Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage Read online

  His younger brother Francis…

  Disgraced and banished, could Francis have returned to England somehow and even now be plotting Darius’s and Arabella’s deaths?

  His mouth thinned at the thought of the danger he might have placed Arabella in simply by marrying her. The same danger that Sophie had found herself in the moment Darius had taken her as his wife a year ago…

  Was Darius never to be allowed any personal happiness?

  Last night’s ‘accident’ gave every indication that was the case!

  He sighed heavily. ‘You are still angry with me because of last night.’ It had been very late when Darius had returned to Carlyne House after seeing Bancroft, almost two o’clock in the morning, and as promised, rather than disturb Arabella, he had instead retired directly to his own bedchamber.

  Only to remain restless and virtually sleepless for the remainder of the night as he regretted telling her he would not be joining her in her bedchamber. It had been impossible to sleep when he could so easily imagine how beautiful, how desirable, his wife would look as she lay back against downy pillows, with that gloriously golden hair spread out beneath her….

  Darius still ached at the vividness of that image!

  Arabella raised haughty blond brows. ‘What happened last night, Darius? Admittedly, the carriage accident was a little—bothersome, but I assure you I slept surprisingly well, considering.’ The dark shadows visible beneath those dark brown eyes gave the lie to her claim.

  A fact that Darius was well aware of. Just as he was aware that it was the St Claire pride that sustained Arabella in the face of what she no doubt saw as Darius’s abandonment of her after she had been so shaken by the carriage accident, and also his rejection of her on their wedding night.

  It was not Arabella that Darius had rejected, it was the taking of a wife at all when his own life was being dogged by someone who wished him harm and did not care if his young and beautiful wife shared that same fate, that caused Darius to guard his thoughts and deeds. But he dared not share that information with her.

  ‘In that case you will have no need of sleep once we have arrived at the coaching inn,’ he murmured.

  ‘I do not understand, sir.’ But the delicate colour that crept up Arabella’s throat and into her cheeks said she understood his huskily spoken words only too well!

  Darius sat forward on the padded bench-seat so that his face was only inches away from hers. ‘I am sure we will both benefit from retiring to our bedchambers for the rest of the afternoon. In order that we might bathe and…rest after travelling.’

  Arabella stared at Darius. Was he seriously suggesting that they amuse themselves in bed all afternoon? Did he really dare to think that she would be willing to participate in the pleasures of the bedchamber after the way he’d treated her?

  Her disappointment at Darius’s desertion the evening before, followed by outrage as his absence continued long after she might have expected his return, had sustained Arabella through the long night that had just passed. She certainly had no intention of allowing Darius to make love to her for the first time in a coaching inn, of that she was sure. As was the case in most inns, it would offer little comfort and absolutely no privacy!

  Arabella’s intention to treat Darius with dismissive coldness for the dreary and lengthy duration of their journey into Worcestershire, in an effort to show him how contemptible was his behaviour of the night before, was completely forgotten as she bristled indignantly. ‘You may choose to pander to your mistress rather than your wife, Darius, but I assure you that I am not someone who can be discarded and then picked up again when it suits your own needs!’

  Amusement darkened the blue of his eyes to cobalt. ‘And what do you know of the treatment of mistresses, Arabella?’

  Her eyes snapped with temper. ‘You seem to forget, Darius, that I have three older brothers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Do not treat me like a backward child, Darius,’ she warned tartly, her mouth thin. ‘It is well known that the men of the ton change their mistresses as often as they change their linen.’

  ‘Oftener, in some cases,’ Darius allowed, and he sat back against the upholstered seat, arms folded across the muscled width of his chest as he gazed at her speculatively. ‘And you count me in their number, do you, Arabella?’

  She gave an inelegant snort. ‘Your own actions have placed you in their number.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  Arabella was completely aware of the underlying steel in Darius’s tone. But she felt perfectly justified in ignoring the warning in view of his desertion of her the previous night. Long hours which Arabella had spent alone in her bedchamber. Hours when her imagination had provided her with thoughts of whether or not it was actually another woman rather than the broken carriage that had drawn Darius’s attention away from his new wife so soon….

  It had also occurred to Arabella some time during her sleepless night that when she’d questioned Darius the previous week he had not denied having a mistress at present, only the need to continue to keep one after they were married. Perhaps last night had been the end of their affair? Perhaps the woman had even been a guest at their wedding!

  Once the idea had presented itself to her, Arabella had found her imagination taking flight to the extent that she had clearly been able to visualise Darius in bed with the other woman. To imagine the two of them lying naked and entwined, satiated from their lovemaking, as they perhaps laughed together at the thought of Darius’s abandoned lonely bride.

  The mere thought of that being the case made Arabella’s blood boil anew!

  She looked across at Darius coldly. ‘I take it you feel no desire for me to produce your heirs immediately?’

  He frowned. ‘Not particularly, no.’ He didn’t want to give his enemies yet another innocent, vulnerable target!

  Arabella nodded abruptly. ‘In that case I see no reason to share your bed at the present time.’ She turned to once again stare out of the window at the now softly falling rain. The gloomy weather was reflective of her own mood.

