by Burke, Darcy
He wished he could give her a sword—one that belonged to her. With a jeweled handle and her name inscribed at the base of the blade. He shook himself from the reverie and offered her the weapon with a great flourish, bowing.
She took it from him, and he straightened. “You remember how to lunge?” he asked.
She responded by leading with her foot and sword. Her form was excellent.
He nodded approvingly. “Wonderful. Now, to parry. This is a defensive act, and you will not move your feet. It’s important that you stand your ground and use the sword as your defense. Keep your arm as straight as possible.”
Perhaps he should have brought another sword, but he hadn’t thought of that and would have had to plan to bring one from Brixton Park. Assuming he could find one there. Surely there was a sword there somewhere. He glanced around the clearing and saw a small branch on the ground.
He went to pick it up, and Biscuit immediately started yapping and running about.
Arabella laughed. “She thinks you’re going to throw it.”
Of course she did. Zeus had loved to chase sticks. “And I shall. After you perfect your parry. Given your natural ability, this shouldn’t take long.” He moved to stand opposite her and positioned himself to lunge.
“I’m to defend myself against your stick?” she asked skeptically.
“You think you can’t? It’s a stick. You have a sword.”
“Therein lies my concern. I will cut your stick in two, and you will be defenseless.”
He laughed. “You can try. Ready?” She nodded, and he lunged.
She parried, but wasn’t fast enough to strike his stick. He could have scored a hit.
“You didn’t move your feet,” he said appreciatively.
“You told me not to.”
“I did, but most people, when they are learning, step back without thinking. It’s the natural thing to do when you are being attacked.” Unsurprisingly, she showed bravery and fortitude along with grace and wit.
“Again,” she said.
He lunged again, and this time, she struck the stick in defense. “Well done!” he cried.
“I want to lunge, and you parry,” she said.
“All right.” He admired her vigor. “Ready?” She nodded just before she lunged. He parried, then riposted.
She stumbled back. “What the bloody hell was that?” She scowled before lunging toward him again, her form perfect.
She really was magnificent. He parried, and she riposted without him even showing her what to do. He hadn’t meant to do it, but it was second nature to him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to counterattack.”
She lunged again, and he was forced to move back as he parried. She came at him with a riposte, which he quickly parried, then followed with his own lunge. She wasn’t as fast as him, but she was keeping up better than he could have expected. They continued for a few minutes until he noticed she was breathing heavily, and her sword arm was beginning to sag. Also, Biscuit was in a near frenzy because of the stick.
He stopped and pointed his branch at the ground. “Enough.” He tossed the branch where Biscuit could easily get it. She promptly sat down and began to gnaw on the bark.
“I hope she doesn’t think it’s another bone,” Arabella said.
Graham laughed softly as he moved toward her. Working to recover her breath, she handed him the sword. Listening to her, watching her chest rise and fall, he was reminded of the other night as they lay tangled in bed. His cock hardened, and he was all too aware of how alone they were in this secluded place.
“I see why you removed your clothing,” she said. “It’s quite easy to become overheated.”
“It is.”
“I might remove my clothing, if I could.” She lifted her skirt to her calves and shook them, likely creating a breeze that cooled her legs.
He tried not to look at them, the elegant turn of her ankle and the slope of her calf. He imagined her knee and then her thigh. He wanted to bury himself between them. Before he could think of what he was about, he was standing before her.
“What are you going to do with your sword?” she asked, her voice dark and husky.
For a moment, he thought she meant his cock, but realized he was still carrying his sword. “Sheath it.” He turned abruptly and found the scabbard.
“I wish you would.” She was right behind him, and this time, there was no mistaking her meaning.
He pivoted, still gripping the now-sheathed sword. “You are sorely tempting me.”
She moved toward him and curled her arms around his waist. “Am I? Good.”
He let the sword fall to the ground and grabbed her. Sweeping her to his chest, he kissed her with wild abandon, unable to stop the torrent of lust pouring through him.
She clutched at his waist and backside, greedily returning his kisses and pulling him taut against her. She rotated her hips, and he groaned, his desire cresting to a desperate height. This was madness. Delicious insanity, and he wanted every moment of it.
He reached down, their arms switching positions as she clasped his shoulders and neck while he grasped her skirt and pulled it higher than she had. He lifted it higher still, until he could slide his hand along her thigh. The skirt fell over his hand and forearm as he stroked toward her sex.
She moaned as he found her slick folds. She was ready and eager for him, her pelvis pressing into his touch. He gave her what she sought, sliding his fingers along her clitoris and then into her sheath. Her muscles clamped around him, and he was desperate to feel her around his cock.
He moved his mouth from hers, dragging kisses along her jaw and neck. “Arabella, let me…”
“Yes. Please.”
He rotated them both and guided her to a tree—not the one with the dog. He lifted her against it, then paused, looking into her face. She opened her eyes with alarm. “Why did you stop?”
“This can’t be comfortable.”
“What isn’t comfortable is you leaving me wanting.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Please don’t.”
“So demanding,” he whispered, lifting her skirts once more so they bunched between them.
“Is that a problem?”
