Perhaps if she had not had the cynically remote Hawk and Lucian as her brothers, or the softer but just as arrogant Sebastian, then Arabella may have believed that outer shell to be all there was to Darius Wynter. But, as their petted and spoilt younger sister, Arabella had come to know her brothers’ natures well, and she knew all of them to be capable of deep and tumultuous emotions. To be men who were all deeply and irrevocably in love with their wives….
Was she hoping, once they married, that Darius would similarly fall in love with her?
Arabella stifled a disbelieving gasp at even the suggestion of such a hope. Did that mean she had feelings for Darius she hadn’t even dared to suspect existed?
Darius raised a brow as he saw Arabella’s reaction to his suggestion that she alone would satisfy his physical needs. ‘My physical needs are really not as debauched as the ton would have you believe.’ He eyed her teasingly. ‘I can at least assure you that there will be no whips or chains involved!’
‘Whips or chains?’ she gasped breathlessly, her face paling.
It was a response that reminded Darius more than any other, despite her claims to the contrary yesterday evening, just how innocent she really was when it came to physical intimacy. ‘I am sure you will very quickly learn to satisfy all my very normal sexual appetites, Arabella.’
Once again her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed before raising her chin proudly. ‘As, no doubt, you will learn to satisfy mine?’
She was a vixen. A little hellcat. Verbally spitting and clawing despite her obvious unease at discussing such an intimate subject with him. ‘That part of marriage I am already looking forward to with the greatest of pleasure,’ Darius assured her throatily.
A challenge entered the deep brown depths of her eyes. ‘I would prefer us to have a lengthy betrothal in order that we might become better acquainted with each other on a social level before—’
‘No.’
She eyed him uncertainly. ‘No?’
Darius looked down at her between hooded lids. ‘No,’ he repeated firmly. ‘If we are to marry at all, then it must be immediately.’
‘I—But—Why?’ Arabella didn’t even attempt to hide her bewilderment.
She had been envisaging spending the winter months as Darius’s betrothed. With perhaps the wedding planned for next spring or summer. Six, possibly nine months when the two of them could spend time together, tormenting and challenging each other if they must, before contemplating the complete intimacy of marriage.
The implacability of Darius’s expression told her that such an arrangement was totally unacceptable to him. ‘Take it or leave it, Arabella,’ he stated uncompromisingly. ‘You will either marry me by special licence next week or we will not marry at all.’
Next week? Was he insane?
Arabella pulled out of Darius’s grasp to move away from him. ‘I cannot possibly organise a wedding by next week!’
‘I fail to see why not.’ Darius appeared unmoved by her obvious shock. ‘Obtaining a special licence should pose no problem. All of your family and the majority of the ton have already gathered in town in order to attend your brother’s nuptials yesterday. Hawk’s duchess has proved she is capable of being hostess to a wedding supper at short notice. As I see it, a week is more than time enough for you to obtain a suitable wedding gown.’
As he saw it, perhaps. As Arabella saw it the idea of marrying this man as early as next week was unacceptable. Terrifyingly soon, in fact.
‘Why the rush, Darius?’ She made her tone deliberately light. ‘I realise that this situation has been thrust upon us by—by certain actions that took place between us yesterday evening, but we both know that there is no real reason for such a hasty wedding to take place.’ Her cheeks burned at the memory of the intimacies the two of them had shared the previous evening.
Darius felt a sharp stab of sympathy for Arabella’s obvious bewilderment as to his insistence on a short betrothal and a hasty wedding. Reminding him that for all Arabella was a St Claire, and as such in possession of the same arrogant self-confidence as her three older brothers, she was nevertheless still only nineteen years of age. A very young and innocent nineteen years, despite her previous claim otherwise.
He wished that he could grant Arabella the lengthy betrothal she so obviously desired—months during which the little minx had no doubt intended to tempt and bedevil him!—but the truth was, once their betrothal was publicly announced, Darius simply dared not leave her for any length of time without his full protection.
He dared not.
‘Next week, Arabella. Or there will be no wedding.’
Arabella looked up at him searchingly, knowing by the grimness of Darius’s expression—the stern set of his mouth and the coldness of his blue eyes—that he was unshakeable in his decision that she would marry him next week and be damned, or the two of them would not marry at all.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘Very well, Darius.’ She gave a tiny inclination of her head. ‘I will inform Hawk that we have decided to marry as early as possible next week.’
‘I will be the one to inform your brother as to our intentions, Arabella,’ Darius cut in decisively, a cynical curl to his top lip. ‘As is my right as your future husband.’ He quirked one arrogant brow.
Arabella bit back the argument that had been hovering upon her lips, wisely deciding that prudence was probably the better course at this point in time. There would be plenty of opportunity after they were married for her to show Darius that she had no intention of being a conventional meek or obedient wife….
Chapter Four
‘It is still not too late to change your mind, Arabella, if you have a single doubt as to the wisdom of marrying Carlyne.’
Arabella turned to look across her bedchamber as Hawk, her tall and imposing brother, stood in the doorway dressed in his own wedding finery of snowy white linen beneath a tailored claret-coloured jacket of the very finest velvet, black pantaloons and shiny black Hessians.
