To Pleasure a Lady

her tenacious reluctance. Arabella was an ideal match for him, even if she refused to see it yet.

His chief difficulty was holding a tight rein on his lust. He deserved an award of some kind for keeping his hands to himself these past few days when he wanted Arabella so badly. It required extreme fortitude to let her retire alone each night, when he would far rather sweep her upstairs to his bed and spend the next fortnight exploring her lovely body and teaching her about passion.

Hopefully, however, his restraint would not be necessary much longer.

Marcus seemed to be intensifying his courtship, Arabella decided as she eyed the large copper bathtub in her dressing room. The tub was appropriately filled with hot water, but much of the surface was covered with pink rose petals. She wondered how he had slipped into her dressing room without being seen by her new abigail, who had taken charge of her elegant new wardrobe.

“Don’t those petals smell fine, Miss?” Nan asked cheerfully. “His lordship asked me to sprinkle them in yer bath.”

“Lord Danvers asked you to put them here?”

“Aye, he did. He says you have a fondness for roses, and that petals are good as rosewater to make a body smell sweet.”

Well, at least he hadn’t tried entering her private apartments himself, Arabella thought with amusement as she undressed and sank into the hot water. In fact, until this maneuver, Marcus had made no intimate overtures toward her in days.

Feeling the petals caress her skin reminded Arabella keenly that she hadn’t seen much of Marcus since the ball. He’d spent last night in London on business, and his absence had disappointed her a little, perhaps because she had decided to give his courtship a real chance to develop. She couldn’t deny, either, that she had missed his company at dinner last evening.

She also couldn’t deny how much she was anticipating the upcoming evening. It would be a delightful treat to dine at the Clarendon Hotel and attend Covent Garden Theater in such distinguished company as Marcus had promised. Arabella was admittedly eager to meet his sister and aunt and his two closest friends. She only hoped she could hold her own with them.

She was glad, therefore, to be able to wear her new evening gown of rose twilled silk and the stunning ruby pendant and earrings that Marcus had sent up. When she studied her attire in the cheval glass, her image gave her pause. She looked very much the regal lady, worthy of being his countess.

Arabella’s expression grew thoughtful. Should she perhaps give his proposal earnest consideration after all?

She was even gladder to see Marcus when she went down stairs to find him awaiting her in the entrance hall. At the sight of him, warmth blossomed out from her belly, and she felt her heart flutter rather alarmingly. He looked breathtakingly handsome in a long-tailed burgundy coat, gold brocade waistcoat, and white satin knee breeches. She took his arm gingerly, though, resolved to conceal her pleasure at seeing him again.

It was a lovely afternoon, cool from this morning’s rain but with fleecy white clouds floating across the blue sky. They were starting early in order to make the nearly hour-long drive to London.

His coachmen drove them to collect Winifred, who settled beside Arabella with an approving glance. “Your gown is perfect, my dear, and that scent you are wearing is quite pleasant.”

Arabella returned a puzzled look, since she was not wearing any perfume.

“It must be the rose petals,” Marcus murmured provokingly.

“What rose petals?” the older lady asked.

“Never mind,” Arabella said quickly, giving him a quelling glance.

Otherwise, the evening began promisingly enough. Marcus’s well-sprung carriage made the journey in relative ease, and from the moment they arrived at the elegant hotel, his party was treated like visiting royalty. They were led to a private parlor, where the staff leapt to anticipate his lordship’s every wish and plied them with three delicious courses and a dozen removes. Lady Freemantle claimed to be highly impressed and expressed gratitude to Lord Danvers for the privilege of sharing his illustrious company.

When they arrived at Covent Garden two hours later, Arabella was even more grateful, since without him, she likely would have found the glittering crowd intimidating after four years of being shunned by their supercilious ranks.

The cream of society filled the upper tiers-the lords and gentlemen dressed in formal finery, the ladies dripping in satins and jewels. Since many of them had only come to see and be seen rather than to enjoy the play, the din was quite loud as Marcus escorted Arabella and Winifred upstairs.

His box, Arabella saw when they arrived, was already occupied by two ladies and two gentlemen, who all rose in greeting.

Marcus made the introductions, starting with his Aunt Beatrix, Lady Beldon. The tiny, silver-haired woman had curious bright eyes that reminded Arabella of an inquisitive bird. Without any prompting, Marcus’s sister, Lady Eleanor, stepped forward. The raven-haired beauty wore diamonds threaded through her short curls and a smile of welcome as she clasped Arabella’s hands warmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Loring. My scoundrel of a brother has been keeping you a secret.” She sent Marcus a laughing glance. “He never mentioned a word about you until two days ago.”

“Because I didn’t wish to frighten her off with your atrocious manners, minx,” Marcus said fondly.

“Pah,” Eleanor retorted. “She doesn’t look the sort to be frightened by anything.”

Arabella couldn’t help but smile. “At least not by manners. Not after attempting to teach them to scores of green girls for the past three years.”

Lady Beldon spoke for the first time. “Marcus told us something of your academy, Miss Loring. I should like to hear about it.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

Marcus then made known his close friends, the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne.

The duke was darkly blond, his tall frame one of lithe elegance, while the marquess was nearly as tall but more powerfully built, his hair a tawny brown. They each responded to Arabella quite differently. Arden offered her a cool bow, but Claybourne was far more welcoming, flashing her a smile of amused charm that reminded her a little of Marcus.

Arabella could see why the three noblemen were the talk of London. They were all striking men, beautiful as sin yet utterly…male. It was no wonder females were attracted to them in droves. Certainly they drew the rapt attention of the crowded audience now. It seemed to Arabella as if every eye in the theater was trained on their box.

There were two rows of seats, but when Marcus started to guide Arabella to the nearest chair, his sister intervened.

“Please sit beside me, Miss Loring,” Lady Eleanor said. “We can become better acquainted…and perhaps compare stories about my brother’s guardianship.”

Thus, the front row was occupied by the ladies; first Marcus’s aunt, then his sister, then Arabella, and finally Winifred. When Marcus and his friends took the chairs directly behind, Arabella felt unusually exposed, especially when she spied a number of the audience whispering behind fans and pointing at Lord Danvers’s party.

She soon realized they were gossiping about her, although it soothed her pride somewhat to realize she was receiving a few admiring looks of her own from several of the gentlemen.

Lady Eleanor noticed as well. “Don’t pay them any mind, Miss Loring. You are merely their latest object of interest. It will blow over quickly.” She paused, giving her charming laugh. “At least it always does in my case when I commit some minor infraction.”

“Which is far too frequently,” Marcus said, leaning forward.

He had allowed ample time before the play started so they could become acquainted, and the initial conversation proved highly congenial. Eleanor managed to keep up a spirited dialogue while subtly interrogating Arabella about her and her family. But as Marcus had predicted, she found herself liking his sister, who on first impression seemed witty and lively with a wicked sense of fun.

She had less opportunity to converse with Marcus’s friends, since they sat behind her. The marquess threw in a comment now and then, which was a marked contrast to the duke’s conspicuous silence. Arabella had the distinct feeling his grace disapproved of her, although he unbent a little when Eleanor turned to tease him about his