At the burning memory, Arabella raised one of the rose petals to her lips, inhaling the sweet fragrance. His devastating kisses just now were his latest lesson in the spark and fire between a man and a woman, and admittedly, the experience had stunned her. He’d not only aroused feminine yearnings she had forcibly buried when her betrothed had deserted her four years ago; Marcus had ignited a desire-no, a hunger-in her that she’d never even known existed.
A hunger she couldn’t help wanting to explore.
And as she stood there quivering, she heard an insistent little voice whispering in her mind: What would happen if you
gave in to him?
Wisely quelling the question, Arabella blew out a shaky breath as she began gathering up errant rose petals. The seductive devil was even more dangerous than she had feared. It unnerved her, the lengths Marcus was willing to go to to win their wager, even though she couldn’t help but secretly admire his tenacity. He was a man who controlled his own fate, who refused to let anything stand in his way, including her. He was determined to wear down her resistance-and he was starting to succeed, blast him.
In her own defense, Arabella reminded herself, any female in her right mind would be thrilled by his romantic wooing, and she was no different. She might have disavowed any prospects of love and matrimony, but she was only human.
The trouble was, the temptation to succumb to his beguiling seduction was growing more irresistible by the moment.
Chapter Seven
I understand now what you meant about passion- and why a woman might throw caution to the wind for a taste of it.
– Arabella to Fanny
To Arabella’s dismay, she succumbed the very next day. She couldn’t blame Marcus entirely, however. Her own feminine weakness was as much at fault as his male perseverance.
Admittedly, she was glad to accompany him on an alfresco luncheon in the countryside, for even though she found pleasure in redecorating the house, the outing was a treat that gave her a respite from the demands of the tradesmen as well as her duties at the academy.
She also had to admit that she enjoyed being with Marcus, particularly since he put himself out to be charming as he expertly drove his curricle along the country lanes.
For their picnic spot, he chose a glade beside the river that was open to the sky but protected from prying eyes by chestnut and sycamore trees. After helping Arabella down from his curricle, he spread a blanket on the grass and gallantly led her to it.
When she had settled there, Marcus sat beside her and opened the straw basket to reveal a small feast of roasted chicken and bread and several kinds of fruit. He served her plate, then his, and poured them each a generous glass of wine. As she ate, Arabella sat with her legs tucked under her, her blue muslin skirts arranged demurely around her. Marcus stretched out on his side, his head propped on one elbow.
The warmth of the spring sunshine contributed to the tranquility of the setting. When Arabella was nearly finished eating, however, she purposefully broke the mellow silence. “This is quite lovely, Marcus, but you shouldn’t go to all this trouble to court me.” She gestured at the feast. “It won’t change my mind about wedding you.”
Marcus smiled. “If I could endure the torture of taking tea with your pupils, the least you can do is allow me the chance to play the romantic lover.”
“True. And I have every intention of fulfilling the terms you set. But honestly, I don’t understand your insistence.” She regarded him inquisitively. “You know you don’t truly want to wed me. You only want to win our wager.”
Marcus eyed her over the rim of his glass, contemplating her statement. In fact, making Arabella share time with him each day so he could woo her was no longer solely about winning her agreement to wed him.
He simply wanted to be with her. Wanted her company for the pleasure of having her near. To his genuine surprise, these past few days he’d found himself making excuses to avoid returning to London to deal with his pressing business affairs. He couldn’t ever remember that happening with any other woman.
The plain truth was, he felt comfortable with Arabella. He could talk to her and laugh with her as well. He delighted in sparring with her and found himself glad to earn her smiles. He even liked her stubbornness.
Marcus bit back a chuckle, remembering the way her gray eyes had danced with mischief yesterday when she’d made him sit through four rounds of tea with her awestruck pupils. If that was the sort of torment he could expect in a future with Arabella, then he would gladly endure it.
He took a long swallow of wine, acknowledging his remarkable change of heart. The thought of being leg-shackled for life no longer gave him chills. Not if the shackle was Arabella. For the first time in his life, he wanted something more for his future than simply to carry on his titles and estates.
He truly wanted Arabella for his wife.
She wouldn’t believe him, of course. She thought his courtship was only a diversion for him. But it was no longer a game. He was wholly determined now to claim her for his bride.
Only during the past hour, however, had he been able to identify why: Because Arabella added a spark of fire to his life that, until now, he hadn’t even realized was missing. With her, he felt alive in a way he’d never felt before-lighthearted and reckless and filled with exhilaration.
He felt lust also, of course. And desire. Arabella might be sexually inexperienced, but she was more woman than any of his former mistresses, and he wanted her far more.
A vibrantly sensual woman who stirred his senses.
Now, however, he would do his best to wreak havoc on Arabella’s senses. He’d been successful in getting past some of her defenses, but gaining her full capitulation would be difficult. Arabella was still vulnerable to hurt, despite her declarations to the contrary.
A wave of tenderness hit Marcus as he studied her. She had been betrayed by her idiot betrothed, who was fool enough to value his consequence more than her. And after her parents’ warlike marriage, she wasn’t willing to risk suffering any sort of callous union of convenience.