by Eva Shepherd
She shrugged off his jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to him. ‘Thank you, but I’m perfectly fine. You can ask your driver to return me to my lodgings now.’
He shook his head, but took his jacket from her outstretched hand. ‘I will do no such thing.’
They slipped back into silence and Arabella couldn’t stop herself from replaying everything that had happened during the short time she was at the party. The riotous noise, the inappropriately amorous behaviour between the guests, the women giving Oliver looks that could only be described as lustful. Despite the shivers still running through her body, her cheeks once again exploded with burning heat. That was Oliver’s world and it could never include her.
The carriage drew up outside his town house.
‘I said I want to go home. This is not my home. I want to return to where I really live, where I belong.’
He opened the carriage door as if she hadn’t spoken and held out his hand to help her descend.
‘I said I want to go home.’
He exhaled loudly. ‘Arabella, please, just come inside for a while. I can see how upset you are and, despite what you think of me, I will not let any woman, even my wife, go home by herself in such a distressed state. Once you have settled down, I’ll order my driver to take you back to your boarding house, but for now I insist that you come inside.’
She stared straight ahead. He remained standing at the door, his hand outstretched. She knew she was being petulant, but she felt petulant. She was angry. Angry with him and angry with herself. But he was right, she did not want to be on her own.
Reluctantly she accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her up the stairs and through the entrance to his house. He asked the footman to prepare coffee and they entered the drawing room.
Arabella sat on the chaise longue, feeling like a chastised child. But she had done nothing wrong. All she had done was go to a party that he was also attending. But she did feel she had done something wrong. He was right, that party was not the sort of place she would usually frequent. She should have known that Flora would take her somewhere wild. But even if she had made a mistake, he still had no right to judge her.
Leaning on the marble mantelpiece, he looked down at her. ‘So, are you going to explain what you were doing at that party?’
Arabella pulled herself up, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, determined to give him a defiant answer. She would not let him know how out of her depth she had been. Nor would she let him know that she had already intended to escape before he had seen her. ‘My roommate, Flora, had been invited so I decided to join her. I thought it might be a bit of fun.’
‘And was it?’
She shrugged. ‘But why should it matter to you? You have no more right to question why I was at that party than I have to question you. That wasn’t in our agreement.’
He stared at her, then frowned. ‘Yes, I suppose you are right. But we didn’t agree that we wouldn’t offer each other advice. I know that world, Arabella. It’s not for you. If you want to have fun, find it somewhere else, not at parties hosted by men like Nicholas de Valle. The man’s a notorious rake and his parties are legendary.’
Arabella shrugged again. ‘And he’s a friend of yours?’
Oliver gave a quick nod.
‘So, it’s all right for you to go to such parties, but not me?’
‘I’m a man, Arabella. So, yes, it is all right for me, but not for you.’
Arabella felt her eyes grow wide and her mouth almost fell open. Had he really said that? Had he really told her what she could or couldn’t do? Had he really said it was all right for him, but not her? Was he worried what people might think if his wife went to such parties? Or was it that he did not want to be seen consorting with other women in front of his wife? Or did he think it might put off some of his conquests if his wife was present? Although it certainly wouldn’t put off women like Lady Bufford.
Well, he was soon going to discover that if he wanted an obedient wife, he had married the wrong woman. Standing up, she put her hands on her hips and stared him straight in the eye. ‘How dare you? How dare you say I can’t go to such parties because I’m a woman? Next you’ll be saying that as my husband you forbid it.’
‘Sit down, Arabella,’ he said firmly. ‘You know you’re being ridiculous. Why don’t you just admit it? You made a mistake and went somewhere you didn’t belong.’
‘Oh, so I didn’t belong there, did I? But you did. And Lady Bufford did. And all those other simpering women hanging on your every word as if you were some sort of god, did, but not me. Not your wife.’
She had intended to shame him, but he remained standing at the mantelpiece, unmoved by her outburst. ‘Yes, it was a party for women like Lady Bufford and those so-called simpering women, but not for you.’
‘And what makes me so special? Is it because I’m your wife that you don’t want me seen at such places? Or are you worried that I might just find myself another lover and people might think that the famous rake Oliver Huntsbury can’t satisfy his own wife?’
Her words had hit their intended target. Oliver’s skin darkened, his jaw clenched and he stared back at her, his brown eyes unflinching.
‘Is that what you want? To find another lover?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
‘Perhaps.’ She glared back at him with more defiance than she felt. ‘Isn’t that what you were there for? To find another one of your sort of women? Well, perhaps I’m starting to become just that sort of woman as well.’
He gripped the edge of the marble mantelpiece, his back rigid, his eyes granite hard. ‘You are not that sort of woman. You never have been and you never will be.’
Arabella bristled at his curt dismissal. ‘And how could you possibly know what sort of woman I might be, or the sort of woman I might become? Things have changed for me, haven’t they? A few weeks ago, I was a single woman and I was a...a...’ She paused.
