I do not tell lies, Your Grace!’

Darius quirked a derisive brow over lazily mocking blue eyes. ‘Prove it.’

Arabella’s eyes opened wide at the challenge. ‘I beg your pardon …?’

They might have been the only two people in the room as Darius regarded her from between narrowed lids. The air between them was charged with expectation as he noted the loss of colour to her cheeks, and the shocked uncertainty that now shone in those previously rebellious brown eyes. ‘I am merely inviting you to prove your claim, Arabella,’ he repeated softly.

‘I—But—How am I to do that, Your Grace?’

His mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘Surely there is only one way in which a woman might prove her … experience in the matter of physical intimacy?’

AUTHOR NOTE

I feel quite sad to have come to the end of The Notorious St Claires quartet.

Hopefully, it will not be the last you hear of the St Claire family. I have no doubt there will be many more family members who’ll have their own story to tell, while at the same time you will get brief and tantalising glimpses into the continuing lives of Hawk, Lucian, Sebastian and Arabella. In fact, I couldn’t resist setting a story at Christmas, where the family makes a further appearance. Look for my short story CHRISTMAS AT MULBERRY HALL, coming later in 2011.

Thank you for sharing this experience with me, and until next time I wish you happy reading!

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Previous novels by the same author:

In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance

THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*

THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*

THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*

*Part of The Notorious St Claires mini-series

You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times.

Now read about the new generation in Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance

The Scandalous St Claires

Three arrogant aristocrats— ready to be tamed!

Don’t miss Jordan St Claire in Jordan St Claire: Dark and Dangerous January 2011

Lucian St Claire The Relucant Duke in February and Gideon St Claire Taming the Last St Claire in March!

LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my readers,

for helping to make writing

The Notorious St Claires such a wonderful and rewarding experience for me.

Chapter One

‘How I have come to hate weddings!’ Lady Arabella St Claire muttered inelegantly as her partner in the waltz—a dance still considered slightly risqué by the older members of the ton—swept her assuredly amongst the two hundred or so other wedding guests milling about the candlelit ballroom of St Claire House in London.

‘Could that be because in the past year you have been three times the sister of the groom rather than being the bride?’ drawled Darius Wynter, the Duke of Carlyne.

Arabella looked up sharply, intending to give him a set-down for the mockery she detected in his cynically bored tone. That was her intention, but instead Arabella found her attention caught and held by the hard and perfect male beauty of his face—a face Arabella had once described to one of her sisters-in-law as being that of an angel. Or a devil …

Six or seven inches taller than her own five feet and eight inches in stockinged feet, Darius Wynter had stylishly overlong golden hair, which gleamed in the candle-light, and his eyes were of dark cobalt-blue, edged by long lashes of that same gold. His nose was long and aristocratic, his cheekbones hard, and he possessed perfect sculptured lips above a square and determined jaw.

The stark black of his jacket over snowy-white linen emphasised rather than hid the width of his shoulders, his muscled chest and taut abdomen, and the lean elegance of his hips and thighs was defined by tailored black pantaloons.

Yes, Darius Wynter, Duke of Carlyne, was certainly elegance personified—and he was also the most com-pellingly handsome man Arabella had met since her coming out the previous year.

Until a few short months ago he had been Lord Darius Wynter, a man well known for his numerous exploits in the bedroom and at the gaming tables. A wild and reckless reputation that had only been added to when he’d married the heiress Sophie Belling a year ago, only to be suddenly widowed one short month later, when his bride was thrown from her horse while out hunting and killed.

As expected, the majority of the ton—marriage-minded mamas especially!—had forgiven Darius Wynter all his previous sins when he’d inherited the title of the Duke of Carlyne on the death of his elder brother seven months ago.

Arabella had been drawn to his decadent good-looks the first time she’d seen him at a ball some eighteen months ago. An attraction, despite the many social occasions at which they had both been present, that Darius Wynter had unfortunately never given any inclination of returning.

Her top lip curled now with haughty disdain. ‘I am sure you did not mean your remark to be so insulting, Your Grace.’

Darius gazed down into the beautiful face of Lady Arabella St Claire. With three brothers older than herself, one of them Hawk, Duke of Stourbridge, Darius knew that this young lady had been petted and spoilt for most if not all of her almost twenty years.

Nevertheless, her beauty was dazzling: a riot of honey-gold curls framed her heart-shaped face, her eyes were the colour of melted chocolate, and she had a tiny up-tilted nose, full and sensuously pouting lips, and a pointedly determined chin. The pale cream gown she wore revealed a spill of creamy breasts above a narrow waist and rounded hips, and her tiny feet were covered in cream satin slippers.

Yes, Lady Arabella St Claire was without doubt a very beautiful and highly desirable young lady. But as the young and so far unattached sister of the Duke of Stourbridge, wealthy in her own right following the death of her father eleven years ago, this haughtily condescending young lady had been hotly pursued by every eligible buck during the past two Seasons. Darius, whilst still only the lowly Lord Wynter, had even made an offer for her himself the previous year. An offer that had been summarily dismissed by this wilful baggage, he recalled grimly.

‘Are you so sure?’ Darius taunted.

Those deep brown eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I am but nineteen years of age, Your Grace, hardly old-maid material yet!’

Darius rather liked the angry flush that had entered her cheeks. It made her eyes appear darker, the fullness of her lips redder. Lips that it would no doubt be a pleasure to kiss and explore, he noted. ‘Nevertheless, you have been out for two Seasons now, with no hint of a betrothal being announced.’

Those expressive dark eyes flashed her displeasure. ‘Is it your opinion, then, that all young ladies are so giddy and empty-headed that their only aim in life must be to snare themselves a suitable husband?’

He raised enquiring blond brows. ‘By suitable I presume you mean wealthy, as well as titled?’

