Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage

by Carole Mortimer

  In contrast, Darius’s own nerves were perfectly calm. With the cold inflexibility of steel, in fact. He and Westlake had just discovered that there had been an un-invited guest in the stables some time during the night. Several of the saddles had been tampered with. Including Grayson’s. A fact that seemed to imply the other man’s assessment of the situation might after all be the correct one; it had been the two of them who had been responsible for questioning Helena Jourdan following her arrest in the summer, and for ordering the death of her French soldier lover.

  The sarcastic pleasantness of Darius’s present mood served to hide the fierce anger he was feeling inside. A cold, remorseless anger that promised severe retribution for someone.

  ‘I assure you my nerves are not in the least jittery, Darius.’ Arabella answered his previous taunt with sweet insincerity. ‘On the contrary, as I mentioned earlier today, I find Lord Grayson’s presence a welcome diversion from the tedium of country life.’

  ‘There now, Gray.’ Darius’s eyes glittered as he looked across the room at the younger man. ‘I do not see how you can even think of depriving my beautiful wife of your company after she has so eloquently expressed a partiality for it.’

  Grayson eyed him warily. ‘I am sure Her Grace was only being polite.’

  Darius looked across at Arabella between narrowed lids. ‘Were you?’

  Arabella shifted uncomfortably under that coldly direct gaze, not fooled for a moment by the mildness of Darius’s tone; beneath that calm exterior he was obviously furiously angry. With her, no doubt. ‘I hope that I am always polite, Darius,’ she replied noncommittally.

  He gave a hard and humourless laugh. ‘Oh, I believe all of the St Claire family can lay claim to being that, Arabella—even when they are stabbing you in the back!’

  Arabella’s eyes widened at the slight. ‘You dare to accuse any of my family of such a cowardly act?’

  ‘Nothing so obvious, I assure you, Arabella,’ he drawled dismissively.

  She bristled with indignation. ‘Then what did you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing of import.’

  ‘I do not care for your tone, Darius.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’

  He gave an uninterested shrug. ‘And perhaps I do not care to have you state your preference for another man’s company in my own home.’

  Arabella stood up abruptly. ‘It is our home!’

  Darius looked up at her coldly. ‘As you assured me this morning, only for as long as it suits you.’

  Arabella’s hand itched to slap the arrogant mockery from his handsome face. ‘I have reconsidered, Darius,’ she snapped, ‘and I have decided that I no longer intend giving you the satisfaction of leaving you.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’ He took another sip of his cooling tea.

  She eyed him sharply; he did not sound pleased! ‘Are you?’

  ‘Of course.’ He sounded bored by the subject. ‘Now, perhaps you might benefit from resting in your room before dinner?’

  ‘I am not in the least tired.’ Arabella stared down at him in frustration. The only reason she did not give in to the inclination she felt—to knock the cup of tea from Darius’s long, elegant hand—was that they had surely already provided enough of a show of marital disharmony in front of Lord Grayson for one day.

  ‘You will have to forgive us, Gray.’ Darius turned to the younger man. ‘My wife and I have not yet worked out the finer nuances of marriage.’ He looked at Arabella. ‘My dear, my suggestion that you retire to your bedchamber was my way of stating that I wish for you to leave us now, so that Grayson and I might talk in private.’

  Arabella gasped. The insult she had felt at Darius’s disparaging remarks concerning her family was now overtaken by how hurt she felt at the coldness of Darius’s tone; he could not have stated any more plainly his desire to be rid of her company!

  Her cheeks flushed with the humiliation she felt at his dismissal. ‘No doubt so that you might reminisce over old times and old mistresses!’

  ‘Or current ones,’ Darius pointed out wickedly.

  Arabella felt that heated colour leave her cheeks as rapidly as it had entered them. ‘How dare you?’

  ‘As I recall, Arabella, you were the one to introduce the subject,’ he pointed out.

  Only so that Darius might deny the accusation! She had not expected him to react like that!

