Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage

by Carole Mortimer

  Why she should have been dragged from her bedchamber and then abandoned here in the stables was totally beyond her comprehension. But the why was not really important at the moment; it was when Darius would decide to come looking for her that concerned her the most!

  Surely he must have gone to her bedchamber by now and realised that she was not there? Unless, of course, Darius had taken her at her word after all and decided to let her sleep undisturbed tonight? It would be just her luck if he should choose tonight of all nights to show her some husbandly consideration!

  Arabella stilled, her thoughts frozen, as she heard the sound of voices outside the stables. Was it her abductor and a cohort returning? Or could it be that Darius had come looking for her at last? Until she had confirmation one way or the other Arabella had no intention of drawing attention to herself.

  ‘I tell you, Gray, we have searched the house from top to bottom and back again, which means Jourdan has to have taken Arabella away somewhere!’ Darius rasped harshly as moved across the cobbled yard towards the stables with the younger man trailing behind him.

  ‘We do not know that for certain,’

  ‘I am well aware of that!’ Darius turned on the other man fiercely, his eyes glittering dangerously in the moonlight. ‘I warn you, if she has harmed one hair on Arabella’s head—’

  ‘There is no way Helena Jourdan could have kidnapped Arabella on her own,’ Gray reasoned, for what had to be the dozenth time in the past hour. ‘Your wife is young and healthy.’ He grimaced awkwardly at the unflattering description. ‘She is also not a woman to be taken against her will without protest.’

  Darius smiled grimly at how true a statement was that. That smile faded as he recalled the broken necklace and dropped candle in Arabella’s bedchamber. As he thought of the last frantic hour of searching the house for her. Unsuccessfully.

  ‘I have already told you that someone in the house has to be helping Jourdan.’ He glowered at the thought of any of the people he had hired to protect them actually being involved in such treachery. Cut-throats and thieves they might be, but after employing them for many months Darius had believed them to be loyal cut-throats and thieves.

  ‘Riding off into the night without any idea of your destination has to be the height of folly.’ Gray followed him into the stables. ‘Much better to wait until morning and see if we cannot find a trail to follow. You—’

  ‘Quiet, Gray!’ Darius ordered as he stilled, listening intently. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Hear what? I—’ Gray broke off again as there came the sound of a second muted thud. ‘I heard it that time.’ He nodded. ‘One of the horses moving, perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not!’ Darius bit out as another, louder thud was heard.

  ‘Careful, Darius,’ Gray warned softly, and he raised the pistol he carried.

  Darius’s expression was watchful as he raised a similar pistol. One he had carried about the house with him for the last hour as he searched from attic to cellar in case Arabella was being held prisoner somewhere. All to no avail. The house was empty of all sign of her. Only the broken necklace Darius had placed in the pocket of his waistcoat confirmed his belief that she could not have left Winton Hall willingly.

  ‘It came from over there.’ He pointed the pistol in the direction of the furthest stall. ‘Light one of the lamps and bring it with you,’ Darius instructed the other man tersely, waiting until Gray had done so before moving silently down the length of the stables.

  The lit candle inside the lamp wavered behind Darius in the darkness, sending eerie shadows down the stables and onto the back wall, giving him the appearance of a monster ten feet tall.

  His movements were soft and stealthy, his heart pounding loudly in his chest, and he raised his pistol in readiness as he rounded the end stall—and saw the tiny figure in a blue silk dress lying in the straw, hands and feet tied, face covered by a dark sack.

  ‘Arabella!’ Darius hurried forward to pull the sack from Arabella’s head—only to find himself the focus of a pair of angry brown eyes that glared up at him indignantly from beneath the untidy tumble of her golden curls.

  Darius ignored that glare as he threw his pistol down in the straw before pulling his wife up into his arms. ‘My God, Arabella!’ He crushed her thankfully against his chest.

  Arabella allowed herself to fall into that comforting embrace for several seconds, so relieved to see Darius again that she happily ignored the discomfort of her tied hands and feet and the horrible gag across her mouth.

