The Notorious St Claires
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‘And mine,’ he grated between clenched teeth.
She eyed him knowingly. ‘Perhaps you should have considered that before making love to me earlier?’
‘Perhaps I should,’ Darius said tersely. He had never met a young lady more deserving of having her backside paddled than Lady Arabella St Claire did at this moment. In hindsight, that was probably what Darius should have administered earlier this evening in response to her challenge, rather than making love to her!
She looked down her tiny nose at him. ‘I suggest, Your Grace, that in view of the lateness of the hour I consider your offer overnight and you call on me again tomorrow morning so that I might give you my answer.’
His mouth thinned. ‘Whilst you are … considering my offer, might I also suggest you consider that any marriage between us would necessarily be of the fullest kind.’
Arabella gave him a frowning glance, colour warming her cheeks as the mockery in his eyes and the twist to his hard mouth told her exactly what he meant by that comment.
Was she seriously considering Darius’s marriage proposal? Or was she merely toying with him?
Just as he had toyed with her earlier when he’d made love to her with such deliberation?
For that alone Darius Wynter deserved to suffer at least the overnight torment of uncertainty as to whether or not Arabella would accept him.
She could not deny that becoming a duchess—even the Duchess of the infamous Duke of Carlyne—would be a wonderful matrimonial feather in her bonnet. She was also sure that Darius Wynter was too complex a man ever to bore her. In their marriage bed or out of it.
She gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘That sounds perfectly reasonable in the circumstances.’
His eyes narrowed to icy slits. ‘You understand that I would expect my duchess to be amenable to the idea of producing Carlyne heirs?’
‘That is the normal consequence of a full marriage, is it not?’
In truth, Arabella could not imagine having a marriage without children in it. Having grown up with three older siblings, and with one young nephew already to love and adore, Arabella looked forward to one day having children of her own to pet and spoil and love.
Darius Wynter’s children?
If Arabella were honest with herself—and she usually was—then she would have to acknowledge that she had been completely aware of this man from the moment they’d met. It had been impossible not to notice him as he’d done the rounds of the salons and balls. Arabella also knew herself, along with several of the other young ladies out that year, to have become slightly infatuated with the dangerously handsome Lord Wynter.
All of them had certainly heaved a sigh of disappointment when he’d announced his betrothal to the heiress Miss Sophie Belling later that year, before marrying her in a private ceremony in the north of England only weeks later.
To now have him offer for Arabella, for whatever reason, filled her with edgy excitement more than anything else!
Darius had no idea what Arabella was thinking as she stared at him so intently. He could only hope that she was working out how unsuitable this marriage would be for both of them.
Aware that he would have to marry again one day, if only to provide the necessary heir, Darius also knew that now was not the right time for him to even be thinking of matrimony. Not when he had learnt earlier this evening that the French spy Arabella had just alluded to was once again at large.
His mouth tightened. ‘Might I also suggest, Arabella, that you consider the fact that in marrying me you would be tying yourself to a man you do not love, and who does not love you.’
Those brown eyes narrowed. ‘Is that not what dalliances outside of marriage are for?’
A red tide of anger passed in front of Darius’s eyes at the thought of Arabella taking a lover outside of their marriage.
Damn it, there was not going to be a marriage between them! Not if Darius could prevent it.
‘Your brothers have all married for love,’ he pointed out.
Her expression softened. ‘So they have.’ Her mouth firmed. ‘They have obviously all been more fortunate than I.’
‘You are but nineteen, Arabella—’
‘Almost twenty,’ she reminded him swiftly. ‘Although I fail to see what my age has to do with any thing.’
‘It has to do with the fact that you may yet meet a man for whom you can feel love,’ Darius bit out.
Her mouth quirked. ‘Take care, Your Grace, you are allowing your own reluctance to take me as your wife more than obvious!’
Was he? If that were the case, then Darius was a better actor than he had ever given himself credit for being! In truth, he had only repeated his offer for Arabella at all because Hawk St Claire’s haughty disdain had infuriated him.
