Oh my. Arabella could do nothing but tilt her head in agreement. Closing her eyes, she took a sip of the fine wine, savoring the flavor and the feel of the bubbles on her tongue. “This is lovely,” she murmured.
When she looked up at Gabriel, he flashed his rake’s smile. “More than lovely,” he returned. “The word ‘breathtaking’ springs to mind. You have the most beautiful hazel eyes.”
A blush crept over Arabella’s cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to the white lace tablecloth.
She’d hardly ever been without her glasses in front of Gabriel, and no doubt his kind remark was intended to reassure her that he desired her. Nevertheless, she didn’t think she’d ever get used to receiving compliments from this man. A piece of her—a small, wholly feminine part—wished he was sincere. That these romantic gestures were genuine displays of affection and not simply a means to an end. “I don’t always need to wear my spectacles,” she explained in a manner she hoped was matter-of-fact rather than self-conscious. “Well, I need them to read, and to sew, and to do anything up close. But if I’m regarding anything a foot or more away, I can see quite clearly. It’s just easier to keep them on most of the time.”
He nodded in apparent understanding. “You might wish to put them on again,” he said, reaching into his jacket a second time. “At least for a moment.”
Arabella blinked in surprise when he placed a slim case covered in dark green velvet in front of her. “What’s this?” she asked as she slid her glasses back into place.
Gabriel grinned at her over his glass of champagne. “Open it and you’ll see.”
Arabella lifted the tiny gold latch and opened the lid. And gasped. Inside on a bed of white satin lay the most beautiful necklace she’d ever seen. Set in gold and surrounded by diamonds, the heart-shaped emerald pendant sparkled and winked at her in the bright afternoon light.
“Gabriel,” she breathed. “You . . . you shouldn’t have.”
“Yes. I most definitely should. It’s my wedding gift to you.”
“Thank you.”
“May I help you to put it on?”
“Aye. Of course.”
Arabella lifted up the ringlets at the back of her head, exposing her nape so Gabriel could fasten the necklace’s clasp. His fingers were warm, his touch light on her skin, but even so, Arabella shivered with awareness. Very soon he would be touching her in far more intimate places than her neck . . .
“Let me see you.” Gabriel reclaimed his seat and studied her décolletage. “Beautiful,” he said softly. “The colors suit you well.”
“Thank you,” she said again. Guilt pinched, and she blinked rapidly to suppress the unexpected prickle of tears. “I feel terrible. I’m afraid I didn’t get you anything.”
“Your delightful smile is the only gift I want, Arabella,” he said gently. “And as your husband, I declare that no tears are allowed on our wedding day. Now”—he lifted one of the silver domes to reveal an array of tiny savory pastries featuring tender pieces of crayfish, steamed asparagus tips, and something else, which Arabella suspected might be foie gras paté. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Let’s eat.”
Gabriel played servant, offering Arabella the platter of pastries and another plate overflowing with soft golden cheeses, luscious figs, fat purple grapes, and fresh bread, and it wasn’t long before her plate was full. She tasted everything, but after her third crayfish pastry, she paused.
“You’re full already?” Gabriel asked as he tore off a chunk of bread and topped it with a slab of washed-rind cheese. “Or are you saving room for dessert?” He nodded at a pair of crystal bowls brimming with strawberries and cream.
Arabella sipped her champagne. “I . . . I have to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you before now.” It was difficult to continue eating when her conscience kept pricking at her.
“Oh, yes?” Gabriel put down his bread and cheese and gave her his full attention.
Arabella forced herself to hold her husband’s gaze as she said, “You’ve been so forthright about your history. But I’m afraid I haven’t been as forthcoming about my past. And I want to be as honest and open as you have with me.”
Gabriel’s lips quirked. “What, you’re going to tell me you’re already secretly married?”
She smiled, appreciating his attempt at levity. “No. It’s about my parents. And their marriage. Or lack thereof . . .” Her voice quivered.
“Hey, now.” A line appeared between Gabriel’s black brows, and he covered her hand with his. “Whatever you tell me, I’m sure it won’t shock me. Or change my opinion of you.”
Arabella really hoped so. Drawing a steadying breath, she made her confession before she lost her nerve. “My mother—her name was Mary—passed away when I was but a babe. When she was eighteen, she eloped with a man named William Jardine against my grandfather’s wishes,” she said quietly. Unable to meet her husband’s eyes, she pushed her plate away, and then toyed with the stem of her champagne glass. “I’ve been told they married over the anvil. But my family never knew where the hand-fasting occurred or who the witnesses were . . . or if indeed there were any witnesses. There are no marriage lines, or any sort of certificate to speak of.” Arabella looked up from the table. “So I’m afraid . . .” She swallowed and her face heated with a flush of shame. “I’m not sure if I was born in or out of wedlock. The foundling hospital and orphanage where I was placed after my mother gave me away had no record of my parents’ marriage or my birth either. It’s something my aunt Flora has never let me forget,” she added bitterly. “She believes marriage should only occur within the church. That irregular marriage is sinful and isn’t valid in the eyes of God.” She hadn’t told him the worst of it though.
