Courtship Wars: To Pleasure A Lady Part 3

By now Arabella was clearly biting her tongue. "Forgive me if I gave you that impression, my lord. I know you don't mean it as an insult-"

"You cannot be foolish enough to turn down five thousand pounds each."

"Actually I can-" Suddenly she broke off and gave a rueful laugh. The husky, sultry sound raked his nerve endings with pleasure. "No, I won't allow you to provoke me, my lord. I came here this morning determined to be pleasant."

Marcus found himself staring at her ripe, tempting mouth before he shook himself. Arabella was speaking again, he realized.

"Perhaps you see our decision as inexplicable, Lord Danvers, but my sisters and I do not choose to marry."

"Why not?" When she failed to answer, Marcus hazarded a guess. "I suppose it has to do with the example your parents set."

"It does," Arabella admitted grudgingly. "Our parents were determined to make each other's lives miserable and fought at every opportunity. After the acrimony we witnessed growing up, is it any wonder we have an aversion to arranged marriages?"

Marcus felt more than a measure of sympathy. "I'm familiar with the sentiment. My own parents were scarcely any more congenial."

At his softer tone, she searched his face for a long moment. But then she dragged her gaze away to focus on a pool of sunlight streaming through the nearest window. "In any case, we have no need to marry. We have sufficient incomes now to support ourselves."

"Incomes?"

"If you had troubled yourself to read my letters, you would know about our academy."

"I did read your letters."

She glanced pointedly at him. "But you were not courteous enough to respond. You merely instructed your solicitors to deal with me."

"Guilty as charged. But to my credit, I intended to call upon you next week."

When he smiled winningly, Arabella drew a sharp breath. After a moment, she took another tack.

"Come now, Lord Danvers. You don't want responsibility for us, admit it."

Marcus couldn't bring himself to lie. "Very well, it's true, I don't want it."

"Then why don't you simply forget about us?"

"I doubt anyone who has ever met you," Marcus said dryly, "could simply forget you, Miss Loring."

When she gave him a piercing look, he sighed. "You are my responsibility now, whether either of us likes it, and I won't abandon my duty to see to your welfare. You'll find I'm not such an ogre. And I'm wealthy enough to fund your dowries."

That made her chin lift. "I tell you, we won't accept your charity. Our academy allows us adequate financial independence."

Admittedly, learning of her academy had roused Marcus's curiosity. "I understand this academy of yours is a finis.h.i.+ng school?"

"Of a sort. We teach comportment and manners and correct speech to wealthy young women who were not born to the Quality."

"The daughters of the working cla.s.s, in other words. How very unique you are, Miss Loring."

Her gaze narrowed. "You are making sport of me."

"Perhaps." Actually he wasn't. He truly thought it admirable that Arabella and her sisters had found an occupation to support themselves, unlike almost every other lady of their station, who wouldn't be caught dead employed in menial labor. But he couldn't help wanting to provoke her, if only for the pleasure of seeing those beautiful gray eyes kindle again.

"And your sisters teach there as well?" Marcus asked leadingly.

"Yes, as do two other ladies who are friends of mine. Our patroness is Lady Freemantle. It was at her *

request that we opened the school three years ago. Are you acquainted with her? Her late husband was a baronet, Sir Rupert Freemantle."

Marcus nodded. "I know her. But I'm not certain it is fitting for my wards to be employed at a school, no matter how refined. You realize that as your guardian, I will have to approve your partic.i.p.ation?"

Arabella eyed him warily. "I a.s.sure you, it is a perfectly respectable endeavor."

"Some would call your opinions bluestocking nonsense."

It was very bad of him to goad her like that, but the pleasure of seeing her spirited reaction was too great to resist.

She seemed, however, to recognize his purpose. "You won't provoke me into losing my temper, my lord."

"No?"

When he took a step closer, she froze, staring up at him as if she found him fascinating. But then she straightened her spine and stood her ground, her gaze direct and challenging. Marcus had the sudden savage urge to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the nearest bed.

He'd never had such a primal reaction to a woman before-b.l.o.o.d.y inappropriate, considering that she was his ward.

Arabella drew a slower breath, clearly striving for equanimity, as he was. "I don't believe your mental ac.u.men is impaired, my lord. Why is it so difficult for you to accept that we don't wish to be under your thumb? That we don't want your financial a.s.sistance? You are under no obligation to support us."

"The will says differently."

"Then I will hire my own solicitors to contest the will."

"How can you afford it? You don't have the where-withal to contest my guardians.h.i.+p in court."

"Our patroness will help us. Lady Freemantle does not believe that women should be compelled to marry, and she has promised us her support. She is not as wealthy as you, of course, but her father left her a fortune from his manufacturing and mining enterprises."

"It should prove an interesting contest," Marcus said amiably, crossing his arms over his chest.

His languid smile finally succeeded in igniting her temper. "You cannot force us to accept your settlements!"

"No, I suppose not. But once the size of your dowries becomes known, you will have suitors throwing themselves at your feet and hounding my door to offer for you."

Her gloved fists clenched as she advanced toward him, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng dangerously. "You won't succeed in selling us, your lords.h.i.+p! It is outrageous that grown women are treated as mere property, no better than livestock. We are not broodmares to be hawked to the highest bidder!"

Judging by her impa.s.sioned speech, he had struck a nerve. There was fire in her eyes-a fire that filled him with admiration and attraction.

"It seems true after all," he murmured, totally intrigued by the way Arabella was glaring daggers at him.

"What is true?"

