“As you wish, my lord.”
The butler obeyed, hurrying to rearrange the place settings. When Arabella was finally seated to his lordship’s right, Simpkin gestured at the two attending footmen to serve the soup course.
When that was done, Marcus nodded. “Thank you, Simpkin. I will ring when we are ready for the next course.”
All three servants silently withdrew, without shutting the door at least. Yet the open door couldn’t dispel the sense of intimacy Arabella felt at sitting so close to Marcus, or allay her tingling awareness of his nearness.
Trying her best to ignore him, Arabella applied herself to the bland-looking soup, which appeared to be greasy chicken broth with a few pieces of limp vegetables. She nearly choked at the first sip, since it was so salty as to be almost inedible.
After one taste, Marcus shot Arabella a questioning glance and then set down his spoon. Innocently, she forced herself to continue eating her soup.
“So tell me about this academy of yours,” Marcus said, his tone curious.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I am intrigued by it. And because I want to learn everything about you to aid my courtship.” When she grimaced slightly at the reminder, he merely smiled. “You said your academy is something of a finishing school? How did it start?”
Since it seemed to be a safe subject, Arabella was pleased to explain. “Lady Freemantle actually gave me the idea. We became friends after my sisters and I moved here to Chiswick. Winifred was the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, but she married far above her social station and was never accepted by her husband’s family or friends. One day she confessed how difficult it had been for her, being the wife of a baronet, enduring all the slights and snubs, and that she wished someone had taught her the proper social graces so she might have competed in Sir Rupert’s milieu. I began thinking that there must be other young women in similar circumstances. Most daughters of wealthy magnates are destined to be sold into marriage to gentlemen in need of rich wives, as Winifred was.”
“So you proposed establishing the academy?”
“Not at first. When I suggested I might be of help to some of them-advise them on how to fit in to the Beau Monde and make their path easier-I only envisioned taking on one or two pupils. But Winifred leapt at the idea and offered to fund a much larger enterprise.”
“But you don’t run the academy solely on your own,” Marcus said.
“I have significant help. I convinced two of my friends to participate, and one assumed the post of headmistress. They oversee most of the classes, but my sisters and I also teach at least one class a day.”
“Not the typical subjects, I collect?”
“No. Most of our pupils have been educated by private governesses, so by the time they come to us, they are usually proficient in sums and globe reading, music and drawing and needlepoint, those sort of genteel accomplishments. But they lack the polish and grace expected of a lady. So for the final two years before they make their comeouts, we instruct them on good deportment, rules of proper conduct, etiquette, and also expose them to the kind of culture and refinement they will find if they marry into the gentility.”
“Apparently your academy is a great success. My solicitors tell me you have over two dozen pupils and that there is a long list of applicants waiting for admission.”
Arabella smiled. “Yes. We succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Wealthy tradesmen and merchants are willing to pay huge sums to turn their daughters into refined young ladies. But our academy benefits us, as well. It not only provides us occupation and income but gratification for helping our pupils learn how to deal with society. I personally take great satisfaction in giving young girls more control over their fate. Their birth or breeding might not be of the highest, but they can hold their own in elite circles. And they come to their marriages on more equal footing with their husbands.”
“I can well imagine you would find that satisfying,” he murmured.
When Arabella gave him a suspicious glance, Marcus returned a bland expression, but he found himself marveling at how much he had enjoyed watching her explain about her academy, her lovely face so animated and expressive. He admired Arabella’s passion for her cause. As he absently took a sip from his wineglass, Marcus realized that he hadn’t felt that passionate about anything in a long while.
Finding this wine as bitter as the Madeira had been earlier, he immediately set down his glass. “I should like to visit your academy soon.”
As he expected, Arabella’s wariness increased. “Why would you want to visit?”
“I believe I told you. As your guardian, I will need to decide if I should permit you and your sisters to continue teaching there.”
She looked worried for a moment as she anxiously searched his face, but she evidently recognized the teasing gleam in his eye, for her expression relaxed a little. “You are purposely trying to provoke me again, I collect.”
“Now why would I do that?” he asked amiably. “Are you finished with your soup?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. I can’t seem to stomach so much salt myself.”
Marcus rang for the butler to clear away the dishes, almost glad for the presence of servants to interrupt his private moment with Arabella, since he was having difficulty controlling his lustful thoughts.
She was near enough that the sweet scent of her rose up to tease his nostrils. And that elegant gown she was wearing made him want to discover what delicious secrets she was hiding underneath.
His imagination could supply some of the details. Her supple, slender body. The ripe curve of her breasts. Her long, elegant legs…
Sternly Marcus returned his gaze to Arabella’s beautiful face, but it did little to quell his awareness of her. This was the first time he had seen her hair completely uncovered. He had the urge to pull out the pins and see how that red-gold silk would look tangled after their lovemaking.
The erotic thought was arousing enough to make him go hard, and was followed by more erotic thoughts. He could picture shoving away all the china and laying Arabella on the table in order to make a delectable meal of her. She would be far more tasty than the dinner had been thus far. Even more, he wanted her to taste the pleasure he could give her-
But that would have to wait a while longer, Marcus reflected, finally disciplining his errant thoughts. He had promised himself not to rush his fences. This was supposed to be a romantic wooing, not simply a seduction, and he knew it would require much more than physical pleasure to win Arabella over.
It was no hardship, however, to simply share her company. He truly wanted to know all about her. And at least dining together gave them the perfect opportunity for intimacy.
The trouble was, the wine was so acidic as to be undrinkable. And the dishes Simpkin was setting before him looked even less appetizing than the soup had been.
Marcus tasted each one just to make certain: Mashed turnips with no seasonings. Boiled cabbage. And a burnt saddle of mutton that was so dry, it was nearly impossible to chew.
When he realized Arabella was watching him closely, however, Marcus began to wonder at her unusual interest in his reaction.
“As a cook, Mrs. Simpkin leaves much to be desired,” he commented casually.
“Oh, do you think so?”
Arabella’s tone was perfectly innocent, which aroused his suspicions even further. “Most definitely. If the meals continue to taste so wretched, I will have to send to London for my chef to replace Mrs. Simpkin as cook.”
Her response remained blithe. “Do try the mint sauce. It improves the taste of the mutton considerably.”
“Not nearly enough,” Marcus said satirically, poking his fork at a charred rind. “I think perhaps I should have a few words with Mrs. Simpkin.”
Arabella’s guileless expression faded. “That won’t be necessary, Marcus.”
“No?”
“She can do much better than this.”
“I don’t know that I am willing to risk it. In fact, if she deliberately planned this unpalatable fare, I don’t want
