To Pleasure a Lady (Courtship Wars)

She was still fuming, however. “Your aunt’s attitude galls me. It seems the height of hypocrisy that single ladies are denounced for their sins when married ladies like your former paramour can have countless lovers and even commit adultery but are still received in society.”

He regarded her a long moment before finally exhaling. “I suppose you saw Julia.”

Arabella forced a taut smile. “If by ‘Julia,’ you mean Lady Eberly, then yes. I could hardly miss her.”

His expression was more sympathetic than defensive. “You needn’t concern yourself with her. I broke off our liaison three months ago.”

“Oh, indeed, that long ago?” Arabella commented sarcastically.

Marcus’s mouth tightened. “I am not a saint, Arabella. I never claimed to be. I’m a man with a healthy sexual appetite.”

She gave him an icy look. “I never supposed you to be a saint, but you claimed you were nothing like my father.”

“I am not like him.”

“No? Then why do you consort with married women, without any consideration for holy wedding vows, just as he did?”

Marcus was silent for a long moment. “My affair with her was a mistake,” he said quietly.

“So you say now, when you are trying to persuade me to accept your offer of marriage.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I intend to remain faithful to our wedding vows, Arabella. I would not take a mistress once we are married.”

“It makes no difference to me either way,” she lied. She turned to gaze out the window, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes. She couldn’t trust herself to believe Marcus’s promises.

Oh, he desired her physically, she knew that much. But carnal desire before marriage was a far cry from fidelity afterward. Their wager was all a game to him. As soon as he won, as soon as the chase was over and he had legally made her his countess, his interests could very well shift elsewhere. And she would be trapped in a loveless, heartless marriage just as her parents had been.

“You needn’t be jealous of Lady Eberly,” Marcus asserted when she remained silent.

Arabella’s tumultuous emotions reached a boiling point and she turned back to stare at him. “Jealous! I am not in the least bit jealous. I don’t care if you take a hundred lovers. Your affairs and infidelities are of no consequence to me, since I have absolutely no intention of accepting your proposal.”

“Arabella…” Marcus said, striving to contain his impatience. “Listen to me carefully, for I will only repeat this once. I won’t take any lovers after our marriage.”

Her expression remained obdurate. “Well, I would! If I did wed you, Marcus, I would certainly have a lover-perhaps more than one. I wouldn’t be content to remain at home like a dutiful wife while you catted about all over England.”

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