsh, the woman who was actively pretending Arabella didn’t exist.
Miranda’s grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, came to Arabella’s side to link arms. “Will you walk me in, my dear?” The green eyes were twinkling as she took in the tableau of the Marsh family versus Arabella. As they moved into the drawing room, the Dowager leaned in. “I shouldn’t worry. Lady Marsh would never have approved of any woman Rowan chose without her assistance. She only disapproves of you more. I’ve never known her to be an unkind woman.” The Dowager’s brow wrinkled in thought. “She’s been a bit overprotective since the death of her eldest son, some years ago. But that is not an excuse for her treatment. Should it continue I will have a word with her.”
Arabella halted momentarily at the Dowager’s words. Rowan had never mentioned an older brother but there was much they hadn’t yet discussed or told each other. “Please don’t worry yourself on my account. Lady Marsh has reason to dislike me and I’m not exactly the match she would have wished for her son.” The Dowager doubtless knew the whole story, as she knew most things. “He did me a good turn and instead of being thanked, he is stuck with me.”
“I do not think he minds.” The Dowager intoned as Arabella led her to a large chair dominating the room. “Nor do I think you are distraught at having to marry that handsome scamp. Regardless of the circumstances, he is a good match for you.” She squeezed Arabella’s hand and nodded towards Arabella’s hair. “I like this new Arabella. You no longer look as if you’re sucking on a lemon.”
Arabella felt the slight touch of the dowager’s cane against her leg and the curl of her lips stopped.
“Don’t start frowning, I shan’t tolerate it on your wedding day. Now bring me that girl.” The Dowager pointed with her cane at Petra. “I wish to speak to her about her Season.”
Arabella dipped and approached Petra and Lady Marsh. “Excuse me, Lady Marsh, but Lady Cambourne wishes to speak with Petra.”
Lady Marsh clapped her hands, barely glancing at Arabella. “Oh Petra, this is a fortuitous occurrence. Perhaps the entire day won’t be wasted.” She hustled her daughter towards the Dowager without another word to Arabella.
My wedding is a waste of Lady Marsh’s day. How lovely.
Arabella moved to stand at the window overlooking the gardens, pushing out thoughts of her mother-in-law’s rudeness to mull over the words of the Dowager. Was Rowan pleased to have married her? She knew he desired her. Wanted to bed her. He’d never once told her he wished to end their betrothal, though she’d given him many opportunities. And she sensed he enjoyed her company.
Arabella laughed softly under her breath. If anyone had told her months ago she would marry Rowan, she would have snarled something insulting in their direction. That Arabella, the one whose bitterness seeped through every pore, still lingered just below the surface. She tried to keep her contained, although in the face of Lady Marsh’s dislike, it was becoming increasingly difficult. She gave a pleasurable sigh as she looked out amongst the flowers and trees, realizing that she would tolerate all of Lady Marsh’s ill-mannered sputtering for Rowan.
I am well and truly bound to him.
Guilt washed through her. The horrible lie she’d told about her kidnapping hovered around her as she repeated her vows. She’d been acutely aware she’d nearly spoken those same words to another man. A man whom she would have married for revenge. The lie threatened her current state of unexpected joy, the tiny seed of which was nurtured with every caress or teasing word from Rowan.
It was hard to believe she could be happy.
A bird fluttered about the rose bushes, soaring into the air and then dipping back down. She watched the bird for some time until it flew off, frightened off by something that even now shook the rose bush. Probably a cat. Arabella had seen a large tabby roaming the dining room while they ate.
Arabella clasped the sill of the window in a death grip, a sickening ball of fear forming in her stomach. It was not a cat but something far more predatory lurking in the Marsh garden.
Barker, looking less scruffy than he had at Gunter’s, stood by the rose bush. It was clear by his stance he saw her at the window. With a flick of his wrist and a nod, he made his meaning clear. She was to meet him in the garden.
Arabella shook her head in refusal.
Barker shrugged and took a step towards the house, looking at her with a question on his coarse features.
Her mouth went dry, imagining Barker interrupting the wedding party. She snuck a look at the women chattering madly in the room. Miranda was still waving her hands about, clearly entertaining Jemma, Alex and Aunt Maisy with one of her stories. The Dowager held the rapt attention of Lady Marsh and Petra, both hanging on the older woman’s every word. She supposed it should have bothered her, to see that everyone had forgotten her presence, but Arabella was grateful. She would handle Barker once and for all.
Moving towards the door, Arabella’s hand fell to the knob. She turned and mumbled to the room that she wished to take some air.
Aunt Maisy looked up at her, smiling brightly. “Do you wish me to go with you?”
Her aunt was overly concerned Arabella needed her council on what to expect from the marriage bed. She was probably hoping her advice was needed even though Arabella told her quite firmly, she was not in need of direction.
“No. I just need a bit of air.” She gave her aunt a firm look.
Aunt Maisy gave a wistful sigh and returned to Miranda’s conversation.
