Kitabı oku: «Temptation In Regency Society», sayfa 7
‘What has happened, Dominic?’ she asked carefully.
He turned then, and still nothing appeared out of place, except that his right hand remained tucked beneath the left breast of his tailcoat.
‘A minor altercation. Nothing of concern. As I said, go back to bed.’
And then she caught sight of the dark ominous stains upon the white cuff that protruded beneath the dark woollen sleeve of his coat and, lifting the closest candelabrum, she walked towards him.
‘Arabella,’ he said, holding out his exposed hand as if to stay her. But she kept on closing the distance between them, for she had a horrible fear of just what those stains were.
‘This is not for your eyes.’
She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. Her body felt stiff and heavy with dread. ‘Take off your coat.’
‘Arabella …’ One last warning.
She ignored him and took hold of his lapel, pulling back the left breast of his tailcoat.
She gasped at the sight that met her eyes. His white shirt and waistcoat were sodden with blood. She froze, and in that single moment everything changed in her world.
‘Dominic!’ she whispered.
His hand took hers, his grip strong and reassuring. But she felt that it was wet and when she looked she could see the blood that stained it glisten in the candlelight.
‘Oh, my God!’
‘It is but a scratch that bleeds too much.’
But there was blood everywhere, and all of it was his.
‘Go. James will help me.’
She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to his. Their eyes held for a fraction of a second, a heartbeat in which everything she had told herself she felt about him these years past was revealed as a lie.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I will help you.’ And then she glanced round at the footman and prepared to do what she knew must be done.
Dominic watched as Arabella shifted from shock to take charge of the situation. She sent the maid for clean linen and a glass, and instructed the footman with equal calm proficiency, directing James to help divest him of his upper clothing while she half-filled the glass with brandy.
Only once he sat on the sofa wearing only his pantaloons did she pass him the glass. ‘Drink it.’ Her voice was calm, but brooked no refusal.
He did not argue, just did as she directed, downing the contents in one go.
As he drank she rolled up the sleeves of her nightgown, tore a strip off the linen and dowsed both it and her hands in brandy.
Then she sat down by his side, eased him back a little against the sofa.
Her gaze met his. ‘This is going to sting,’ she warned. And her eyes held a concern that Dominic had never thought to see there again. It touched his heart much more than he could ever have imagined.
‘Do your worst,’ he murmured.
He could not prevent himself flinching from the initial touch of the brandy to the wound and saw the pain mirrored in Arabella’s eyes. Yet she did not hesitate, or weaken from her purpose.
Her touch was gentle, her movements reassuring. She worked methodically and with a calmness that seemed to stroke away his tension despite the pain. With strip by patient strip of brandy-soaked linen she cleansed the blood away until all that remained was a thin red line against the paleness of his skin.
‘We should send for the doctor. He may wish to stitch the wound.’ She had not looked at him, not once, since she had taken control of the situation.
‘No doctor,’ he said. ‘The cut is shallow. A week of binding and the skin will knit together well enough.’
‘Dominic—’
‘No doctor,’ he said again.
‘Very well.’ She laid a pad of linen against the wound, then bound it in place. And then she got to her feet, passed the tray of bloodied rags to James.
‘Thank you, James, Anne. You may leave us now.’
She waited until the door closed behind the servants before she sat back down. Side by side they sat on the sofa. Not looking at one another. Not speaking a word. The tension was still between them. But it was different somehow, as if some barrier that had been there before had given way.
The silence seemed to stretch between them.
He slipped his hand to cover hers.
‘Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?’ she asked.
‘A small disagreement with two gentlemen from a gaming den.’
‘I did not know you frequented such places.’
‘There is a lot you do not know about me, Arabella.’
‘And too much that I do know,’ she said quietly. ‘I cannot forget …’
‘Nor can I.’
The clock’s ticking seemed too loud. It seemed to match the beat of his heart.
‘It was not supposed to be like this, Arabella.’
‘None of it was supposed to be like this,’ she said and he heard the huskiness in her voice.
‘Arabella.’ He looked at her, willing her to look round at him.
She shook her head at first, but he could hear the slight sob in her breath. He stroked his thumb against her fingers where his hand covered hers.
