To Pleasure a Lady (Courtship Wars)

“Regrettably, no. I doubt anything could daunt you.”

Casually, Marcus slid down from the table and crossed to where she stood. Arabella felt her pulse quicken at the intimate look he was giving her, at the heat in his gaze that sparked a responsive heat in every part of her body.

“Come with me outside, Belle. We’ll walk down to the river.”

“I shouldn’t,” she replied, even as she felt her defenses weakening.

“Craven,” he teased softly. His eyes glint

ed wickedly, making her heart pound harder.

Determined to resist his seductive charm, she lifted her chin. “I am only being wise. You know what will happen if I come with you.”

“I know what I want to happen. But whatever we do will be solely at your discretion.”

Raising his hand, Marcus stroked a thumb over her bottom lip. The frisson of fire that streaked through Arabella at that simple touch made her quiver.

And that was before his voice lowered to a sensual murmur. “A fighting chance to win you, Arabella. That is all I’ve ever asked from you. If you lock yourself away in your chaste bedchamber with your sisters as watchdogs, how can I possibly convince you to marry me?”

She felt her willpower wilting. Marcus was devilishly irresistible and he knew it. “My sisters cannot find out,” Arabella said finally.

He smiled. “I certainly won’t tell them.”

“Mrs. Simpkin may suspect what we are about.”

“Mrs. Simpkin is very discreet. And she approves of my courtship, remember?”

His thumb dipped inside her mouth, making her breath catch and her wits scatter. Arabella felt the last of her resistance melt away. Marcus was likely to have his way in the end in any case, so she might as well give in with good grace. Besides, what harm could result if she was with him one more time?

“Very well,” she said against her better judgment. “I will come with you this once.”

The slow smile he gave her was brilliant as he offered her his hand. “Come, we’ll sneak out the back entrance in order to foil your sisters.”

Arabella couldn’t help but laugh. “How dignified for a belted earl to be slinking around his own estate,” she said, taking his hand.

“Indeed,” Marcus agreed dryly. “But I am forced to employ desperate measures. Now keep your voice down. I don’t want anyone to hear us.”

He led her out the rear kitchen door, which opened onto the herb garden, and from there to the main gardens. Arabella stifled a laugh as they wended their way through the neat rows of shrubs and beds of flowers toward the rear of the manor. She felt deliciously wicked, sneaking out of the house with her lover, yet she couldn’t summon any regrets. All her good sense had fled, but all her senses had come alive. The night was lovely, silver-bright with moonlight and fresh with the sweet scents of spring.

It was her aching awareness of the man beside her, however, that filled her with anticipation and excitement and need.

When they reached the terraced lawns, Marcus drew her closer and bent to whisper in her ear. “I feel like a schoolboy playing truant…except that no schoolboy was ever this painfully swollen.”

He guided her fingers to the enormous bulge in his breeches, and Arabella shivered. Knowing how much he wanted her roused a pulsing ache between her thighs and left her breathless with her own longing.

In unspoken agreement, they quickened their pace until they reached the line of trees that flanked the river and sheltered them from sight of the manor. They had to slow as they pushed through a glade, but the moment they came out into the moonlight again, Marcus halted and dragged Arabella against him, seizing her mouth in a fierce possession.

Their kiss exploded in a passionate blaze. The heat he generated ignited sparks in Arabella’s blood, filling her with savage hunger. She wanted him with a ferocity that shocked her.

Desperate to touch him, she reached down and fumbled at the front placket of his breeches. Marcus inhaled sharply at her boldness, but then hastened to help her, almost ripping at the buttons in order to free his rigid length.

It was Arabella’s turn to inhale when she saw the dark, pulsing shaft thrust proudly out from his sleek loins.

“Come here,” he demanded.

She obeyed, needing no further urging.

Swiftly, he raised her skirts to her waist and cupped the silken curls between her thighs. She was already shamelessly wet for him, and his eyes flared darkly in response. She could see his face in the moonlight-hard, beautiful, taut with desire-and knew the same desire was written on her features as he probed her feminine folds.