A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1)

by Patterson, Stephanie

  “Don’t you dare call her a tart!” Drew charged up to his brother, his fists clenched ready to do battle for the honor of Arabella Winston. “I’ll repay you the money – every pound. My allowance is due in a fortnight.”

  Michael laughed. “Your allowance wouldn’t cover the cost of even one of those combs and you know it. You have good taste, I’ll give you that.” Drew flushed and Michael had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t Drew who’d picked out the combs at all. “You followed her to Rundle and Bitcomb's, didn't you? It was no happenstance that brought you and Araby Winston together, was it?” Michael rubbed his temple pleading for patience with his lovesick fool of a brother.

  “She’s ‘Lady Arabella’ to you and no I didn’t. I was on a errand for Mother and Lady Arabella happened to be...I mean, I saw her there and naturally I spoke with her.”

  “Naturally,” Michael returned. Damn she was good. Playing on Drew's naivete and manipulating him into buying her an expensive present was Araby’s way of paying Michael back for kissing her so thoroughly the other day. It was a good thing he hadn’t fingered her as well, or she’d probably have demanded diamonds.

  The memory of her ripe mouth against his own and the feel of her generous breast filling the palm of his hand caused an unwelcome tightening in his crotch. He could almost feel the press of her hardened nipple. She’d been an unexpected delight to kiss and fondle. Araby Winston was a very responsive young woman. She gave as good as she got and with the proper education, she’d.... Michael cut off his reminiscences before the front of his breeches betrayed him.

  “Drew,” he began. “It’s not the money. I’ve plenty to spare. Hell, you know that I plan to settle generous amount on you by anyone’s standards when you marry. I just don’t like seeing you make a cake of yourself over this girl. There are dozens like her every Season - vain, mean and none too bright.” Drew opened his mouth to come to her defense, but Michael silenced him with a wave of his hand. “I’ve heard Araby Winston and her set tear young men and women apart just for something to do. You’ve heard them. Hell, you’ve taken the brunt of it yourself more than once.” Drew flushed a deep red and couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “Whatever else our family’s faults might be, cruelty is not one of them. Henry would never sanction a match between you and Arabella Winston simply for that reason and since he’s head of the family, you need his blessing.”

  “You don’t understand her, Michael. She’s spirited, a little wild maybe, but I’ve seen the other side of her. Araby just needs guidance, that’s all. A firm, but loving hand.” Drew spoke so earnestly that it made Michael’s heart ache for him. “Life is not as easy for her as everyone imagines.” Drew turned away abruptly to look out the window.

  “I’ve seen more of the world than you have, Drew, and too many women like her – vipers who could sweet talk the last coin from a starving man’s pocket.” He thought of Revati and the path of destruction she’d left in her wake. Michael would be damned if he’d let his own brother be destroyed by some greedy, grasping female. “This girl may only be a baby viper, but she’s a viper none-the-less and that blood will tell. Young ladies of class and distinction don’t accept, let alone solicit, expensive gifts from men whom they have no intention of marrying.” As soon as he said the words Michael wished he could have recalled them. One look at his brother’s face told the tale. Drew truly believed that her acceptance of the combs signified an unofficial engagement. “Bloody hell.”

  ***

  Araby Winslow hurried across the ballroom to meet her friends. Katherine Saunders, wearing a gown of ice, blue silk which set off her pale, blonde hair and blue eyes to perfection, took her friend's hand as she gave her a cool smile. To anyone else Katherine looked aloof and bored beyond measure. Only her friends knew her reserve was a facade.

  “I received your note. Are you quite certain you wish to break things off with Danvers?” Araby dropped her voice to make certain they were not overheard. “I’m certain he’s about to propose. He’s a viscount with thirty thousand a year. Surely there can be no serious objection.”

  “Apparently, there is,” Katherine said smoothly. “He rather unwisely confided to my father that politics bore him and that once he's found a suitable wife he intends to remove to his estate and never visit London for more than a fortnight again.” She arched one blonde eyebrow to indicate significance. “Nor will his wife.”

