Arabella's Taming

by Golden Angel

  Choking on her own cries, Arabella writhed, her muscles tightening around his thick lance, which only increased the intensity of the sensations rippling through her. It was everything her friends had described and so much more.

  ******

  Despite being a virgin, Arabella had been so primed, so passionate, so ready for him, that Thomas was able to indulge his own need. In the back of his mind he felt as though he was short-changing her by jumping so quickly to the main event, but there would be time enough for that later. The rest of their lives in fact.

  For now, he wallowed in the deep pleasure of her slick heat, the way she clamped down around him and her startled cries as she experienced her first petite mort—the little death, as the French called an orgasm. And indeed, this was the death of Arabella Manchester, the virginal debutante, and the beginning of her new life as Arabella Hood, Thomas Hood’s wife and lady.

  He moved harder, faster; having ensured her pleasure he could now seek his own. Not that he was far behind her anyway. They’d both been more than ready to consummate their marriage and it was all he’d been able to do to hold on long enough to ensure a pleasurable first time for her.

  The tightness of her body grew even tighter as she orgasmed, and Thomas shouted with heady rapture as he buried himself inside of her and found his own release. Muscles quivering, he held himself braced over her to keep his weight from crushing her as he emptied himself inside of her. It was the first time he’d ever done so inside a woman without the use of a French letter sheathe and it was indescribable.

  Leave it to Arabella to have the words.

  “That…” she said with a sigh as she reached up to wind her arms around his neck. “Was perfect.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Thomas murmured.

  As Arabella was more than a little sleepy, slumped with the sated content only a truly satisfied woman could have, Thomas quickly cleaned them up and, after a quick examination of the sheets, lifted Arabella into his arms so he could take her into his room. They’d be more comfortable in there.

  She protested sleepily when he laid her down on the cold sheets, but that only gave him the excuse to have her snuggle into his side as he slid in beside her. Looking almost angelic, although he must be a bit pleasure-besotted to even think of her in such terms, Arabella closed her eyes as she laid her head against his shoulder and almost immediately fell asleep.

  Staring up at his ceiling, feeling immense satisfaction at having Arabella as his wife, the success of their wedding night, and now having her beside him in his bed, Thomas followed her into slumber.

  Chapter 8

  Waking up alone, when one expected to wake up beside another person, was a rather unpleasant thing. Especially when one distinctly remembered falling asleep cradled in said person’s arms. Even more especially when Arabella knew damned well that her friends’ husbands, and even her brothers, enjoyed morning marital relations just as much as they did evening ones. And afternoon ones in some cases.

  "Nodcock," she muttered under her breath as she pushed her way out of her husband's large bed. The covers were heavier than she was used to, although she'd rather enjoyed the weight.

  She took a moment to look around her husband's room—as that was where he'd brought them to actually sleep last night. Arabella hadn't minded at all, she rather liked that he wanted her in his bed. Some part of her even acknowledged that he must trust her in order to leave her alone in his room.

  Perhaps he had gone to gather breakfast and would be back momentarily?

  Standing, feeling a bit odd being naked in a strange room, she spied the robe he'd been wearing last night draped over a chair and immediately picked it up, shrugging it on as she admired the room's furnishings. Thomas clearly had a preference for oak furniture; the lines were heavy but the color was light and the overall effect was both masculine and bright. The main colors in the room were very neutral tans and beige, interspersed with red cushions, drapes, and a comfortable looking red armchair by the fireplace.

  Red was definitely his favorite color, something she made a mental note of. Now that she was a wife and not a debutante, an entire assortment of colors were now available to her which hadn't been before. The new wardrobe Lydia had helped her pick out, which was still on order with Madame Lefarge, did have several red dresses, but Arabella might visit with the modiste and see if it were possible to change the fabrics of a few more.

  Smiling to herself, anxious to see her husband, Arabella found she was rather of a mind to try and get along with him rather than make his life a misery. After all, that would mean she would be miserable too. Right now she didn't want to fight with him, she felt too good to want to fight. If anything, she wanted to recapture the magic of last night.

  Being good wasn't all that hard after all. She'd done so at the beginning of the Season and during the past week. There were times when she thought she might bite her tongue off from holding it, but it was certainly possible and it would make Thomas happy... and she could always change her mind later if he began to make her unhappy.

  Having made up her mind, and feeling far too impatient to sit quietly in his room waiting for him, Arabella went and peeked into the hall. A footman was standing across the hallway and he immediately came to attention when he saw her head peeking out from Thomas' room.

  "Good morning," Arabella said cheerfully, beaming at him. "And what's your name?"

  "Good morning, my lady," he responded with a slight bow. With a sandy flop of blond hair and friendly hazel eyes, he was probably of an age with her but somehow he seemed younger, even nervous. Arabella wondered if this was a new position for him or if perhaps he was intimidated because her brother was a duke—it would not be the first time staff was anxious around her because of her status. "My name is Tommy Evans."

