she knew that she had not pleased him during the weeks of her first Season…
But Hawk was the Duke of Stourbridge, a man looked up to and respected wherever he went, and Arabella was well aware that it was because of who her brother was, because of his title, that she had received at least half the marriage proposals that had been forthcoming during those weeks in London. The other suitors perhaps had genuinely believed themselves to be in love with her, but Arabella, determined to marry a man she admired and loved as much as her brothers, had felt unable to return the feelings of any of those men.
For the first time in her young life Arabella knew she had genuinely displeased her eldest brother. It was something that she had felt, still felt, dearly. But she had hoped to talk to Hawk once he returned to Mulberry Hall—to perhaps explain the reason for her refusals. And now, instead of being alone at Mulberry Hall with her eldest brother, Arabella found him accompanied by a single woman of quite breathtaking beauty!
Miss Jane Smith.
What was she, Arabella, supposed to make of such a strange occurrence? What was she supposed to make of Miss Jane Smith?
To Arabella’s way of thinking, Hawk had only added insult to injury by announcing that he had brought the other woman here to act as her companion!
Her brother raised a languid hand. ‘I am merely attempting to make conversation with you, Arabella—’ He broke off to look at her frowningly as she gave a hard laugh. ‘Have I said something to amuse you…?’
The hard glitter in his eyes told Arabella that he, at least, was not in the least amused!
She stood up impatiently. ‘I am sure that you recognise scorn when you hear it, Hawk. We are both aware that you never merely “make conversation”!’ She began to pace the hearth. ‘Whatever it is you wish to say to me, Hawk, please say it and stop prevaricating in this tortuous way!’
Hawk watched her from behind guarded lids, appreciating how much like their mother she looked at that moment, with the colour flaring in her cheeks and that sparkle in her eyes. The pale lemon-yellow gown she wore—not that garish yellow so unsuitable for Jane!—with its touches of cream lace, suited Arabella’s golden colouring perfectly, its becoming style proof once again, if he should need it, that Arabella was no longer a little girl to be cossetted and spoilt.
‘Very well, Arabella,’ he drawled hardly. ‘What I really want to know is did you arrange to meet anyone while you were out?’
‘Arrange to meet anyone?’ She frowned her puzzlement. ‘What—? Ah.’ A knowing smile curved her lips. ‘What you are really asking is if I happened to meet any single gentlemen whilst out alone and unchaperoned?’
Hawk pursed his lips consideringly. ‘It is a possibility that has occurred to me.’
‘Hawk, if you suspect me of having taken a lover then why do you not just say so?’
He could hear the slight trembling in his sister’s voice even as she issued the challenge, realising as he did so that he had pushed Arabella almost to the point of tears. He did not have to look far for the perpetrator of this new sensitivity within him to a woman’s emotions—Jane Smith had stormed his male defences in just this way too. More than once.
He sighed. ‘I am not making any such accusation, Arabella—’
‘Are you not?’
Hawk’s mouth firmed at her scornful tone. Damn it, he was the Duke of Stourbridge, with all the power and influence that went along with that title, and as such he would not suffer this lack of respect a moment longer!
‘No, Arabella, I am not,’ he bit out forcefully, standing up to look down at her censoriously. ‘However, I do forbid you to go out riding on your own again.’
‘You forbid me, Hawk?’ she echoed incredulously.
‘I forbid you,’ he repeated tersely. ‘In future, if you wish to go out riding without the protection of a groom, perhaps Miss Smith might accompany you—’
‘To the devil with your Miss Smith!’ Arabella stamped her slipper-clad foot in temper.
‘She is not my Miss Smith, Arabella,’ Hawk reproved frostily.
‘Well, she is certainly not mine—nor ever will be!’
Hawk drew in a deeply controlling breath before speaking again. ‘It is my wish that you will be kind to Miss Smith, Arabella—’
‘You may wish all you like, Hawk—but unfortunately wishes are not always granted, are they?’
Hawk frowned at the acerbic comment. His mouth tightened. ‘I advise you to put your own feelings aside in this matter, Arabella, and do all that you can to ensure Miss Smith is made to feel a welcome guest during her stay here with us.’
Arabella raised mocking brows. ‘I thought you said she was to be an employee…?’
Hawk eyed her coldly. ‘She is to be your companion, yes. But she is first and formost a guest of the Duke of Stourbridge!’
His sister looked as if she might have liked to say more on that subject—and had thought better of it when she saw the warning in his icily glittering gaze. ‘Very well, Hawk.’ She gave a cool inclination of her head. ‘Oh, I almost forgot…’ She paused in the doorway, much as Jane had done such a short time ago.
‘Yes?’ As then, Hawk did not think he was going to like what Arabella was about to say to him!
Arabella’s smile was almost triumphant. ‘I have arranged a small dinner party for three days hence, to be followed by dancing in the small ballroom.’
The ‘small’ ballroom would hold thirty people comfortably, at least…
Hawk grimaced. ‘How small is this dinner party to be, Arabella?’
Arabella’s smile widened. ‘About twenty-five people, I believe—no, twenty-seven now that you and Miss Smith have arrived.’ She turned to leave and then suddenly paused once again. ‘Oh…and Lady Pamela Croft sent word this morning that her brother has arrived for a visit. So that will make us twenty-eight.’
Hawk had stiffened at the mention of their nearest neighbour’s brother. ‘Can you possibly be referring to the Earl of Whitney?’
‘I believe Lady Pamela has only the one brother.’ Arabella nodded with a questioning raise of her brows.
Hawk knew that she had. And he also remembered that the last time he and the Earl of Whitney had had occasion to meet had been shortly after Hawk had usurped the other man’s place in the Countess of Morefield’s bedchamber! A fact both men, never the easiest of acquaintances, were both very much aware of.
Was Arabella, like Sebastian, and possibly Lucian too, also aware of it…? Her almost triumphant air seemed to imply that it was a distinct possibility!
‘There is just one more thing, Hawk—’
‘For God’s sake, Arabella,’ he cut in icily, ‘either leave or stay. But most certainly cease dithering about in the doorway in that unbecoming manner!’
‘I
