Did Gabriel really just say that? Before Arabella could think on the significance of such a thing, he was turning her head gently this way, then that. Beneath his sodden black curls, his brow plunged into a deep frown. Arabella suspected her cheek was bruised and scraped from her earlier fall in the courtyard. When he felt the back of her head and encountered a particularly sore spot, she winced. The blow Timothy had dealt her when he knocked her out had left a rather sizable egg on her crown.
“I could kill my cousin for this,” Gabriel muttered. Judging by the cold anger in his voice and the fire in his eyes, Arabella believed him.
The duke cleared his throat. “MacQueen was watching the building from the other side, so if Timothy tries to cut and run via another entrance, he’s sure to give chase.”
“Excellent.” Gabriel brushed such a whisper-soft kiss across Arabella’s forehead, her heart fluttered. “Let’s get you back to the dispensary so Radcliff can examine you.” His mouth tipped into a warm smile. “I have it on good authority he’s a very skilled physician.”
Bemused by her husband’s gentle—dare she think it loving?—demeanor, Arabella felt as if she were in a daze as Gabriel helped her to her feet and then down the remainder of the stairs. The laudanum in her system was undoubtedly making her feel slightly dizzy, and she was grateful Gabriel was holding on to her tightly. It was almost as if he didn’t want to let her go.
She wanted to ask him about Lady Astley, but considering Max was also waiting in the shelter of the stairwell, now didn’t seem like quite the right time.
The handsome duke gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m most pleased to see you’ve emerged relatively unscathed from your encounter with Gabriel’s cousin, my lady. You gave your husband quite a scare. In fact, I’ve never seen him so beside himself with worry. But if you’ll both excuse me”—the duke gave Gabriel a light clap on the back—“I might dash off to see how MacQueen is doing. I’m loath to let him have all the fun.”
“Go right ahead,” said Gabriel. “I think I can manage things from here.”
After Max took his leave and ducked out into the rain, Arabella chanced a glance up at her husband. Even though her vision was a little blurry, she could see he was looking at her with such tender regard in his eyes, she was beginning to wonder if the laudanum or even a bump to her head was making her hallucinate.
But then Max said Gabriel had been beside himself with worry . . . And he’d also willingly given up his parents’ marriage certificate for her, potentially risking his entire inheritance . . .
“We should go too,” Gabriel murmured. “I want the doctor to check this bump on your head. But I’m afraid you’re about to get soaked.” He grimaced at the sky. “At least the storm is beginning to ease a little.”
“Yes . . .” Arabella drew a deep breath. “Gabriel . . . I wanted to ask—”
She got no further as her husband swept her off her feet. “What are you doing?” she gasped as he strode into the rain and across the muddy, litter-strewn courtyard.
“Carrying you back to the dispensary. There’s no way that I’m letting you walk through this cesspit. And besides”—he pressed a kiss to her temple—“I like having you in my arms.”
Arabella sighed and rested her head against Gabriel’s wide shoulder. Even though the rain was icy and her head and body ached, for the moment she was content to go along with what her husband wanted. When they gained the alley behind the dispensary, the rain had almost stopped. A group of children had emerged and begun to squeal and laugh as they splashed about in the filthy puddles down the other end of the laneway.
“Look, there’s a rainbow,” Arabella murmured. “Above the rooftops over there.”
“Yes . . .” Gabriel paused and smiled. Then his gaze caught hers. “I interrupted you before. You said you wanted to ask me something.”
Gathering her courage, Arabella licked her dry lips and drew a deep breath. “Did you really mean it when you said that you need me . . . even more than your parents’ marriage lines?” she whispered, searching his face. She really wanted to know.
Gabriel’s forehead dipped into a frown. “Of course I did. You mean the world to me, Bella. Everything.”
Oh, how she wished that were true. Arabella suddenly felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a very significant moment. She was terrified yet hopeful. Expectant yet guarded. Her heart pounded wildly in her ears.