  “Oh dear,” Araby said. “Perhaps there’s some room for negotiation. Surely you could persuade him to change his mind once you're married.”

  “I’m told no. You see, he rented a house for the Season and he has no intention of buying or renting one in the future. In fact, I’m told he was quite perplexed as to why he should even consider doing so. And that, as they say, is that.”

  “Oh Katherine, I’m so sorry. I know you are fond of him,” Sarah said, patting her friend’s arm.

  “Yes, he is quite affable, but one can hardly be proclaimed the most illustrious hostess of the London Season if one does not reside in London for the Season. I've my social standing to consider as well.”

  “But surely....” Sarah began.

  “I’m content, truly,” Katherine responded, pulling away from Sarah. “Marriage is a strategy, Sarah, nothing more. There is little enough power for women in this world. If we wish to realize what potential we’re allowed we must become the unseen force, the delicate hand that shapes the Empire from behind the scenes. I can hardly do that in the Cotswolds, can I? Ah, and here’s Lord Brewster for our waltz.” Katherine glided away on the arm of her partner, cloaked in an air of detachment, her smile set firmly in place.

  “She becomes more like her mother each year,” Sarah whispered to Araby.

  “I’m afraid you might be right, Sarah. Katherine is genuinely fond of Danvers. I think she would have been genuinely happy in the Cotswolds. At any rate, here comes Mr. Givens for your dance. Sarah?” Her friend had disappeared from her side as if by magic. It only took Araby a moment to discover what happened. Coming out of nowhere, Rafe Kingsford had seized Sarah’s arm forcing her to accompany him to the dance floor. Araby gasped in alarm. The bounder held onto her friend securely and though Sarah tried to subtly free herself, there was nothing she could do short of slapping him across the face. In all likelihood Kingsford would slap her back, ballroom or no. Perhaps she could keep an eye out for Sarah from the dance floor.

  Araby looked for her own dance partner and not seeing him, checked her dance card. Chilton. The fool must have forgotten. Really, this was outside of enough and she would make certain he suffered appropriately for his shoddy behavior. Araby glanced around the ballroom nervously. It wouldn’t do for her stepfather to discover her not dancing. The baron was a man of uncertain temperament at the best of times. Rather than stand looking as if she were without a partner, Araby decided to leave the ballroom and sit the waltz out in the retiring room.

  Just as Araby gained the hallway, someone seized her arm as well and in a none too gentle grip. She found herself propelled through a doorway into a small, dimly lit, parlor. She heard the door shut smartly and the ominous sound of a key turning in a lock. She already knew who it was. Her pirate. No, no, nother pirate. The man was less than a loathsome nightcrawler. Araby turned to find Michael examining the key he held in his hand. Perhaps he'd simply paused to consider his options. His eyes swept over her clearly finding nothing much to admire.

  That vexed her, because Araby knew she’d dressed to her best advantage tonight. Her ivory gown, embellished in gold thread and accented with dark, blue rose buds had been much admired tonight. It showed off the narrowness of her waist. Her shoulders and decolletage, the beneficiaries of countless sour milk treatments, positively glowed against the creamy fabric – if her maid were to be believed, at any rate. The man was either lying to himself or blind.

  “Yes, you’re beautiful. No question about that,” Michael said hawkishly, as if her thoughts were completely visible to him, “but you’re also a p
articularly unpleasant little triffle. There are names for women who accept expensive gifts from men they have no intention of marrying, you know – very ugly names.” He walked slowly to her and boldly tapped his index finger against her sapphire necklace before reaching up to finger one of her curls. “The combs look beautiful in your hair, by the way. How interesting. They just happen to match your necklace.” He dropped the curl as if it burned him. “I am going to give you a choice Araby. You can either return the combs to my brother with a heartfelt apology, or you will let him know that his pursuit of you has captured your heart and that you will marry him.”

  “Marry Drew? You can’t be serious,” Araby eased away from him. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt and judging from the look on Michael’s face, a strategic retreat was the wisest course. “Drew is a nice boy, but he is a third son and he has no prospects. We would not suit.” Again too blunt. Michael advanced on her.