But what man in his right mind, given the opportunity, would not want to take the beautiful and accomplished, the self-willed and haughty,the emotional and wildly passionate Arabella St Claire as his wife? To spend his days crossing verbal swords with her and his nights revelling in all the wild passion of which Darius now knew she was capable?
No man, in his right mind or otherwise, would even consider passing up the opportunity of marrying such a woman as the magnificent Lady Arabella St Claire!
Unless he was Darius Wynter. A man with whom it had already been proved it was dangerous for any woman to become involved. Especially now …
‘Probably because I am reluctant,’ he drawled scornfully.
‘What a pity.’ Arabella eyed him mockingly. ‘When I am seriously thinking of accepting your offer!’
Darius’s jaw tightened. ‘Only because you are a contrary little baggage!’
She gave a trill of laughter. ‘Do not expect that to change if I should decide to marry you.’
He scowled his displeasure. ‘Arabella—’
‘I believe we have talked on this subject long enough for one evening, Your Grace.’ She affected a bored yawn as she crossed to the door. ‘As I have said, I will inform you as to my decision in the morning.’
Darius could only stand and stare after Arabella in intense frustration as she left the room.
Would she have the audacity to inform him on the morrow that she had decided to accept his marriage proposal?
He realised with a heavy sigh that he was in for a long, sleepless night….
Chapter Three
‘I really wish you would reconsider your decision.’ Jane, Duchess of Stourbridge, Arabella’s sister-in-law, paced agitatedly up and down the nursery as Arabella sat in a chair in the bay window, attempting to soothe the young and teething Alexander, Marquis of Mulberry, as he moved fretfully on her shoulder. ‘You may be assured that I have informed Hawk most strongly how wrong he is to allow you to align yourself to a man such as Darius Wynter!’
Arabella had confirmed to Hawk her intention of accepting Darius’s offer as they had sat at the breakfast table together earlier this morning. An announcement her eldest brother had listened to in disapproving silence before proceeding to repeat all the reasons he considered the match unsuitable.
She almost never argued with Hawk, and had not enjoyed arguing with him this morning, either. But neither would her pride—that arrogant St Claire pride—allow her to back down in the face of his icy disapproval.
In truth, once she’d learnt of Darius’s offer, there had really been very little doubt as to her accepting it….
‘I assure you that Hawk has left me in no doubt as to his doubts concerning the marriage, dear Jane.’ Arabella shot the older woman a rueful smile. ‘But the decision ultimately lies with me, does it not?’
‘Well … Yes! But—’ Jane gave a shake of her red curls. ‘Can it be that you are in love with Carlyne,Arabella?’
‘Certainly not! ‘ Her expression was one of incredulous indignation.
‘Then why think of marrying him? ‘ Jane frowned her consternation.
Arabella gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I have to marry someone, Jane, so why not the Duke of Carlyne?’
‘Admittedly he is wickedly handsome.’
‘My dear Jane!’ She arched teasing brows. ‘Are you supposed to notice such things when you are so happily married to Hawk?’
‘This is not a teasing matter, Arabella.’ Jane’s expression was reproving. ‘And being happily married, to Hawk or otherwise, does not render a woman blind to the fact that Darius Wynter is dev il ishly handsome.’
‘He is rather,’ Arabella acknowledged thoughtfully, a smile of satisfaction playing about her lips as she considered his golden hair, deep blue eyes, his wickedly sensual mouth and his hard and muscled body.
Jane eyed her uncertainly. ‘Even if the two of you have … have anticipated the wedding vows, it does not mean you have to marry the man.’
Arabella smiled wickedly. ‘My dear Jane, I believe the Duke and I had barely begun to “anticipate the wedding vows” when Hawk and Lord Redwood interrupted us yesterday evening!’
‘In that case why consider tying yourself to him for a lifetime? ‘
Indeed. It was a question Arabella had already asked herself many times. Yesterday evening. During the long, sleepless night she had endured. And again this morning, before she’d informed Hawk of her decision.