  Darius continued to study Arabella through narrowed lids and he realised from her remarks, as well as from the things she had left unsaid, that she had drawn her own conclusions concerning his lengthy absence from Carlyne House the night before. He was experienced enough to know that her anger at the thought that he’d visited his mistress was merely a shield for the much deeper hurt she felt at his apparent shunning of her on their wedding night.

  The obvious thing to do to put things right between them would be for Darius to offer Arabella reassurances as to his whereabouts the night before. Unfortunately, in doing that he would also have to explain his reasons for having gone to see Bancroft. An explanation that even now Darius would not—could not—share with anyone. Even his young wife.

  Eight years ago, in the midst of those bloody years of England’s battles against Napoleon, Darius had known that as the second son he was expected to take up a commission in the army. Tired of Society, jaded from his years of drinking and gambling, disenchanted with the women who frequently shared his bed, it had been an action Darius had been only too willing to take.

  However, before he had been able to do so he had been approached by a member of the English government—a man who had explained that he recruited a widespread group of men and women, both in England and France, who, despite the danger to their own lives, had become spies for their country rather than overtly displaying their patriotism on the battlefield.

  The work was dangerous, the man had explained, the rewards few, and the thanks non-existent as the role those people played in the fight against Napoleon could never be made public.

  All that was required of Darius was for him to continue to live the debauched and profligate life he was already leading. To lull the public in general, and the ton in particular, into believing he was nothing more than a wastrel and a rake. He would be surprised, the man had assured him, how indiscreet a traitor could be when in the
company of a man they considered too drunk or uninterested to pay any attention to their conversation.

  They had been prophetic words, Darius now acknowledged wryly.

  For six years the ton had continued to believe him too lazy or cowardly to fight for his country. During those same six years Darius had become adept at discovering a man’s—or a woman’s—secret alliances. More so than he could ever have imagined. His success had been such that he had moved quickly up the rank and file of this secret organisation, until he had eventually found himself as the head of one of the networks of England’s spies.

  Two years after Napoleon’s final defeat Darius still headed that network. William Bancroft, Earl of Banford, was only one of their number.

  None of which Darius was at liberty to share with anyone—not even his own wife. Not even when the work he had done, and continued to do, might have placed Arabella in that same danger as Darius himself….

  There was one thing he could make clear to her, however. ‘I do not have a mistress, Arabella.’

  Her expression was scornful as she turned to look at him with hard brown eyes. ‘Perhaps not now, no. But only because you probably ended it just last night!’

  ‘Not for some time,’ he stated firmly, his expression intent as he leaned forward again. ‘Arabella, there has been no woman in my life, or my bed, since Sophie’s death.’

  Arabella’s eyes widened. Did Darius seriously expect her to believe he had been celibate for a whole year? A man who, despite having gained respectability since inheriting a dukedom, was still known for his womanising. For his carousing. For his gambling.

  Had he been womanising, carousing or gambling during the week of their betrothal?

  Not to Arabella’s knowledge. Or that of her brothers, she felt sure. For Arabella had no doubt that one or all of them would have brought it to her attention if he had.

  But just because he had behaved himself in the week before their wedding it did not necessarily mean that Darius had remained celibate for this past year.

  Then why would he say that he had?

  Darius was still very much a puzzle to her, and did many things she could not approve of, but she had no reason to believe he had ever lied to her. More truthfully, Darius was arrogant enough never to feel the need to lie about any of his actions.

  Her chin rose challengingly. ‘Did you love your first wife so much, then?’

  He gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘I can always rely on you to ask the unexpected, can’t I?’

  Her brows rose. ‘In that case you will not find me tedious.’

  ‘Far from it!’

  ‘Did you love your first wife?’ she repeated determinedly.

  ‘For my sins—no.’ Darius grimaced.

  Arabella gave a graceful inclination of her head—as if the answer were just as she had expected. ‘You have been widowed a year. Even before you became a duke you were considered highly eligible. So why have you not taken advantage of that rank and fortune this past year to secure yourself a mistress?’

  Darius mouth twisted with distaste. ‘Perhaps because I preferred it when I knew a woman’s partiality was only to me rather than due to a title or a fortune.’

  Arabella bristled. ‘Your implication being that I only married you for your title?’

  ‘There can be no other reason,’ he pointed out calmly. ‘Not when I have been reliably informed by Hawk that you have no need of my fortune when considerable personal wealth became yours upon our marriage yesterday.’

  It was true, of course. Arabella’s parents had been more enlightened than most, and had considered their daughter to have as much right to financial independence as any of their three sons. Consequently her father had left her a vast fortune in his will, which Hawk had managed for her these past eleven years, and a small estate in Norfolk, which Hawk had also taken care of by putting in a manager. The estate had become part of Arabella’s husband’s lands upon her marriage, of course, but the fortune would remain in trust for her children, with the interest set aside for her personal use.

  Her wedding yesterday had made Arabella an even wealthier and more independent woman than ever she had been before that marriage.

