knew that Darius was the only man that she had found to be in the least exciting or intriguing. And dangerous …
‘Not all women can expect to find a marriage of love, as you, Grace and Juliet have done with my brothers,’ she answered Jane evasively.
Arabella knew she could not explain to anyone the strange satisfaction she felt in her decision to marry Darius—or the feeling of fluttering excitement she felt at the thought of becoming his wife. Of sharing his home and his bed.
Most especially his bed!
Far from repulsing her, as Darius had so obviously hoped that it might, the promise of sharing his bed on a regular basis filled Arabella with a delicious anticipation that made her tremble just to think of it.
Although it would not do to allow Darius himself to know of the eagerness of her feelings in that regard.
‘There are several matters that need to be settled before I feel able to give you an answer to your offer of marriage.’
Darius looked between narrowed lids at the young and haughty miss before him as she stood up to receive him in the drawing room of St Claire House at precisely eleven o’clock. Arabella had offered him no word of greeting, instead simply proceeded to continue their conversation from the evening before as if there had been no break in their discussion.
Wearing a gown of the deepest gold, a colour that seemed reflected in her eyes, and with her golden curls arranged artfully at her crown with several tantalising wisps at her nape and temples, Lady Arabella St Claire was this morning in possession of an air of self-sufficiency and confidence that Darius found less than re as sur ing.
‘Good morning to you, too, Arabella,’ Darius said pointedly as he gave her a sweeping elegant bow.
Irritation creased her creamy brow, and she gave no curtsy in response to that formality. ‘I had believed our present situation to have put us beyond the need for such inanities, Darius.’
‘Had you?’ He strolled further into the room, its cream-and-gold décor a perfect foil for Arabella’s appearance, of which this self-possessed young lady was no doubt fully aware. ‘Exactly what situation would that be?’ His voice had hardened perceptively.
Irritation coloured her cheeks. ‘Do not attempt to play games with me, Darius.’
His gaze was icy. ‘I have no intention of attempting to play games with you, Arabella, considering what happened the last time I rose—quite literally—to your challenge.’
The colour deepened in her cheeks. ‘There is no need for—for such indelicacy!’
‘No?’ He looked at her coldly. ‘What would you rather I be?’ He deliberately broke social etiquette by sitting down in one of the gold brocade armchairs whilst she still stood, leaning his elbows on the arms of that chair to steeple his fingers together in front of him as he looked up at her. ‘The besotted lover, perhaps? We both know I am far from being that,’ he said scathingly. ‘The man resigned to his fate? But I am not resigned, Arabella,’ he assured her, with a tightening of his jaw. ‘Far from it!’
Faced once again with the flesh-and-blood man—a rakishly sophisticated man, far beyond her experience—Arabella could only wonder at her own temerity in daring to challenge him.
Once again he was dressed all in black, with snowy white linen and black Hessians, the sombre and perfectly tailored clothing giving him the appearance of that blond-haired devil Arabella had once considered him to be—still did.
‘Might I remind you, Darius, that you were not forced into offering for me?’
He gave a hard, mocking smile. ‘I thought it worth it just to see the look of outrage on Stourbridge’s face.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You expected me to refuse?’
He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Of course.’
‘You would rather bring disgrace down upon both our heads than marry me?’ Arabella said slowly, her anger rising.
Darius shrugged. ‘I am no stranger to disgrace, Arabella. On the contrary, in the past I have considered it my duty to provide such scandalous diversions as I can, for the ton’s entertainment.’ He looked bored. ‘On the basis that if they are gossiping and speculating about my behaviour then they are at least leaving some poor innocent alone.’
‘I am an innocent, Your Grace—and if our actions yesterday evening are made public then I very much doubt the gossiping tongues of the ton will leave me alone!’
Darius shook his head. ‘You are far from innocent, Arabella.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘You still doubt my virtue?’
‘Not in the least,’ he said. ‘I was referring to the fact that you are hardly the epitome of a young and innocent miss,’ he pointed out. ‘Neither did I say I would not marry you, if your decision is to accept. I merely stated that I am not resigned to such a fate.’
Arabella felt a shiver of apprehension down the length of her spine at the cold anger she read so easily in the harshness of Darius’s expression.
Yet her own anger increased each time Darius voiced his reluctance to marry her!
What choice did she have?
Marriage to Darius, or eventual marriage to one of those young bucks of the ton with whom Arabella already knew she could never find any real happiness? A life of mediocrity, of boredom, when all the time she was aware that she could instead have had the exciting Darius Wynter, Duke of Carlyne, as her husband?
A man whose very presence in a room both thrilled and excited her.
A man who made love to her with a finesse and skill that left her hot and aching.
A man she had gazed at longingly from afar for far too long already …
Besides, his very reluctance to marry her was an insult. A challenge no St Claire would refuse..
She straightened determinedly. ‘Then it is a pity I have decided to accept your offer, is it not?’
Darius’s eyes narrowed speculatively on the young woman who faced him so defiantly across the drawing-room. The beautiful and feisty Arabella St Claire, a young woman that at any other time Darius would have enjoyed taking for his wife. No, would have revelled in taking as his wife. Most especially the ‘taking’ part!
But now was not the time for Darius to publicly tie himself down with emotionalent anglement. To announce to the world at large that he had aligned himself to a young, and consequently vulnerable, wife.
Although he had no doubts that Arabella would dispute that she was in the least vulnerable!
‘Why?’ he bit out harshly.
She raised those haughty brows. ‘I am sorry, I do not understand?’
His gaze narrowed. ‘Did I inadvertently deliver some unintended insult to you in the past that you now feel I should be made to suffer? Some slight upon your person for which you feel I need to make suitable reparation?’
Her
