He’d read her letter. Of course. The baron never allowed letters to pass between herself and anyone else without reading them first. It was the reason she'd developed a code for her messages to Katherine and Sarah. Araby remained silent as she judged his mood. He'd come home in the small hours of the morning. Things must have gone poorly at the gaming tables. Apparently, his notion of celebrating her engagement was to lose more money. Not exactly reasonable thinking, but when had he ever shown restraint in his vices.
“I suppose I should start preparing for the evening. I'm to attend the theater tonight with Lord Iredale and his parents.” She dipped into a slight curtsey, keeping her eyes downcast. If luck was with her....
“Naturally, they extended their invitation to your step-papa as well,” he said, his tone biting. Luck was not with her.
“I'm certain they would have if the opportunity had presented itself,” she offered carefully as she edged towards the door. “Lady Blanche invited Iredale and I to join them during our carriage ride yesterday.”
The baron slammed his glass down on the sideboard. Araby wondered that it hadn't shattered from the amount of force he used. “You should have seen to my inclusion, Arabella. That is part of familial duty, you know. I will not be slighted by the Marquess of Branfeld, or his wife and you, my dear, will not allow it to occur again.” His bloodshot eyes filled with anger. “Don't forget who helped you secure your success. That fancy wardrobe of yours put us well inside Dun territory.”
They'd long been residents of Dun territory, truth be told, between the baron's gaming and his even more unsavory habits. She wisely kept her opinion to herself. “I assure you that no slight was intended.”
Her stepfather laughed harshly. “No? Then again you weren't present for the settlements, were you? Your dowry, such as it is, is a pittance.” Araby knew her uncle had grudgingly provided dower funds and that her stepfather had been furious not to have been given control of them years ago. “Never mind though,” he continued as he swept his eyes over her in a manner that made her feel queasy. “Young Iredale wants you in his bed badly enough to overlook it. He's agreed to pay off the majority of our debts after the wedding and settle a good portion on you as well, but his father refused to part with a shilling more. All those years of seeing to your welfare, of paying for your and your mother's upkeep and what do I get out of it? Nothing.” The last word came out in a hiss.
“Perhaps I can change his mind after we're wed,” Araby murmured. The door seemed miles from where she stood facing his anger.
“They'll be no perhaps about it,” he shouted. “You will make certain Iredale changes his mind. I will have my due one way or another, my girl. By god, I will.” He stepped up to her seizing her forearm in a relentless grip. Araby knew what came next if she were not extremely careful. At the very least he would grasp her arm hard enough to leave bruises, or at the worst he would twist her arm until she screamed and begged him to stop. Just a few more weeks, she told herself and then she'd be beyond his reach forever.
“If your husband can't be brought to see reason,” he continued giving her arm a warning tug, “you'll see things are made right as his widow.”
Her reaction came without caution and a fraction later she wished with all her heart she could recapture the words. “You can't hurt him. You can't! His family....” The rest of what she'd intended to say was cut off by her cry of pain as he twisted her arm behind her. Araby fell to her knees in an effort to ease the torturous position of her arm. It did no good. The baron merely shifted his grip.
“You forget yourself, puss. I have been too lax with you.” He twisted her arm until she screamed. “This is what comes of indulging you – of letting you forget what's owed me. You think to betray me.” Her vision blurred with tears, Araby looked towards the doorway, praying that someone, anyone would come to help her. No one would. No one ever did. The servants knew that turning a blind eye was what kept them safe. He twisted her arm a little farther and she feared this time he would break it. Dear God, the pain.
“I...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't mean to betray you. Please...my arm...please.” He pulled it a little higher until she gasped for breath. “I'll do what you say! I promise! I'm sorry!”
Abruptly her released her arm and Araby scurried out of his reach, pushing herself backwards with her feet, her efforts hampered by her skirts and petticoats. The baron reached her in a moment and cradled the side of her face with his hand. Experience had taught her not to pull away. “That's better,” he said softly. “I wish you wouldn't challenge me so, puss. I dislike having to discipline you, but you can be so willful.”