  Except Darius continued to hold her in his crushing embrace long after she had ceased her trembling. ‘Mmumph!’ she finally muttered frowningly against the suffocating material of his jacket. ‘Mariush, unnie ne!’

  ‘What, love?’ He moved back slightly to look at her.

  ‘Unnie ne!’ she repeated around the confining gag.

  Darius frowned darkly. ‘I’m sorry, love, I cannot under—’

  ‘I believe your wife wishes for you to untie her, Darius,’ another voice suggested dryly.

  Arabella looked up to see Lord Gideon Grayson leaning against the wall of the stall. ‘Neth!’ she encouraged impatiently before turning back to her husband. ‘Unnie ne, Mariush!’

  ‘Oh, God…’ Darius groaned as he realised what an idiot he was being; of course she wished to be untied. He had been so relieved to find her, apparently unharmed, that he simply hadn’t given a thought to untying her. He hurried to do so now, removing the gag from about her mouth first.

  ‘Well, at least one of you has some intelligence!’ Arabella rebuked the instant her mouth was free. ‘Honestly, Darius.’ She gave a disgusted shake of her head as she glared up at him. ‘How could you not have realised that I needed to be untied?’

  Her curls were in complete disarray, there was a smudge of dirt on one of her cheeks, her lips were slightly swollen and red from the piece of material tied about her mouth, and there were pieces of straw struck to her gown. To Darius, however, she had never looked more beautiful.

  Although her ordeal did not seem to have affected the sharpness of her tongue!

  Darius gripped her shoulders. ‘What happened, Arabella? How did you get out here? Did you see who did this to you?’

  ‘Could you finish untying me so that we might go back into the house before I answer any of your questions, Darius?’ She looked up at him imploringly. ‘I have been out here for some time dressed only in my gown, and I am so very cold.’ As if to prove her statement she began to shake uncontrollably.

  As reaction to her ordeal began to set in, Arabella was not sure whether that trembling was from the cold or the relief of being rescued at last. The latter, she thought.

  She was barely aware of Darius untying her hands and feet before he rose to lift her up into his arms. ‘I am perfectly capable of walking,’ she protested awkwardly.

  ‘I am fully aware of all you are capable of doing,’ he replied, his eyes glittering silver in the lamplight. ‘For once in your life will you just be silent and allow someone else to take care of you?’

  Arabella was instantly cowed by the obvious fierceness of his anger; Darius looked perfectly capable of wringing someone’s neck at this moment—and for once it did not appear to be her own!

  ‘I suggest you stay here and check out the rest of the stables, Gray,’ Darius instructed the younger man, before turning to stride down the stables with Arabella held securely in his arms.

  She was glad of those arms about her as Darius stepped outside into the cold and windy night. She had overheard one of the servants predicting this morning that there would be snow before the night was out, and from the icy chill in the air she could well believe it.

  She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into his embrace as the warmth emanating from his body began to melt some of the chill that seemed to go right through to her bones. She had absolutely no idea who had abducted her. Or why. She was just pleased to be safe once again. So much so that she could feel the prick of ho
t tears behind her closed eyelids.

  She must not cry. It would be most unbecoming of a duchess to show such weakness. For Arabella St Claire—no, Wynter!—to show such weakness.

  Even so, to her mortification, Arabella felt the hot burn of tears as they began to cascade unchecked down her cheeks.

  Darius’s arms tightened about her as he entered the house and saw the wet tracks of tears falling down the pallor of her cheeks. ‘Bring some brandy into the Blue Salon, man,’ he told the hovering Westlake before taking Arabella into the room where they had made love only that morning.

  The heated fierceness of their lovemaking seemed so long ago now, and Darius’s emotions were not in the least carnal as he laid her gently down upon the chaise before sitting down beside her to take both her cold little hands into his own and trying to instil some warmth into their chill. And all the time the tears continued to trail down through the dirty smudges upon Arabella’s cheeks, as evidence of the fright she had so recently suffered.