‘A virgin.’
Heat exploded on her cheeks. ‘Yes, a virgin. I’m neither of those things now. So perhaps I’m changing.’
‘You can’t change who you are, Arabella. And why would you want to?’
So I can become the sort of woman you would be attracted to.
‘Why not? Why shouldn’t I change? Why shouldn’t I find a lover as well? Why shouldn’t I have some fun?’
‘If it’s a lover you want, you don’t have to go to parties to find one.’ He quickly crossed the room. Before Arabella had time to fully register what was happening, she was in his arms. His lips were on hers. Hot, hungry lips, devouring her. She kissed him back, unable to halt the reckless desire that the touch of his body had ignited deep within her. Her body aflame, she moulded herself into his strong arms and chest, her lips and tongue tasting him. Her fingers moved through his hair, wanting to hold him close, wanting to never let him go.
‘Is this what you want, Arabella? Do you want a man to make love to you?’ he ground out harshly, before kissing a line down her neck.
She tilted back her head and gasped in a breath. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, her heart pounding so hard she could feel blood pumping through every inch of her body.
Yes. This was exactly what she wanted. This was what she needed to fill that aching void caused by being apart from him, what she needed to quench the fire that raged within her. She needed him. She wanted him.
Breaking from her, he took her by the hand and led her up the stairs to his bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was not how Oliver had expected the evening to end, but he couldn’t have wished for a better conclusion. To have his wife back in his bed—it was what he had hoped for, but had never thought would happen.
She rolled over and gazed up at him, her long black hair falling over her creamy shoulder and curling round her full breasts. His gaze followed the line of that tress, then con
tinued along her body, across her small waist, to her rounded hips, down her long, slim legs, then back up to her blue eyes.
‘Good morning, Husband.’ She smiled at him. ‘So it seems we both got what we went to the party for. I found a lover and you took a married woman who wants to have fun to your bed.’
Her smile grew wider to let him know it was a joke, but Oliver still cringed. Was that what she thought of him, like a tomcat always on the prowl? It might have been true once, but was it any longer?
He ran his hand gently along her cheek. ‘Going to the party was as much a mistake for me as it was for you, Bella. I had hoped it would provide me with a diversion, but it failed. Just as it has failed every night since you left.’
She propped herself up on her elbow and stared at him, her brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
He sighed and fell back on to the pillows. ‘I forced myself to go, just as I have every night since we returned to London, but when I got there I wondered why. Nothing about the party interested me. In fact, it all seemed a bit desperate. I felt surrounded by people who were trying to drown their unhappiness in noise, drink and other people’s bodies.’
‘So, you didn’t want to be there? You weren’t interested in any of those other women?’
An urgency had entered her voice and he smiled up at her. ‘There’s only one woman I’m interested in. I was actually about to leave when you arrived. You thought you saw me surrounded by a group of simpering women, but what you actually saw was me saying my goodbyes.’
She bit the edge of her bottom lip. ‘So, you weren’t interested in any them? Truly?’
He smiled. It seemed she needed even more reassurance. ‘No, Bella, the only woman I’m interested in is the one I’ve been watching in rehearsals every day.’
Her blue eyes grew wide. ‘You’ve been attending my rehearsals every day?’
‘Yes, I’ve been watching you from up in the gallery, where you wouldn’t see me.’
Her smile grew tentative. ‘So, what do you think of the play?’
He laughed, wrapped his arms round her waist, and rolled her beneath him. ‘The play is wonderful. You’re wonderful. I have no doubts that the play is going to be a big hit and you’re going to be famous.’
She wrapped her arms around his neck and joined in his laughter.
‘So, before you become famous and throw me over for some backstage Johnny, I’d like to make love to my wife one more time.’
‘Just the once?’ She laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist. ‘Surely you’ve got more stamina than that, Your Grace.’
Stifling her laughter, he kissed her, determined to prove his stamina was more than up to the challenge.
* * *
Arabella lay on her side, Oliver’s arms wrapped around her, his breath warm on her neck. She could stay like this for ever. Could spend the rest of her life making love to this wonderful, virile man. Her husband.
But she couldn’t. Tonight was opening night. She had to go to the theatre.
Opening night.
Tonight was opening night.
She should be at the Limelight getting ready for tonight’s performance. She sat up quickly and looked frantically around the room. ‘What’s the time?’
Oliver stretched out a lazy arm and grabbed his waistcoat, abandoned beside the bed. He pulled out his fob watch and, still lying on his back, opened the clasp. ‘It’s five o’clock.’
Arabella threw back the covers, jumped out of bed and grabbed her gown. ‘I need to get home. I need to get changed. I have to get to the theatre.’
How could she have forgotten? In the past it would have been the only thing she’d have been able to think about from the moment she woke up. But she had been completely distracted.
And it was no surprise. Being in Oliver’s arms—how could that not be a distraction of the most wonderful kind? But she had to get dressed and get to the theatre. Now. It was almost unbelievable that she had forgotten, even for a moment, that tonight was opening night.
