Temptation In Regency Society: Unmasking the Duke's Mistress. Margaret McPhee

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Temptation In Regency Society: Unmasking the Duke's Mistress - Margaret  McPhee

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was not forthcoming. Her expression closed. Her mouth pressed firm and she glanced away.

      The seconds ticked by to become minutes.

      ‘Then you are here by choice rather than necessity?’ he said eventually and raised an eyebrow.

      ‘Yes.’ She tipped her chin up and met his gaze unflinchingly, almost taunting him. ‘So now you see the woman I have become, have you not changed your mind about leaving?’

      ‘I am staying, Arabella,’ he said, his eyes still holding hers with every inch of the determination he felt.

      She bowed her head and glanced away, sullen and angry.

      ‘What does your father make of your chosen profession?’ he demanded. ‘What does your brother?’

      ‘My father and Tom were taken by the same consumption that claimed Henry.’

      ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ he said. The news shocked him, for he had known the family well and liked them. ‘And Mrs Tatton? What of her?’

      ‘My mother was brought low by the disease, but she survived.’

      ‘Does she know that you are here, Arabella?’

      A whisper of guilt moved across her face. ‘She does not.’ She tilted her chin, defiant again. ‘Not that it is any of your concern.’

      In the ensuing silence they could hear the faint rhythmic banging of a bedstead against a wall. Neither of them paid it the slightest attention.

      His eyes raked hers. There was another question he needed to ask, even though he already knew the answer by the very fact that she was here in Mrs Silver’s House of Rainbow Pleasures.

      ‘There is no other man since Marlbrook? No new husband or protector?’

      ‘No,’ she said in a tight voice and eyed him with unmistakable disdain. ‘But if there were, it would be no business of yours.’

      Their eyes held for a moment and a storm of anger seemed to fire and crackle between them before she rose and moved away to stand over by the long black curtains that covered the window.

      Arabella could not just sit there and let the questions continue, not when she feared where they might lead. Besides, Dominic had no right to question her. He had forfeited the right to know anything of her life when he had made his decision all those years ago. Let him think the worst of her if it prevented his questions and made him leave. Let him think she was the whore he had just made her. Better that than the alternative.

      She could not bear for him to see how much she was hurting. And she could not bear for him to know the truth of her situation, of the desperation that had led her to this place. Better his contempt than his pity, and better still that he left knowing nothing at all.

      The chink of night sky, between the edge of the curtain and the wall, was very dark. There were no stars, and the street lamps outside remained black and unlit and everything seemed to be waiting and edged with danger. And when she glanced round at Dominic he was sitting staring into the small flames that flickered amongst the glowing coals, the expression upon his face as dark and brooding as the night outside.

      ‘I cannot believe that I have found you here … in a damnable brothel!’ Dominic was still reeling from the shock of it. All these years he had imagined that one day he might find her. He had imagined a thousand different scenarios, but not one of them had come close to the reality. She was a lightskirt in an upmarket bordello. Miss Noir, in Mrs Silver’s rainbow selection for those men who had enough blunt to pay. He felt sick at the thought.

      ‘Then walk away and pretend that you have not,’ she said in a low voice, but she did not look round.

      In the silence there was only the crack from the remains of the fire upon the hearth.

      ‘You know that I cannot do that, Arabella.’ It did not matter how aggrieved he was, she did not deserve life in such a place.

      He glanced across at her standing there in the flimsy black silk that revealed more of her figure than it covered, and the nakedness of her back where the laces hung loose and, despite everything, he felt desire.

      It disgusted him that he could still want her after her faithlessness with Marlbrook and after all he had already taken from her this night in such despicable circumstances. He was not proud of having treated her like a whore, even if that was what she was. And he swore to himself that, had he known that she was Arabella, he never would have touched her. But it was too late for that. He had done a great deal more than touch her.

      ‘Why not? It is what I want. For you to leave … and not come back.’

      Dominic felt the stab of her words, but he did not retaliate, nor did he take his eyes from the fire. A section of the molten embers cracked and collapsed and in the space where they had been one small flame remained, burning hotter and more brightly than all the other.

      ‘For the sake of what was once between us, Arabella—’

      ‘I do not want your pity, Dominic!’ She swung round to face him, standing there with her hands on hips, her face proud and angry. ‘And whatever was between us is long dead.’

      ‘Oh, I am more than well aware of that, Arabella.’ Her eyes flashed with a fierceness he had never seen there before. Her lips were flushed and swollen from his kisses, and the creamy swell of her breasts rose and fell with the raggedness of her breath. His gaze dropped to where her rosy nipples were beginning to peep over the black silk.

      She saw his gaze and, with a fury, wrenched the bodice higher and held it in place.

      ‘It is a bit late for that, Arabella.’

      She might pretend otherwise but, unlike him, Arabella had known with whom she was coupling and Dominic had felt the spark in the response of her lips to his, an echo of what had once been. The love might be dead, but there was still a physical desire that burned strong between them.

      His gaze dropped from her back to the fire.

      He had not forgiven her, but he could not leave her here.

      He could not forgive her, yet he wanted her still.

      An idea started to form in his head, one that might finally allow Dominic to purge the demons that drove him.

      She was watching him when he got to his feet and moved towards her. He saw the shiver that ran through her body and he found his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

      Her eyes met his and he saw the surprise and wariness and unspoken question in them.

      ‘You do not have to do this, Arabella.’

      ‘I’ve already told you that what I do is none of your concern.’ Her voice was curt and her eyes cold.

      ‘I could help you.’

      ‘I do not need your help, your Grace,’ she countered.

      ‘That may be, but you will hear me out just the same, Arabella.’

      She stared at him, her expression closed, yet he could sense her caution

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