She turned her face to his, then met his gaze, and the emotions he saw there were as raw and aching as those that beat in his own heart.
‘Dominic,’ she whispered and the tears spilled from her eyes. He took her in his arms and he kissed each one away and then he held her.
He held her and the minutes passed.
He held her. And then as if by some silent communion they both rose. He blew out all save one branch of candles, then he took her hand in his and together they walked out of the drawing room.
Chapter Nine
Within her bedchamber they spoke not one word. Dominic stripped off his pantaloons, while Arabella unfastened the ties of her nightdress and loosened it so that it slid down her body to lie in a white pool around her feet.
The candles flickered upon the nightstand, so that she could see him standing there naked. His body as tall and strong and well muscled as she remembered. A sprinkling of dark hair covered his chest and narrowed to a line that led down to his manhood. His skin glowed a honey gold in the candles’ light, the whiteness of the linen bandage stark against the rest of him.
There was no need for words. She sensed his feelings as keenly as her own. She wanted him. And needed him. Not out of lust. Not even out of desire. The need ran at a much deeper level than that, in a place that touched both her heart and her soul. She did not analyse the feeling. Nor did she think about the past.
Arabella knew only this moment. Dominic was alive. And that, had a blade pressed a little harder this night, he would not be.
She placed her palm upon his chest over his heart and felt its strong steady beat. Beneath her fingers she could feel the roughness of his chest hair and in her nose was the scent of brandy and cigar smoke mingled with Dominic’s cologne.
He threaded a hand through her hair at the scalp, angling her head so that he could look into her eyes.
She did not look away. She did not try to hide anything. They looked at each other with an honesty that belonged only to that moment. His eyes were deep and dark and sensuous and in them was a vulnerability that she had never ever thought to see.
Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips touched, the kiss small and gentle. And touched again, before stilling so that their lips rested together, not kissing, but sharing their breath. She slid her hands up from his chest, to dip her fingers into the hollow between his collar bones, before spreading out to slide across the tense hard muscle of his shoulders. Their faces were so close she could feel the brush of his eyelashes every time he blinked.
His free hand followed down the line of her arm to capture her hand in his, hooking both their hands against the small of her back to arch her body all the closer into his. His chest was hard as a rock, the hair that covered it rough against her nipples. Her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, and deep in her belly was a heat that had never expired. She could feel the call of his body and the answer of her own. Just as it ever was, except this time it was different. She could feel the difference. And she knew that he could feel it too.
He bit gently at her lower lip, then salved the nip with his tongue. She tasted him, opened to him, felt his tongue accept the invitation as his lips slid against her own. They kissed. A deep sensual coupling of their mouths. A sharing of such intimacy and tenderness. They kissed and his every breath, every stroke of his tongue, every touch of his lips was a caress of her soul.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing her in so that she was standing straddling his thigh. He kissed her again, then trailed his mouth down over her neck, his breath hot, his tongue tasting her. His hands caressed her breasts, weighing them, stroking skin that was sensitive to his touch, teasing at peaks that were already beaded hard. His hands stilled, his thumbs resting lightly on her nipples, as his gaze slid up to hers. And then, keeping his eyes locked on hers, he shifted one thumb aside and leaned his mouth down to take her nipple into his mouth.
He did not suckle. He did not even move his lips, but his breath was hot and moist against her. He was still watching her when his tongue began to flick against the tender swollen bud. A low soft moan escaped Arabella. She arched her back, driving her breast harder against his mouth. He began to kiss her nipple, to suck it, while his thumb and fingers worked upon the other. When she felt the gentle scrape of his teeth, she clutched that dark head to her, watching his mouth work thoroughly against first one breast and then the other.
His hands found her hips and drew them lower so that she felt the tease of the hairs on his broad muscular thigh against the hot wet centre of her womanhood. Her grip shifted to his shoulders and tightened as he rubbed his thigh gently against her. Arabella moaned again and slid higher up his thigh, until she could feel the probe of his manhood against her hip.
They stilled, his mouth coming back to find hers. And when he rolled her on to the bed their bodies clung together. He lay on his uninjured side, clutching her to him. And she could feel the raggedness of his breathing and the race of his heart as they positioned their legs to minimise the strain on his wound. And when at last she welcomed him into her body it had never felt so right. There was no dominant, no submissive. Nothing of taking, only of sharing. They moved together in a partnership, both rejoicing in their union and striving to the same end.