  ‘If you will excuse me, Lord Grayson?’ Her manner was stilted as she gave him a stiff bow. ‘I believe I might go to my room and rest before dinner after all.’ She had to escape from this room. Before Darius’s attitude forced her to do something they would no doubt both regret.

  Although Darius did not look in the least as if he regretted treating her so cruelly in front of a guest. On the contrary, he seemed to emit an icy satisfaction at the thought of her going. Leaving Arabella with no choice but to depart.

  ‘I will see you both at dinner this evening.’

  ‘No doubt,’ her husband said as he helped himself to a dainty from the tea tray.

  ‘I shall look forward to it.’ Lord Grayson, at least, remembered his manners enough to stand up.

  Arabella gave Darius a pointed stare, and received only a challenging one in return as he made no effort to emulate the other man’s politeness but instead bit into his chosen creamy confection with obvious enjoyment. Inflicting yet another insult upon Arabella before she turned and left the room with an indignant rustle of her skirts.

  How she hated him!

  Loathed him!

  Detested him!

  Desired him still…

  Arabella’s legs almost failed her as she climbed the wide staircase to her room, necessitating in her having to grasp the dark mahogany banister in order to stop herself from sinking down weakly onto one of the stairs. She breathed deeply in an effort to calm her rapidly beating heart and the trembling of her body.

  What sort of man was Darius, that he could make love so heatedly to her earlier this morning and then treat her and her family with such disdain just now?

  And what sort of woman was Arabella, that she could still want Darius to make love to her like that again?

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Were you not…a little hard on her?’ Lord Gideon Grayson looked reproving.

  ‘I advise you not to attempt to tell me how to treat my own wife, Gray.’ Darius put down the creamy dainty that threatened to choke him if he should attempt to eat another bite. In fact, the single bite he had taken, in an effort to convince Arabella of his uninterest in her or anything she did, was already making him feel ill.

  ‘But—’

  ‘It is for the best, Gray.’ Darius stood up restlessly, his expression grim. ‘Evidence leads me to believe that someone in my own household is hand-in-glove with the saboteur.’ How it galled him to admit it, but he could think of no other explanation for how the stables had been broken into during the night.

  The servants at Winton Hall had all been handpicked by Darius months ago. Their obvious lack of manners showed he had not chosen them for their skills as household servants, but as men and women capable of fighting and thieving. Damn it, even the cook was Westlake’s sister, and had once been taken into custody under suspicion of picking people’s pockets!

  ‘One of your own servants?’ Gray frowned his uncertainty at the claim.

  Darius nodded, before going on to explain the break-in of the stables during the night. ‘If I am right about it being one of my own servants, then it would be as well that all of them believe I have little interest in my wife.’ A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw at the lie; if Darius became any more interested in Arabella then he would have no choice but to take her to bed for a week. Longer! ‘The charade I am playing might perhaps succeed in safeguarding her more than I have so far managed to do.’ His expression was bleak.

  ‘I can see how you might think that…’ Gray still looked troubled. ‘But is such a course wise? Are you not seriously in danger of
alienating your wife to the point of no return? Your remark about her brothers, for instance, was so far from the truth as to be laughable. Hawk St Claire is a duke and a member of the House, a man much respected and admired. Lucian St Claire is revered as a war hero, and Sebastian proved this summer that he is a man loyal to king and country.’

  ‘I am well aware of all the admirable traits shown by my brothers-in-law!’

  Darius was also aware of the risk he was taking with Arabella’s affections. If his young wife had ever felt any affection for him, that was. Which Darius seriously doubted. Responding to his lovemaking merely showed Arabella’s curiosity on the subject, not a personal preference for Darius himself….

  ‘What else do you suggest, Gray?’ he demanded as he paced the room impatiently. ‘When my promise eight years ago to king and country, as you put it,’ he bit out scathingly, ‘precludes my revealing the truth to Arabella?’

  ‘Perhaps I might have a word with her?’