She had finally come to the conclusion that there was no single answer to that question. Although it could perhaps best be summed up by the fact that, after two Seasons spent being flattered and fawned over by all manner of eligible men, Arabella knew that Darius was the only man that she had found to be in the least exciting or intriguing. And dangerous …
‘Not all women can expect to find a marriage of love, as you, Grace and Juliet have done with my brothers,’ she answered Jane evasively.
Arabella knew she could not explain to anyone the strange satisfaction she felt in her decision to marry Darius—or the feeling of fluttering excitement she felt at the thought of becoming his wife. Of sharing his home and his bed.
Most especially his bed!
Far from repulsing her, as Darius had so obviously hoped that it might, the promise of sharing his bed on a regular basis filled Arabella with a delicious anticipation that made her tremble just to think of it.
Although it would not do to allow Darius himself to know of the eagerness of her feelings in that regard.
‘There are several matters that need to be settled before I feel able to give you an answer to your offer of marriage.’
Darius looked between narrowed lids at the young and haughty miss before him as she stood up to receive him in the drawing room of St Claire House at precisely eleven o’clock. Arabella had offered him no word of greeting, instead simply proceeded to continue their conversation from the evening before as if there had been no break in their discussion.
Wearing a gown of the deepest gold, a colour that seemed reflected in her eyes, and with her golden curls arranged artfully at her crown with several tantalising wisps at her nape and temples, Lady Arabella St Claire was this morning in possession of an air of self-sufficiency and confidence that Darius found less than re as sur ing.
‘Good morning to you, too, Arabella,’ Darius said pointedly as he gave her a sweeping elegant bow.
Irritation creased her creamy brow, and she gave no curtsy in response to that formality. ‘I had believed our present situation to have put us beyond the need for such inanities, Darius.’
‘Had you?’ He strolled further into the room, its cream-and-gold décor a perfect foil for Arabella’s appearance, of which this self-possessed young lady was no doubt fully aware. ‘Exactly what situation would that be?’ His voice had hardened perceptively.
Irritation coloured her cheeks. ‘Do not attempt to play games with me, Darius.’
His gaze was icy. ‘I have no intention of attempting to play games with you, Arabella, considering what happened the last time I rose—quite literally—to your challenge.’
The colour deepened in her cheeks. ‘There is no need for—for such indelicacy!’
‘No?’ He looked at her coldly. ‘What would you rather I be?’ He deliberately broke social etiquette by sitting down in one of the gold brocade armchairs whilst she still stood, leaning his elbows on the arms of that chair to steeple his fingers together in front of him as he looked up at her. ‘The besotted lover, perhaps? We both know I am far from being that,’ he said scathingly. ‘The man resigned to his fate? But I am not resigned, Arabella,’ he assured her, with a tightening of his jaw. ‘Far from it!’
Faced once again with the flesh-and-blood man—a rakishly sophisticated man, far beyond her experience—Arabella could only wonder at her own temerity in daring to challenge him.
Once again he was dressed all in black, with snowy white linen and black Hessians, the sombre and perfectly tailored clothing giving him the appearance of that blond-haired devil Arabella had once considered him to be—still did.
‘Might I remind you, Darius, that you were not forced into offering for me?’
He gave a hard, mocking smile. ‘I thought it worth it just to see the look of outrage on Stourbridge’s face.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You expected me to refuse?’
He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Of course.’
‘You would rather bring disgrace down upon both our heads than marry me?’ Arabella said slowly, her anger rising.
Darius shrugged. ‘I am no stranger to disgrace, Arabella. On the contrary, in the past I have considered it my duty to provide such scandalous diversions as I can, for the ton’s entertainment.’ He looked bored. ‘On the basis that if they are gossiping and speculating about my behaviour then they are at least leaving some poor innocent alone.’
‘I am an innocent, Your Grace—and if our actions yesterday evening are made public then I very much doubt the gossiping tongues of the ton will leave me alone!’
Darius shook his head. ‘You are far from innocent, Arabella.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘You still doubt my virtue?’
‘Not in the least,’ he said. ‘I was referring to the fact that you are hardly the epitome of a young and innocent miss,’ he pointed out. ‘Neither did I say I would not marry you, if your decision is to accept. I merely stated that I am not resigned to such a fate.’