They loved, for there could be no other word for it. And Arabella was only aware of the moment and the man. Dominic filled her senses. Dominic filled her body.
‘Dominic,’ she gasped as she exploded into a thousand shards of shimmering pleasure.
‘Arabella,’ he groaned and she felt the warmth of his seed spill within her.
They lay in each other’s arms, feeling the pulse of their bodies and the beat of their hearts.
And eventually they slept.
Dominic came every night to Curzon Street after that. And every night they made love. Arabella was no longer fool enough to believe that she could fight against the mire of complex emotions that she felt for Dominic. Since the night he had come to the house covered in blood she had known that much as she hated what he had done to her, she did not hate him. Indeed, there was a part of her that knew they would always be bound together, and not just through Archie. If Arabella had allowed herself to think too much of her situation it would have been unbearable.
She knew what she was—his mistress, a woman he had bought from a brothel.
And she knew what he was—a man who had betrayed her and ruined her life.
And she knew, too, that contrary to everything that she should feel she still cared for him.
Arabella did not want to think what that said about her. Or what it implied about Dominic.
Dominic watched Hunter as the other man pulled up the tails of his coat and stood with his back before the warm flame of the fire. There was only the slow steady tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the soft sounds of the flames upon the coals.
‘I am sure I saw Arabella Tatton coming out of an apothecary shop in Bond Street the other day.’ Hunter’s voice was steady and he was watching Dominic.
‘Did you?’ Dominic’s heart picked up some speed but he feigned indifference.
‘She was carrying her gloves … and she was not wearing a wedding ring.’
‘Really?’ Dominic pretended to examine his nails.
‘And she asked her coachman to take her home to Curzon Street.’ Hunter shifted his stance and Dominic could smell hot wool.
Silence.
‘It all begins to make sense. Why you are so very protective of Miss Noir’s identity. Why you have been so intent on keeping her hidden from view. Not one party. Not one ball, save Prinny’s masked carnival at Vauxhall, so I hear. Hardly your normal treatment of a woman … unless there is something of her identity that you wish to conceal.’
Still Dominic said nothing, but he felt his body tense as if in preparation for a fight. He thought of the tenderness of their lovemaking. And he wanted to protect her, even from Hunter.
‘It is her, is it not?’
‘You are mistaken, Hunter,’ he said and the look in his eyes bellowed the warning that his words only whispered at.
‘Hell’s teeth, Dominic! I am not a fool. I know that Arabella is Miss Noir.’
Dominic did not remember moving, but the next he knew he was two inches in front of Hunter’s face, staring down at him as if he would like to rip him limb from limb.
Hunter shook his head and met his gaze. ‘Do you honestly think I would breathe one word of this outside of this room? Your secret is safe with me.’
Dominic knew that it was, but it did not make him feel any better.
‘I think I am in need of a drink,’ said Hunter weakly and ducked under Dominic’s arm to stroll across the library and pour them both a large brandy. He passed one glass to Dominic and took several swigs from the other himself. ‘I hope you know what you are doing.’
Dominic took a sip of brandy. ‘Everything is under control.’
‘Is it?’ asked Hunter and the look on his face said that he did not believe it. ‘Have you forgotten what she did to you?’
‘I have not forgotten.’ Nothing of the pain.
‘Then this is some kind of revenge?’
Dominic set his glass down upon the mantelpiece with a thud that threatened to fracture the crystal stem. ‘Hell, Sebastian, what kind of man do you take me for? I found her in Mrs Silver’s that night! What did you expect me to do? Walk away and leave her there?’ he shouted.
‘After breaking your betrothal to run off and marry some other man? Yes. That is exactly what I would have done.’ Hunter shook his head again. ‘I thought you were over her. I thought you had learned your lesson from her. Lord, but she made a damn fool of you!’ Hunter peered closer at Dominic’s face. ‘But you still want her,’ he said slowly as if the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place to reveal the answer.
‘Yes, I want her,’ admitted Dominic. ‘I have never stopped wanting her. Any sane man would. I do not have to like her to bed her.’