Her pointed chin rose challengingly. ‘It is the enlightened year of eighteen hundred and seventeen, Your Grace, a time when not all women feel that they need a husband—any husband—by which to justify their very ex is tence!’

‘Then it is not your intention to marry?’ he asked curiously.

‘Not for some years, no,’ she answered stubbornly. ‘A pity.’

Her brows drew together. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Darius shrugged broad shoulders. ‘At nineteen a woman’s body is still firm and ripe—’ He broke off as Arabella gave a shocked gasp and attempted to pull away from him, yet Darius easily prevented her withdrawal by tightening his arm about the narrowness of her waist and his fingers about her tiny gloved fingers.

Her eyes glittered up at him angrily when she found herself forced to continue dancing, the softness of her thighs pressed against his much harder ones. ‘Release me at once, sir!’

Darius grinned down at her unrepentantly. ‘I am merely endeavouring to show you what you are missing by spurning the idea of marriage whilst you are still young enough to enjoy it.’

Arabella had not grown up with three older brothers without learning at least some of the mechanics of a man’s body. And at the moment she could feel exactly what she would be missing as the hard press of Darius Wynter’s thighs became a shocking torment against hers. A shockingly sensual torment.

Her legs felt weakened by the intimacy. Her breasts were swelling against her gown, her palms becoming slightly damp inside her gloves, and her cheeks were burning as she glanced about them self-consciously.

Luckily there was such a crush of people attending the celebration of her brother Sebastian’s wedding to his darling Juliet that no one—not one of her brothers or their wives, nor indeed her many aunts and uncles and numerous cousins—seemed to have noticed the Duke’s over-familiarity with Arabella.

Arabella’s eyes gleamed as she turned back to face him. ‘Surely it is not necessary for a woman to marry in order for her to enjoy such … intimacies?’ She looked up at him challengingly, hoping to shock him.

The Duke narrowed his eyes. ‘Perhaps you have already done so?’ he retorted.

Of course Arabella had not. She might not as yet have found any man interesting enough to even think of marrying him, but for her to go to her husband on their wedding night as anything but pure and untouched would cause the most tremendous scandal. Besides which, her three over-protective older brothers would never allow it.

However, she considered this taunting mockery from a contemporary of her eldest brother Hawk intolerable. At one-and-thirty years of age, he should know better! ‘Perhaps …’ she echoed enigmatically.

Those sculptured lips curved into a hard smile. ‘Why is it I find that so very hard to believe, Lady Arabella?’

She drew in a sharp, indignant breath. ‘Are you calling me a liar, Your Grace?’

‘I believe I am, yes,’ Darius murmured.

Arabella St Claire really was a wayward little baggage, he acknowledged with admiration as he continued to twirl her about the magnificent candlelit ballroom. A wilful baggage with a complete disregard for the fact that she was playing with fire by behaving in this flirtatious way with a man she had refused to marry so condescendingly the previous year.

She held herself very erect, her challenging stance pushing up the full swell of those creamy breasts so that Darius now felt their warmth against his chest.

‘I do not tell lies, Your Grace.’

He quirked a brow over lazily sensual blue eyes. ‘Prove it.’

Her eyes opened wide at the challenge. ‘I beg your pardon?’

They might have been the only two people in the room as Darius regarded her from between narrowed lids. The air between them was charged with expectation as he noted the loss of colour to her cheeks and the shocked uncertainty that now shone in those previously rebellious brown eyes. ‘I am merely inviting you to prove your claim, Arabella,’ he repeated softly.

‘I—But—How am I to do that, Your Grace?’

His mouth repressed a smile. ‘Surely there is only one way in which a woman might prove her … experience in the matter of physical intimacy?’

Arabella stared up at Darius Wynter in disbelief. He could not seriously mean for her to—? He did not expect her to—?

Yes, he did!

His intent was blatantly plain for Arabella to read in that single raised brow. In the deep blue of his eyes. In the cynical half-smile on those perfect lips.

Darius Wynter, Duke of Carlyne, was openly challenging her to indulge in physical intimacy with him!

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. What she needed exactly, she was unsure. She only knew that she wanted something more than he had so far given her.

Darius raised his head to look down into the flushed and beautiful face reflected in the moonlight that shone so brightly through the window directly across the room. He noted the feverish glitter of Arabella’s eyes as she looked up at him. The warmth in her cheeks. The fullness of her lips. The uneven rise and fall of the creamy breasts that spilled so temptingly over the low neckline of her gown.

The burn of Darius’s gaze returned to the pout of her mouth. ‘Open your lips for me,’ he encouraged gruffly.

Arabella frowned. ‘Certainly not!’

She was such a little vixen in her condemnation of him. So critical of his reputation. The same reputation that, along with his lack of wealth, had no doubt caused this haughty young lady to refuse his offer for her the previous year.

Darius’s grip tightened as he held her hands pressed to the door above her head, his eyes glinting down in promised retribution for all of her earlier slights. ‘Open your mouth, Arabella,’ he rasped. ‘Show me how a real woman kisses,’ he added, with challenging scorn for her earlier effort.

He was instantly rewarded by the light of battle that caused Arabella’s eyes to shine more brightly in the moonlight as she glared up at him. ‘If you will but release my hands, Your Grace?’ she snapped angrily.

He gave a hard smile. ‘I have no intention of releasing you only to have you use your little claws on me.’

Arabella was furious. More angry than she could ever remember being in her life before. Which, considering how often in the past her brothers had caused her to lose all patience with them, was impressive indeed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Perhaps you might enjoy the way I use my little claws on you …’

‘Perhaps.’ Darius Wynter gave a soft appreciative laugh and slowly released her hands before taking a step back. ‘I am waiting, Arabella,’ he drawled seconds later, when she made no attempt to make good on her threat.

