To Pleasure a Lady

crumbling barn.

They were still some dozen yards away when Arabella heard voices raised in argument. A surge of relief washed through her as she recognized Sybil’s plaintive utterances. Gesturing for her coachman and grooms to wait, Arabella glanced up at Marcus. “Let me speak to her first, please?”

“Very well,” he agreed, although he remained close behind her and kept his pistol at the ready.

She quickened her pace but came to a halt when she reached the large barn door that hung drunkenly on its hinges.

In the gloomy interior, she could see Onslow pacing the floor impatiently. Sybil was nowhere in sight, but her shrill voice floated over the edge of the loft above, declaring both her presence and her unhappiness as she carried on about what a cruel man Mr. Onslow was.

Onslow gave a visible start when he spied Arabella, but to her surprise, an unmistakable look of relief swept over his face. He came up short, however, when he saw Marcus standing directly behind her, holding a pistol.

His face paled, but then he squared his shoulders and strode determinedly forward. “Miss Loring,” he said fervently, “you cannot know how grateful I am to see you.”

At his greeting, Sybil’s tirade stopped abruptly; a heartbeat later, she peered over the loft’s edge, searching the gray gloom below. “Oh, Miss Loring! Thank heavens you have come to rescue me. That villain abducted me!”

Onslow shot a scathing glance upward at the girl. “Abducted you! I did no such thing.”

“You refused to take me home when I asked you to! What is that if not abduction?”

“I refused because we were in the middle of a thunderstorm, you demmed little twit!”

Her face contorting with fury, Sybil rose to her knees and planted her hands on her hips. “There is no need to curse me, you…fiend! If you were not such a nip-cheese, you would have hired a coach with better wheels. And decent springs! I vow I am black and blue from being tossed about all day yesterday.”

“The coach I hired was perfectly adequate. It was only ill-luck that the wheel broke. And you cannot blame me for your stubbornness. You could have been warm and dry at an inn, but no, you refused to dirty your slippers to walk to the next village.”

“Of course I refused!” Sybil screeched. “I didn’t wish to be seen in public in such a bedraggled state.”

She did indeed look bedraggled, Arabella thought. Her raven hair was disheveled and littered with hay, as was her pelisse. And no doubt she was cold and hungry.

Before Arabella could speak, though, Sybil went on ranting at Onslow. “Nor did I wish to spend the night alone with you without even my maid to act as chaperone! But no, you insisted upon leaving Martha at that posting inn twenty miles back because you were too closefisted to spend a few more shillings to put her up for the night.”

“It was your idea to dismiss your maid and send her home! And the storm was hardly my fault.”

Onslow glanced apologetically at Arabella. “We did not intend to spend the night here, Miss Loring. My coachman was supposed to return last night with a new wheel, but then the gale struck, so we were forced to take shelter here.”

“It was still inexcusable of you to treat me so abominably!” the girl sputtered. “You made me sleep in a barn!”

Arabella quelled a smile. Sybil’s indignation might have been amusing if the situation were not so serious, but at least the girl was regretting her rash action in eloping with Onslow, since he apparently couldn’t afford to keep her in her accustomed luxury.

Summoning a stern expression, Arabella moved farther into the barn. “Sybil, pray quit shouting and come down here.”

“I will once that villain leaves.”

Onslow raised his gaze to the crumbling roof, as if pleading to Heaven for deliverance. “Thank God you are here, Miss Loring. You can take that vixen off my hands.”

“Yes, thank God, Miss Loring,” Sybil seconded. “I was a fool to ever think I wanted to wed Mr. Onslow. He deceived me so dreadfully. I am quite convinced now that he was only after my fortune all along.”

At that superfluous assertion, Arabella stifled the urge to utter a sardonic reply and merely repeated her command. “Sybil, come down this instant.”

The girl disappeared for a moment, then eased over the loft edge to descend the rickety ladder, a maneuver which was made more difficult since she had a bandbox with her and refused to drop it.

While Sybil slowly made her way down, Arabella turned a withering gaze on Onslow. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Onslow, preying on young innocents.”

“I assure you, ma’am, Miss Newstead is no innocent,” he muttered. “She is a viper masquerading as a female.”

Arabella felt her hands clench as she fought the urge to do him physical damage.

As if reading her mind, he held up his own hands in surrender. “I never touched her, Miss Loring, I swear it. Thankfully I came to my senses in time. I couldn’t bear two days being wed to that spoiled little she-devil, let alone a lifetime.”

Arabella felt another surge of relief that Sybil was still virginal. At least that disaster had been averted. When she shared a thankful look with Marcus, he stepped forward.

Nervously Onslow retreated a step. “M-My lord…” He eyed the pistol in alarm. “You w-won’t shoot me, will you?”

“Not if you take yourself out of my sight in the next ten seconds.”

“Yes, of c-course…”

He started for the door, but Marcus stopped him. “Oh, and Onslow, when your carriage is repaired, you will continue on your way to Scotland, where you will make an extended stay. If you show your face anywhere near Chiswick again-and if I ever hear of you attempting to repair your fortunes by eloping with an heiress-you will be meeting me on the dueling field and swallowing a bullet. Nothing will save you. Do I make myself clear?”

His tone was cool and deadly, and Onslow clearly believed him, for his face turned stark white. “Perfectly clear, my lord. But you needn’t worry. I have learned my lesson, I swear it.”

When Marcus gestured with the pistol toward the door, Onslow ran out of the barn as if the little she-devil herself were on his heels.

In the ensuing silence, Sybil came to stand beside Arabella, her head bowed humbly. “Oh, Miss Loring, can you ever forgive me?”

Unable to believe such meekness, Arabella eyed the girl narrowly. “I cannot think of any reason I should.”

“I made a dreadful mistake, thinking I wanted to wed that dastardly fortune hunter.”

“You did indeed,” she replied tartly. “Have you no sense whatsoever, Sybil?”

Awkwardly, the girl twisted the strings of her bandbox. “I thought it would be romantic to elope.”

“And you didn’t think about the future at all. You didn’t consider what would happen to you two days from now, much less twenty years.” Arabella’s tone softened. “Marriage is a risk under the best of circumstances. Because of your reckless impulsiveness, you could have suffered for the rest of your life.”

With that, Arabella turned to leave the barn.

Sybil hurried after her, carrying her bandbox. “You won’t tell Papa that I almost eloped?”

“I am still debating that question.”

“Please don’t tell him, Miss Loring! Papa will be furious enough to withdraw me from school, and I don’t want to leave. My comeout isn’t until next Season.”

Arabella said not another word until they reached the road. “Get in,” she ordered Sybil as a groom hastened to open the door to the Freemantle carriage.

Mutely, the girl obeyed. Entering after her, Arabella settled next to Sybil, while Marcus stowed her bandbox in the boot and the coachman transferred her valise from Onslow’s broken-down vehicle. After a brief discussion about driving to the next intersection so as to have the space to turn the coach around, Marcus joined them inside.

The coach was moving before Sybil spoke again in an imploring tone. “Please, Miss Loring, don’t tell my father. If I have to leave the academy, I won’t be prepared for my comeout next Season. I will behave with complete circumspection from now on, I swear it. I will be a perfect angel.”