Hunter was still looking at him. ‘Were that true you would not give a damn who knew she is your mistress. The shame would be on her, Dominic, not on you. No, there is more to it than that.’ His eyes narrowed with speculation.
‘Leave it alone, Sebastian,’ Dominic warned.
But Hunter never could take a warning. ‘You still care for her,’ he said quietly.
The glass within Dominic’s hand shattered, sending the splinters of glass flying across the mantelpiece and spilling the brandy to pool with the blood, but Dominic felt nothing of the pain.
Hunter pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and appeared by his side. First he checked there were no glass fragments in Dominic’s hand, then used the handkerchief as a bandage to staunch the bleeding. He eyed Dominic with concern. ‘This is worse than I thought,’ he said, and Dominic knew Hunter was not referring to the cut upon his hand. ‘You do not want me to, but I will say it anyway. You are making a mistake with her, Dominic.’
‘Be that as it may, I will not give her up,’ said Dominic; he knew he sounded stubborn and bad tempered and that he should relax and pretend that she did not matter to him in the slightest.
‘I did not think that you would,’ replied Hunter quietly. ‘You do care for her, Dominic.’
‘I care only that she warms my bed,’ said Dominic and knew that he was not fooling Hunter for a minute, yet his pride would not let him admit the truth. He did not think he even understood himself what the truth was any more.
He tensed against any more of Hunter’s questions, but his friend let the matter drop, clapping a hand of support against Dominic’s shoulder. ‘I think you are in need of another brandy.’
‘It is just an arrangement for sex,’ he insisted. Except Dominic knew that he was lying. Even Hunter knew he was lying. There were other aspects to what was between Arabella and him that he did not wish to think about. Depths he had not yet come to terms with. ‘I know what I am doing, Sebastian.’
‘I hope so, Dominic.’ But Hunter did not look convinced.
A fortnight had passed when Arabella awoke with the sunlight streaming in through a crack in the curtains. The bed was still warm from Dominic’s presence although he had left before dawn, as he did every morning. Whatever else Dominic was, at least he was discreet.
From the chamber above she heard the scurry of little footsteps. Archie. She smiled as she pulled on her dressing gown and went to find her son and her mother.
‘You two slugabeds had best get yourselves up and readied, for today we are going out.’
‘Is that such a good idea?’ Mrs Tatton glanced round at her in surprise.
‘I have heard tell of a wonderful new apothecary in Oxford Street who can mix the best of liniments for the joints. Besides, we have not been out of the house since our outing to the park and such confinement is not good for Archie, or for you. The weather is fine and an outing will do us all good.’
‘What if we are seen by your gentleman while we are out?’ said Mrs Tatton.
‘We will be very careful. And he hates shopping.’ She doubted Dominic had changed in that respect. ‘I cannot think that we would meet him in the apothecary.’
‘But after that last time, when he almost caught us … My stomach has been sick with nerves.’
‘We will make sure we return here in plenty of time.’ Arabella placed a reassuring hand on her mother’s shoulder. ‘Please come, Mama. I think it would do you good. And I promise you, nothing will go wrong.’ Arabella felt a shiver of foreboding as soon as the words had left her mouth. She turned to her son, and lifted him on to her knee. ‘What say you, Archie? I thought we might visit Gunter’s for some ices before the apothecary.’
‘Oh, can we, Mama?’ His eyes shone with excitement.
She kissed Archie’s cheek and then her mother’s. ‘Chop chop, then,’ she said with a smile.
There really was very little chance of something going wrong, she told herself again and again, but that stubborn feeling of unease sat right there in her stomach and refused to shift.
She would only later learn that the feeling was called instinct and that she should have listened to it.
Chapter Ten
‘I am so glad that you persuaded me to come. It is a lovely day and Archie is having such a fine time.’ Her mother smiled as she and Arabella strolled along arm in arm, with Archie running before them breathless with excitement.
‘Ooh, do look at that display, Arabella!’ Mrs Tatton pulled Arabella over to admire the array of perfume bottles in the shop window. ‘All the way from Paris and with matching scented soaps. How lovely.’
‘This is the place of which I was speaking to you of—the apothecary who is highly recommended. Gemmell was telling me that he bought some liniment for the stiffness in his joints and it has worked wonders for him. And Cook swore that a tonic brought her sister back to health when she was dreadfully weakened following a fever. I was thinking we could buy some remedy for you, Mama.’