The rest of the family had already departed for St George’s Church in Hanover Square, but as the eldest of her brothers Hawk was to ride with Arabella in the bridal carriage, and then accompany her down the aisle before handing her into the care of her husband-to-be.
Into Darius Wynter’s care.
Arabella swallowed down her feelings of nervousness as she presented her brother with a widely confident smile. ‘I have no doubts at all, Hawk.’
This past week had been a busy one of hectic arrangements. Arabella had never been left alone for a moment as the dressmaker was visited, the ivory silk chosen for her gown and fittings arranged, flowers obtained, and the menu for the wedding breakfast decided upon in consultation with Jane.
There had been little or no time for second or third thoughts, and with everything there had been to arrange or decide upon, Arabella had seen very little of Darius himself. Despite that, Arabella was more convinced than ever that her choice of husband was the correct one. For her.
Arabella knew herself well enough to realise that she could never be happy with a weak man, a man she could bend to her will by artifice or design. And Darius would never be such a man.
Despite their lack of opportunity to spend time together, Arabella had nevertheless had the chance to witness for herself what she viewed as the strengths of Darius’s character. His arrogance was more than a match for any of her brothers whenever they chanced to meet. He had been charm itself on meeting Jane and being faced with her obvious uncertainties as to his suitability as a husband for Arabella.
Most surprising had been Darius’s consideration and gentleness with his brother’s widow, the Dowager Duchess of Carlyne, when she had arrived in London three days ago for the wedding and the betrothed couple had been invited to dine with her that evening.
Arabella had reassured herself that any man capable of showing such kindness as Darius had to Margaret Wynter, even a man who preferred the ton to think of him as a rake and a cynic, could not possibly be a
ll bad.
Hawk’s austere expression softened slightly as he stepped further into the bedchamber. ‘You look so much like Mama today.’ He gazed down at her admiringly in the ivory silk gown, her golden curls enhanced by a matching bonnet, her bouquet a simple arrangement of deep yellow roses from the St Claire hot-house.
‘Really?’ Arabella glowed; she had been aged only eight when her mother and father were killed in a carriage accident, and over the years her memories of her warm and beautiful mother had become hazy at best.
‘Very much so,’ Hawk assured her gruffly as he reached out to take both her hands in his own. ‘How I wish our parents could be here to see how beautiful you look on your wedding day.’
Arabella squeezed his hands. ‘Perhaps they can.’
‘Perhaps,’ Hawk allowed gently.
She gave her brother a searching glance. ‘I am going to be happy, Hawk.’
‘So Lucian never fails to assure me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Even so, I am sure I have made no secret of the fact that Carlyne is not the man I ever envisaged as a husband for you.’
‘No.’ Arabella smiled slightly as she thought of the battle of wills that had ensued between Darius and Hawk on the few occasions the two men had met during this past week. Battles which Darius had—surprisingly—invariably won…
Her brother gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Perhaps if I had known of your preference for him then I would not have been so hasty in refusing him when he last offered for you.’
Arabella’s eyed widened incredulously. ‘Darius has offered for me before?’
‘During your first Season,’ Hawk acknowledged heavily, releasing her hands to cross the bedchamber and stand with his back towards her as he stared out of the window into the busy street below.
‘I—But—Why did you not tell me?’ Arabella frowned in disbelief as she stared at the implacability of Hawk’s stiffly erect back and shoulders.
Darius had offered for her the previous year?
Before he had made a similar offer for Sophie Belling and been accepted, obviously.
Hawk turned, the sternness of his features twisted into a grimace. ‘I did not tell you because I was not—am still not—convinced as Lucien appears to be as to Carlyne’s suitability as a husband for you.’
‘So you refused his first offer for me without even consulting me?’ Arabella accused.
‘I did.’ Hawk looked haughtily unrepentant. ‘And I would have done so again this time if the—the circumstances had not been as they were. If you had not informed me it was your sincere wish to marry him.’ His expression was grim. ‘The fact that Carlyne offered for Sophie Belling too last summer, and then married her after approaching me in regard to you such a short time before, only confirmed to me that his reasons for offering for you then were of a mercenary nature rather than because his emotions were truly engaged.’
Arabella knew she couldn’t refute that claim. She doubted that Darius could, either. But for Hawk to have refused Darius’s offer without even asking her opinion was beyond belief.
Although it went some way to explaining Darius’s remark a week ago that a wealthy duke was obviously a more attractive marriage prospect than a penniless lord. He obviously believed Arabella’s only reason for accepting him now was because he was now a wealthy duke!
Would she have accepted if she had known of Darius’s offer a year ago?
At the time he had been known as a rake and a gambler. A man who, with little personal wealth left at his disposal, was deeply in debt. A man whose only means of alleviating that debt had appeared to be in the taking of a wealthy woman to wife.
Hawk was Arabella’s guardian, charged with her welfare, and she knew that he had been perfectly justified in refusing him on her behalf when Darius had offered for her last summer.