  ‘You are bound by the same promise,’ Darius reminded him harshly. ‘We all are, damn it. No.’ He ran an agitated hand through his hair. ‘For the moment my wife will simply have to go on believing me to be the worst kind of insensitive blackguard.’

  Darius would just have to hope and pray that when this mess was finally over it would not be too late to try and salvage something of his marriage….

  ‘Yes?’ Arabella did not turn from finishing tidying her appearance in the mirror on her dressing table, but instead glanced at her husband’s reflection in that mirror as he leant against the open doorway that connected their two bedchambers.

  Far from having forgiven Darius for his rudeness to her earlier, Arabella willed herself not to be affected by how handsome he looked in the candle-light in his dark evening clothes and snowy white linen, with his hair shining a deep gold and his eyes appearing the clear deep blue of a summer’s sky.

  He straightened, the expression in those deep blue eyes guarded. ‘I have brought you a gift.’

  Arabella stilled as she frowned her uncertainty. ‘Something for me…?’

  ‘A wedding gift.’ Darius nodded as he stepped fully into her bedchamber to cross the room in strides as graceful and silent as a cat.

  Arabella swallowed hard as he came to stand behind her, overwhelmingly aware of his hard and muscled body. She moistened lips that had become suddenly dry. ‘Is it not a little late for that?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not.’

  Arabella raised blond brows. ‘Why would you want to give me a wedding gift when you never cease reminding me that this marriage was forced upon you by circumstances?’

  Darius drew his breath in sharply at the challenge, knowing how well he deserved Arabella’s ridicule—and wishing that he did not. Knowing how much he wished things could be different between them. He had hoped that in the privacy of their bedchamber at least, well away from curiously interested eyes, perhaps they could be…

  He shook his head at his own maudlin thoughts. ‘When you know me better, Arabella, you will know that I never allow myself to be forced into doing anything I do not wish to do.’

  ‘Really?’ she said dismissively as she stood up to turn and face him, her expression aloof as she looked down her pert little nose at him. She was wearing a blue high-waisted gown this evening, her breasts full and creamy above the low neckline. She possessed a long and slender neck that, Darius noted with satisfaction, was bare of jewellery.

  He reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the huge diamond pendant that hung upon a simple gold chain. ‘It is my wish that you wear this tonight.’

  Arabella looked down at the heart-shaped diamond pendant where it lay across Darius’s callused palm, furious with herself as she felt a sting of tears in her eyes at its simplistic beauty. It was exactly what she would have chosen for herself.

  And it was surely what a man would choose to give to the woman he loved…

  Except Darius did not love her. He had shown by his treatment of her earlier today during afternoon tea that he never would love her.

  ‘It is my intention to wear my mother’s sapphires and diamonds this evening.’ She moved deliberately to open her jewel box and take out the diamond-and-sapphire necklace her father had given to her mother—most assuredly with love!—on their tenth wedding anniversary.

  She only realised once she held up the jewels in the candle-light how much the sapphires reminded her of the colour of Darius’s eyes when he was aroused. And that her new gown was of that same intense colour…

  Was Darius aware of it also? The expression she could see in those eyes as he gazed down at her seemed to imply that he was.

  Arabella’s mouth firmed. ‘Perhaps you might give the pendant to Helena Jourdan instead? As an apology for your marriage to me? I am sure that any woman might be persuaded into forgiving you anything when presented with such an expensive bauble.’

  Darius’s gaze was flinty, his jaw set inflexibly as he laid the diamond pendant down upon her dressing table. ‘Just not you?’

  ‘I am not any woman, Darius.’ Arabella eyed him scornfully before turning away to view her reflection in the mirror as she raised her arms to fasten the clasp of the glittering sapphire-and-diamond necklace about her throat, all the time aware of a similar glitter in Darius’s narrowed blue eyes as he stood behind her.

  ‘No, you most assuredly are not just any woman,’ he acknowledged harshly. ‘What would you say if I were to tell you that Helena Jourdan was not, is not, and will never be my mistress?’