‘If you think it would help.’
‘There will be no hurt in trying.’ Arabella raised her eyebrows. ‘And perhaps we might treat ourselves to some of that fine French soap while we are on the premises.’
Mrs Tatton laughed. And when Archie copied her, even though he did not understand what his grandmother was laughing about, Arabella could not help but join in.
The bell rang as they entered through the door, making the women who were standing in the middle of the shop floor beside a display of glass bottles glance round and notice Arabella and her family. The bottles which the women were inspecting were the same expensive Parisian perfumes as displayed in the shop’s window. On seeing that Arabella was no one that they knew, the ladies ignored her and went back to choosing their perfume. Arabella watched them taking great pains over sniffing the scents that the shop assistant had touched to their hands using a variety of thin glass wands.
Two of the women were older; Arabella would guess of an age similar to her own mother’s. But they were as haughty as Mrs Tatton was not. One look at their faces and Arabella could not help but draw a less-than-flattering conclusion as to their characters. The third woman was much younger, barely more than a girl. In contrast to the older women, one of whom Arabella was sure was the girl’s mother due to a faint family resemblance, the girl seemed very quiet and eager to please.
‘What do you mean, you like the sandalwood, Marianne?’ demanded one of the formidable matrons. ‘It is quite unsuitable for a young lady. Whatever would Sarah say were she to receive that as her birthday gift?’ The matron looked quickly to her companion. ‘Forgive Marianne, Lady Fothergill, she can be such a silly goose at times. I am quite certain that she will admit that the rose fragrance is quite the most appropriate scent for her friend, albeit one of the most expensive choices.’
Arabella felt a pang of compassion for the girl. Life with a mother like that could not be easy, she thought as she turned her attention back to the apothecary who had arrived at the counter to serve them.
In the background she could hear the drone of the women’s conversation, but Arabella was not listening. Rather she was concentrating on showing the apothecary her mother’s hands and explaining about her mother’s lungs. He suggested a warming liniment for Mrs Tatton’s joints and a restorative tonic for her lungs, and disappeared off into the back of the shop to prepare them.
Mrs Tatton fitted her gloves back on while they waited and Arabella looked down at Archie. He was crouched by her side making his little wooden horse, Charlie, gallop around his feet and clicking quiet horsy noises to himself. Arabella smiled at the look of absorption upon his face. It was then that she heard the name ‘Arlesford’ spoken as clear as a bell. She tensed and could not help but listen in to the women’s conversation.
‘Close your ears, Lady Marianne, this is not talk for you,’ one of the women was saying.
‘Yes, Lady Fothergill,’ said the girl, and Arabella resisted the urge to turn around and see if Lady Marianne had actually put her hands over her own ears. Then in lower quieter tones as if it were the greatest secret, Lady Fothergill continued, ‘I am afraid I have to tell you the latest word, my poor dear, but they say that he has a mistress, and not just any mistress, one he bought from a bordello. Can you imagine?’
Arabella felt her blood run cold. She tried to keep her face clear and unaffected. The apothecary returned carrying a dark blue bottle and a small brown jar and placed them both down upon the counter.
‘Might we also view your perfumed soaps, the ones that you have displayed in the front window?’ she managed, and the smile fixed upon her face was broad and false.
‘This is such a treat, Arabella,’ said her mother.
‘Yes.’ Arabella nodded, still smiling, but almost the whole of her attention was focused on the conversation taking place behind her.
The other woman’s voice stiffened with a defensive tone. ‘Lady Fothergill, gentlemen will have their little foibles, but Arlesford is a duke and he knows his duty. I am sure that he will make a good husband.’
Arabella saw her mother’s ears prick up at the mention again of Dominic’s name and her stomach clenched all the tighter. She felt Mrs Tatton nudge her arm in a not altogether subtle way, and then her mother gestured with her eyes in the direction of the women behind them.
Arabella gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement to show that she understood the message.
‘So is he still interested in Lady Marianne, Lady Misbourne?’