Gabriel set her gently on her feet but he didn’t let her go. Of their own accord, Arabella’s hands slid to his chest, and through his wet shirt, she could feel the heat of his body, the reassuring thud of his heart.
“Do you still see that rainbow?” he murmured. His moss green eyes were as soft as velvet.
She nodded. It arched over his left shoulder and the distant spire of a church. “Yes . . .”
He brushed a damp, tangled curl away from her cheek. “When I first proposed to you, Arabella, by the shores of Lake Geneva, my heart did possess tender feelings. They were a bright, beautiful glimmer deep in my chest, but like the rainbow we saw that same afternoon, I thought they would be just as insubstantial and impermanent. That, over time, they would weaken and wane. But I was so very wrong. What I feel for you isn’t transient at all. But dolt that I am, it wasn’t until today that I realized my regard, my affection, my desire, indeed, all of my feelings for you are so strong, they blaze as steadily and fiercely as the summer sun. They will never fade away. They will never be extinguished.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Gabriel?” she whispered past a throat tight with longing. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Don’t you see?” His large hands cradled her face, and his thumbs caressed her cheeks with breath-stealing tenderness. His adoring gaze trapped hers. “I love you, Arabella. With my entire heart. It belongs to you, and you alone, forever and always.”
Could it be true? Did Gabriel really love her? Arabella so wanted to believe her husband, but she had to ask him one last thing. “And what of Lady Astley?”
He frowned. “What of her?”
“In today’s Beau Monde Mirror, there was a report stating that you’d been with the countess yesterday afternoon. I didn’t want to think the worst of you . . . but you two shared such a great passion . . .”
“Ah, yes . . . I heard about that . . .” A shadow crossed Gabriel’s face, but he held her gaze steadily. “It’s true I met with her. But we only had the briefest of conversations. She asked me to speak with her husband. To deny we were having another affair because he was threatening to divorce her. So that’s what I did. This morning, I told Lord Astley that I couldn’t possibly have taken up with his wife again because I’m deeply in love with my wife and I would never, ever betray her. And that’s the truth of the matter, Bella. Indeed, I rushed back to Langdale House to tell you just that, that I love you, but then I learned you’d been kidnapped. And I’ve never been more terrified in my life.”
Arabella reached up and touched his handsome face with trembling fingers. She believed him. No, it was more than that. In her heart of hearts, she trusted him. “Well, I’m here now, safe and sound in your arms,” she whispered.
“Yes . . . but the question is, how do you feel about me, Bella?” he murmured huskily. “For the longest time, I thought you might care for me . . . But of course, total ass that I am, I’ve given you cause to doubt me, over and over again—”
“Shh.” Arabella placed a finger against his lips. The naked yearning in her husband’s eyes was too much for her to bear. It was cruel to make him wait a moment longer, especially when the words she’d always wanted to say danced on the tip of her tongue. “I don’t just care for you, Gabriel, you silly, adorable, complicated, utterly divine man. I’m madly, completely, head over heels in love with you, and I think I have been since the moment I first saw you in that dark, cold dungeon in Switzerland.”
Gabriel picked her up and spun her around
three times before backing her against the brick wall of the dispensary, caging her in with his body and his arms. “I’ve never been so filled with joy,” he whispered, capturing her face with one gentle hand. “With you by my side, there will always be light in my life, Arabella.” And then he kissed her with such fierce yet reverent ardor, Arabella’s heart swelled with incandescent happiness too.
Epilogue
And gazing in thy face as toward a star,
Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn,
Feeding on thy sweet cheek! while thy lips are
With lava kisses melting while they burn,
Showered on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn!
Lord Byron, “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”
Hawksfell Hall, Cumberland, England
August 20, 1818
Sketchbook in hand and a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, Gabriel lounged naked among a pile of soft-as-a-cloud pillows in his massive four-poster bed in Hawksfell’s opulent master suite. Although, lucky man that he was, it wasn’t just his bedchamber anymore. It was Arabella’s too. Sometimes he had to remind himself that this idyllic existence with his wife wasn’t just a dream.