This part was almost worse than the actual twisting of her arm. This part twisted her soul and she hated herself for what she would have to say. “I'm sorry, truly I am. You've been so kind to me and I've been so selfish. Please forgive me...Seaton.” He didn't like her calling him papa now that she was grown. The light in his eyes bespoke of something much different than parental affection these days. “I know you are right. You're always right. I'm so sorry.” Her heart felt leaden and her mind sick with self-disgust.
He patted her cheek and then used her injured arm to help her rise. She stifled a gasp of pain. “It's all right, now my dear. All is forgiven. You run along now and get ready for tonight.”
“But my arm, surely...” He cut her off.
“Tonight your arm will serve as a reminder of your duty to your family, won't it? Now run along. You don't want to disappoint your fiance and you certainly don't want to disappoint me, do you?” He smiled coldly. Araby shook her head and hurried out of the room cradling her arm to her side.
***
“Is the play not to your liking?” Iredale whispered. “I'll admit I've seen better productions.” His easy grin brought a smile to her own lips. He was a kind and considerate man, her fiance, and astute enough to know that she was too distracted by something to enjoy the play or even the myriad of minor dramas unfolding in various private boxes around them. Her arm ached terribly. Even the powders cook sent to her room this afternoon did little more the dull the pain. Her stepfather had given her additional concerns this afternoon as well when he'd obscurely threatened Iredale's life if she failed to secure more money for his use after her marriage.
Araby had foolishly hoped to be free of her stepfather once she married, perhaps even persuade her mother to come for an extended visit once they returned from their wedding trip and settled into their own household. Instead of easing her concerns, her marriage would increase them. How could she protect her mother from Seaton's temper when she wasn't there and how could she protect her husband without taking him into her confidence? Araby could never do that. She could never endure the look of disgust on his face, or the faces of his family. Iredale may not love her yet, but he wanted her and given time affection would bloom between them, yet if her image became hopelessly tarnished should he learn the truth of her family's state, then he would never feel more for her than duty and repugnance. “I'm afraid I'm guilty of woolgathering, my lord.” She said softly, giving him a warm smile. “My thoughts are consumed with wedding details. Your mother has been so very helpful since my own is...too unwell to travel now. Still there are so many details.”
“We can always elope. I'm certain I can finagle a special license,” he teased.
“Your mother would kills us both,” she whispered around a giggle. The marchioness turned in her seat to look at them, disapproval clearly stamped across her features. The woman loved her son enough to accept his choice of bride, but Araby knew the woman wasn't happy about their marriage. In terms on lineage, Araby could hold her own against any of the other debutantes, but her mother's marriage to Seaton overshadowed her own family’s connections. No, much as she loathed to admit it, her beauty and popularity were what had brought Iredale up to scratch and for that she would be eternally grateful to him.
“I don't think society would crumble if you were to call me Leo, do you, Araby? We are to be married,
after all.” His blue gaze met hers and she saw desire in the depths of his normally gentle eyes. Yes, given time they would be well matched indeed.
“I believe you are right, Leo.”
He smiled his approval as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Save me all your waltzes at the Malberry's ball, better yet, save me all your dances.”
Araby giggled again, drawing another look of censure from her future mother-in-law. Araby tapped her fiance lightly on the arm with her fan. “Behave, Leo. Can you imagine the scandal if I refused to dance with another?”
“They would say that Viscount Iredale had finally captured the heart of his beautiful fiancee´ and every man in the ballroom would gnash his teeth in despair.” She smiled happily at him. Still, despite Leo's glib reply she sensed his unease – nothing serious, but enough to let her know that capturing her heart was important to him.
“You already have my sincere affection, Leo. Never doubt it.” He continued to hold her hand, but ended their conversation by turning his attention back to the stage. Leo might know she cared for him, but he wanted more from her. Why shouldn’t he. Guilt rose up in her, coiling its tendrils around her conscience and giving it a painful squeeze. She vowed that she would make him a good wife. She would honor and protect him whatever the costs. If only the memory of a pair of mist-gray eyes would leave her in peace.
