Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage. Кэрол Мортимер

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      Her eldest brother eyed her disapprovingly. ‘The man is totally unsuitable.’

      ‘His rank is every bit as prestigious as your own!’ Arabella found herself defending the very man she had minutes ago been so angry with.

      ‘His rank, perhaps, but not the man,’ Hawk bit out contemptuously. ‘Arabella, I cannot tell you how strongly I would disapprove of a match between you and Carlyne.’

      She raised her chin in stubborn defiance of that disapproval. ‘I am sorry you feel that way.’

      Hawk’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is your intention to accept Carlyne’s offer, then?’

      ‘I have not decided,’ she answered coolly. ‘I will give you my answer once I have given Darius his.’

      Her brother straightened, looking every inch the aristocratic Duke of Stourbridge. ‘He has asked to speak to you in my study before he leaves.’

      Arabella gave a haughty inclination of her head. ‘In that case I really must not keep him waiting any longer.’ She swept regally from the bedchamber and down the stairs.

      Before her courage failed her!

      ‘Your brother has graciously granted us five minutes alone together in which we might discuss this evening’s events,’ Darius said dryly when Arabella rejoined him in the now candlelit study.

      Hawk St Claire was so damned toplofty. He obviously believed himself to be far superior to Darius in every way. He had seemed not to care a jot for the fact that Darius was himself now a duke, and therefore the other man’s social equal, as he’d coldly informed him exactly what he thought of him for daring to dally with his sister.

      Until Darius’s offer of marriage—his second in regard to Lady Arabella St Claire—had robbed the other man completely of speech!

      ‘So I understand.’ Arabella looked at him with the same haughty disdain as her eldest brother had only minutes ago.

      Even so, Darius could not help but admire the rebellious glitter in her eyes and the defiant tilt to her chin as she looked down the length of that haughty little nose at him. Not too many women he knew would be half so sure of themselves after being so recently discovered in a compromising situation with a scandalously notorious rake like him.

      That Darius had ceased to publicly live up to that reputation since taking on the mantle of the Duke of Carlyne appeared to have gone unnoticed by the majority of the ton; it was a case of once a rake always a rake, it seemed. Not that this reputation was in the least a hindrance to Darius’s eligibility. As Arabella’s youngest brother Sebastian had once informed him, inheriting a dukedom tended to bring on a bout of amnesia amongst the ton concerning a man’s previous indiscretions.

      Which brought Darius back full circle to the purpose of this five-minutes conversation with the young lady standing before him.

      His mouth compressed. ‘I doubt we will need the whole of the allotted five minutes for me to make a formal offer for you and for you to refuse it.’ Darius studied her from beneath hooded lids as he clinically admired her undoubted beauty: those deep brown eyes, that pert little nose, the perfect bow of her lips. Lips that had only minutes ago responded to his with a passion that had far exceeded any of Darius’s expectations.

      He was acquainted well enough with the three St Claire brothers to know that Arabella’s earlier claims to physical experience were a complete fabrication. Her brothers would never have tolerated even a hint of licentious behaviour in their young sister. But it had been her defiance that at the time Darius had been unable to resist challenging.

      He had never had any serious intention of making love to Arabella, only to exact a little revenge for her dismissal of his offer eighteen months ago. That revenge had neatly rebounded on him when she had responded to his kisses and caresses with a passion that had just been waiting, it seemed, to respond to a lover’s touch.

      His specific touch?

      Somehow Darius doubted that very much. Since their first meeting Arabella had made her contemptuous opinion of him more than obvious.

      ‘Marriage is not something I either seek or want,’ he drawled now. ‘Nevertheless, I am aware of the obligation I have to make such an offer. An offer that you, having already assured me that I am a man no decent woman would ever align herself with, need only refuse to bring an end to it.’

      Arabella felt a shiver down the length of her spine as she heard the steely edge to Darius’s tone as he repeated her earlier insult to him. An insult he had obviously taken exception to….

      Enough to have deliberately made love to her a short time ago? No doubt. But it did not alter the fact that she had responded to him in such a wild and abandoned way.

      Darius’s arrogant certainty that Arabella would refuse his offer rankled in the same way as Hawk’s cold assertion that she would refuse it had done earlier. ‘Well? ‘ she demanded haughtily.

      Those deep blue eyes narrowed. ‘Well, what?’

      Arabella gave him a pert smile. ‘I am waiting for you to make such an offer.’

      Blond brows rose mockingly. ‘I believe I just did.’

      ‘No, you did not.’ Arabella shook her head. ‘You have explained that it is an offer you feel socially pressured into making. You have also said that I will refuse such an offer. You have yet to actually make me that offer.’

      Darius gave an impatient grimace. ‘You want your pound of flesh? Is that it?’

      Her eyes flashed in temper. ‘I merely want my offer!’

      ‘Very well.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lady Arabella, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife? ‘ He made no effort to hide the sarcasm behind his proposal, or the cynical twist to his mouth.

      It fired Arabella’s temper anew. Darius Wynter was one of the most arrogant men she had ever met. He was just so absolutely sure of himself. Of Arabella’s refusal to even consider his proposal. Of his ability to escape any lasting repercussions concerning their lovemaking—leaving her to bear the brunt of them with regard to her immediate family.

      All her life, it seemed, Arabella had been surrounded by arrogantly forceful men. Her father, Alexander. Her three older brothers. To tie herself to a husband who possessed that same arrogance would surely be the height of folly.

      Or perhaps it would be the height of good sense?

      Arabella had enjoyed her two Seasons, but only once during that time had she even come close to finding a man who held her interest beyond their initial meeting. And that man had been Darius Wynter himself.

      His Grace was absolutely nothing like the young men who had flattered and flirted with her these past two Seasons, all proclaiming undying love for her until Arabella had become sickened by their attentions.

      Darius, making no effort to hide his arrogance or his cynicism, had neither flattered nor flirted with her. Much to her regret …

      Arabella’s pulse fluttered anew just looking at him: that golden hair, those dark and unfathomable blue eyes, his arrogant slash of a nose above sculptured lips and СКАЧАТЬ