  "Well, Tommy Evans, do you know where I might find my husband?" she asked, smiling sunnily at him. The staff would soon learn she wasn't one to stand on ceremony, the same way the Manchester staff had; then they would relax and she was sure they would all get on admirably.

  The young man smiled back at her, a little uncertainly. "Ah, I believe he went for a ride, my lady. He had me stay here in case you needed anything. Breakfast should be ready in the dining room within the hour."

  Probably because no one else was up at this hour. Arabella had slept longer than she customarily did, but she was used to waking up for her morning ride and eventually had instinctively roused. She wouldn't be hungry for some time, though.

  Presumably Thomas had thought she was sound asleep and wouldn't awaken for her customary ride—or maybe he thought she had stopped after this past week when she truly had been too exhausted to rise for it?

  Either way, Arabella was eager to get back on Mist and resume her favorite morning activity—since the activity she'd intended on indulging in was moot without her husband. She smiled at Tommy.

  "I won't be requiring anything, thank you. You may go if you have other duties to attend to."

  "Thank you, my lady."

  Closing the door, she used the adjoining door between the rooms to return to her own. Many of her own furnishings had been moved in yesterday, but the setting was still unfamiliar and it took her a few minutes to find the bronze riding habit she favored. Humming under her breath, she pushed down the little bit of ire she felt over Thomas going riding without her.

  It was entirely possible he'd been trying to be considerate and she was not going to let her good morning and determination to make their marriage work be ruined by a simple misunderstanding.

  Braiding her hair over her shoulder, Arabella headed for the mews where Mist was stabled. It was there that she realized this morning had not been a simple misunderstanding and that making Thomas miserable was a much more desirable goal than attempting to behave.

  "Excuse me?" she asked icily, reining her in her temper to keep from venting it all over the poor groom, who was practically shaking in his boots. "Could you repeat that?"

  "My apol
ogies, my lady," he stammered out. "But Lord Thomas gave instruction that we are not to saddle your horse for you."

  Arabella's lips pressed together, anger coiling in her breast. She felt as though she was about three seconds away from exploding—and not in the pleasurable way she had the night before. Thomas apparently had not only anticipated that she might want to continue her early morning gallops, he had moved to ensure she couldn't.

  Well he was going to be in for a very nasty surprise.

  "Anything else?" she asked. The groom shook his head. "Very well. I will return in ten minutes. In that time I expect to have Mist brought out of her stall. Not one of you is to saddle her, therefore you are not disobeying Lord Thomas' orders." Her voice made an ugly twist when she said her husband's name.

  The groom nodded his head in understanding, and Arabella turned to storm back into the house. Her husband probably thought he had won this round. It was likely he expected his wife to be like many ladies of the ton—ignorant of how to saddle her horse if she could even lift the heavy thing to the horse's back.

  While it was true Arabella would struggle with the heavy sidesaddle most of Society's ladies used, and which she used when she was in town, she could handle a regular saddle. Not only that, but Scotswomen were much more practical about riding in general and Arabella had been much taken with their fashion.

  Thomas would be highly disapproving, of course, but then that was the point. He should be grateful she didn’t don breeches.

  ******

  Riding through Hyde Park on his own, Thomas felt a small pang of regret that he hadn't woken Arabella. But while they were in town it was best that she discontinue her rides, the same way she had for the past week. Leaving her sleeping had been difficult, but he'd wanted to ride and she couldn't go with him. If he were lucky, when he returned she'd still be abed and he could have an enjoyable time waking her up.

  The thought made him grin.

  Last night had been a revelation, although he was also glad Arabella obviously hadn't known exactly what to expect. He looked forward to showing her the pleasures of taking their time before the main event.

  Just thinking about her had him turning Brutus' head, cutting their morning ride a little shorter than usual. He was rather wedded to his usual schedule, which was why he'd gone out this morning, but with a new wife at home waiting for him... well, perhaps he needed to adjust his schedule. Maybe he would even curtail his own early morning rides for the rest of the week. They could ride together in the country where her gallops would cause no major comment even if anyone did see her.

  With that in mind, Thomas turned for home, which was why he had a clear view of the entrance to Hyde Park and the familiar dapple grey and rider which came pounding through it.

  Frozen, Thomas could do nothing but stare, mouth agape at the shocking sight. Arabella galloping full out, which meant she'd been riding down the main street at such a pace as well, where anyone could see her. It was now late enough in the morning that some early risers might very well be out and about. Not those who attended the late balls, of course, but there were quite a few more elderly members of Society whose main social activities were teas and visits during the day, and they rose earlier than everyone else.

  Not only that, but she wasn't seated in a side saddle.

  Shockingly, scandalously, she was riding astride. Dimly, Thomas recognized the split riding skirts favored by Scotswomen, a fashion no respectable lady would wear in the middle of London! Even in the country, unless a woman was actually a Scottish lady, there would be an uproar. An English woman riding astride in Hyde Park of all places...

  He could feel his heart beating so hard in his chest it felt like the organ might vault out onto the lawn.