Arabella’s mouth firmed determinedly. She could do this. She could do anything she wished if she set her mind to it.

Even seduce Darius Wynter.

How hard could it really be? The man was, after all, an acknowledged and indiscriminate rake.

Arabella gave a knowing smile as she closed the distance between them, her gaze holding his as her hands moved up to caress lightly across his shoulders before touching the silky softness of that golden hair where it rested on the collar of his jacket. Her fingers became entangled in that silkiness as she pulled his head down to hers so that she might be the one to instigate the kiss. As instructed, she parted her lips this time, immediately aware of the deeper intimacy of their kiss. Of the way her pulse quickened and her body suffused with a new heat as she felt the hot rasp of Darius’s tongue against her parted lips, that tongue retreating slightly, only to repeat the heated caress seconds later. Beckoning. Enticing. Encouraging Arabella to do the same to him, perhaps?

How Arabella wished at that moment that she knew more about the intimacies that took place between a man and a woman. How she wanted to bring this arrogant man to his knees in the heat of his desire for her. Longed to have him beg and plead for her capitulation as he became lost to that need.

His need for her, Arabella St Claire, and for no other woman.

She allowed her instincts to take over as she pressed her body against Darius’s to run her tongue lightly over his parted lips, at once feeling the leap of the pulse in his throat. A second, deeper penetration of her tongue elicited a low and throaty groan.

Emboldened, empowered by this evidence of Darius’s pleasure in the caress, Arabella stroked her tongue into his mouth. Again. Then again. And each time she felt the intriguing pulsing of the firm length of Darius’s thighs as they pressed into the welcoming well of her own heat.

What had started out as a game to Darius, a punishment for both that past slight in refusing his offer for her and Arabella’s scorn earlier this evening, was a game no longer. His arousal was hard and throbbing inside his pantaloons, and he was consumed by the overwhelming need to carry this interlude to its natural conclusion.

Darius satisfied himself momentarily by using his own tongue to duel for dominance. Finally winning that battle, he returned those delicate strokes of hers with penetrating thrusts.

Yet it was not enough—in light of the many months that Darius had desired this particular young woman perhaps it never would be—and he groaned his frustration with the clothes between them that prevented him from touching every inch of Arabella’s firm and ripe body.

Still kissing her, he manoeuvred her away from the door and guided her towards the huge desk that stood in front of the window.

The top of the desk was completely clear of the clutter that littered Darius’s own desk in Carlyne House, Belgravia—which of course it would be, this room being the fastidious Hawk St Claire’s own private domain!—and Arabella stiffened in surprise as she felt the backs of her thighs came into contact with that sturdy piece of furniture. At least Darius hoped it was sturdy enough for what he had in mind.

This young woman had accused him of being a rake and a scoundrel—amongst other things—and Darius did not intend to disappoint her. His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons on the back of her gown.

Arabella had absolutely no idea how it was that only seconds later she came to be sitting atop her brother’s desk, with her dress down about her waist and only the sheer material of her camisole to cover the firm thrust of her breasts.

Although the how ceased to matter as Darius gently pushed her gown up and her legs apart to stand between them, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. He slowly lowered his head to run his tongue expertly over the exact spot where the swollen tip of one of Arabella’s breasts showed dark against the creamy material.

Arabella gave a breathy gasp as that caress caused pleasure to course through her body, tingling down her arms, the length of her spine, before centring as an ache between her heated thighs.

‘You like that?’ Darius murmured with satisfaction as he slowly repeated the caress against her other breast.

Of course Arabella liked that! What woman would not enjoy such heady pleasure as these caresses aroused in her?

For all her earlier claims, Arabella had certainly never experienced such intimacy. Had never really known what transpired between a man and woman when they were alone together. Her mother had died when she was but eight years of age. And her Aunt Hammond, a widow for some years, had never discussed such matters with her. As for her three older brothers—Hawk, Lucian and Sebastian all considered Arabella to be still too young to even think about such things, let alone indulge in them. And Arabella, her outward demeanour deliberately one of a sophisticated young lady about town, was far too embarrassed by her ignorance on the subject to have questioned any of her sisters-in-law.

Which explained why Arabella had reached the age of almost twenty years without knowing of the sheer pleasure, the beauty of physical intimacy.

This time she was prepared for Darius’s kiss, but so lost was she in the heat of that kiss that she offered no objection as he slipped the straps of her camisole down her arms and bared her breasts completely for him to cup and caress.

Arabella had never known, never guessed that such pleasure as this existed. Her back arched as she pressed herself against the caress of Darius’s fingers. Light touches that made the rosy tips of her breasts swell to such an aching sensitivity that it sent an echoing surge of pulsing pleasure between her thighs.

Darius broke the kiss to seek out and taste the hollows of her throat, his lips warm, tongue moist, teeth lightly nipping at her sensitised flesh as he moved lower still.

‘You are so very beautiful here,’ Darius murmured throatily, his breath a warm caress against her bared breasts before he slowly drew one of those pouting tips into his mouth.

Arabella gasped and writhed in pleasure, her fingers becoming entangled in the silky hair at his nape as she held him tightly to her. She felt so hot. So needy. So very needy.

She trembled with that need as Darius pulled back slightly to look at her, and her cheeks were burning as she looked down and saw that her nipple was twice its normal size and much darker in colour than when she sometimes looked at herself in the mirror after bathing.

Her breasts seemed altogether larger, as if they had swollen beneath the caress of Darius’s hands and lips. But Darius had said her breasts were beautiful, so perhaps that was supposed to happen?

‘May I …?’ Arabella now longed to touch Darius as intimately as he had just touched her, and her hands were moving hesitantly to the buttons on the front of his waistcoat as she waited for his reply.

Darius nodded briefly in the darkness and as he straightened, eyes glittering darkly. ‘That seems only fair,’ he invited huskily.