“I need your opinion, Bella,” he called out. The shadows were growing long, and Arabella was dillydallying in the sitting room next door. “I want to begin painting your portrait tomorrow, and for the life of me, I cannot decide which pose I like better. You’re just too lovely.”
“You know I’m a wee bit busy at the moment, so tipping the butterboat over me will get you nowhere, my lord,” Arabella called back.
“Hmmm, it did this afternoon,” he rejoined. “Quite spectacularly, if I recall.”
“Ha, if I agree, your head is bound to swell. And I think it’s quite inflated enough already.”
Gabriel smirked. It wasn’t his head that was in danger of swelling at the moment.
Flipping over the page of his sketchbook, he smiled as he studied one of the drawings he’d rendered earlier today. He’d rowed Arabella across Grasmere to the tiny island that was part of the Hawksfell estate, and there, beneath the shade of a weeping willow, he’d spread a blanket and made slow, sweet love to her. As he’d kissed and caressed her, and progressively laid her bare, he’d cataloged in teasing whispers against her satiny skin everything he adored about her exquisite body and fair face.
When she was flushed and sated with pleasure, he then convinced Arabella to remain gloriously naked so he could sketch her, his very own beautiful, golden-haired water nymph.
One particular pose kept catching his eye. Arabella lay with her back arched and her arms thrown elegantly above her head, her curls cascading about her face like a tousled golden waterfall. He traced a fingertip along the line of one of her slender legs. The swell of one perfectly round and plump breast. Yes, perhaps this one . . .
Gabriel reached for the glass of claret on his oak bedside table and took a swig. Thank God Arabella’s bruises had almost faded and that she hadn’t sustained any serious injuries. Unlike Timothy . . .
After his cousin had emerged from an entrance on the other side of the derelict lodging house, MacQueen had given chase through the rain-wet streets of Covent Garden. Apparently the Scot caught up to Timothy, snagging the back of his coat, but as Timothy twisted and jerked away, he slipped on the road and his forward momentum sent him sprawling across a busy thoroughfare, directly into the path of an oncoming coach. He was killed instantly.
Gabriel felt not one iota of sorrow or sympathy for his cousin. The dog tormented and abused Arabella and almost killed her by throwing her down the stairs. Fate or God or the devil himself might have robbed him of the chance to mete out his own justice to his despicable cousin, but in the end, Timothy had received his just deserts. As far as he was concerned, if Timothy was now roasting in some fiery pit of hell, that was even better.
“Bella?” Beyond the green velvet bed hangings and the wide casement window, Gabriel could see that dusk was melting into night. The sky above the gently sloping wooded hills on the far shore of Grasmere was awash with hues of rose and deep lilac and dusky blue. A full moon was rising just behind the branches of an ancient oak on Hawksfell’s grounds. “You’re taking far too long, my love.”
She laughed. “I’ll be there directly, you impatient man. I’m just finishing my letter to Charlie.”
“You said that half an hour ago when you were finishing your letter to Sophie. Or was that Olivia?”
“I’ve written to them all. Lady Chelmsford too. And your mother.”
God’s teeth. Gabriel cast aside his sketchbook. “If you don’t come soon, my sweet but exasperating wife, I’ll have to march in there, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you to bed.” And then I might tie you up with silk rope. Gabriel’s cock twitched. Now there was a thought. They hadn’t tried that yet. Perhaps he’d add a blindfold to the mix too . . .
Another laugh. Soft and throaty that sent another bolt of lust straight to Gabriel’s groin. “If you stop nagging,” she said, “you shall have a reward.”
Reward? Gabriel grinned. “I like the sound of that.”
“Oh, you will.”
* * *
* * *
Arabella put down her swan feather quill, sprinkled sand across the last page of her letter to Charlie, and smiled to herself. She’d send this off tomorrow with all the others; a neat pile of carefully folded letters sat on the edge of the dark green leather blotter of the escritoire. As she’d just told Gabriel, there was one each for Sophie, Olivia, his mother, and the Marchioness of Chelmsford.
