cauliflower, and currant pudding for dessert.
As the footmen cleared away the dishes, Marcus addressed the butler. “Simpkin, pray send my compliments to Mrs. Simpkin. My London chef could not have done better.”
“Thank you, my lord. She will be pleased to know you approve.”
When the servants had been dismissed, Arabella glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and rose. “This was delightful, my lord, but I believe I have fulfilled my obligation to share your company for today.”
“Not quite, love.” Reaching up, he gently caught her wrist in his fingers.
She stared down into his blue eyes. “Surely our four hours are up.”
“I still have a quarter hour left. Time enough to begin your education.”
“My education?”
“To show you what you will be missing if you insist on remaining a spinster.”
Her heart started fluttering. “I do not need educating, Marcus.”
“You do, Arabella. You badly need a taste of physical pleasure. I want you to understand the connubial bliss you can expect when we are wed. How else can you make such an important decision about your future?”
The suggestiveness of his question momentarily rendered her speechless. When she remained mute, Marcus stood, still holding her wrist. “Come take a stroll on the grounds with me. The gardens should be pleasant, now that they are no longer a jungle.”
Arabella glanced at the French doors and swallowed. Dusk had fallen, and a half moon hung low over the horizon, silvering the trees that lined the river. “It is dark outside.”
“Dark is perfect for wooing.”
“Marcus, I won’t go outside with you. Whatever you intend, you can do right here.”
“I could, but I don’t think you want Simpkin witnessing my advances.” When she gave a huff of exasperation, Marcus added cajolingly, “I won’t kiss you this time. If I try, you can box my ears again.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered.
He smiled. “Do I tempt you, sweet Arabella?
“I certainly don’t mean to.” Pulling her hand away, she strode to the door and drew it open.
Marcus followed her outside to the terraced gardens and then caught her arm. “Let’s walk down to the river. It will give us more privacy.”
Arabella felt her pulse quicken as he led her down the terrace steps to the sloping lawn. It was unwise to allow Marcus the kind of privacy he demanded, but in all fairness to the wager, she had to provide him the opportunity to woo her. She would have to summon more willpower than she’d shown thus far, however, if she intended to make his seduction difficult.
She could hear the soft ripple of water as they neared the river. When they reached the bank, Marcus drew her behind a chestnut tree. Enough moonlight shafted through the lattice of branches that she could see his handsome face and the midnight blue of his eyes simmering in the dark.
He stood watching her thoughtfully, though, until she finally broke the silence. “What do you intend to do, if not to kiss me?”
He dragged his sensual gaze over her in a lazy caress. “To show you the power of touch.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “Marcus…”
“I mean only to touch you this time. I want to show you how merely the brush of a fingertip can arouse powerful sensations between a man and a woman.”
“I am perfectly willing to believe you. I don’t need a demonstration.”
Marcus smiled knowingly. “You aren’t turning craven again, surely.”
His deep gaze had become a dare, which only heightened the quivery little feelings that were rioting deep in her body. “No, I am not craven. I just wish you would hurry and be done with it.”
“Patience, sweet Arabella. A proper wooing takes time.”
“You only have five more minutes by my calculation.”
“Five minutes should be ample time to teach you this lesson.”
Arabella tensed as he took her right hand and turned it faceup, yet she couldn’t help watching with fascination as Marcus began to trace small patterns on her palm with his fingertip.
When he reached the most sensitive curves, the simple caress made her shiver with awareness.
If she was wise, she would pull away, Arabella knew. Yet she stood immobile with her back to the tree trunk, with Marcus blocking her way. Then he pushed up the long sleeve of her gown an inch to expose her wrist and stroked the delicate flesh there, raising a flush to her skin.
Unnerved, Arabella tried to draw her hand away.
“Be still,” Marcus commanded.
“That tickles.”
“It does much more than tickle.” He lifted his head, his gaze locking with hers, his eyes containing a gleam of wickedness. He knew precisely how his skilled caresses affected her, the devil.
Arabella clenched her teeth, determined to resist his beguiling touch. The man was too arrogant for his own good.
He left her wrist then and slowly skimmed his fingertips up her arm, over the silk fabric of her sleeve and along her shoulder in a trailing, seductive caress. She sensed the raw power even in this light touch, and when he found her bare collarbone above the high edge of her gown’s neckline, she shuddered at the heated rush of feeling assaulting her. The heat only increased when he drew a line down the silky hollow between her breasts.
“Arabella…” Marcus warned again when she made to move away.
She swallowed hard, finding it nearly impossible to remain still as he resumed. The truth was, she wanted to be touched this way, wanted him to touch her.
His hand glided upward over her skin, along the column of her throat. “Can you deny how pleasurable this feels?” His voice stroked her senses like velvet, just as his fingers were doing.
No, she couldn’t deny the pleasure. His arousing caresses vibrated through her, thrumming at all her nerve endings.
When she didn’t answer, Marcus put a languid finger beneath her chin and made her lift her gaze. As she met his dark eyes, her heart thudded erratically, beating a wild pulse in her throat.
He touched her there, pressing faintly against the vulnerable hollow. Then moving higher, he grazed her jawline with his thumb. Arabella quivered at the alluring feel.
His thumb brushed her jaw twice more, his touch lingering and provocative, before wandering with tantalizing slowness to her cheek.
His blue gaze engulfed her as his fingers teased her flushed skin. Arabella couldn’t look away. She was too enraptured by his expression and the tender assault of his fingers. She could scarcely breathe as his thumb traced her moist, parted lips, then dipped to penetrate the corner of her mouth.
Her heart beat painfully hard, and for a moment, she wondered if Marcus intended to kiss her. But his hand left her cheek to roam down her throat again, his palm skimming with feathery, delicious sensations, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.
When he drew a seductive finger along the line of her collarbone, her skin burned. Yet he stopped just as he reached the swells of her breasts. Instead, his hands settled with warm possessiveness on her shoulders, and he stepped closer.
Arabella inhaled sharply when he drew her fully against him. His body was warm, hard, strong.
“You said you only meant to touch me,” she said breathlessly.
“Holding is part of touching. Don’t you like the feel of our bodies pressing together?”
There was an insidious delight in being held against his hard, sheltering body. She could feel the rush of her own blood, could feel the tremors shivering through her. “No, I don’t, Marcus.”
“Liar,” he murmured softly.
To her surprise and disappointment, he released her. Yet he didn’t step back. He merely raised his hand to her bodice and feathered the tips of her breasts with the backs of his fingers, making Arabella gasp at the sparks that shot through her. “If you don’t like it, then why have your nipples grown so hard?”
It was true, Arabella realized. Her nipples had instantly hardened, betraying her arousal, while her breasts felt heavy and swollen.