  Darius’s mouth thinned grimly as he thought of the things he would like to do to the person who had taken her. ‘Did you see who did this to you?’ he asked again.

  ‘No.’ She released one of her hands, attempting to wipe the tears from her cheeks but only succeeding in smearing those dirty smudges further. ‘He attacked me from behind. Put a hand over my mouth and an arm about my throat.’ She shuddered delicately. ‘I was so frightened, Darius,’ she admitted shakily as she looked up at him with huge brown, tear-wet eyes. ‘So very, very frightened!’ She sat up to throw herself against his chest, fingers clinging tightly to his waistcoat as the tears fell in earnest.

  Darius’s thoughts were murderous as he held her tightly in his arms and rested his cheek against the softness of her hair. Arabella always gave the impression of independence. Of being able to take care of herself and needing nothing and no one. Most especially not a man to take care of her. The fact that she sobbed so brokenly against his chest now told him just how very frightened she must have been earlier tonight. How frightened she still was.

  He glanced up as Westlake quietly entered the salon with a tray containing the decanter of brandy and two glasses. His expression was telling as he gave the other man a fierce glance.

  Westlake’s face was just as grimly drawn as he glanced down at the sobbing Arabella in Darius’s arms before giving a firm nod. Telling Darius that, although she had only been at Winton Hall a matter of days, she had nonetheless managed to creep into the affections of the hardened pugilist. Reassuring Darius that Westlake, like himself, would leave no stone unturned in his search for her abductor.

  Darius reached down to put Arabella away from him before he stood up to pour brandy into the two glasses, allowing Arabella to take a reviving sip from her own glass before questioning her again. ‘You must have seen something, Arabella.’ He frowned. ‘Could you tell if it was a man or a woman who—?’

  ‘It was a man, of course.’ She looked up at him indignantly over the rim of her glass. ‘I would not have been taken at all if it had been a woman.’ Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side.

  Darius did not doubt her ability to defend herself for a moment. Unfortunately, the fact that she believed her abductor to be a man did not help in the least in identifying him. It could have been Francis, of course. But, as Darius had told Gray earlier, it could just as easily have been a man working for Helena Jourdan. Someone in his own household, who could easily get in and out without suspicion…

  Darius’s mouth tightened. ‘Do you remember anything about this man? Was he tall or short? Fat or thin? Did he have a distinctive smell of some kind?’ It was a sad fact of life that servants did not wash as often as they ought.

  Arabella took another sip of the warming brandy before closing her eyes as she tried to recall in detail those few moments in her bedroom when she had had that hand placed over her mouth and the arm about her throat. ‘He was tall, I think. As he stood behind me his arms came up easily over my shoulders to hold me so that I could neither move nor shout for help. Neither fat nor thin, I would say, but muscled—like you,’ she continued. ‘As to smell? I do recall something…Something slightly floral, I think. Which is no help at all.’ She gave a disgusted shake of her head as she opened her eyes again. ‘That could be either a man or a woman.’

  ‘Not quite, love,’ Darius drawled. ‘Did the muscled chest have any breasts upon it?’

  Colour warmed her cheeks as she answered. ‘No.’

  ‘A man, then.’ Darius nodded his satisfaction. ‘The jacket of the arms that came about your shoulders—was it made of a soft and expensive material, or something rough, like a labourer or servant might wear?’

  ‘It was…soft.’ Arabella nodded eagerly as she recalled the fabric. ‘Like a velvet or fine wool.’

  ‘Good.’ Darius praised her with a small smile. ‘Did he speak at all? Even once?’

  ‘I am afraid not.’ Arabella sighed her disappointment before taking another distracted sip of the reviving brandy. ‘There is one thing that puzzles me, though…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why do you suppose that someone went to all the trouble of abducting me from my bedchamber only to leave me trussed up like a chicken in the stables?’

  Once again Arabella showed the intelligence that Darius both applauded and feared. He could not have borne to be married to a stupid woman, but her obvious intelligence was making it very hard for him to continue hiding the truth from her.