At that moment, aroused as he was, Darius could have denied Arabella nothing. He drew in his breath on a sharp hiss as she peeled his waistcoat and tailored jacket down his arms to allow them to drop to the carpeted floor, before unbuttoning his shirt down to the middle of his chest, and he felt the first touch of the slender warmth of her exploring hands upon his bared and heated flesh.

Darius gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as her hands trailed in a soft caress over his chest before she found the hardened nubs nestled amongst the mat of golden hair that lightly covered them.

She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, her bared breasts a proud thrust, her waist so slender, Darius thought he might span it with his two hands. It was all he could do to restrain himself from the urge he had to lay her across the length of the desk before moving between her parted thighs and burying the throbbing ache of his arousal inside her.

‘Kiss me, Arabella!’ he encouraged hoarsely.

He almost became undone completely when he felt the first moist lap of her little pink tongue against his nipple. As it was Darius had to clench his hands into fists at his sides as he fought to stop from spilling himself like some callow youth.

Instead he reached up and entangled his fingers in Arabella’s golden curls to press her mouth harder to his sensitive flesh, drawing in a harsh breath as she copied the caress he had so recently given her.

‘I am sure that you must have been mistaken, Lord Redwood,’ Hawk St Claire, Duke of Stourbridge remarked pleasantly as he pushed open the study door. ‘My sister the Lady Arabella has absolutely no reason to enter the privacy of my study—’ The Duke broke off his disclaimer as the candelabra he carried in his hand to light the way clearly revealed that his sister had every reason to have entered the privacy of his study..

Chapter Two

‘Perhaps you would care to give me your explanation as to exactly what Lord Redwood and I interrupted earlier?’ Hawk, Duke of Stourbridge, Arabella’s beloved eldest brother, was icily calm as he faced her across her bedchamber, but Arabella wasn’t fooled.

She did not think she would ever forget the look of horror on her brother’s face when, accompanied by Lord Redwood, he had walked into his study to find her and the Duke of Carlyne in a state of undress atop his leather-topped desk!

She gave an embarrassed groan just thinking of how her wilful determination to disprove Darius Wynter’s mockery of her claim to experience had led to what was now undoubtedly her complete disgrace.

That Hawk, whom Arabella so looked up to and wanted to think well of her, should have found her in such a compromising situation was unbearable. That Lord Redwood, a member of the government and a man who had campaigned against and spoken in the House on the subject of immorality within Society, should also have been witness to both Arabella and Hawk’s shame was beyond enduring..

Regret was an emotion that Darius seemed patently incapable of feeling. He had certainly displayed no indication of it when Hawk had turned to hurriedly usher Lord Redwood from the study. Instead Darius had simply moved away from Arabella to calmly refasten the buttons on his shirt and straighten his cravat, before once again donning his waistcoat and jacket and neatly arranging his snowy white linen at the cuff. A single sweep of one elegant hand through his hair had tousled those golden locks back into their normally rakish style.

And all the time he was doing those things Arabella had been hurriedly straightening her own clothing, her fingers shaking and her face deathly pale as she realised the enormity of her indiscretion. As she considered what the repercussions of her impetuous actions might be.

Immediate banishment to the Stourbridge ducal estate in Gloucestershire would, Arabella felt sure, be the least of those punishments!

Now, she moistened her lips before answering. ‘What explanation did Darius—er—the Duke of Carlyne give when the two of you spoke together just now?’

To Arabella’s further dismay Hawk had returned alone to his study only minutes after that embarrassing interruption, his disposition stiffly disapproving as he sent her up to her bedchamber so that he and Darius might converse privately together. Until Arabella knew what had been said during that conversation she had no idea what answer to give her brother.

Hawk strode further into the bedchamber, tall and austerely handsome, his eyes a cold, forbidding glitter. ‘He offered no explanation at all,’ her brother answered testily.

She frowned. ‘But he must have said something!’ Hawk gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘He offered marriage.’

Arabella’s eyes widened incredulously. Darius had offered for her?

It was the last thing, positively the last thing Arabella had been expecting when she considered Darius’s cold and distant behaviour in those minutes after they had been dis covered together.

‘An offer you will, of course, refuse,’ Hawk added autocratically, his top lip curled back with distaste.

Arabella stiffened with resentment at her brother’s arrogance. She had already suffered the indignity of being mocked by Darius this evening. Then being made love to by Darius and, once discovered, sent to her bedchamber by Hawk as if she were a naughty child. And now it seemed she was also to suffer being told what to do by her arrogant eldest brother.

In truth, Arabella was not sure that she even liked Darius Wynter, let alone wished to marry him. She found his good-looks compelling. His physical attributes exciting. Was intrigued by his reputation. Had been infuriated earlier by his taunting as to her knowledge of physical intimacy. But like him? No, Arabella’s feelings towards Darius could never be described by an emotion so … so lukewarm as liking!

Even so, her rebellious nature was such that she did not appreciate Hawk telling her what she would or would not do in regard to Darius’s offer of marriage.

She held herself proudly. ‘Surely that is for me to decide, Hawk, not you?’

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 jaw. And his perfectly tailored clothes covered what she had discovered such a short time ago was a surprisingly hard and muscled body.

No, Arabella was positive she would never find herself bored in the company of Darius Wynter …

‘You are taking a deuced long time to refuse me!’ he eventually growled in his impatience with her silence.

Arabella couldn’t help giving a taunting, confident smile. ‘I am still considering your offer, sir.’

He scowled darkly. ‘What is there to consider?’

Arabella could no longer stand looking at the desk which had been the scene of her disgrace, instead strolling over to stand in front of the window to look out across the moonlit garden. ‘Well, for one thing, by accepting your offer I would become a duchess.’