Arabella felt a shiver of apprehension down the length of her spine at the cold anger she read so easily in the harshness of Darius’s expression.
Yet her own anger increased each time Darius voiced his reluctance to marry her!
What choice did she have?
Marriage to Darius, or eventual marriage to one of those young bucks of the ton with whom Arabella already knew she could never find any real happiness? A life of mediocrity, of boredom, when all the time she was aware that she could instead have had the exciting Darius Wynter, Duke of Carlyne, as her husband?
A man whose very presence in a room both thrilled and excited her.
A man who made love to her with a finesse and skill that left her hot and aching.
A man she had gazed at longingly from afar for far too long already …
Besides, his very reluctance to marry her was an insult. A challenge no St Claire would refuse..
She straightened determinedly. ‘Then it is a pity I have decided to accept your offer, is it not?’
Darius’s eyes narrowed speculatively on the young woman who faced him so defiantly across the drawing-room. The beautiful and feisty Arabella St Claire, a young woman that at any other time Darius would have enjoyed taking for his wife. No, would have revelled in taking as his wife. Most especially the ‘taking’ part!
But now was not the time for Darius to publicly tie himself down with emotionalent anglement. To announce to the world at large that he had aligned himself to a young, and consequently vulnerable, wife.
Although he had no doubts that Arabella would dispute that she was in the least vulnerable!
‘Why?’ he bit out harshly.
She raised those haughty brows. ‘I am sorry, I do not understand?’
His gaze narrowed. ‘Did I inadvertently deliver some unintended insult to you in the past that you now feel I should be made to suffer? Some slight upon your person for which you feel I need to make suitable reparation?’
Her mouth twisted. ‘Your obvious joy in my acceptance of your offer is overwhelming, Darius.’
He gave a hard grin at her sarcasm. ‘It is difficult to feel joy when one feels one has a loaded gun placed against one’s temple.’
Her cheeks flushed angrily. ‘How flattering!’
He gave a mocking inclination of his head. ‘Strange, when I intended to insult.’
Arabella was completely aware of what this man had intended. ‘No one is forcing you to do anything, Darius. No matter what my own decision is, you have only to inform Hawk that you have changed your mind and now refuse to marry me.’
Darius gave a humourless laugh. ‘And so allow him the pleasure of pulling the trigger?’
Arabella gave an inelegant snort. ‘I assure you that Hawk has no more desire to see you become a member of his family than you have to become one.’
Darius did not doubt it. He had known for a long time—eighteen months, at least—that Hawk St Claire held him in complete contempt.
‘Lucian is not so disapproving, however,’ Arabella added slowly.
‘Lucian?’ Darius echoed slowly. ‘Lucian has spoken on my behalf?’
‘I believe he talked with Hawk after breakfast.’ She nodded.
Darius didn’t much like the sound of that. He didn’t like the sound of it at all! So much so that he made a note to himself to talk to Lucian at the earliest opportunity. Damn it, if Lucian had dared to break the promise he had made to Darius seven months ago.
He had no doubt that Arabella would make an admirable duchess. That as both the daughter and the sister of a duke she was more than capable of fulfilling that role with grace and confidence.
Any duchess but Darius’s!
He had made certain decisions concerning his life eight years ago. Decisions totally private to himself and a few chosen others. Immune, or simply uncaring of the danger those decisions represented to himself, he was nevertheless aware that they could become a threat to anyone with whom he became intimately involved. Most especially, it seemed, to any woman he became betrothed to or married!
Darius stood up impatiently, his eyes narrowing shrewdly at the way Arabella immediately took a deliberate and nervous step back from him. His mouth tightened as he mercilessly went for the attack. ‘Am I right in thinking that a wealthy duke is a more attractive marriage prospect than a penniless lord?’
Arabella eyed him warily. ‘Any woman who did not think so would be very foolish indeed,’ she replied honestly.
‘How unfortunate, then, that you are not a foolish woman,’ Darius rasped bitterly.
Arabella gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‘I fail to under stand what—’
‘Do not play the innocent with me, Arabella,’ he growled.