  She smiled tightly. She could not—would not—allow this arrogant and sarcastic man to know that she would probably have married him a year ago, whatever his wealth or title, if she had known of his offer.

  ‘How clever of you to guess!’

  He looked at her coldly. ‘Cleverness has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘If you say so.’ She nodded coolly. ‘Did you have a particular reason for confiding your celibacy to me now?’

  Amusement now danced in those cobalt-blue eyes. ‘I was merely trying to reassure you that you may expect my complete fidelity, Arabella.’

  Arabella wasn’t yet ready to forgive him for leaving her so abruptly on their wedding night. ‘Surely that is something any new bride might expect?’

  ‘Expect, perhaps,’ he said ruefully. ‘But never be truthfully assured of.’

  She raised a sarcastic brow. ‘In that case I should no doubt consider myself fortunate that you feel able to offer me such assurances.’

  Once again Darius was tempted to lift her skirts and paddle her bottom until she screamed for mercy. After which he would enjoy nothing more than making love to her until they were both thoroughly satisfied!

  She was a little madam. A minx. And he found her completely enchanting. She was a temptress who had occupied far too many of his waking thoughts—and his dreams—this past week.

  Perhaps if she had not Darius might have been more on his guard yesterday. More expectant regarding the sabotage of their coach…

  He would not relax his guard again until they were safely ensconced at Winton Hall. Once there, he had the necessary security in place to ensure Arabella’s safety at least.

  Darius’s expression hardened as he once again regretted that he had allowed himself to be beguiled into marrying her. By doing so he had brought her into the web of deceit and danger that had necessarily become his own life these past eight years.

  He would not have been so tempted beyond resistance if Arabella were not so beautiful. So delectable. So spirited. And if he had not wanted her so badly in his bed for years…

  ‘I am pleased to hear you are wise to the honour,’ he bit out in response to her sarcasm. ‘If you will excuse me, Arabella? I believe I might nap for the rest of the journey.’ He lowered his lids, deliberately shutting out the vision of loveliness that was his brand-new bride.

  Except Darius could still see her and feel her behind those closed lids, as she glared rebelliously across the width of the carriage at him.

  The silky gold of her hair was tempting him into releasing it. The pout of her lips was begging to be kissed. The full swell of her breasts was spilling over the low neckline of her gown. A fullness that Darius ached to cup in his hands. To kiss and caress once more as he had that evening a week ago in Hawk St Claire’s study.

  Dear God, he had no need to fear meeting death at the hands of his enemies when this desire for Arabella was sure to drive him into an early grave!

  ‘I am very tired, Darius. I believe I will retire for the night.’ Arabella placed her napkin on the dinner table before standing up.

  She had found herself becoming more and more tense, and their conversation had reflected that tension as the two of them dined privately in the warm comfort of the secluded parlour the landlord of the inn had provided for their use. As bedtime had approached, that tension had reached breaking point…

  Having suggested that once they reached the inn they might retire for the afternoon together to their bedchambers, Darius had once again busied himself—unnecessarily so, Arabella had felt—in seeing to the stabling of the horses and the securing of the coach. Leaving Arabella to be shown upstairs to the privacy of her bedchamber and the attentions of her maid, who had been sent on ahead to the inn with Darius’s valet and their luggage. Having bathed and changed int
o her robe, Arabella had lain down upon her bed and managed to fall asleep, waking only when her maid came back into the room to help her dress for dinner.

  Darius had obviously found time to shave and bathe, and his hair was freshly washed and gleaming deeply gold as it curled in meticulous disarray about his stunning face. He had also changed from his dark travelling clothes into a tailored superfine the same colour blue as his eyes, his impeccable linen was snowy-white, and his buff-coloured pantaloons moulded to the muscled length of his thighs above shiny black Hessians.

  On first seeing him thus, Arabella had had to allow that Darius was the handsomest man in England!

  The knowledge that this man was also her husband, and that the second night of their marriage was fast approaching, had made Arabella all the more aware of him as each second of the meal progressed, resulting in her doing little more than pick at the food placed before her. That Darius’s hooded blue eyes had settled on her often, and no doubt noted her lack of appetite, had only added to her increasing nervousness.

  Darius also now rose from the table. ‘I will join you shortly.’ He nodded coolly, the expression in those deep blue eyes unreadable.

  Arabella swallowed hard even as she eyed him shyly from beneath lowered lashes. ‘I…’ Her voice sounded reedy, and too high even to her own ears. Completely unlike her usual forthright tone. She drew in a controlling breath. ‘I really am exceedingly tired, Darius.’

  ‘I do not see how you can possibly be tired when you slept most of the afternoon and early evening away,’ he pointed out as he moved away from the table.

  Irritation creased her brow as she raised her chin to look at him fully. ‘And how would you know how I spent my afternoon when you were engaged elsewhere?’

  Darius did not need the warning glitter in Arabella’s eyes to tell him that he had displeased her yet again. This time by the lack of the attention he had promised to her this afternoon. ‘I sincerely hope that you are not going to be one of those wives who expects to be told of her husband’s every move?’