  Either she didn't see him off in the distance or she didn't care—and Thomas considered both possibilities equally likely—but Arabella immediately turned for Rotten Row. The bridle path was currently completely clear of occupants, but normally she avoided it during her early morning rides as it was the most likely place for others to appear within the park even at this hour.

  "Bloody hell, the shameless numbwit!" Thomas cursed, vaulted into motion as he realized she was no apparition.

  No, his wife was actually there in Hyde Park, beginning her ride when she would normally be ending it, and she was riding astride.

  When he found out who had saddled her bloody horse for her, they were going to be searching for a new position, he thought grimly. Those orders had been set down for a reason! And to give her anything but a side saddle!

  He kicked Brutus' sides, and the big horse snorted as he began running across the lawn towards the Row. Being far behind Arabella, and having already been exercised some this morning, it quickly became clear that Brutus didn't have a chance in hell of catching up to the fleet-footed mare, no matter how he tried.

  "Arabella!" Thomas yelled, hoping against hope that the park was still as deserted as it looked, praying there was no one within hearing distance. "Arabella, halt!"

  If she heard him, she was ignoring him.

  Thomas' temper rose.

  Even if she was upset over his order not to saddle her horse, this was not the way to respond. The scandal she could cause would be enormous, and it would not only affect her house and his house, but also very likely his cousin Mary's prospects. Would any gentleman even want to marry a debutante who was linked so closely with the kind of immodest, audacious lady who would gallop through Hyde Park astride?

  Arabella had always had her position as a duke's sister to protect her, something which she took for granted but which Mary did not have. The sheer selfishness of the act, the unthinking indifference to how her actions affected everyone else, had him grinding his teeth in frustrated anger.

  She didn't cease her gallop until she was out of the park again, and only then did she slow. Of course, at that point Thomas wasn't even sure he wanted her to. London was beginning to awaken. So far he only saw tradesmen and workers moving about the streets, people who likely wouldn't recognize her, but there was always the chance of an astute servant or an early riser of the ton seeing her.

  Forced to slow his pace as well, so as not to draw attention to either of them, Thomas followed her through the streets back to Hood House. To his immense relief, he didn't see anyone look at her with recognition—only curiosity—and he didn't recognize anyone in the streets.

  Still, it could have very easily gone the other way. There was still no guarantee someone hadn’t spotted and recognized her and Thomas just hadn't seen them.

  When he entered the mews, Arabella had already dismounted from Mist's back and was unbuckling the saddle. Thomas found himself gaping again at the sure, confident way she handled the saddle. It didn't take a genius to realize he wouldn't be firing anyone for saddling her horse—she'd done it herself.

  The possibility hadn't even occurred to him. He didn't think he'd ever seen a lady saddle her own horse, had never even thought one might know how. After all, even gentlemen rarely saddled their own. It was so much easier to send a messenger down to the stable to have their horse made ready for them. Thomas himself often cared for his own horses in the country, but not in the city where life moved at a faster pace.

  His anger lessened only very slightly, mainly the fury he'd been holding on to that his order had been so directly disobeyed, and now focused entirely on Arabella herself rather than having a small portion for the staff.

  Swinging down from Brutus' back, he thrust the reins at the head groom, Jensen, who looked rather abashed and worried. Thomas would reassure him later that he didn't hold any of them at fault for his wife's impetuous behavior. For now, he stalked forward to his wife, who for all intents and purposes was ignoring him.

  She was well aware of his presence, but she didn't so much as glance his way.

  "Arabella," he said, his voice censorious. "I'd like to speak with you in private." Now she looked at him, eyes flashing with temper to match his, which only made him want to sha
ke his head.

  Pursing her lips, she studied him and then nodded as though granting him a concession. Thomas felt a vein in his temple throb, grinding his teeth at her haughty demeanor.

  "Very well, my lord," she said coolly, despite the heat of anger in her eyes. "I have a few things I'd like to say to you as well."

  Thomas would wager she did, although he couldn't imagine any excuse or justification she could offer which would satisfy him.

  Firming his jaw, he offered his arm. There was no need to set the staff to gossiping worse than they were already going to be.

  At least he was sparing both of them the nosiness of his family. They had the entire west wing of the house to themselves, a space carved out for when they were in residence at the same time as his parents, which meant they shouldn't be overheard. The walls were thick anyway, but he doubted Arabella was the type to take a spanking quietly.

  Especially the kind she'd earned herself this morning.

  Not that she'd been particularly quiet last night either for the more pleasurable kind of spanking. Thomas was more than a little put out to already be in a position where he must mete out a disciplinary one. This was definitely not how he'd pictured his morning going.

  However he was quite certain their upcoming interview was not going to go the way Arabella pictured, and there was some small comfort in that.

  ******

  Still inwardly fuming, although feeling vaguely triumphant at the shock she’d seen on Thomas’ face when he’d seen her unsaddling Mist, Arabella still did the pretty on the way inside. There had been many a dustup between herself and her siblings, and even her parents when they’d been alive. While she couldn’t always be counted on for good behavior, putting on a good face in front of the staff was a must.

  Not because of gossip, although that was also a consideration, but because of the disruption it could cause.