Arabella strode quickly out to the terrace and down the steps leading into the garden. Moving as far away from the large windows facing the garden as possible, she sought out a bench positioned at the furthest edge and behind a hedge of flowering myrtle and sat. She prayed no one would come looking for her, ears alert for any sound of footsteps on the gravel path. Afraid and incensed Barker would come here and invade her wedding, she became more determined to rid herself of the former groom.
“What a lovely bride you are, Lady Arabella. I stopped by in hopes I could congratulate you on your wedding day.”
Barker stood directly behind her, his fetid breath causing her nose to wrinkle in distaste. She kept perfectly still, her voice low and quiet, her hands clasped on her lap as if she were contemplating the serenity of the garden. “What do you want? I’ve given you all the money I have.”
He leaned closer and Arabella shrank away as he whispered in a guttural tone, “not true. Your brother’s a duke. You’ve more money than I could spend in a lifetime.” He looked down at her hand. “That’s a lovely bauble.”
Arabella immediately covered the ring Rowan had just placed on her finger with her hand. “Are you insane? What would I say to my new husband should I return from a turn about the garden without my wedding ring?”
“I don’t give a shit what you’d tell him. Corbett promised me a large settlement. Seagraves too. Your bitch of an aunt hit poor Seagraves on the head. He’s got headaches now. Seagraves didn’t deserve such treatment as he never wo
uld have hurt her.”
Arabella snorted, her fear replaced with anger. “Seagraves abducted my aunt, you lunatic. What should she have done?”
“I’ll tell you what you are going to do, Lady Arabella. I know all about you and your fancy toff. I’ve seen the house he bought you.” A hand reached out and batted the sapphire earrings.
Arabella cringed and tried to slide away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Those gems hanging from your ears will fetch a nice price.”
Arabella shook her head. “No. I’ll bring you money tomorrow. I—”
“Did you know Corbett had a sister? Doesn’t even know her brother’s dead, I’ll warrant. Poor girl.” He gave a low chuckle. “Wouldn’t she be surprised to know the whole truth. Her husband’s a barrister.”
The threat was quite clear. She could already imagine the story Barker would tell Corbett’s sister. He would infer she’d changed her mind and then killed Corbett to marry Rowan. Given Arabella’s past behavior, she thought it unlikely anyone would believe Corbett’s death was an accident.
I should have confessed my stupidity well before now.
Slowly, she pulled the sapphires from her ears, knowing she had little choice. At least today. “I wish never to see you again, do you understand?” Her mind raced, wondering what she would say if anyone noticed the earrings gone from her ears.
I’ll say the clasps were hurting my ears and I had to take them off and I must have dropped them in the garden.
“I knew you’d see reason, Lady Arabella.” His hand opened at her side.
“That’s enough to keep you for the rest of your life, Barker. Do not bother me again.” She dropped the jewels in his outstretched palm. “Are we finished?”
“I suppose we are. My congratulations again.” The crackling of brush met her ears as he slithered off and left the garden.
Arabella sat staring at the rosebush for the longest time considering the options before her. She closed her eyes and focused on inhaling the sweet smell of the flowers and listening to the bird song, instructing her heart to stop beating so hard.
Rowan would never forgive her if he knew she’d omitted the truth. He would wonder if she had meant to kill Corbett. Her new husband would point at her willingness to pay Barker to keep such things from him. Not to mention her brother.
I was a different person then. I’ve changed.
She doubted that would matter. No one had ever assumed the best about Arabella; they were unlikely to start now.
28
Arabella was up to something.
Rowan wrapped the towel around his hips and stepped from the tub, ignoring the sputtering of his valet as water dripped all over the carpet. When he’d found her, sitting on the stone bench in his mother’s garden, she’d been deathly pale. At first Rowan assumed it was nerves for the day had been a bit trying. His mother in particular had been difficult. It wasn’t until they arrived at their new home that Rowan noticed the earrings she’d been wearing were gone. His new wife made a vague excuse about having dropped them in the garden as they pinched her ears.
“That will be all, Parker.” He dismissed his valet.
“My lord—”
“Out. It’s my wedding night. I doubt I need your assistance.”
Parker gave an exasperated sigh, pointedly looking at the water on the carpet. After a moment he nodded and quietly left the room.
Mother had behaved dreadfully, but he didn’t think that was the reason for Arabella’s odd mood after leaving his parents. Nor did he think it was the loss of her earrings. With any other woman, Rowan may have assumed nerves due to the wedding night, but Arabella’s behavior the night of the opera assured him of his wife’s enthusiasm for her wifely duties. Whatever was bothering Arabella, she didn’t trust Rowan enough to tell him.
The feeling was mutual.
He and Arabella were drawn to each other in a way Rowan didn’t wholly understand. What would she say if she knew he’d wanted her for years? The pull towards Arabella was so strong, so primal, Rowan often had trouble keeping his physical distance from her. Today was particularly difficult. But for all that, Rowan found he still didn’t trust her.