  “Then your choice is option one,” he said flatly. “You may return the combs tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to cause talk by divesting you of them now.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No. When I threaten you, you won't have to ask for clarification. There will be no doubt left in your mind.” Araby swallowed and her throat felt painfully dry. She didn't doubt for a moment that he spoke the truth. He tipped his head to one side in that considering manner of his. “I'm simply pointing out that returning to the ballroom with your hair tumbling down your back is bound to cause a scandal. Don’t you agree?” His voice whispered like silk cross the skin, but held enough menace in it to let her know she'd regret ignoring his warning.

  She lifted her chin. “I didn’t make Drew buy me the combs. He saw them and insisted.”

  “I’m certain you had no choice at all,” he said drily. “It must be hard to be at the mercy of a madman bent on buying you jewelry.”

  His assumption that she was lying infuriated Araby. “Mr. Lassiter, I have never lied to you during any of our conversations, even when it would have benefited me to do so. Why would I lie now? The simply facts are that Drew met me at the jewelers. I was purchasing the necklace I’m wearing tonight.” She punctuated her words by briefly touching the sapphire and diamond necklace around her neck. His eyes followed her hand and the look in them made her breath catch for a moment. “The jeweler showed me the combs and Drew wanted to buy them for me. Naturally, I refused them. The jeweler took no notice of my refusal and boxed them up anyway.”

  “Terribly distressing for you, I'm sure.” He’d moved closer and his eyes held a light that both frightened and thrilled her.

  “N...no, not really,” she babbled, trying not to look at his mouth and failing miserably. “I firmly said no, but then Drew said something that completely changed my mind.”

  Michael leaned towards her. Any farther and his lips would touch hers. “What was that?” he asked softly.

  She licked her lips and the way he watched her mouth brought heat to her cheeks. “He said, ‘charge them to my brother Michael’s account'.” He blinked at her for a moment, then tipped his head back and laughed, not a politely amused chuckle, but a real laugh. Araby smiled in return. She couldn't help it.

  “You are a hell-born minx,” he said, grinning.

  “That may be, but you are right. It was highly improper of me. Though, in my own defense I was still quite angry at you for kissing me the way you did. I thought I’d wear the combs tonight as a thank you to Drew and to....”

  “Irritate me.”

  “Yes. I’ll return them tomorrow,” she said, primly.

  “See that you do, minx,” he warned. Suddenly, Michael reached out to trace his finger across the seam of her lips. “You really do have the most delectable mouth.” He paused, as if committing its shape to memory. “Oh dear,” he whispered.

  “What?” Araby asked breathlessly.

  “I’m afraid you’re about to become very angry again.” He pulled her to him and slanted his mouth across hers. She gave in to his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing as he gathered her closer. Michael Lassiter was a powerful man, strong and sure of himself. His kiss was an extension of the man and left her with no doubt that he wanted her surrender. He showed himself to be firmly in control, ruled by neither his passion, nor his anger. Instead, he let those emotions serve him, serve them both.

  “I'm completely furious,” she murmured against lips. He took full advantage of her words and slipped his tongue into her mouth. This time it was not a startling surprise, but rather a welcome invasion, causing waves of sensation to surge through her body. Her breasts, crushed against his broad chest, tightened. It felt as if they'd grown heavier in mere seconds. She made a murmur of contentment deep in her throat and Michael brought his hand up to stroke her ribcage. His touch tantalized her and Araby pushed her body more firmly into his, hoping he would touch her breast as he'd done before. He slid his hand upwards, his thumb unerringly finding the place where her nipple lay pearled beneath her gown. She gasped at the sensation and moved restlessly against him. He broke the kiss to stare into her eyes.

  “You are dangerous, aren't you, little blossom?” he said, his own eyes, dark and smokey.

  “Me?” she teased softly. “You, sir, are clearly the enemy of virtuous ladies everywhere.”

  He ran his finger around the neckline of her gown. “No, not everywhere. Just in this room, with you. Normally, I have little use for virtue.” He frowned as he continued stroking the tops of her breasts.