  Arabella raised her eyes to meet his reflected gaze. ‘I would say you are a liar. Let me go, Darius!’ She gasped as his hands came down heavily on her bare shoulders, squirming as his fingers held her in place. She glared furiously at him in the mirror as her efforts to free herself came to nought.

  Darius had never regretted more than at that moment the promises he had made eight years ago, and the profligate and rakish reputation he had so deliberately nurtured since.

  Until his betrothal to Arabella Darius had had no problem with people believing the gossip whispered about him amongst the ton. He knew that he was considered a rake and a gambler. A man who had been married to an heiress for only one month before she was thrown from her horse and died, leaving Darius in possession of her fortune. The man who had inherited the title of Duke following his nephew’s death two years ago at Waterloo and his eldest brother’s premature and unexpected death seven months ago. Indeed, Darius had no doubt that it was that very reputation that had caused Hawk St Claire to turn down his offer for Arabella last year!

  Darius had been furious at the time, but in view of the fate of the woman whom he had married Darius had decided Hawk’s refusal had been for the best. He doubted that he could have borne it if it had been Arabella thrown from her horse to her death.

  As he could not bear her obvious scorn now…‘Whether you believe me or not, Arabella, Helena Jourdan has never been my mistress,’ he said evenly.

  Her gaze was uncertain as it met his in the mirror. ‘Then what is she to you?’

  His mouth thinned. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘If your conversation with Lord Grayson is to be believed, then the woman has tried to kill you—both of us—on several occasions!’

  Darius drew in a sharp breath. ‘It is suspected that she might have done so, yes.’ He nodded tersely. ‘But we have no tangible evidence that she is the one responsible.’

  Arabella’s eyes widened. ‘You mean, there is more than one person who wishes you dead?’

  He quirked a quizzical brow at her. ‘Now that we have added you to that list, you mean?’

  Arabella recoiled at the suggestion she had ever wished Darius’s death. To have him horse-whipped by one of her brothers, perhaps. Rendered helpless at her feet as he claimed undying love for her. But dead? No, even now, when Arabella felt so hurt and confused by him, she did not wish her husband any real physical harm.

  Because she was, after all, in love with him?

  It had been a
question that had plagued Arabella all day as she paced restlessly in her bedchamber.

  Most of the time she was so angry with Darius, for one reason or another, that she could cheerfully strike his arrogantly handsome face. At other times she was so physically aroused by him that she could neither think nor be aware of anything else.

  Was that love?

  Once again Arabella shied away from giving herself an answer to that question. If she never admitted to having feelings for Darius—even to herself—then perhaps they would not exist!

  She shook her head. ‘It is surely your own fault if Helena Jourdan’s husband also wishes to kill you.’

  Darius gave her a considering look. ‘Is that the best reason you could come up with for someone wishing to kill me?’

  Arabella felt stung by his derision. ‘It is one of the reasons, yes.’

  ‘Except that Helena Jourdan is not married.’

  Arabella frowned her frustration. ‘Then perhaps it is her father, or a brother, or another lover who defends her honour?’

  ‘No father. No brother. No lover, either.’ Not any more, Darius inwardly grimaced. Helena Jourdan’s French soldier lover had been apprehended and quietly killed two weeks ago, whilst Helena herself was being held in London and questioned by Darius and Gray. It was a death that Darius did not doubt she held him responsible for…

  ‘But earlier I am sure I overheard you and Lord Grayson mention that a man may be involved. Darius!’ She gasped as his fingers involuntarily tightened around her shoulders.

  ‘I apologise.’ Darius removed his hands altogether to turn away, his expression grim; it seemed Arabella had overheard far too much of his earlier conversation with Gray than was good for her. Neither did their lovemaking after Gray had left them seem to have lessened her memory of that conversation…‘It is time we went down to dinner,’ he said curtly. ‘Gray will be wondering what has become of us both.’