  Recalling his earlier decision to tell Arabella about his brother Francis, Darius knew that, with her abduction tonight, the time had come to confide that truth to her, at least….

  Chapter Fifteen

  Arabella held out her glass for Darius to refill it with brandy even as she stared up at him in disbelief for the things he had just related to her. ‘You are saying that Francis was responsible for the death of both your first wife and your brother George?’ she repeated breathlessly.

  Her husband looked severe. ‘That he caused Sophie to fall from her horse to her death and George to have a fatal seizure of the heart? Yes, that is exactly what I am saying, Arabella.’

  She stared up at him wide-eyed. ‘I—But—You—’

  ‘I am well aware that most of Society believes me—to be guilty of killing my wife—as Francis intended that they should—and a few even whisper that I had a hand in causing George’s death too,’ Darius said simply. ‘They are wrong.’ His arrogantly handsome face hardened noticeably as he looked down at her in challenge.

  Arabella took another hasty sip of brandy, wondering if it could be the alcohol, along with her earlier ordeal, that was causing her to have hallucinations. Darius could not really have just informed her that his own brother had maliciously killed two people and deliberately implicated Darius as being responsible for those deaths.

  People—gentlemen—did not just go around randomly killing other people….

  But of course they did! For years gentlemen of the ton had been known to ‘go abroad for their health’ after they had committed some crime or other punishable by law. Had not Arabella herself made some such teasing remark to Darius when she’d learnt of Francis Wynter’s banishment to the Continent?

  ‘You were wrong, Arabella,’ Darius added softly.

  Arabella looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, feeling guilty as she recalled that in a fit of temper she had more than once accused Darius of being involved in the death of his wife.

  Yet since coming to know Darius better—since becoming his wife, since making love with him—Arabella had known there had to be some other explanation for those rumours. She could no longer believe Darius guilty of killing anyone, but she had not dreamt the true explanation would somehow involve Darius’s younger brother!

  She moistened dry lips. ‘It has been some time now since I believed you capable of doing anything like that.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes.’ Arabella was not in the least daunted by the disbelief she could re
ad in Darius’s expression. ‘Since our marriage I have come to realise that you are every bit as arrogant as my own brothers, and that if you had truly killed someone then you would feel no qualms about admitting you had done so.’

  Darius raised an eyebrow. ‘Even at the risk of imprisonment or worse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am unsure as to whether that is a compliment or yet another of your insults!’ Darius’s mouth twisted ruefully.

  ‘It is a simple statement of truth,’ Arabella assured him briskly. ‘You say it was always Francis’s intention that you be thought responsible for the deaths?’

  ‘Yes.’ Darius sighed heavily. ‘I realised how neatly that guilt was to be laid at my feet last summer, when it became obvious that Francis intended to kill me too and make it look as if I had taken my own life because I could no longer live with the guilt of what I had done.’

  Arabella gasped. ‘That is truly terrible! He is a monster, Darius! How could you have simply let him escape to the Continent? Tacitly accept the blame for the death of your wife and brother when the guilt really lay elsewhere?’

  ‘He is my brother, Arabella.’

  ‘He is a murderer!’ she retorted hotly.

  ‘Yes.’ Darius frowned darkly.

  ‘And now you think he is back in England and once again attempting to kill you?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Darius allowed. ‘Which is why we have to now discuss why his actions, both past and present, are of import to you.’

  ‘To me?’ Arabella echoed sharply.

  ‘You are now my wife,’ he pointed out gently.

  ‘I fail to see what that has to do with—’ She broke off, her eyes widening even as her face paled. ‘You are believed guilty of those two crimes because the death of your first wife left you in possession of her fortune, and the death of your eldest brother left you as heir to a dukedom…’ She spoke softly, deep in thought, for the moment ignoring the look of distaste upon Darius’s arrogantly handsome face. ‘When in reality the fact that your first wife was already dead when you became Duke of Carlyne—’