Duke of Arrogance, page 12
Her father looked up and spied her. “Ah, Arabella, do come in. His Grace is here.”
The duke rose as she approached. “It’s nice to see you again, my lady, especially turned out in such a lovely gown.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Even though she’d already put on her gloves, she could feel the heat of his fingers burn through them. She blinked, trying to stay focused.
And wary.
“You look well turned out yourself, Your Grace. I hope you and Papa have had a pleasant conversation.”
“We have, my dear. His Grace was telling me about his horses. I used to love to ride but had no reason—or enough income—to maintain one in Oxford. We lived close to the university and walked to it daily,” he told Blackmore.
The duke addressed Arabella. “I was telling your father that if he is in need of quality horseflesh, I would be happy to accompany him to Tattersall’s on Hyde Park Corner.”
“I explained to the duke that I had inherited my brother’s stable of horses both here and in Wiltshire. They seem adequate to me.”
“I would be happy to look over the ones in your mews and advise you,” Blackmore said.
“That’s very decent of you, Your Grace.”
“In the meantime, will you excuse us? The park gets crowded as five o’clock approaches.”
“And I have strict instructions from my maid to return by six o’clock in order to prepare for tonight’s ball.”
Blackmore offered his arm. “Then we had better take advantage of the time we have. Good day, Lord Barrington.”
Arabella noticed how firm his arm was beneath her fingers. His tailored clothes allowed her to see how well-built he truly was. She remembered he mentioned that he boxed and, for a moment, she longed to see him stripped to the waist, all those lovely muscles on display.
They went outside and she saw a fancy vehicle at the pavement in front of the townhouse, which she assumed was the height of fashion.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes. It’s my barouche.”
“I don’t think the previous earl had one of these. It’s very sleek. And your horses are so well matched.”
“They are bays I purchased from Tattersall’s. Come, let’s get you in.”
He helped her up and climbed in beside her. Arabella turned over her shoulder. “Does that come over us?”
“Yes, the hood is collapsible. Since it turned out to be such a fine day, I decided to push it back for a better view.”
He took up the reins and eased away from the curb, heading toward Hyde Park. As they went, he pointed out the sights to her. A bookstore he frequented. A tearoom his sister favored. The place where he had his boots made. By the time they reached the park, her previous nerves had calmed and she realized she was enjoying herself.
Turning into the park, she saw the road lined with carriages.
“How many people are here?” she asked, amazed so many vehicles clogged the road.
“It is the fashionable hour and place to be seen,” he said. “We will have to stop and visit several times.”
He was right. They barely went ten feet before he stopped the vehicle. This occurred over and over. After half an hour, she said, “Enough. You have introduced me to so many people, my head is spinning. I will never keep all their names straight. At least I am good with faces, though.”
Blackmore turned down a side road less traveled. “Did you recognize any who were rude to you at your first ball?”
“Yes. I took the high road and was coolly polite to them.”
He roared with laughter. “That’s what I like about being in your company, Lady Arabella. You are refreshingly honest. Never boring.”
“Ought we be getting back?” she asked, noting the traffic had thinned some.
“We will. I’m taking what would be termed the long way. Although with so many carriages on the main path, this way will most likely take less time.”
“There won’t be any stopping, will there?”
“Why? Do you need to stop?”
“No. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off and she sensed her cheeks pinkening. She seemed to do nothing but blush around the duke.
He laughed. “Oh, I see. Your lady’s maid warned you off.”
Arabella sniffed. “I did come driving with you. Even if you are a well-known rake. But yes, Annie did expressly tell me to keep within view of others and inside the carriage at all times. Or barouche. I do like the sound of that word. It rolls off the tongue.”
Blackmore groaned beside her.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
“Nothing that won’t be corrected by this evening,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Do you remember you’re to reserve the supper dance for me?”
“I will this time since you’ve asked so nicely. In the future, though, you will have to sign my programme as the other gentlemen do. Assuming they’ll sign.”
“Oh, I am sure a horde will beat their path to you at any ball you choose to attend.” He paused. “Did you have many callers this afternoon?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she said smartly.
“Didn’t your father tell you what we spoke of the other night?”
Arabella began fidgeting. “I am not sure what you mean.”
He chuckled. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean, Arabella.”
She sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t call me by my Christian name. It isn’t proper. You slip and do so at times.”
Blackmore glanced at her. The heat in his eyes startled her and she gasped.
“I never slip, my lady. Especially where you are concerned. And I am speaking about my interest in courting you. Which you knew that was what I meant.”
She glanced away, unnerved by what she’d seen in his eyes. “Papa said it was my choice to let you court me or not.”
“He did, did he?”
“I am sure you are not used to anyone refusing you anything but—”
“There’ll be no buts, Arabella. I am going to court you. You are going to allow it. I’ll even allow you to play at talking with others, thinking it will make me jealous.”
“You’ll allow me? Did you really say that, Blackmore?”