‘The despised Darius Wynter’s duchess, do not forget,’ he reminded her harshly.

She gave a haughty inclination of her head as she turned to face him. ‘There is that to consider, of course.’

His mouth twisted. ‘And have you also forgotten that I was so “conveniently” rid of one wife but one short year ago?’

Arabella had forgotten!

‘You must also be aware that none of the ton has a good word to say about me,’ Darius said, pressing his advantage.

Arabella frowned slightly. ‘My brother Lucian speaks very highly of you.. ‘

Darius’s mouth tightened. ‘We are friends. Of a sort.’

She nodded. ‘And I know that his wife, Grace, has taken several people to task for daring to criticise you within her hearing.’

His mouth quirked. ‘We are related, after all.’

‘Only tenuously.’ Arabella dismissed the connection of him being Grace’s half-uncle by marriage, or some such nonsense. ‘My new sister-in-law, Juliet, was also most insistent that you be a guest at her wedding today.’

Darius’s expression softened slightly as he thought of the gracious and beautiful Juliet Boyd, now Lady Juliet St Claire. ‘Only because it was jealousy of my own friendship with the lady that was instrumental in bringing your brother up to scratch.’

Arabella’s eyes widened. ‘You had a—a romantic interest in Juliet?’ ‘Not in the least.’ Darius gave a firm shake of his head. ‘Sebastian thought I had a romantic interest in her,’ he corrected. ‘She and I were both aware at all times that that was not at all the case.’

‘Why not?’

He raised surprised blond brows. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Why were you not attracted to Juliet?’

‘I simply was not.’ He snapped his impatience with the subject. ‘Contrary to popular belief, I do not set out to seduce every beautiful woman I meet.’

Arabella frowned once more. ‘I had not realised you were present at the Bancrofts’ house party when Sebastian and Juliet met this past summer.’

Darius gave her an irritated glare. ‘I see no reason why you should have been informed.’

Arabella’s cheeks burned at the obvious derision in his tone. ‘Were you there when the French spy was apprehended?’

It took great effort on Darius’s part to keep his outward appearance coolly neutral. ‘What French spy? ‘

Arabella shook her head. ‘I have no idea. Sebastian and Juliet deny any knowledge of it. But rumour has it that the man was masquerading as someone’s servant before the arrest?’

Rumour, as usual, was wrong. Darius knew with certainty that the French spy in question had been a woman.

‘The incident must have happened after I had left,’ he said. ‘Now, could we get back to our own conversation? Our allotted five minutes was over long ago, and at any moment Hawk is likely to join us and demand to know our decision.’ Darius would use any means at his disposal—even reminding her of his marriage offer—to deter Arabella from showing any further interest in that French spy!

‘My decision,’ Arabella corrected haughtily. ‘After all, I am the one who will decide whether or not we are to be betrothed,’ she explained at Darius’s questioning glance.

Darius studied her through narrowed lids, easily noting the glitter of challenge in those deep brown eyes, the high colour in her cheeks, the determined set of her mouth and that stubbornly angled chin.

All things that told him Arabella was seriously considering accepting his offer….

An offer she had felt no compunction in refusing the previous year. Before he became a rich widower. Before he inherited the title of Duke of Carlyne.

Darius’s expression hardened. ‘And have you now decided?’

She drew in a ragged breath. ‘I … I believe I need more time in which to consider the matter.’

‘How much more time?’ Darius rasped harshly.

Arabella shrugged slender shoulders. ‘These things cannot be rushed, Your Grace. After all, we are talking of the rest of my life, are we not?’

‘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?’

Darius almost laughed at the ludicrousness of those questions.

Ludicrous because there had been no women in his life, mistresses or otherwise, for some time now. His brief foray into marriage had shown Darius how unwise it was for him to have an intimate relationship with any woman. How detrimental that very intimacy could be to her health.

He looked down at Arabella. She was so very young. So beautiful. So utterly and completely desirable.

Darius suddenly realised how he could dissuade the stubbornly determined Arabella from going ahead with their betrothal and marriage. He had only to ruthlessly demonstrate how unsuitable a candidate he was as a prospective husband to send her running back to the safe and welcoming arms of her three over-protective brothers.

Yes, Darius knew exactly how to go about achieving that end. But he also knew that having done so he would be giving up any chance of renewing his addresses to her in the future, however far ahead he was looking. That, believing herself rejected by Darius, Arabella was contrary enough to accept the next suitor who made an offer for her and in doing so making it impossible for Darius to ever claim her.

No, as inconvenient and risky as it was for Darius to marry Arabella now, for him not to do so would certainly mean losing her for ever. A possibility that he found was even more unacceptable to him than this forced betrothal, than knowing that she only wanted to marry him now because he was the wealthy Duke of Carlyne …

‘I do not expect to need a mistress once we are married, Arabella.’ He finally answered her previous question. ‘I would expect you to cater to my physical needs. Whatever those might be.’

Arabella felt a shiver of apprehension down the length of her spine as she looked up into the hard implacability of his face. His mouth was a thin, uncompromising line. His eyes as hard and glittering as the sapphires in the necklace left to her by her mother.

It was the face of a man who would brook no challenge to his indomitable will. Least of all from a wife he felt had been foisted on him by the dictates of Society rather than one he had chosen for himself.

Any woman not born a St Claire would have been daunted by the risk that he represented at that moment. Yet it only made Arabella all the more determined to penetrate his arrogant façade. To poke and prod at that mockery and cynicism until she reached the man beneath that apparently impenetrable shield.

Perhaps if she had not had the cynically remote Hawk and Lucian as her brothers, or the softer but just as arrogant Sebastian, then Arabella may have believed that outer shell to be all there was to Darius Wynter. But, as their petted and spoilt younger sister, Arabella had come to know her brothers’ natures well, and she knew all of them to be capable of deep and tumultuous emotions. To be men who were all deeply and irrevocably in love with their wives..