Arabella felt her blood run cold. Misbourne? An image of the masked bearded man from Vauxhall garden flashed in her mind, and she remembered the anger that had simmered within Dominic at their meeting, and his glib reply when she had asked who Misbourne was. No wonder he was so put out; meeting one’s prospective father-in-law with your mistress on your arm was hardly the done thing.
The apothecary returned with the soaps, but Arabella and her mother were still listening intently. Arabella heard Mrs Tatton ask him to unwrap each soap that they might compare the smells, but Arabella could not move. She was frozen, holding her breath while she strained to hear Lady Misbourne’s answer.
‘Let us just say,’ said Lady Misbourne, her voice less friendly than it had been at the start of her conversation with Lady Fothergill, ‘that we are expecting an offer in the not-too-distant future. But that little piece of news is for your ears only, Lady Fothergill,’
‘Of course,’ said Lady Fothergill and there was something in the silky way that she said it that Arabella knew Lady Misbourne’s news concerning Dominic and her daughter would be all around London by tomorrow. ‘I think I shall choose the jasmine, Lady Misbourne. It is so exotic and so very expensive.’
The apothecary was clearing his throat and she felt her mother give her arm a little shake.
‘Arabella, you are wool-gathering.’ Mrs Tatton gave a false little laugh and slipped a hand to cover the white shining knuckles of Arabella’s hands where she was gripping so tightly to the counter. ‘I have come over a little unwell, my dear. Would you mind terribly if we were to come back for the soaps another day?’
Bless you, Mama. Bless your kindness, when her mother did not even know the full extent of the shock.
‘Not at all,’ Arabella said and then searched in her reticule for her purse to pay the apothecary. Her hands were trembling slightly in her haste to be gone and she set the money quickly down upon the counter, hoping that the apothecary would not notice. With the jar and bottle wrapped up in paper and tied with a handle of string, she took hold of Archie’s hand and followed her mother out of the shop.
‘Arabella, do not even think about that man. He is not worthy of it. From what I saw in there Dominic Furneaux is moving in all the right circles and most deservedly so I say. I wish him unhappy,’ Mrs Tatton said, pure venom in her voice. She tucked Arabella’s free hand into the crook of her arm. ‘Now, we will not let their words bother us.’
‘Indeed we will not,’ said Arabella resolutely but she felt numb and chilled to the marrow and her mind was still reeling from what she had heard. Dominic was to marry. It should not have been such a very great shock. He was a duke. It was his duty to beget an heir, but she felt sick at the thought. Sick to the pit of her stomach at the memories those words stirred.
Her mother hurried her along the street and she just wanted to get away from this place and those women.
She heard the shop door-bell ring behind them.
‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ The girl’s voice was tentative and as gentle and unassuming as her mother’s was harsh and arrogant. Arabella did not need to turn round to know that it was Lady Marianne who had come out behind them. Lady Misbourne’s daughter. The girl that Dominic was to marry.
Arabella did not want to look round. She wanted to keep on walking, to run away from this nightmare. But her mother had already stopped and turned.
Arabella had no choice.
‘Your little boy, he left this behind.’ There in the girl’s outstretched pink gloved hand was little wooden Charlie.
Lady Marianne was short and slender. A few fair curls that had escaped her pins peeped from the straw of her bonnet. She was dressed in an expensive pink walking dress and pelisse overloaded with lace and ribbon, chosen by Lady Misbourne Arabella guessed. But the outfit did little to detract from the girl’s beauty; her sweet face was stunning. Her skin had the smooth creamy opalescence of youth, her features were fine and neat, and her eyes were large and a deep dark brown.
‘Thank you,’ Arabella said with a smile that would not touch her eyes no matter how hard she tried to make it, and she took the little wooden horse from the girl’s hand.
‘Thank very much, miss,’ said Archie politely so that even given the strain of the situation, she was proud of him and his manners.
Lady Misbourne’s daughter smiled at Archie. ‘You are very welcome,’ she said to him kindly. ‘He looks as if he is a very special horse.’
‘Oh, he is,’ said Archie. ‘Gemmell made him for my birthday, and my mama took me to the park and let me and Charlie ride upon a real horse.’
‘That is quite enough, Archie. I am sure that the lady is too busy for your stories.’
‘Oh, not at all,’ said Lady Marianne shyly. ‘He is such a sweet boy.’
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