“You may call me Jon when we are alone like this. It’s short for Jonathan.”
“I will call you the Devil Himself if I choose,” she said angrily. “You have no rights or control over me. I will speak to whomever I wish. Whenever I wish. I will dance with the men I want to. Or I won’t dance at all. It is my choice. Mine. Mine alone.”
He turned the horses and they came out of the park. Silence reigned between them until they reached her home. Blackmore jumped to the ground and then grasped her waist, lowering her to the pavement.
And kept his hands there.
“Let go,” she said firmly.
“I apologize,” he said. “I was wrong to say what I did to you.”
His words mollified her slightly but he needed to release her. Those large hands covered far too much of her. And his thumbs had started stroking her. Stroking her—in broad daylight! They danced along her ribcage, coming perilously close to the bottom curve of her breasts.
“I accept your apology,” she said briskly. “I must go inside now to prepare for tonight’s ball.”
“Arabella.” His voice was tender. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”
She forced herself to look him in the eyes. She did see regret—and something else. It was the something else that made her shiver. Or those maddening thumbs.
“I am not angry,” she said evenly. “I will see you this evening. Please, Your Grace, release me.”
His hands left her. Suddenly, she felt a yawning emptiness and wished he’d put them back on her. Anywhere on her. Everywhere on her.
Offering her his arm, he escorted her to the open front door, where the butler now stood. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon her fingers.
“Until tonight.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jon tapped his foot as Elizabeth sailed down the stairs.
“I thought you would never be ready,” he complained, taking her arm and escorting her to the waiting carriage.
“You don’t have to be so grumpy,” she admonished. “Besides, I am actually ready early tonight. Whenever have you been worried about arriving at a ball on time?”
Her grin, though, told him she knew exactly why he was out of sorts.
He had blundered badly this afternoon with Arabella. He knew he could act in a high-handed manner and it had come back to haunt him with his remark regarding whom Arabella could speak with. She was right. He had no hold on her.
Yet.
Perhaps he should go ahead and declare his intentions and see that no one else tried to claim her. That wouldn’t be fair to her, though. She was new at all of the social swirl. Her confidence had been badly damaged with the way she had been treated on the opening night of the Season. She needed to have time to recover it and enjoy herself. He would keep a careful watch upon her and if he saw any gentlemen becoming too close, he would step in and see that the man made himself scarce. After all, he was a duke. No lower-ranking gentleman would dare cross him if he made known that he’d set his sights upon Arabella.
They arrived at the ball and he left Elizabeth at the receiving line, too impatient to wait through it in case Arabella was already inside the ballroom. He was glad he skipped it because she was, talking to two gentlemen. Quickly, Jon strode over. His presence alone caused the other two suitors to give her a quick goodbye.
“You needn’t have frightened them away, Your Grace. I have already written your name beside the supper dance.”
“Can I help it if they are intimidated by me?”
She batted her lashes coyly at him. “Well, you are a duke. They would be regardless of the circumstances.”
“Are you still angry with me?” he asked bluntly.
She considered his question, leaving him nervous. “I was put out with you. You can be overbearing at times.”
“I know. I will work on that. For you.”
Her cheeks filled with color. He wanted to kiss her, here and now, but it would lead to a scandal so great they would have to wed by special license by week’s end if he did so. Instead, he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“I will see you later this evening, my lady,” he said and took his leave.
Jon didn’t bother asking for dances with any other women. The ton would notice, of course. Let them. He passed Lady Walton and nodded courteously. She glared at him and turned away. He wasn’t in favor of making enemies and Lady Walton was not one to have, with her vicious tongue and love of spreading gossip. He saw no way of making any kind of amends between them, other than going to her bed, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do. Already, he felt a deep loyalty to Arabella. He knew once wed that he would never stray.
But could he learn to love her? That was the question. He was amused by her. Intrigued with her. Taken with her beauty and grace. Love, though, was some ephemeral thing. He decided they didn’t need it. They would have passion. Desire. The strong physical attraction which he knew smoldered between them would only grow once they consummated their marriage. Jon was certain Arabella would suit his every need.
He went to the card room and promptly lost both hands to her father. Lord Barrington gave him an apologetic look as he raked in his winnings.
“I see Fortune still keeps company with you, my lord,” he told the earl. “I think I will leave before I lose anything further to you.”
He rose and Lord Farrow immediately took his seat, ignoring Jon. He retrieved a brandy and talked to a few acquaintances and then found himself going back to the ballroom. It was far too early to do so but he itched to see the men Arabella danced with.
A scotch reel was just finishing and he spied her, her cheeks flushed with color from the exertion. What troubled him was that Lord Kenyon, a known rake, took her arm and guided her from the dance floor. They must have partnered for the reel. Anger seethed within him and multiplied a thousandfold as he saw Kenyon usher her through the French doors that led to the balcony. While he knew the viscount must have suggested some fresh air after such exertion, Jon knew the man would take the opportunity to kiss Arabella.