Chapter Seven
“Mr. Andrew Lassiter wishes to see you, Miss Arabella. Will you receive....” The butler's words were interrupted as Drew skirted around him.
“Yes, she will receive me,” he said tersely. “Now leave us.” The butler narrowed his eyes and looked stonily from Drew to Arabella. She nodded her agreement. There would be the devil to pay later when her stepfather learned of this visit, but somehow she'd manage to turn it to her advantage.
Drew's actions and tone were uncharacteristic of him. He was flushed and there was a brightness to his eyes that made him look almost feverish. Then she saw the box in his hands. Those infernal combs.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded as soon as the parlor door closed. He strode across the room to where she sat and thrust the box towards her.
“I believe my note explained everything adequately,” Arabella stated coolly. “I used poor judgment in accepting them, Drew. The combs are too valuable a gift between casual friends and now that I'm engaged to Iredale it is doubly inappropriate for me I keep them.”
“You don't love him. I know you don't,” he whispered.
She sighed wearily. “In time....” He cut her off.
“And he doesn't love you – not as you deserve to be loved. You're an ornament to him, Araby, something to make other men envy him and that's all. He wants everyone to know he can afford the best and society says you're the best bauble to be had.”
Her mouth hung open in astonishment. Drew had never spoken to her like this. She wanted to deny his words, but knew them to be true. She'd never lied to herself about Iredale's reasons for making this match. “And what's wrong with that?” she demanded. “This marriage is good business for both of us. We both receive what we want.”
His jaw tightened. “Don't try to tell me you want his fortune and title for yourself. Iredale may get you as a prize, but what you get is keeping your mother and yourself safe from your stepfather's beatings.” Unconsciously, she grabbed her swollen elbow. Her gesture didn't go unnoticed and the fight drained out of Drew. “Oh, God, Araby.” He reached a hand towards her gently. “Come away with me. Now.”
Araby jumped up from her seat, recoiling from his hand. “Don't be ridiculous. Why would I do that?” she snapped at him.
“Because I love you and I will keep you safe.”
She curled her lip in derision, giving him the hardest stare she could manage. “Oh, yes, love conquers all, doesn't it? What you fail to grasp though, Drew, is that I don't love you.”
He looked at her, his heart in his eyes, refusing to see anything but the romance of his own feelings. “I love you enough for both of us and one day you will love me in return. I know it.”
God help them both if she couldn’t make him leave before Seaton returned. She feigned boredom hoping to bring an end to this painful and dangerous visit. “And your love would be more than enough if you had a title, or even a fortune, but you don't, do you? Your love and an allowance from the earl is all you have to offer me, Drew, and it's not enough of an inducement. I'm sorry to hurt you, but there it is.” She shrugged, a simple, offhand gesture meant to convey her indifference to the pain she caused him. If she drove him away now, at least he would leave in one piece. “I like beautiful things,” she continued. “I want a grand home and the social position that comes with a title and a fortune.” She gestured towards the combs. “You know it's true or you wouldn't have given me these.”
He glanced at the box in his hand and a light came into his eyes. “You won't have to worry about money, Araby. We won't have an extravagant lifestyle, at least not at first, but if I'm careful with my investments we'll have our own fortune soon enough.”
“The combs won’t give you enough capital to invest, Drew, and your allowance wouldn't get us more than a cottage in some forgotten little hamlet. You can't afford me.”
He smiled. “Yes, I can. You don't have to settle for a husband who doesn't love you. I adore you and we'll have plenty of funds. My brother, Michael, has promised to settle a large sum on us once we are married – and not simply two, or three thousand pounds either. It will be a small fortune, something we can build upon. So you see, my darling, nothing stands in our way.” He set the box on a small table and reached to take her in his arms.