‘I am not—’
‘I advise you to be absolutely certain that you are completely happy with your decision.’ ‘I have said that I am.’
‘You have taken into account, I hope, that—as you have said—my previous wife “conveniently” died within a month of the marriage and left me all the richer for it?’ he reminded her grimly.
Arabella felt all the colour drain from her cheeks.
Of course she had not forgotten that this man’s first wife had died in a hunting accident a year ago, only weeks after becoming Darius Wynter’s wife. Nor was she unaware of the suspicions that had been voiced amongst the ton about the suddenness of the other woman’s death.
Suspicions that she had voiced to Darius herself, only the previous evening!
But she was sure he had only brought that up to try and make her change her mind about accepting his offer! She eyed him closely. ‘I have no idea as to your first wife’s family circumstances, but I have no doubt that my own brothers, Lucian included, would deal with you most severely were anything … untoward ever to happen to me,’ Arabella told him firmly.
Once again Darius could not help but admire her.
Whether Arabella believed those rumours concerning his wife’s untimely death or not, she obviously had no intention of being deterred from marrying him herself. ‘In other words you are hoping that the threat of your brothers’ retribution will ensure that it does not?’
‘Exactly.’ She nodded coolly.
Darius gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘I fail to see of what possible comfort that retribution could be to you if you were already dead.’
She gave a blithe smile. ‘I assure you, knowing that Hawk, Lucian and Sebastian would instantly consign you to the devil is of tremendous comfort to me!’
Darius’s mouth thinned. ‘And if I were to admit to you right now that I was indeed responsible for my first wife’s early demise?’
Arabella drew in a sharp breath and looked at him searchingly. ‘Why would you do such a thing? ‘ she finally murmured.
Darius shifted impatiently. ‘Possibly because it is the truth?’
She frowned. ‘I believe you are trying to frighten me into refusing you!’
‘Am I succeeding?’ He scowled darkly.
‘No,’ she answered pertly. ‘Now, if you have quite finished voicing your reservations concerning our marriage—’
‘I do not recall voicing any of my reservations as yet,’ Darius rasped harshly. ‘The main one being, of course, that I have no use for a wife. Not now. Or in the foreseeable future.’
She blinked. ‘Yesterday evening you mentioned the necessity for heirs.’
His mouth compressed. ‘Which I would be just as capable of fathering in ten—twenty years as I am now. Arabella, have you seriously considered what it will mean to become my wife?’ he continued impatiently. ‘I am a man most of the ton still believe beyond the pale. A man who has only attained a tenuous respectability because of a title which should never have become mine.’ His expression darkened. ‘That would not have become mine if my brother had not died so suddenly and his legitimate heir, my nephew Simon, had not already been slain at Waterloo.’
Yes, of course Arabella had considered all of those things during the long hours of a sleepless night. But ultimately they had all been rendered insignificant against her own inexplicable desire to become this man’s wife.
Inexplicable because Arabella refused to search her heart too deeply in order to find the answers to that particular puzzle.
‘In that case, marriage to a St Claire can only but add to your newfound but shaky respectability!’
Darius could see from the firm tilt of those highly kissable lips and the stubborn light in those deep brown eyes that Arabella would not be swayed from her decision, that she was wilfully determined to become his wife whether he desired it or not.
And he most certainly did not.
But not for any of the reasons he had so far stated.
He admired Arabella St Claire. Desired her. He would not have offered for her eighteen months ago if he had not—an offer she had not hesitated to refuse when he was penniless and lacked a dukedom, he reminded himself testily.
He crossed the room in two long strides to reach out and grasp the tops of her arms, totally impervious to her sudden look of alarm. ‘I advise you to be sure of exactly what you would be doing by marrying me, Arabella,’ he growled.
Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed nervously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I am a man used to doing as I please. Going where I please, when I please, as I please. A circumstance I would see no reason to change simply because I have a wife.’
Arabella’s eyes widened. ‘You are telling me before we are even wed that you intend to continue your relationships outside of our marriage? That you perhaps already have a mistress you intend to continue to visit?’