"That eyes can actually give off sparks. Yours are bright as fireworks."

It was that provocative remark that drove her temper over the edge. The growling sound she made deep in her throat was that of a taunted lioness-a low, dangerous rumble. "I have tried my utmost to remain patient," she began. Marching past him to the table, Arabella swept up his rapier and returned to face him, bringing the tip directly against his chest.

"I was determined to use reason to convince you, and if that failed, I hoped to prevail on your better nature. Evidently you don't have one!"

Utterly fascinated now, Marcus raised his hands slowly in surrender. "I make it a point never to argue with an armed female."

"Good! Then you will promise me that you will abandon this ridiculous notion of marrying us off."

"I fear I can't make any such promise under duress, sweeting."

"You can and you will!"

"No." Despite his fascination, he was not about to be threatened into doing anyone's bidding. But then his gaze fixed on Arabella's face...the smooth ivory texture of her skin, her ripe mouth.... He was struck with the fiercest urge to kiss her, which was astonis.h.i.+ng, since he was not ordinarily a rash man. "Go ahead, do your worst, love."

Clenching her teeth, radiating frustration, she raised the point of the foil to the vulnerable hollow of his throat, but there she stopped.

It was a stand-off, one Marcus was not prepared to endure much longer. When she continued to hesitate, his fingers closed around her gloved ones and slowly, inexorably pushed the tip away from his throat.

Although the immediate danger was over, he kept possession of her hand, shackling her wrist as he stepped closer. His gaze dropped again to the tempting line of her lips.

Her beautiful face was turned up to his, and when she nervously moistened her lips, he fought the fierce desire to capture them with his own.

Despite the warning voice shouting in his head, Marcus found himself drawing Arabella even nearer, pulling her against him, until their bodies brushed. The feeling that sparked between them when he felt the sweet press of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s was hot enough to singe him.

Her eyes flared then with a different emotion, while his senses avidly relayed the excitement of touching her.

She felt warm and intensely vital. Intensely alive. Her feminine softness raised every primal male instinct he possessed.

It was all he could do to keep control of himself. "The next time you threaten a man, Miss Loring," he advised in a voice that was suddenly husky, "make certain you are prepared to carry it through."

With another small cry of frustration, she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from his grasp and stepped back. "I will take note next time, your lords.h.i.+p."

Marcus was startled by how badly he wanted there to be a next time. He watched as Arabella tossed down the rapier, where it clattered on the floor.

"You should be glad I am too much of a lady to run you through," she declared. With that she spun on her heel and stalked to the door. But then she paused to shoot a darkling glance over her shoulder. "If you want a battle, Lord Danvers, I promise I will give you one."

Chapter Two.

I have finally met the earl and he is even more vexing than I antic.i.p.ated.

-Arabella Loring to f.a.n.n.y Irwin Her gaze was challenge incarnate, a challenge Marcus couldn't resist. When he took a step closer, however, Miss Loring promptly quit the room. He followed her out to the corridor and stared after her, totally bemused.

She brushed past his two friends, who were cooling their heels in the corridor, and crossed to the entrance hall, where his butler hurriedly opened the front door for her.

When she swept out, Marcus suppressed the urge to give chase. Yet the tantalizing encounter had left him hungry for more of her.

"Your mouth is agape, old son," Heath observed, clearly amused.

Marcus clamped his mouth shut, yet he couldn't deny the truth of the accusation. Arabella Loring had left him with all his primal male instincts aroused.

Shaking his head in bafflement, he returned to the salon and proceeded to pour himself a generous ale, then sank pensively onto the leather couch, contemplating his intense reaction to his eldest ward.

His friends followed suit and settled in nearby chairs. Heath was the first to speak. "You didn't tell us Miss Loring was stunning, Marcus."

"Because I didn't know." His solicitors had advised him to expect a beauty, but they hadn't warned him about her vibrancy, her inner fire, or he might have been better prepared to face her.

"She certainly set you back on your heels," Drew commented, his tone edged with sardonic humor.

"From what we heard, she threatened to unman you. You were right-you have a virago on your hands."

"No," Heath disagreed. "More like an Amazon or a Valkyrie." His tone was rather admiring.

"I prefer a bit more calm in a female," Drew drawled.

"Not I," Heath replied. "A pity you sent us out of the room, Marcus. I would have liked to witness the fireworks."

Fireworks was exactly what he'd felt with Arabella, Marcus thought, bemused.

"You still look confounded," Drew added more seriously.

Marcus nodded his head in agreement. He'd never before experienced that instantaneous, powerful feeling of attraction. Just being near Arabella had ignited a spark of desire in him.

Which was remarkably novel. He'd known countless beautiful women before. h.e.l.l, he'd enjoyed more than his fair share of beauties. So what made his eldest ward so different? The fact that she hadn't fawned over him? That she wasn't eager to please and gratify him as every other woman was?

"Perhaps," he rationalized, "I was just taken aback because she was so unexpected."

"There's no doubt she will prove challenging," Heath said needlessly.

She would indeed, Marcus thought, remembering Arabella's parting declaration of war. Elementally challenging. Irresistibly intriguing. The image of her flas.h.i.+ng gray eyes and red-gold hair would be hard to forget.

He took a long drink of ale. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising that his interest had been acutely aroused by an elegant spitfire like Arabella. For months now all his usual pursuits had seemed deadly dull. And he'd been excruciatingly bored by all the women chasing him, ladies and lightskirts alike.

"So just how do you intend to manage the fiery Miss Arabella?" Drew asked.