Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage. Кэрол Мортимер

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      Arabella’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest at the mere thought of the muscled strength of this man’s hard, naked body pressed against her own; those wide shoulders, the firmness of his chest and stomach, his powerful thighs and the naked glory of his—

      ‘I assure you, sir, that the infamous Darius Wynter is the very last man I would ever contemplate becoming intimate with,’ Arabella bit out with deliberate insult.

      He looked down his aristocratic nose at her. ‘Is that so?’ he responded icily.

      She nodded. ‘You are undoubtedly the rake everyone believes you to be. A rake and a scoundrel. A man who married for money before being suspiciously widowed only a month later.’

      ‘Suspiciously?’ His voice was deceptively, dangerously soft.

      ‘Conveniently, then,’ Arabella substituted recklessly. ‘As you were then able to keep your heiress’s money without the bother of the heiress. In other words, sir, you are a man no decent woman should ever align herself with, as wife or mistress, regardless of your newfound wealth and respectability as the Duke of Carlyne!’

      Arabella was instantly aware of her serious error in judgement in insulting this particular man as those dark blue eyes narrowed dangerously in a face gone hard with displeasure. His mouth was a thin, uncompromising line above a clenched and unrelenting jaw. That very stillness was in itself a warning of the coldness and depth of his anger.

      Arabella swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps I have said too much—’

      ‘Only perhaps? ‘ Darius grated menacingly.

      She had said too much. Far too much, and most assuredly to the wrong man. That the Duke had challenged her into being so indiscreet Arabella had no doubts. That she should not have taken up that challenge was also beyond doubt. As was the retribution promised in the hard blue of his eyes.

      ‘I believe we should retire somewhere a little less … crowded so that we might continue this conversation in private,’ Darius growled, his fingers firmly gripping Arabella’s elbow as he left the dance floor to pull her along at his side through the crush of people.

      ‘We cannot be seen leaving the ballroom together,’ Arabella hissed self-consciously, hoping that at any moment one or other of her brothers would arrive and demand to know what they were about.

      Darius did not so much as falter in his departure as he glanced down at her with cold, remorseless blue eyes. ‘I believed you to be unconcerned by such impropriety in this enlightened year of eighteen hundred and seventeen!’

      Arabella felt her cheeks warm as he neatly turned her earlier bravado back on her, to good effect. ‘I assure you I am completely unconcerned, Your Grace, but my brothers may perhaps be less … guarded in voicing their opinions.’

      His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Sebastian and his bride disappeared some minutes ago, and Hawk and Lucian also seem to be similarly engaged with the charms of their own wives.’

      Another hurried glance about the ballroom did indeed show an obvious lack of the presence of Arabella’s brothers. How typical! Since her coming out last Season her brothers had made her life almost impossible with their over-protectiveness, and now, when Arabella would actually have welcomed their high-handed interference, they had all disappeared to goodness knew where to dally with their wives. Even Aunt Hammond, her chaperon during these past two Seasons, appeared blind to Arabella’s unwilling departure from the ballroom as she stood across the room engrossed in conversation with several of their relatives.

      ‘As I said,’ Darius drawled with dry satisfaction, ‘I think it better by far that we retire somewhere less crowded in order to continue our present … xonversation.’

      Arabella had no doubt from the determined tone of his voice that conversation was the last thing the arrogant Duke of Carlyne wished to continue..

      Darius strode from the ballroom, pulling Arabella through yet another crush of people where they stood chattering and laughing in the cavernous hallway, although he was not unaware of the expression in her beautiful brown eyes as he looked for a room where he could be alone with this insultingly outspoken young madam. Those eyes of hers, Darius knew, could sparkle with laughter as easily as they now snapped with anger.

      So far the former had never happened in his presence..

      Whenever he and Arabella St Claire had chanced to meet this past year and a half it had always been at one function of the ton or another. Occasions when this feisty little miss had treated the disreputable Lord Darius Wynter with all the haughty disdain of which a St Claire was capable—if she deigned to acknowledge him at all. Which usually she had not.

      The tenuous accuracy of Arabella’s recently voiced insults proved that although she had appeared to be completely unaware of him personally, she had obviously not been above listening to the scandalous gossip that so often circulated about him amongst the ton!

      It was time—past time—for Darius to demonstrate to her that as the Duke of Carlyne he would no longer tolerate such dismissive behaviour from her or anyone else!

      The noise and heat of the wedding party faded, and Darius kept his hand tightly about her elbow as he strode forcefully down a corridor towards the back of the house.

      ‘What is in here?’ He indicated a door to the left of the hallway with his free hand.

      ‘It is a linen closet, I believe. Lord Wyn—Your Grace,’ she corrected herself hurriedly as she stumbled along beside him, ‘this really is most improper—’

      ‘Here?’ Darius ignored her protests, his expression grim as he indicated a door to the right.

      ‘Hawk’s study. But we cannot go in there!’ she protested agitatedly.

      Darius thrust the door open before pulling her into the darkened room behind him. ‘Now.’ He took both her hands in one of his and lifted them over her head as he pushed her back against the closed door and pressed the length of his body against hers. ‘Shall we put to the test your claim that I am the very last man you would ever contemplate being intimate with? ‘ His eyes glittered down at her as he slowly lowered his head with the intention of capturing her pouting lips with his own.

      Arabella couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Her struggles to release her hands from Darius’s steely restraint were only causing her body to become pressed more intimately against his. Causing her to feel more closely the hard warmth of his chest and thighs even as those cynical lips claimed hers.

      Despite her earlier attempt at sophisticated bravado, Arabella had never even been kissed before. Her own lack of any deep interest, along with the threat of her brothers’ wrath raining down on the head of any man who dared take such liberties with their young sister, had been enough, it seemed, to warn off any of the young bucks she had met so far.

      Not so in the case of Darius Wynter who, at one and thirty, was most certainly not a young buck. Nor, as the illustrious Duke of Carlyne, was he in awe of any of her brothers.

      A mouth that had appeared hard and sculptured was instead softly intimate as Darius kissed Arabella with a thoroughness that made her body tremble and shake even as it burned. Her breasts somehow felt fuller as they pressed against the restraining material of her gown, and there was a heat between her thighs that Arabella had never experienced before. A flowering that caused her to shift her hips in restless need. СКАЧАТЬ