once. I won’t take any lovers after our marriage.”
Her expression remained obdurate. “Well,
She saw him go rigid; her brazen declaration had apparently made him nearly as angry as she was.
“You are not taking any lover but me,” he said through gritted teeth.
Her chin jutted out furiously. “If I wished to, you couldn’t stop me!”
“You don’t want to test that theory, sweeting. I could and I would stop you.”
Seething now, Arabella clenched her own teeth and tore her gaze away from him. There was no question now of her losing to Marcus, she promised herself. She would play out the rest of their wager as promised, for she intended to win freedom for herself and her sisters. But once it was over, she would never even speak to him again!
Marcus, too, fell into a simmering silence. It was an effort to keep control of his temper, but he forced himself to wait until they were both calmer to discuss the explosive issue of lovers any further.
The moment the carriage drew to halt in the drive, Arabella opened the door and jumped down before the footman could even lower the step.
Marcus watched darkly as she ran up the front stairs to the house. He followed in time to hear her being greeted by the butler, Simpkin, who was waiting for his mistress’s return in the entrance hall, despite the lateness of the hour. When Simpkin offered to fetch her abigail, Arabella shook her head.
“No, don’t disturb Nan’s rest,” she said tightly, throwing a wrathful glance over her shoulder at Marcus. “I can manage alone. I have done so for years.”
Without another word, she hurried up the staircase and disappeared down the corridor. A moment later, Marcus heard her bedchamber door slam with enough force to startle the very proper butler into an expression of alarm.
Chapter Eleven
– Arabella to Fanny
His own mood fierce, Marcus went directly to the study, where he poured himself a generous brandy in order to calm down.
He could understand Arabella’s dismay at learning of his past relationship with his former mistress. After her bitter experience with her libertine father and adulterous mother, fidelity in marriage was a monumental issue for her. But he intended to remain faithful to her once they were wed, and the fact that she doubted his word rankled badly.
It was, however, her vow to take other lovers after they married that enraged him. The thought of Arabella with another lover made Marcus see red.
Gulping a long, burning swallow of brandy, he forced himself to contain his ire. Arabella was not the kind of woman to forswear her marriage vows, and he was far too possessive to ever allow her to. He would keep her so busy in his own bed that she would never even think about wanting another lover.
Meanwhile, though, his campaign to win her had suffered a serious setback. He would have to intensify his efforts, Marcus knew.
Even so, he could be more tolerant of Arabella’s perspective. Her loathing of convenient marriages was based on fear. She was afraid of being hurt again, of being betrayed by a fickle suitor, of making herself too vulnerable to the pain and misery married couples could cause each other. He would have to show her that a union between them would be far, far different than her fatalistic expectations.
He wanted Arabella, had wanted her from the very first, and he would have her. As his countess, his wife, his lover.
Vowing not to be deterred, Marcus drained the last of his brandy and made his way upstairs to his bedchamber. The house was silent since the servants were long abed, but a wall sconce in the corridor had been left alight for his convenience, and so had a lamp in his room.
He shrugged out of his evening clothes, leaving them draped over a chair in his dressing room for his valet to care for in the morning. Not bothering to don a nightshirt since the spring night was only pleasantly cool, Marcus returned to his bedchamber and strode over to the bed, only to come to an abrupt halt.
The covers had been turned down as expected, but a large pile of clothing lay on top, including the rose silk gown Arabella had worn to the theater this evening.
When he caught the sparkle of rubies and the gleam of pearls among the silks and sarcenets, a heavy frown descended on his brow. Arabella had returned all the gowns and jewelry he had bought her!
A folded sheet of vellum rested on the pile. Ripping it open, Marcus read the terse message inside:
Knotting his jaw, Marcus threw on a dressing gown, gathered up her gowns and jewels, flung open his door, and stalked down the corridor to the opposite wing of the manor, where Arabella’s bedchamber was located.
He had been extremely patient until now. He had resolved to woo her with tenderness and passion in order to win her surrender.
But since his strategy was obviously getting him nowhere, more drastic measures were called for.
When her bedchamber door flew open, Arabella was sitting at her dressing table, making a desultory effort to brush her hair.
She felt utterly wretched. As a girl, she’d hated witnessing her parents’ fights, but she hated fighting with Marcus even more.
Arabella bit down on her quivering lower lip. Her turmoil just now was only more evidence that she’d allowed her emotions to become too involved with Marcus. She had lied earlier when she’d claimed she wasn’t jealous of his beautiful mistress. She’d been eaten up with jealousy, proving she was in over her head. She couldn’t let it continue-
Marcus’s startling entrance made her leap up from her dressing table and whirl to face him.
When she spied him standing there, looking dark and irate, holding her beautiful gowns, Arabella swallowed. She had known he wouldn’t be happy that she’d returned her new wardrobe as a symbolic severing of their guardian-ward relationship, but she hadn’t expected Marcus to barge into her bedchamber while she was preparing for bed.
As she eyed him warily, his gaze raked over her, taking in her long-sleeved nightshift, her unbound hair, her bare feet. Even though the white cambric covered her completely, Arabella still felt defenseless, so she hurriedly took refuge behind her dressing table chair, using it as a shield.
“Marcus, what do you mean, invading my rooms this way?”
“You misplaced your wardrobe, sweeting.”
“No, I didn’t. I intended to give everything back to you.”
“Well, I won’t accept. These garments and jewels belong to you, and you are keeping them.” His eyes bored into hers, brightly blue, beautiful, as he strode forward and flung the pile on her bed.
Her hands moving to her hips, Arabella stared back defiantly at him-a defiance that turned to alarm when he advanced on her.
“Marcus, leave my bedchamber at once!”
“I intend to. And you are coming with me.”
She tried to elude him, scurrying to the other side of the bed, but he reached her in three determined strides. Bending, Marcus caught one arm behind her knees, the other at her back, and swung her up in his embrace,