Was she hoping, once they married, that Darius would similarly fall in love with her?

Arabella stifled a disbelieving gasp at even the suggestion of such a hope. Did that mean she had feelings for Darius she hadn’t even dared to suspect existed?

Darius raised a brow as he saw Arabella’s reaction to his suggestion that she alone would satisfy his physical needs. ‘My physical needs are really not as debauched as the ton would have you believe.’ He eyed her teasingly. ‘I can at least assure you that there will be no whips or chains involved!’

‘Whips or chains?’ she gasped breathlessly, her face paling.

It was a response that reminded Darius more than any other, despite her claims to the contrary yesterday evening, just how innocent she really was when it came to physical intimacy. ‘I am sure you will very quickly learn to satisfy all my very normal sexual appetites, Arabella.’

Once again her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed before raising her chin proudly. ‘As, no doubt, you will learn to satisfy mine?’

She was a vixen. A little hellcat. Verbally spitting and clawing despite her obvious unease at discussing such an intimate subject with him. ‘That part of marriage I am already looking forward to with the greatest of pleasure,’ Darius assured her throatily.

A challenge entered the deep brown depths of her eyes. ‘I would prefer us to have a lengthy betrothal in order that we might become better acquainted with each other on a social level before—’

‘No.’

She eyed him uncertainly. ‘No?’

Darius looked down at her between hooded lids. ‘No,’ he repeated firmly. ‘If we are to marry at all, then it must be immediately.’

‘I—But—Why?’ Arabella didn’t even attempt to hide her bewilderment.

She had been envisaging spending the winter months as Darius’s betrothed. With perhaps the wedding planned for next spring or summer. Six, possibly nine months when the two of them could spend time together, tormenting and challenging each other if they must, before contemplating the complete intimacy of marriage.

The implacability of Darius’s expression told her that such an arrangement was totally unacceptable to him. ‘Take it or leave it, Arabella,’ he stated uncompromisingly. ‘You will either marry me by special licence next week or we will not marry at all.’

Next week? Was he insane? Arabella pulled out of Darius’s grasp to move away from him. ‘I cannot possibly organise a wedding by next week!’

‘I fail to see why not.’ Darius appeared unmoved by her obvious shock. ‘Obtaining a special licence should pose no problem. All of your family and the majority of the ton have already gathered in town in order to attend your brother’s nuptials yesterday. Hawk’s duchess has proved she is capable of being hostess to a wedding supper at short notice. As I see it, a week is more than time enough for you to obtain a suitable wedding gown.’

As he saw it, perhaps. As Arabella saw it the idea of marrying this man as early as next week was unacceptable. Terrifyingly soon, in fact.

‘Why the rush, Darius?’ She made her tone deliberately light. ‘I realise that this situation has been thrust upon us by—by certain actions that took place between us yesterday evening, but we both know that there is no real reason for such a hasty wedding to take place.’ Her cheeks burned at the memory of the intimacies the two of them had shared the previous evening.

Darius felt a sharp stab of sympathy for Arabella’s obvious bewilderment as to his insistence on a short betrothal and a hasty wedding. Reminding him that for all Arabella was a St Claire, and as such in possession of the same arrogant self-confidence as her three older brothers, she was nevertheless still only nineteen years of age. A very young and innocent nineteen years, despite her previous claim otherwise.

He wished that he could grant Arabella the lengthy betrothal she so obviously desired—months during which the little minx had no doubt intended to tempt and bedevil him!—but the truth was, once their betrothal was publicly announced, Darius simply dared not leave her for any length of time without his full protection.

He dared not.

‘Next week, Arabella. Or there will be no wedding.’

Arabella looked up at him searchingly, knowing by the grimness of Darius’s expression—the stern set of his mouth and the coldness of his blue eyes—that he was unshakeable in his decision that she would marry him next week and be damned, or the two of them would not marry at all.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Very well, Darius.’ She gave a tiny inclination of her head. ‘I will inform Hawk that we have decided to marry as early as possible next week.’

‘I will be the one to inform your brother as to our intentions, Arabella,’ Darius cut in decisively, a cynical curl to his top lip. ‘As is my right as your future husband.’ He quirked one arrogant brow.

Arabella bit back the argument that had been hovering upon her lips, wisely deciding that prudence was probably the better course at this point in time. There would be plenty of opportunity after they were married for her to show Darius that she had no intention of being a conventional meek or obedient wife….

Chapter Four

‘It is still not too late to change your mind, Arabella, if you have a single doubt as to the wisdom of marrying Carlyne.’

Arabella turned to look across her bedchamber as Hawk, her tall and imposing brother, stood in the doorway dressed in his own wedding finery of snowy white linen beneath a tailored claret-coloured jacket of the very finest velvet, black pantaloons and shiny black Hessians.

The rest of the family had already departed for St George’s Church in Hanover Square, but as the eldest of her brothers Hawk was to ride with Arabella in the bridal carriage, and then accompany her down the aisle before handing her into the care of her husband-to-be.

Into Darius Wynter’s care.

Arabella swallowed down her feelings of nervousness as she presented her brother with a widely confident smile. ‘I have no doubts at all, Hawk.’

This past week had been a busy one of hectic arrangements. Arabella had never been left alone for a moment as the dressmaker was visited, the ivory silk chosen for her gown and fittings arranged, flowers obtained, and the menu for the wedding breakfast decided upon in consultation with Jane.

There had been little or no time for second or third thoughts, and with everything there had been to arrange or decide upon, Arabella had seen very little of Darius himself. Despite that, Arabella was more convinced than ever that her choice of husband was the correct one. For her.

Arabella knew herself well enough to realise that she could never be happy with a weak man, a man she could bend to her will by artifice or design. And Darius would never be such a man.