“Not even a little bit.” He loved it. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” As she did what he demanded, he opened his fall and withdrew his cock.
She moaned, holding him tight as she ground against him. He slid his shaft along her crease, glorying in the sweet anticipation. Then he guided himself inside, and desperation took hold. She dug her feet into his backside, and he thrust deep.
“Go fast, please,” she said. “I need you.”
God, she aroused him like no other woman could. He gave her what she asked for, driving relentlessly into her. Her muscles clenched hard around him, and he knew she was close. With just a few more strokes, she came apart around him, squeezing him until he thought he would die from the pleasure of it.
Damn, he was going to come. And he couldn’t. Not inside her. But he couldn’t…get…out…
He withdrew just before he spilled himself. He dropped his forehead against the tree trunk beside her head, heedless of the coarse bark.
She held him, her hands caressing his nape and upper back, her lips grazing his ear, temple, and cheek. It was just a moment before he eased her to her feet, holding her until she was steady. “All right?” he asked softly.
She nodded, smoothing her skirts down her legs as he stepped back.
“That was probably ill-advised,” he said.
“Probably. As with the other night, however, I won’t regret it.” She was absolutely incomparable.
What had he ever done to deserve the time he had with this woman? Most men would go a lifetime without experiencing this depth of desire and satisfaction, this utter bliss.
He managed to find his voice. “Neither will I.”
“Still, we should probably stop doing this,” she said, readjusting her cap, which had gone quite askew during their…exer
cise. “I suppose we’ll have to when it comes time.”
Did that mean she was content to continue their…liaison? For that was what this had become. Or so it seemed she was saying. “Are we having an affair?” he asked.
She tipped her head to the side, her tongue darting out to lick her lip, and damn if he didn’t want her again right now. Maybe this time, he’d bend her over that rock…
“Yes, I think we are. How very Spitfire Society of me.”
He barked out a laugh. “Is that what they do?”
“Goodness, no. They do nothing of the sort. I just thought it seemed like something a spitfire might do. And I am an honorary member.”
“Are you?” He smiled. “Well, that makes sense.”
Biscuit barked, having grown bored with her stick. Graham went and loosened her from the tree. “You should let her chase the stick for a while.”
“I think I will,” Arabella replied. “I don’t think I can go home yet. I imagine I’m rather flushed.”
“You are. Beautifully so.” Her cheeks were pink, her lips red and slightly swollen, her eyes glowing with satisfaction.
“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow for the picnic, then?”
“Yes, I’ll send a formal invitation to you and to the Misses Lennox and Pemberton.”
“You’ll need to include Jane’s mother.” He nodded, and she smiled. “I look forward to it.”
“No more than I.” He noted the glint in her eye.
“We should be on our best behavior.” She sounded somewhat disappointed. “My mother will be there, after all.”
He lifted his hand in a pledge. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I will try to do the same.” She gave him a saucy smile before taking Biscuit’s leash and leaving the clearing.
Graham had to wait some time before he was cool enough to don his outer garments once more. What on earth was he doing carrying on an affair with an unmarried woman who was in search of a husband? He was a cad, a scoundrel, an absolute jackanapes.
And he was also, quite probably, in love.
Chapter 12
The sun glowed warm overhead as Arabella arrived at Brixton Park with her mother the following afternoon. Graham stood outside the portico. Behind him, tall pillars stretched to the towering roofline. Dozens of windows gleamed in the sunlight. It was a magnificent house, and she could already see why he loved it so much.
As they approached, Graham held his arms out wide in greeting. “Welcome to Brixton Hall. We have been blessed with a very fine day, perfect for a picnic.” He bowed as Arabella and her mother curtsied.
“We have indeed,” Mama said as she rose. “We are delighted to be your guests.” She’d been absolutely thrilled to receive his invitation yesterday. As expected, she’d immediately concluded that it must mean something, that courtship or even a proposal was imminent.
Graham’s gaze connected with Arabella’s, and a flash of heat blazed through her. It was becoming rather torturous to spend time with him. Or maybe it was just because they weren’t alone today. She’d become rather accustomed to having him to herself.
The sound of another vehicle drew Arabella and her mother to turn their heads back toward the long drive. It had to be Phoebe or the Pembertons. Arabella hadn’t told her mother they were coming, for Mama would have asked how Arabella knew.
“There are other guests?” Mama murmured.
“Apparently, “Arabella replied, keeping her voice bright.
The coach came to a halt, and Arabella noted that it didn’t belong to Phoebe or the Pembertons. It bore a crest.
Graham’s groom rushed to open the door, and Phoebe immediately stepped down, her gaze widening as she took in the house. Jane came out after her, and a third person—presumably the owner of the coach—descended last.
It was Lady Clifton. Why hadn’t Graham mentioned inviting her?
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Graham said. “Welcome to Brixton Hall.” He bowed again, and all three ladies curtsied.
Phoebe came forward and gave Arabella and her mother a warm smile. “I’m so pleased to see you here.”
Lady Clifton glided toward them, a willowy figure who moved with elegant grace.