But as the young woman who had compared every man she had met these past two Seasons with the devilish good-looks and magnetic charisma of Lord Darius Wynter—and found them all wanting!—Arabella could not help but feel resentful at Hawk’s highhandedness. She might not be in love with Darius, or he with her, but Arabella had absolutely no doubt that she would have accepted him the previous summer.
Much as she hated Darius to think badly of her, Arabella knew she would be wise to make sure Darius didn’t discover that she had not known until today of his previous offer for her, and to keep to herself her reasons for marrying him. The battle of wills that existed between them would be lost before it had even begun in earnest if Darius were ever to guess that Arabella was entering into their marriage with an eagerness for her husband’s kisses and caresses that would be shocking if the anticipation did not feel so deliciously exciting…
‘You are looking very lovely today,’ Darius remarked dryly to his wife of two hours.
Hours during which he had smiled and been polite to both Arabella’s family—all those St Claire aunts and uncles and cousins—and numerous members of the ton, who ordinarily would have returned to their country estates this late in the year, but had instead stayed on in town to attend two fashionable St Claire weddings.
No doubt gossip and speculation about the second of the two weddings would sustain many a conversation on a cold winter’s evening before the ton returned to London en masse in the spring—with the added and erroneous assumption that the heir to the Carlyne dukedom would be born an indecently short time after the wedding!
‘Thank you.’ Arabella had no intention of returning the compliment by telling Darius how breathtakingly handsome he looked, in his snowy-white linen and austere black jacket and thigh-hugging black pantaloons, with his hair gleaming deeply gold in the reflection of the hundreds of candles illuminating the ballroom at St Claire House.
Seeing Darius in church earlier, as he’d stood at the altar waiting for her to join him, had literally robbed Arabella of her breath. So much so that for a few brief moments she had been unable to move as the organ began to play. Only the recently acquired knowledge of Darius’s previous offer for her, one that had been made willingly, had prompted her into moving forward on silk-slippered feet.
Apart from her three brothers, Darius now stood head and shoulders above their wedding guests. Even if he had not, the deep gold of his hair and the handsomeness of his features would have distinguished him from every other man in the room.
Or perhaps that was only Arabella’s biased opinion?
‘When can we decently take our leave, do you think?’ Darius looked bored by the whole proceeding.
Arabella arched blond brows. ‘Decently?’ she prodded.
Darius shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Or indecently?’
‘I would have thought, having been through this once before, that you would have more knowledge of the correct etiquette than I? Or perhaps your previous marriage was of such short duration that you have simply forgotten?’ she taunted.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Have a care, Arabella,’ he warned her softly.
‘Or what, Your Grace?’
‘Or I might give myself the pleasure, once we are alone, of placing you over my knee and administering suitable punishment,’ Darius murmured huskily, and was instantly rewarded by the flush that appeared in Arabella’s cheeks.
Of anger? Or anticipation?
This past week had shown Darius that his new bride possessed all the courage he had imagined and more, as she had steadfastly refused to be daunted by any of the underlying displeasure of the ton in her choice of husband. Just as she had withstood all the gossip and speculation that had circulated around town after their wedding was announced. She had also, without fuss or ado, aided her sister-in-law Jane with the arrangements of that wedding. Best of all, she had been gracious and compassionate to Margaret, his brother’s widow, a lady that Darius himself held in high regard, when they had dined with her.
In fact, Darius could not fault Arabella’s behaviour towards everything and everyone this past week. Everyone but himself, that was…
Whenever the two of them had chanced to be
alone—which, admittedly, had not been often—Arabella had tended to be either sharply critical or coolly dismissive, giving him little idea as to how she really felt about him. But Darius had every intention of rectifying the coolness of her manner towards him later this evening, once they were finally alone together at Carlyne House.
In fact, the anticipation of at last being alone with her was only adding to Darius’s frustration with the social expectations it was so necessary to fulfil at one’s own wedding. He physically ached to finish what the two of them had started in Hawk St Claire’s study a week ago. Especially when he considered it had been that intimacy which had forced him into having to offer Arabella marriage!
His promised conversation with Lucian St Claire, once he’d finally managed to get the other man alone, had assured him of the other man’s silence. Lucian had confirmed that he had not in any way broken the promise he had given to Darius six months ago. Nor would he.
Arabella looked down her provocative little nose at him. ‘Am I to assume from that remark that I should expect to be beaten on a regular basis in our marriage, Your Grace?’
‘You can expect to receive something on a regular basis in our marriage, Arabella,’ he warned harshly. ‘Especially if you intend to continue addressing me as “Your Grace” in that patronising manner.’
Her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘I am not sure that I altogether approve of a man who would threaten to beat his wife.’
Darius raised blond brows. ‘I do not believe I have ever asked for your approval, Arabella.’
No, he never had, Arabella acknowledged with a frown. In fact, she could never remember Darius, either as the disreputable Lord Wynter or the more respectable Duke of Carlyne, ever asking for, or indeed needing, anyone’s approval. Least of all her own.
Arabella grudgingly admitted that it was this very arrogance, the feeling of dangerous uncertainty whenever she was in Darius’s company, that made him so fascinatingly attractive to her….
Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage Page 5