Despite their lack of opportunity to spend time together, Arabella had nevertheless had the chance to witness for herself what she viewed as the strengths of Darius’s character. His arrogance was more than a match for any of her brothers whenever they chanced to meet. He had been charm itself on meeting Jane and being faced with her obvious uncertainties as to his suitability as a husband for Arabella.

Most surprising had been Darius’s consideration and gentleness with his brother’s widow, the Dowager Duchess of Carlyne, when she had arrived in London three days ago for the wedding and the betrothed couple had been invited to dine with her that evening.

Arabella had reassured herself that any man capable of showing such kindness as Darius had to Margaret Wynter, even a man who preferred the ton to think of him as a rake and a cynic, could not possibly be all bad.

Hawk’s austere expression softened slightly as he stepped further into the bedchamber. ‘You look so much like Mama today.’ He gazed down at her admiringly in the ivory silk gown, her golden curls enhanced by a matching bonnet, her bouquet a simple arrangement of deep yellow roses from the St Claire hot-house.

‘Really? ‘ Arabella glowed; she had been aged only eight when her mother and father were killed in a carriage accident, and over the years her memories of her warm and beautiful mother had become hazy at best.

‘Very much so,’ Hawk assured her gruffly as he reached out to take both her hands in his own. ‘How I wish our parents could be here to see how beautiful you look on your wedding day.’

Arabella squeezed his hands. ‘Perhaps they can.’

‘Perhaps,’ Hawk allowed gently.

She gave her brother a searching glance. ‘I am going to be happy, Hawk.’

‘So Lucian never fails to assure me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Even so, I am sure I have made no secret of the fact that Carlyne is not the man I ever envisaged as a husband for you.’

‘No.’ Arabella smiled slightly as she thought of the battle of wills that had ensued between Darius and Hawk on the few occasions the two men had met during this past week. Battles which Darius had—surprisingly—invariably won …

Her brother gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Perhaps if I had known of your preference for him then I would not have been so hasty in refusing him when he last offered for you.’

Arabella’s eyed widened incredulously. ‘Darius has offered for me before?’ ‘During your first Season,’ Hawk acknowledged heavily, releasing her hands to cross the bedchamber and stand with his back towards her as he stared out of the window into the busy street below.

‘I—But—Why did you not tell me?’ Arabella frowned in disbelief as she stared at the implacability of Hawk’s stiffly erect back and shoulders.

Darius had offered for her the previous year?

Before he had made a similar offer for Sophie Belling and been accepted, obviously.

Hawk turned, the sternness of his features twisted into a grimace. ‘I did not tell you because I was not—am still not—convinced as Lucien appears to be as to Carlyne’s suitability as a husband for you.’

‘So you refused his first offer for me without even consulting me? ‘ Arabella accused.

‘I did.’ Hawk looked haughtily unrepentant. ‘And I would have done so again this time if the—the circumstances had not been as they were. If you had not informed me it was your sincere wish to marry him.’ His expression was grim. ‘The fact that Carlyne offered for Sophie Belling too last summer, and then married her after approaching me in regard to you such a short time before, only confirmed to me that his reasons for offering for you then were of a mercenary nature rather than because his emotions were truly engaged.’

Arabella knew she couldn’t refute that claim. She doubted that Darius could, either. But for Hawk to have refused Darius’s offer without even asking her opinion was beyond belief.

Although it went some way to explaining Darius’s remark a week ago that a wealthy duke was obviously a more attractive marriage prospect than a penniless lord. He obviously believed Arabella’s only reason for accepting him now was because he was now a wealthy duke!

Would she have accepted if she had known of Darius’s offer a year ago?

At the time he had been known as a rake and a gambler. A man who, with little personal wealth left at his disposal, was deeply in debt. A man whose only means of alleviating that debt had appeared to be in the taking of a wealthy woman to wife.

Hawk was Arabella’s guardian, charged with her welfare, and she knew that he had been perfectly justified in refusing him on her behalf when Darius had offered for her last summer.

But as the young woman who had compared every man she had met these past two Seasons with the devilish good-looks and magnetic charisma of Lord Darius Wynter—and found them all wanting!—Arabella could not help but feel resentful at Hawk’s highhandedness. She might not be in love with Darius, or he with her, but Arabella had absolutely no doubt that she would have accepted him the previous summer.

Much as she hated Darius to think badly of her, Arabella knew she would be wise to make sure Darius didn’t discover that she had not known until today of his previous offer for her, and to keep to herself her reasons for marrying him. The battle of wills that existed between them would be lost before it had even begun in earnest if Darius were ever to guess that Arabella was entering into their marriage with an eagerness for her husband’s kisses and caresses that would be shocking if the anticipation did not feel so deliciously exciting …

‘You are looking very lovely today,’ Darius remarked dryly to his wife of two hours.

Hours during which he had smiled and been polite to both Arabella’s family—all those St Claire aunts and uncles and cousins—and numerous members of the ton, who ordinarily would have returned to their country estates this late in the year, but had instead stayed on in town to attend two fashionable St Claire weddings.

No doubt gossip and speculation about the second of the two weddings would sustain many a conversation on a cold winter’s evening before the ton returned to London en masse in the spring—with the added and erroneous assumption that the heir to the Carlyne dukedom would be born an indecently short time after the wedding!

‘Thank you.’ Arabella had no intention of returning the compliment by telling Darius how breathtakingly handsome he looked, in his snowy-white linen and austere black jacket and thigh-hugging black pantaloons, with his hair gleaming deeply gold in the reflection of the hundreds of candles illuminating the ballroom at St Claire House.