“Lady Clifton,” Phoebe said. “Allow me to present my dear friend Miss Arabella Stoke, and her charming mother, Mrs. Stoke.”
Arabella and her mother performed another curtsey. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance,” Arabella said.
“Indeed it is,” Lady Clifton agreed before moving past them to address Graham. “Thank you so much for including me in your kind invitation for the picnic today.”
“It was my pleasure.” Graham’s voice was smooth and warm, and Arabella wondered how this invitation had come about. Since Lady Clifton had thanked him for including her, perhaps Phoebe was behind it. But why? If she’d been looking for ladies to bring along, why not bring Arabella? Phoebe didn’t know she was already coming.
Why would they? You made it clear to them that there was nothing between you and Graham, that you did not suit.
“Yes, thank you, Your Grace,” Jane said. “My mother wasn’t able to come, and Lady Clifton is a welcome chaperone. I appreciate you including her.”
He inclined his head, then gestured toward the house. “Shall we go inside for a brief tour before we repair to the garden for the picnic?”
“Yes, let’s,” Lady Clifton said, and since she was closest, Graham offered her his arm. Or perhaps it was because she outranked the rest of them.
Arabella linked arms with her mother as they walked toward the entry.
“I didn’t realize there would be other people here,” Mama whispered with grave disappointment.
“It’s quite all right,” Arabella said. “I did tell you not to get your hopes up about the duke.”
“It’s hard not to when he invites us to his house.” Mama pursed her lips as they moved inside.
The entry hall was large, with a pale marble floor and green wall coverings. A single portrait hung over a small accent table. It was of a woman with dark hair and secretive eyes.
“That is a past duchess,” Graham said, prompting Arabella to wonder if it was the duplicitous duchess who’d had his family banished. “The most recent duke’s mother.” Not her, then. Good, Arabella hoped he’d sold any portraits of her.
It seemed he’d sold plenty given the dearth of artwork on the walls. She hoped she was the only one to notice that.
“You’ll find my decorating taste is plainer than what you might see at other ducal houses,” Graham said. “I’m afraid it’s hard to leave behind my humbler background. Living in a house of this size and splendor is an adjustment, and I’ve striven to make it feel like my home instead of a museum.”
That was a most excellent explanation for the lack of art. Arabella wanted to applaud his ingenuity. Plus, she wondered if it was true. She knew he loved the estate and would do anything to keep it, but was he finding it difficult to adjust to opulence and splendor when it came to his living quarters?
“Allow me to show you the saloon and the ballroom. This way.” He took them through the hall, past a wide, gorgeous staircase with intricately designed polished wood banisters. There were flowers and leaves entwined along the stair rail and newel posts.
“The detail on the staircase is stunning,” Arabella said, wanting to run her fingers over the wood.
“My ancestor carved that himself, or at least part of it. He loved the gardens—he planned those as well—and sought to bring them inside whenever possible. You’ll see the flowered cornice in the ballroom.”
Graham took them to the saloon, which was painted in the colors of a garden. Indeed, a garden mural adorned one wall.
“This is so charming,” Lady Clifton enthused. “It reminds me of your garden room, Miss Lennox.”
“It does indeed,” Phoebe agreed.
Arabella noted that it seemed quite large, likely because there were only two seating areas, and it really could�
��and should—have supported much more. Again, she hoped no one else was paying attention to such details. Although, if her mother determined he didn’t have enough wealth, perhaps she’d surrender her hope that he and Arabella would suit.
Next they moved into the ballroom, and just as he’d said, the ceiling was trimmed with carved flowers around the edges. It was gorgeous, and Arabella feared she would get a crick in her neck from staring up at it for so long.
“Shall we go outside?” Graham gestured toward the wide doors that led out to the gardens. Laid out in a grid with paths between them were sectioned areas, and off to the left, a maze.
A footman held the door as they went out, and Graham led them toward the maze. Just past the last square lay a sprawling, beautiful green lawn. Two blankets were situated with six place settings so they would sit in a circle.
“On our way,” Graham said, “let me show you the keystone laid by my great-great-grandfather in 1715.” He took them to the corner of the house and pointed to a stone about four feet up from the ground. It read: R. Kinsley 1715.
Arabella knew the R meant Richard, Graham’s great-great-grandfather, not Robert, the duke. This was Richard’s creation, his passion. And it had been stripped from him. She looked at Graham, who stood staring at the stone with such pride that she felt it in her chest.
“I will do my best to ensure you sit next to him,” Mama whispered, breaking the moment.
She didn’t have to, as it turned out, because Graham guided Lady Clifton to a place, then stood next to her. He looked toward Arabella in silent communication. His message was clear—at least to Arabella—she was to sit on his other side.
“Oh good,” Mama murmured as they took their seats.
A footman served a delicious meal of cold pheasant, cheese, bread, and an assortment of fruit and nuts. There was also lemonade.
“Your great-great-grandfather designed this house?” Lady Clifton asked. “And the gardens?”
“Yes. It took him nearly ten years. It was a great deal of work. We have his diaries.”
Lady Clifton smiled, her attention completely focused on Graham. “How wonderful. I should love to read them. Have you considered having them published?”