“Oh, Arabella. I’m so sorry. What a tragic start you had in life.” Gabriel gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “But let me reassure you, my opinion of you—no, my regard for you—hasn’t changed. At all.”
“Thank you.” Arabella offered him a tremulous smile. “I wanted to tell you sooner. Honestly I did. But when you told me about the trouble you were having with your cousin Timothy, it didn’t seem like the right time. And we’d only just become engaged. And then when you visited Maison du Lac again, we barely had a moment’s privacy. So that’s why I’m only telling you now. I hope you can forgive me.”
Gabriel smiled. “Arabella, there’s nothing to forgive. Who am I to pass judgment when my parents have done more or less the same thing? My father and mother eloped to a small hamlet just outside of Gretna Green. It’s true I have a marriage certificate of sorts, but it is of dubious quality. Not only that, the register cannot be found, and the fellow who officiated passed away several years ago. That’s why I desperately need to find my mother. She may have a copy of the certificate. And she might be able to help me locate the witnesses present at the ceremony.”
Arabella nodded. “I hope you can find what you need.”
“So do I. And thank you for sharing such a confidence with me.” Gabriel removed his hand and reached for the champagne bottle. His silver rings flashed. “Now, that’s enough of being maudlin on this wonderful summer’s day. Our wedding day no less. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
Arabella smiled. She was grateful that Gabriel hadn’t wanted her to elaborate upon the scant history she’d shared—whether she knew the fate of her parents or how long she’d remained in the Great Clyde Hospital and Poorhouse in Glasgow before her grandfather had come to claim her. That story was for another time.
As Arabella reached for her topped-up champagne, her simple gold wedding band glinted in the sunlight, reminding her that she now belonged to Lord Langdale and the course of her life was irrevocably changed.
For better or for worse. It was comforting to know there would be no secrets between her and Gabriel. And that Gabriel accepted her for who she was. This might not be a love match, but that didn�
�t mean there couldn’t be mutual respect and kindness and fond regard.
At long last, Arabella felt some of her apprehension about the future drain away. Until Gabriel said, “Arabella, I have one small request . . . May I draw you?”
* * *
* * *
Gabriel watched Arabella tense—her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute, and her lips thinned. Her gaze slid away from his to where she’d placed her glasses on the table. “I’m . . . I’m not sure,” she said before sipping her wine. A rose-tinted blush washed over her cheeks.
Damn, he hadn’t wanted to make her feel uncomfortable, not when he’d just begun to sense that she was relaxing. He was usually so adept at wielding his charms to seduce a woman. However, Arabella was quite different from his usual conquests and he sensed he needed to tread carefully. To employ an approach that was far subtler than his typical modus operandi. The only problem was, he was also inexplicably possessed by the need to do quite the opposite. To simultaneously impress, flatter, and spoil her with an enthusiasm that was far from subtle. God damn it, he was acting like a peacock at the height of mating season.
No doubt Arabella was feeling jittery about consummating the marriage. And of course he would endeavor to make the process as pleasurable as possible when the time came.
Indeed, if he were honest with himself, he couldn’t wait to tumble her. But he would show suitable restraint. He didn’t want to hurt or frighten her. Not that Arabella seemed the sort to be easily daunted. From what he’d seen of her, she wasn’t a skittish young miss by any means. The word fearless sprang to mind when he recalled the way she explored the dungeon at Chillon on her own and how she rushed headlong into the storm to help him when no one else in her family had.
He was also beginning to sense she lacked a true sense of her own worth.
I’m nothing. No one.
It bothered Gabriel that she doubted herself. That she thought herself odd and not worthy of attention. In Chillon’s dungeon, she quipped that he needed his eyes checked when he’d been transfixed by the sight of her. And in Maison du Lac’s library, she questioned his reason for kissing her, frowning up at him as though he was mad for wanting to do so.
He didn’t want Arabella to feel like that. He wanted her to know she was attractive in so many ways.
And eminently desirable.
He sipped his champagne, turning over different approaches in his mind. There must be something he could say to persuade her to sit for him. Then inspiration struck. “I’ve wanted to capture your likeness since we first met at Chillon Castle. Perhaps you could consider it your wedding gift to me . . .” He knew he was being a manipulative bastard, but it was for a worthy cause.
“Well, how could I say no then?” Arabella pushed away her glass and at last met his gaze. “Tell me what to do. How would you like me to sit for you?”
Naked but for that necklace. Gabriel suppressed the wicked thought. Perhaps in time Arabella would pose for him in the way he truly wanted. But not today.
“Any way you like,” he replied, rising from his seat and removing his jacket. He tossed it over the back of his chair, then untied his cravat and loosened the neck of his cambric shirt. He smiled inwardly when he caught Arabella staring at his exposed throat and collarbones. “As long as you are comfortable. Just let me get my things. I’ll be back in a minute.”
When Gabriel returned, it was to discover that Arabella was still sitting at the table; she toyed with her glasses.
“I’m not sure if you’d like me to wear these,” she said as he reclaimed his seat.
“It’s up to you.” Gabriel flipped open his sketchbook to a fresh page. “You are gorgeous with or without them.”