Seeing Darius in church earlier, as he’d stood at the altar waiting for her to join him, had literally robbed Arabella of her breath. So much so that for a few brief moments she had been unable to move as the organ began to play. Only the recently acquired knowledge of Darius’s previous offer for her, one that had been made willingly, had prompted her into moving forward on silk-slippered feet.

Apart from her three brothers, Darius now stood head and shoulders above their wedding guests. Even if he had not, the deep gold of his hair and the handsomeness of his features would have distinguished him from every other man in the room.

Or perhaps that was only Arabella’s biased opinion?

‘When can we decently take our leave, do you think?’ Darius looked bored by the whole proceeding.

Arabella arched blond brows. ‘Decently?’ she prodded.

Darius shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Or indecently?’

‘I would have thought, having been through this once before, that you would have more knowledge of the correct etiquette than I? Or perhaps your previous marriage was of such short duration that you have simply forgot ten?’ she taunted.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Have a care, Arabella,’ he warned her softly.

‘Or what, Your Grace?’

‘Or I might give myself the pleasure, once we are alone, of placing you over my knee and administering suitable punishment,’ Darius murmured huskily, and was instantly rewarded by the flush that appeared in Arabella’s cheeks.

Of anger? Or anticipation ?

This past week had shown Darius that his new bride possessed all the courage he had imagined and more, as she had steadfastly refused to be daunted by any of the underlying displeasure of the ton in her choice of husband. Just as she had withstood all the gossip and speculation that had circulated around town after their wedding was announced. She had also, without fuss or ado, aided her sister-in-law Jane with the arrangements of that wedding. Best of all, she had been gracious and compassionate to Margaret, his brother’s widow, a lady that Darius himself held in high regard, when they had dined with her.

In fact, Darius could not fault Arabella’s behaviour towards everything and everyone this past week. Everyone but himself, that was.

Whenever the two of them had chanced to be alone—which, admittedly, had not been often—Arabella had tended to be either sharply critical or coolly dismissive, giving him little idea as to how she really felt about him. But Darius had every intention of rectifying the coolness of her manner towards him later this evening, once they were finally alone together at Carlyne House.

In fact, the anticipation of at last being alone with her was only adding to Darius’s frustration with the social expectations it was so necessary to fulfil at one’s own wedding. He physically ached to finish what the two of them had started in Hawk St Claire’s study a week ago. Especially when he considered it had been that intimacy which had forced him into having to offer Arabella marriage!

His promised conversation with Lucian St Claire, once he’d finally managed to get the other man alone, had assured him of the other man’s silence. Lucian had confirmed that he had not in any way broken the promise he had given to Darius six months ago. Nor would he.

Arabella looked down her provocative little nose at him. ‘Am I to assume from that remark that I should expect to be beaten on a regular basis in our marriage, Your Grace?’

‘You can expect to receive something on a regular basis in our marriage, Arabella,’ he warned harshly. ‘Especially if you intend to continue addressing me as “Your Grace” in that patronising manner.’

Her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘I am not sure that I altogether approve of a man who would threaten to beat his wife.’

Darius raised blond brows. ‘I do not believe I have ever asked for your approval, Arabella.’

No, he never had, Arabella acknowledged with a frown. In fact, she could never remember Darius, either as the disreputable Lord Wynter or the more respectable Duke of Carlyne, ever asking for, or indeed needing, anyone’s approval. Least of all her own.

Arabella grudgingly admitted that it was this very arrogance, the feeling of dangerous uncertainty whenever she was in Darius’s company, that made him so fascinatingly attractive to her…

‘Nor,’ Darius continued softly as he moved to stand in front of her, and so effectively shut the two of them off from their guests’ curiosity, ‘did I, in fact, threaten to beat you in the manner you describe. I assure you, Arabella, that I would endeavour to ensure that you thoroughly enjoy any … punishment that I choose to administer to you.’

Arabella felt colour blaze in her cheeks at the bluntness of his conversation. ‘Perhaps the women you are used to associating with enjoy such—such rough treatment, Darius, but I assure you that I do not.’

‘I hope you will come to appreciate at least a little sport in our marriage bed, Arabella.’ His eyes gleamed down at her mockingly. ‘I assure you, there is nothing quite like it for rousing the blood.’

Arabella felt herself becoming flustered. Had she, after all, taken on more of a challenge in becoming Darius’s wife than she was capable of dealing with?

Darius had been married before, and had indulged in a prodigious number of affairs with ladies both in the ton and out of it. In comparison to those women Arabella knew herself to be very young and inexperienced. Perhaps too much so to sustain the interest of a man as experienced as Darius undoubtedly was?

It was a little late for her to be having second thoughts now, when the wedding had already taken place and she would shortly be retiring for the night with her husband to Carlyne House!

She looked searchingly into his face. ‘I believe, sir, that you are deliberately trying to alarm me …’

His mouth quirked. ‘Am I?’

‘Yes.’ Arabella felt more and more confident of the fact as she saw the humour deepen in his vivid blue eyes. ‘It is very cruel of you to tease me in this way, Darius.’

He raised a wicked brow. ‘Perhaps in the same way it was cruel of you to tease me this past week?’

Her eyes widened. ‘I was not aware of indulging in any such teasing.’

She was so very young, Darius realised ruefully. And so completely unaware, it seemed, of the physical provocation of the creamy swell of her breasts and the way her hips swayed so seductively beneath the soft material of her gown when she walked. Of the perfume that he had begun to associate only with her—a soft and enticing floral, womanly scent that he knew belonged uniquely to Arabella.

Of how the soft gold of her curls enticed him to release those tresses from their pins and allow them to tumble down the length of her slender spine.

Of how the soft fullness of her mouth just begged to be kissed.

In fact, it was all he could do now not to totally scandalise their wedding guests by taking his wife in his arms and kissing her in a thorough manner that was guaranteed to shock the avidly watching ton and no doubt confirm all their suspicions!

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