Araby felt the color drain from her face. Her stomach lurched as she’d received one of the baron's punches. After the kisses and the other things they'd shared Michael had still offered to buy her for his brother. He'd promised her to get Drew to cease his senseless pursuit of her, but it had been a lie. She thought of all the restless nights she'd endured since her last meeting with him, the memories of his kisses and his caresses that filled her dreams and continued haunting her during the day. She’d even fantasized of him coming to her, confessing his love and offering for her himself. Those intimate moments between them had meant nothing to him. He'd sampled her wares and then decided to pass her along to his little brother like a jacket that no longer fit him correctly. Her cheeks flamed with humiliation and anger.
Araby gave a short, bitter laugh and spoke recklessly, more to herself than to Drew. ''Odd, he never mentioned such a thing to me. Of course, he was probably too occupied kissing me at the time.”
It was Drew's turn to look poleaxed. “What do mean, 'kissing you'?”
“What do you think I mean?” she snapped. “He took me in his arms and kissed me and on more than one occasion. Had we been discovered I would have been completely compromised, I assure you.”
“Michael wouldn't...not to me. He would never....”
She laughed archly, her anger and sense of betrayal making the words spill rashly from her lips. “Oh, wouldn't he, Drew? He was exiled from England years ago because he seduced the wife of a peer. He has no honor. Look at how he made his fortune. Do you think he paused to considered either one of us? No,” she declared as she paced around the room. “He simply saw something he wanted and took it.”
“Are you saying Michael forced himself on you?”
Araby whirled around to face Drew. “No, of course not, but he certainly took advantage of me,” she answered bitterly, “and like a fool, I let him.” She covered her flushed cheeks with her hands. Her shame at her own foolishness tasted so bitter. “I wanted him to kiss me and if he'd pressed the advantage I might not have had the will to resist him.” She looked down at the floor wishing she'd never began this turn in the conversation. “I don't know if I could resist him even now.”
“He knew how I felt about you and he tried to seduce you anyway,” Drew whispered. “He knew I wanted to marry you and he didn't care. God, my mother is right. His
blood is tainted. He cares for nothing and no one but himself.” He raised his eyes to her face and she flinched at the agony she saw in them. “You love him, don't you? The bastard has gone and made you fall in love with him. That's why you won't marry me.”
“No, Drew.” She shook her head denying his words as much to herself as to him. “I'm marrying Lord Iredale. I've already given you my reasons.”
“But if Michael asked you,” he persisted, “you'd marry him, wouldn't you?” She said nothing. “You don't have to answer,” he said numbly, “I can see in your face that you would.” Araby wished she could tell him differently.
“Drew, please, forgive me. I...I spoke in anger, without thought. Michael doesn’t want me.” She quickly realized that her words only made the situation worse. Though she’d found a way to stop Drew’s pursuit of her, the cost to them all was hideous. Neither Drew, nor Michael would forgive her for the breach she’d caused between them. She'd never forgive herself. Araby cursed her wretched temper as she struggled to find something she could say that could undo the damage she’d done. “Michael loves you a great deal. He merely sought a way to protect you from me.”
It was Drew's turn to laugh bitterly. “He cares so much that he tried to take the woman I love. He succeeded too. He just won’t marry you.” The truth in his last words cut into her and she flinched. Drew gave her a forlorn look. “The saddest thing is that I still love you and even now I’d marry you, but you still won't have me. I'm not dashing, not exciting enough, am I? Hardly the romantic figure – just the pathetic little brother, forever the sickly child.” He retrieved the combs from the table, studying the box before meeting her eyes.
“That's not true, Drew. There's nothing pathetic about you. You are descent and kind, a far better person than someone like me deserves.”
“Don't waste your pity on me, Araby. I'll be fine.” He tossed the box into the air and caught it with one hand. It was a gesture of defiance and bravado and it tore at her heart. “Enjoy your marriage to Iredale,” he said in a voice devoid of all his usual kindness and warmth. “I hope your successful match keeps you warm at night.” He turned on his heel and left her to stare after him. He'd would be all right eventually. She just hoped that Michael Lassiter didn't strangle her the next time he saw her.
A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Page 12