As he expected, Arabella’s cheeks pinkened again. She really wasn’t used to receiving compliments of any kind. “Perhaps I’ll hold them,” she said. “Then you can see my eyes. Would that be all right?”
“Of course.” Gabriel loosened his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. He was quietly amused to see Arabella sneaking another peek at him as he exposed his forearms. When he caught her gaze, she quickly looked away.
“And would it help if I sat closer to the arbor?” she asked in a voice that sounded more than a little breathless. “It might look nice if there were flowers behind me.”
He picked up his charcoal pencil. “Another wonderful idea.”
Arabella moved her chair so that she was framed by the arched trellis of roses. At her back was a heavenly view of deep blue water and towering mountainside. She sat perfectly straight and perfectly still, her serious gaze trained on the lake.
Gabriel bent to his task, chatting to her about inconsequential things as he drew her slender, elegant form, and by degrees, she began to relax and smile again. When he asked her to turn her head a certain way so he could accurately render the line of her small, straight nose and petite yet determined chin, she complied without hesitation. He was most careful not to draw attention to the fact that he was studying the swell of her pert breasts as they rose above the cream and gold bodice of her gown.
He’d love to paint her—to capture the precise golden hue of her hair, the soft rose pink of her delicate mouth. The creamy smoothness of her satiny skin. The clear hazel of her eyes and the rich golden brown of her lashes and finely arched eyebrows.
Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from imagining the delightful body hidden beneath her beautiful wedding gown. If Arabella weren’t an innocent, he’d be tempted to strip her bare on this very balcony and take her on the table among the plates of delicacies and glasses of champagne. He was certain she would taste far sweeter . . .
He put down his charcoal pencil and took a rather large swig of champagne, hoping it would quell the rampant fire running through his veins. He’d best focus on the job at hand. There was plenty of time for bed sport.
All the time in the world in fact.
Within the space of a quarter hour, Gabriel had completed the sketch to his satisfaction. “I will add more detail later,” he said as he handed the book to Arabella. He very much hoped she would like it. He also hoped she hadn’t noticed the telling swell at the front of his snug pantaloons. Well, not yet anyway.
She slipped her glasses on, and as she studied the drawing, he was pleased to see her eyes light up. “That’s . . . I look quite pretty for once,” she said with a genuine smile. “How very clever of you. Thank you, Gabriel.”
“It was my pleasure. And you look pretty all the time, Arabella. At least to me.”
A small crease appeared between her brows and he added, “You doubt my sincerity again.”
She looked up and met his gaze directly. A small, sad smile tugged at her mouth. “I don’t want to. But yes, I do.” She shrugged a slender shoulder. “I can’t help it.”
Before Gabriel could think of another way to convince her that he spoke the truth, Arabella sighed and added, “I can see what you’re doing here. Employing all these grand, romantic gestures. Even though we’re not a love match—indeed, we barely know each other—you’re trying to reassure me that I’m wanted, at least in a physical sense. And I do appreciate the effort. Truly. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Or paid me such lovely compliments. But no matter how much effort you expend on wooing me this afternoon”—she made an expansive gesture encompassing the balcony and the wedding breakfast—“or plying me with champagne to reduce how anxious I feel, I’m still going to fret about what’s going to happen later tonight in the marriage bed. Even though I possess medical knowledge of . . . of copulation, I’m a complete novice in all other respects. Whereas I’ve heard you’re quite the expert. And despite my bout of nerves”—she gave him a shy smile and Gabriel’s heart was touched in the oddest way—“it seems I’m tipsy enough to concede that I might be more than a little curious about it all. In fact . . .” A bright red blush bloomed across her cheeks. �
��I can’t stop thinking about it.”
His mouth kicked into a grin at her admission. “You’re not alone there.”
“So . . .” She rose from the table, drew a deep breath, and extended her hand. “Rather than delaying the inevitable, let’s get the deed done, Gabriel. Make me your wife in truth. I can’t bear the suspense a moment longer.”
To say Gabriel was surprised by his wife’s directness would be an understatement. Desire mingled with another wholly unexpected wave of tenderness as he stood and pressed his lips to her fingers. “I’m more than happy to acquiesce, Arabella,” he murmured in a voice that was more than a little husky with want. “Who am I to deny my wife on her wedding day?”
Chapter 9
Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me . . .
Lord Byron, “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”
I’m more than happy to acquiesce, Arabella. Who am I to deny my wife on her wedding day?
At Gabriel’s words, Arabella’s pulse raced wildly. Even though she was initiating this, her first sexual experience, apprehension still warred with desire. She’d been completely honest when she told Gabriel that she really wanted to get this over and done with. It would be like removing a plaster stuck to a sore spot. It was always best to just rip it off, nice and quick, without thinking about it too much. The anticipation was often worse than the actual business.
But then she recalled Gabriel’s kisses, the heat and taste of his mouth, the gentle rasp of his tongue. The feel of his fingers pushing into her hair, and caressing her face as though it were as precious and fragile as the finest porcelain and she might break.
He knows what he’s doing. He’s an expert, she reminded herself. He’ll make this, my first time, enjoyable, despite my reservations.
How to Catch an Errant Earl Page 12