That wasn’t going to happen.
He would be the first and last man she ever kissed. Jon realized that jealousy, an unfamiliar emotion, rippled through him. He had never experienced it before but he recognized it for what it was as he hurried toward the doors and stepped into the cool evening with its light breeze. He glanced from left to right and spied the swirl of mint skirts that Arabella wore, hurrying after them.
The viscount had led her to the far end of the balcony and now placed his hands on Arabella’s bare shoulders.
Rage seethed through him but Jon stepped forward and calmly said, “Ah, there you are, my lady.”
Her eyes were large as she recognized him. Kenyon turned and blanched. Jon assumed the viscount was remembering their boxing bout of a month ago, where he had left Kenyon with a blackened eye and broken nose.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Lord Kenyon said. “You were looking for Lady Arabella?”
“Yes. I was.” He glared at the rake and Kenyon mumbled something before curtly nodding to Arabella and fleeing.
“Why did you scare him off?” she demanded. “We were merely taking in some air.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders as Kenyon had and squeezed briefly. Her eyes widened and she licked her lips.
“The viscount didn’t bring you out here for air, Arabella. He meant to kiss you.”
“He did?”
Oh, her naivety was charming—but it would land her in trouble. Jon had planned to kiss her tonight and decided he should do so immediately, the better to give her something to think about.
He slid his hands along her shoulders and slowly down her arms, seeing her shiver. He laced his fingers through one of her hands and said, “Come along.”
He took her further into the shadows to the edge of the balcony, where a set of stone steps led down to the lawn. He knew they were there because he’d used them before, taking more than one woman to the place nestled underneath this balcony. It had included Lady Walton, which left him feeling awkward for a moment, but he would create a new, lasting memory with Arabella.
Their first kiss.
Only a glimmer of moonlight reached this nook. He released her hand and slipped an arm about her waist. His hand seized her chin.
“Have you ever been kissed, Arabella?”
“No.” Her voice was but a whisper.
“Then it is about time we remedied that.”
He bent and touched his lips to hers. He had to remind himself to hold back. She had never been kissed before. Despite the fact that blood pounded in his ears and he felt like some eager schoolboy wanting to gobble her up, he knew he must practice restraint. He forced himself to merely brush his lips against her soft, pliant ones, allowing her to get used to him. He cupped her cheek as he kissed her, marveling at the soft, floral scent that wafted from her skin.
She sighed and he pressed harder against her lips, his arm tightening about her waist, pulling her closer. His thumb caressed her cheek as he kissed her over and over. Her palms slid to his chest and captured his coat, bunching it as she pressed near. Jon sensed she was ready for more. He flicked his tongue, touching her bottom lip, allowing it to glide back and forth. She made a sweet sound and he began outlining her lips with his tongue. She shivered and clung to him.
Gently, he ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, urging her to open to him. Like a flower opening to the morning sun, she did.
Heaven lay inside her mouth.
She must have sipped on ratafia at some point this evening for he tasted it on her, a mixture of lemon peel and nutmeg and, of course, cinnamon. His tongue swept along hers, drawing on that sweetness, teasing the roof of her mouth. He moved his hand from her cheek to her nape, steadying her and tilting her head for better access. Jon drank of the nectar that was Arabella, his hand caressing the small of her back. The little noises in her throat grew louder and he groaned, deepening the kiss. Her heady floral perfume drove him mad as her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. God, how he wanted to strip the dress from her and suckle them!
He kept from doing so and slowly retreated, gentling the kiss before finally breaking it. He gazed down at her and saw the dazed expression she wore.
She looked up at him in wonder. “People kiss . . . with their tongues?”
He chuckled. “I suppose your mother didn’t tell you that.”
Arabella’s eyes widened. “I doubt she knew of it. I cannot imagine her . . . and Papa . . . oh, my.”
Her innocence touched his heart and he couldn’t stop himself. He kissed her again, sweetly at first and then softly biting into her full, bottom lip. He sucked on it and felt her tremble as her hands clung to his shoulders. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.
“So, how was your first kiss?” he asked quietly.
“It was perfect.”
“Good.” He gave her a hard, swift kiss, one so possessive that she had to know he branded her as his with it. “Be sure you don’t kiss any other gentleman.”
“Why would I? You do it so marvelously,” she said in wonder. “Perhaps we should kiss some more?”
Jon laughed. “No, my delectable little sweet.”
“Was I . . . did I . . . I mean . . . I didn’t really know what I was doing. I’m sorry if I didn’t please you.”
He kissed her lightly. “You did please me, Arabella. Very much. I have much to teach you about kissing but I believe you will catch on quickly. Just as you did the waltz.”
“When?”
“When what?”
“When will you teach me?” she asked eagerly.
“Soon.” He kissed her a final time. “We should return to the ballroom. You’ve probably missed your next partner.”
“I don’t care,” she declared. “Kissing is infinitely more fun than dancing—and I am one who has always loved to dance.”