‘Oliver. I have to leave,’ she reiterated to the man still stretched out on the bed like a contented cat. ‘Tonight’s opening night.’
She scanned the room for her clothes, strewn chaotically around the room from when Oliver had all but ripped them from her body last night. She picked up her corset and one shoe, and searched the room for its companion.
Oliver rose from the bed and she paused in her anxious search to take a quick scan of his taut, muscular body, then went back to gathering up her clothes.
‘Well, I’d hate to interfere with your panicking,’ he said as he picked up her silk stockings and handed them to her. ‘But if you slow down, I can arrange for some clothes to be collected from your boarding house while you’re at your toilette. Then we can take my carriage to the theatre and we’ll get there in plenty of time.’
She took the stockings from his outstretched hands. His calmness helped her tense body relax and her churning stomach to settle down. He was going to take care of everything. He was going to arrange everything for her, so she didn’t have to panic. She smiled at him. It was so nice to be looked after.
* * *
In a much calmer frame of mind, she had got ready and was soon travelling with Oliver to the theatre. As they rode through the busy streets, he took her hands in his and murmured gentle words of encouragement and support in her ear, helping to keep those nerves at bay. Oh, yes, it was very nice to be looked after like this by a strong, supportive man.
When they arrived at the Limelight Theatre, she left him to join the cast in the dressing rooms. Backstage, without Oliver by her side, her pre-performance nerves started to bubble up within her. And she wasn’t the only one. Everyone was tense, going through their own calming routine to get themselves ready for tonight’s performance and working hard to not let their own anxiety affect anyone else.
Some had their little superstitious rituals they performed, others were doing breathing exercises and some were staring at their reflections and giving themselves silent pep talks. In among this Nellie was running around, making sure everyone’s make-up, hair and costumes were perfect.
A stagehand called through the door that there was five minutes to show time and the cast whispered break a leg to each other, as a final good luck wish, and made their way to the wings.
As Arabella would be appearing in the first scene, she entered the stage along with the leading actors and waited anxiously for the curtain to be raised. Tonight she would not only be performing for an audience, but she would be performing for Oliver as well. He would be sitting in the auditorium, watching her, just as he had done every day during rehearsals. She prayed she would make him proud and not get struck by the dreaded curse of stage fright.
The curtain started to rise. The cast all breathed in, deeply and audibly, then the leading actor confidently projected his first line out to the darkened auditorium, capturing the audience’s attention.
From that moment Arabella’s nervousness dissolved. She forgot about everything except the play in which she was acting. Her absorption into her part became complete as each actor gave it their all, the energy on stage becoming almost palpable.
* * *
When the entire cast assembled on stage at the end of the performance, took each other’s hands and made their final bow, Arabella could tell it had been a resounding success. The audience stood as one, clapping and stamping their feet. Arabella lost count of how many curtain calls they had made as they returned again and again to ever-rapturous applause. She also couldn’t fail to notice how loud the applause grew each time she took a solo bow.
The performance had exceeded the cast’s most optimistic expectations and they were united in their sense of euphoria, as they finally gathered in an excited huddle at the edge of the stage, laughing, talking loudly and slapping each other on the back.
Arabella’
s happiness was complete when Oliver joined them, wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her off her feet and kissed her. ‘What can I say? That was magnificent. You were magnificent. I have never felt more proud of you.’
She smiled down at him, certain she was about to burst with happiness.
Rosie and her husband joined them. They had come up to London especially for the opening night and Arabella was so happy to see her best friend again. ‘Oh, Bella, you were at your very best,’ Rosie said. ‘That truly was a virtuoso performance.’
Even the smiling director joined their group and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Arabella, you were marvellous, simply marvellous. You shone tonight. Whatever you did last night it certainly put that extra spark in you, so please keep doing it. You were superb.’
Oliver winked at her as the director wandered off to congratulate another actor. ‘You heard what the man said,’ he whispered in her ear, his arm around her waist. ‘You’re under strict instructions to keep doing what you did last night.’
Arabella giggled, reached up and kissed him. ‘Oh, well, if I’m going to keep that spark, I’ll have to do that every night of the play’s run. And then there will be more plays after that. I’m going to need that spark for a long time to come.’
Oliver laughed, picked her up and whirled her around. ‘Happy to oblige.’ Lowering her to her feet, he turned to the assembled crowd. ‘The champagne is on me,’ he called out to a roar of approval. ‘The Savoy is booked and the champagne is already on ice.’
The jubilant crowd tumbled into waiting cabs and, with much banter being shouted between the racing cabs, they made their way to the hotel.
The champagne immediately started to flow freely and the exuberant cast and crew took advantage of the food and drink on offer. The entire patronage of the Savoy seemed to get caught up in their excitement and soon everyone in the restaurant was joining in with the celebration.
Arabella was so pleased she could share this occasion with Oliver, who looked as triumphant as she felt.