  She wouldn't pretend an outrage she didn't feel. She'd wanted his kiss, his hands moving over her. If truth were told, she wondered how she might persuade him to kiss her again. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he gave her a wicked grin and reclaimed her mouth. This time his hands caressed her back and she suddenly felt the bodice of her gown go slack. It crossed her mind to protest, to push him away, but then all the wondrous things he was doing with his mouth and hands would stop. He tugged the neckline of her gown forward and it slid down to expose her chemise and corset. Araby barely had time to gasp in shock before he lifted her breasts free and began stroking their tips between his thumb and forefinger. She drew a shuddering breath and heard him chuckle against her mouth.

  “ I knew that's what you wanted. God, you respond so perfectly. It's as if you were made for me.” He kissed a lazy path down her neck, then dipped to take one of her nipples in his mouth. It was shocking, yet she couldn't hold back her response to the pleasure of his mouth taking her breast. She gripped his shoulders and moaned as he suckled her, his other hand still working its magic on her other breast as she clung feverishly to him. The marvelous place between her legs, the one the teachers at the ladies academy told them it was unhealthy to touch, much less even think about, began to tingle. She felt achy there and dampness formed at the vee of her thighs. He pushed her away, slowly, but with inevitability and Arabella made a soft mew of protest as he set her away from him.

  “I think that's quite enough, Lady Arabella,” he said, turning her quickly so he could hook her gown. He didn't sound smug, or mocking – any of the things she had expected from a man who had told her time and again he had no use for her, or her kind. If fact, he sounded rather breathless and perhaps a little alarmed. When he'd finished with her gown, he spun her quickly back the other way. He kept a firm grip on her arms as he gave her a little shake. “There will be no more of this, Araby, do you understand me? You're damned lucky it was me in here with you instead of someone like that ponce, Edmond Bennet. He would have ruined you eight ways to Sunday and without a please or a thank you. Stay out of private rooms with men until after you're married.” He let her go so quickly and paced away from her, running his hands through his hair in agitation. When he turned back to her, his expression was closed and formidable. He made a show of tugging at his shirt cuffs.

  Araby sniffed and tossed her hair making an effort to hide her hurt at his abrupt change from tender lover to disaffected rogue. Didn’t Michael feel the magic betwe
en them? Despair tightened around her heart like an iron band. It settled in, mocking her and her dreams. Of course he didn’t. He’d felt nothing more for her than lust. While she....

  “First,” she said with derision in her tone, “I didn't come in here with you. You grabbed me on my way to the retiring room and thrust me in here. You locked the door and you still have the key. Secondly, I would never permit liberties such as...as,” she waived her hands, as her vocabulary momentarily failed her, “such as that from someone like Edmond Bennet. He's an idiot and he'd carry the tale all over London within the hour.”

  “What makes you think I won't do the same?” He regarded her with his cool, unruffled gaze, the one that said she was not as safe from him as she thought herself to be.

  “Why would you? You've no wish to see yourself leg-shackled to a debutant even if she is The Incomparable and more importantly, Drew would be devastated if he knew you and I had kissed much less.... You'd never risk that.”

  “You are a clever girl,” Michael remarked, surveying her thoughtfully, “but not even my erstwhile older brother, earl or not, could make me offer for you and it's best you understand that right now.”

  Araby swallowed her hurt and gave him a careless shrug. “And why would I settle for an untitled second son, rich or not, when I shall be a future marchioness by the end of the Season?”

  Michael's lip curled in derision. “And we're back to that, aren't we, precisely the reason you have no genuine regard for Drew. You simply like tormenting him.”

  “That's not true,” she said angrily.

  “For all your pretense you're no better than Edmond Bennet. Do you know what made me angriest at the Delafield's? Bennet stood in the library regaling anyone who'd listen about you comparing Drew's social standing to that of somebody’s by-blow. If those had been Bennet's own words, I'd have called him out then and there.” He strode towards her, his expression fierce. Arabella backed away from him. “As I’ve said before, count yourself fortunate you're not a man. Once you've returned the combs you'll stay away from Drew. No teasing, no flirting and,” he said gesturing to the room around them, “you will most assuredly never tell him what happened here tonight.”