A soft knock sounded on the door and without turning he said, “Parker, I told you I had no more need—”
“It’s me.”
Arabella’s voice was low and husky, the sound rasping over his skin as if she touched him. Few brides would grow so impatient on their wedding night as to seek out their groom. Rowan smiled to himself.
Clutching the towel to his hips, Rowan turned, knowing she would see how tented the towel had become. Perhaps he should drop the towel. It would be interesting to see what Arabella would do. She didn’t frighten easily but seeing him naked with a raging erection might send her fleeing from the room.
The sight of her caused all amusement to flee.
The sable mass of her hair flowed wildly over her nearly bare shoulders. The nightgown she wore, a bit of white lace and silk, hid little from his gaze. He could just make out the dusky outline of her nipples beneath the almost sheer fabric. The entire concoction was full of ribbons and flounces, completely un-Arabella like.
Eyes the color of pitch looked down at the towel, and back at his face. The plump lips of her mouth widened into a perfect “o”, but she didn’t look away. Nor did she stammer or blush. Instead her gaze on him became increasingly possessive, as if he belonged to her.
A shudder of longing ran through him, forceful and sharp.
Rowan held out his hand and Arabella threaded her fingers through his without hesitation.
The towel dropped to the floor.
* * *
Bloody hell.
Arabella didn’t typically curse, though she certainly knew some choice words, after all, her brother was the Devil of Dunbar. And given her mother’s predication for bringing her lovers home, she had seen a naked man before.
Just not Rowan. Dear God, not Rowan.
She’d often wondered what lie beneath the tailored coats and fine lawn of his shirts. She imagined the bunched muscles of his thighs that caused his breeches to be so indecently tight. A violent fluttering spiraled out from her stomach to settle between her thighs as her eyes roamed over him.
He’s beautiful. No wonder every woman in the ton is chasing him.
Arabella had a rather possessive nature. She didn’t share things well despite her generosity to orphans and widows. Jealously was also not an unfamiliar emotion. But the proprietary way she felt about Rowan was new to her. Different. Powerful.
Broad muscled shoulders topped an equally sculpted torso. Many men of the ton padded their coats to give the appearance of a fine figure but her new husband wasn’t one of them. Not an ounce of fat shown on the rugged lines of his body.
Glorious. Magnificent.
His skin shone golden in candlelight. Small drops of water, missed when he’d dried himself, dripped down his chest from his still wet hair. As she watched, one droplet fell and slid down his chest, trailing down the flat toned stomach, to disappear in a thatch of dark hair.
Oh dear.
She tore her eyes back to his, determined to keep her gaze above his navel. Impossible with his arousal jutting out as if demanding her attention. Rowan seemed to have no inclination to cover himself. He curled his fingers around himself, stroking several times while she watched, gauging her reaction. “My sacrificial virgin has arrived. I’d no idea you’d be so impatient.”
Arabella’s pulse skipped, blood pumping furiously through her veins. The tips of her breasts chafed against the confines of the ridiculous nightgown Aunt Maisy insisted she have. She was fascinated by the length of him. What should she call…it? Her mother always referred to her lover’s assets in a rather lusty way, as a cock.
She supposed she should look away. Possibly twitter and weep at the sight of a large, naked male who clearly desired her. But if Arabella had learned nothing else about the man before her, it was that Rowan appreciated that she w
as not shy and retiring. Her boldness aroused him, as evidenced by the size of his— cock. She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “Virgin sacrifice? I thought I had more the appearance of an overdone wedding cake. I have never worn so much lace in my life.”
He reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his still damp body.
“You will not be wearing that piece of lace long or likely ever again.” He nuzzled the side of her neck.
“A shame.” Though it wasn’t. She detested frills and bows. “Aunt Maisy assured me all bridegrooms desired their brides to be adorned in such silliness.” She was trembling, both at the hardness pressed against her thigh and from the delicious anticipation radiating through her body.
He brushed his lips against hers. “Your aunt is incorrect. I prefer my bride to be clothed in as little as possible. Though I ache to seek you in your red chemise. Are you frightened, Bella? I don’t wish you to be.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean…possibly a little.”
The green in his eyes deepened. “Did I ever tell you I saw you once, long ago?” A finger slid down across her skin to the valley between her breasts. “You wore a ballgown the color of pink that reminded me of the early morning sky.”
“You did? You never told me.” It was difficult to think clearly when he touched her. Her breasts were swelling up towards him, eager for his hands, his mouth.
Rowan cupped one breast, the heat of his touch searing her through the thin silk and lace. “A ball, given by some member of the ton whose name I no longer recall. You were so very lovely. Haughty. No one dared approach you.” A soft laugh escaped him. “After that, I never saw you in color again for years. For the longest time I thought you were in half-mourning.” He gazed into her eyes intently. “No more browns or grays.” His words held a tone of command. “Are we in agreement?”
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 16