Arabella was particularly looking forward to working again with Lady Chelmsford and her Mayfair bluestockings under the banner of the Mayfair Trust when she returned to London in October. Indeed, the plans for fund-raising and securing the support of other wealthy patrons for her charitable causes were well afoot; in the autumn there would be a series of subscription balls and musicales and even an art show to raise money for three more medical dispensaries in London, and of course, her greatest dream, a well-funded and properly staffed orphanage in Edinburgh. Gabriel’s mother, Caro, had also expressed interest in courting the favor of the Arbuthnotts and other well connected gentry and philanthropic-minded members of the ton who resided in Edinburgh. Apparently she was also quite well acquainted with Eleanor Kerr’s sister, Lady Cheviot. Arabella had smiled to herself when she’d learned that. She’d never gain Aunt Flora’s respect or affection, but at least her aunt could no longer dismiss her as a nobody and a disgrace to the family.
Aside from attending to her charity work, Arabella was also working diligently to uphold her promise to her husband—to provide him with an heir. Her mouth twitched with a smile as she closed the lid of the elegant rosewood escritoire. Working diligently. It was certainly no hard task to make love with one’s breathtakingly handsome, attentive, and adoring husband, if not once, then at least several times a day. She was fast becoming addicted to pleasure.
For years and years, she’d always thought she was too plain and practical and not made for love at all. But oh, how wrong she’d been.
Whenever she was in Gabriel’s arms, she felt like Aphrodite.
Putting aside her glasses, Arabella picked up a branch of candles, then padded across the sitting room through to her dressing room.
Gabriel called out again, “What are you doing now, love?”
“Getting your reward ready. I promise I won’t be long.”
Arabella put down the candelabra and threw off her gown and undergarments. She still didn’t have a lady’s maid. But at times like this, she rather liked not having the prying eyes of servants around. She liked the freedom of being able to do as she pleased, without judgment.
Although she rather hoped she’d please Gabriel shortly too.
When she entered their bedchamber, candelabra in hand, Gabriel scowled at her from t
he bed like a petulant boy. “You’re wearing far too many clothes,” he said as his gaze roamed over her tightly cinched robe of rich amber silk.
Arabella laughed as she placed the branch of candles on an oak side table. “You’re incorrigible.”
Beneath half-mast lids, his green eyes glimmered with desire. “Wicked too. If you only knew what I was thinking, you’d be most shocked, my Lady Langdale.” As he spoke, the richly embroidered silk counterpane slipped, and it was abundantly clear in which direction his thoughts ran; the linen sheet barely concealed his arousal.
“Yes, you are wicked and incorrigible,” she agreed as she approached his side of the bed, drinking in the sight of his lean, ridged torso and the swell of hard pectoral muscles. “It’s a good thing I love you for being both.” She reached for the sash of her robe. “Are you ready, my lord?”
He gave her a lazy, lopsided smile that belied the sharp, hungry look in his eyes. “You know I am.”
She tugged the knot at her waist undone and slid off her robe, and her husband’s mouth stretched into a wider, thoroughly lascivious grin.
“Ah . . .” he murmured. His burning gaze traced over her naked legs and gaping décolletage before returning to her face. “Are you certain that’s not one of my shirts?”
Unable to resist teasing him a little more, Arabella ignored his question and pointed at the bed. “Show me these sketches. Oh, bother, I forgot my glass—” She began to turn away, but faster than a striking hawk, Gabriel’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist.
“They can wait till later,” he growled as he threw off the sheet and pulled her onto the bed. “This wicked libertine wants to thoroughly pleasure his wife.”
He claimed her mouth in a demanding, ravishing kiss, his tongue plundering as his hands commanded her body. He urged her to straddle him, then through the cambric of his shirt, his large hands cupped her breasts, stroking and kneading her flesh, driving her wild.
How to Catch an Errant Earl Page 33