He found himself frowning. Arabella had stormed the defenses of his heart while hers remained still intact. He felt his gut clench, realizing he faced a much greater dilemma than winning their wager. He wouldn’t settle for a marriage of convenience with her now. Not when he finally recognized the depth of his feelings.
But winning Arabella’s heart would be an even more daunting task than gaining her hand in marriage.
“What is wrong?” she asked when he continued staring at her.
Marcus schooled his expression to nonchalance. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her; any professions of love he made would be considered mere blandishments in his effort to seduce her.
“Nothing is wrong,” he lied. “I was only contemplating how beautiful you are in the moonlight.”
The soft smile that curved her mouth made his heart quicken, but it started racing again when she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“I had best return to the house,” she whispered, “before my sisters realize I am gone.”
No, I won’t let you go, Marcus thought fiercely. He was conscious of a savage urge to carry Arabella far away from here, a primal craving to keep her captive, in his sole possession, until she finally agreed to wed him
and give him her heart.
Yet force wouldn’t gain her surrender, he knew. She didn’t trust him enough to love him. Didn’t trust him not to hurt her.
Somehow he had to convince Arabella otherwise.
Realizing he needed to give the matter careful consideration, Marcus stepped back and fastened his breeches, then straightened her clothing.
Crushing the urge to make love to her again, he took her hand and led her back through the glade and across the terraced lawns to the gardens.
They entered the house the same way they had left, by the rear kitchen door. Marcus escorted Arabella as far as the back service stairs, where he paused to gaze down at her in the dim light of a wall sconce. He meant to kiss her good night before sending her up to her bedchamber alone, but when he took her in his arms, a noise above him made him halt.
Looking up, Marcus cursed silently.
Arabella’s sisters were waiting for them at the head of the stairs, and neither appeared happy. Roslyn’s expression was troubled, while Lilian looked dismayed.
“See, I told you Belle was in danger,” Lily said, her voice low and hoarse and despairing.
Chapter Fourteen
What fools we females can be, letting ourselves be seduced by a charming address and a handsome face.
– Arabella to Fanny
Protectively, Marcus stepped in front of Arabella, but she wouldn’t allow herself to hide behind him.
“Good night, my lord,” she murmured, slipping past him.
He caught her arm. “If you need me-”
“Thank you, but I had best speak to my sisters alone.”
Aware that she had badly disappointed them, Arabella mounted the stairs to the second-floor landing. Both Lily and Roslyn followed her down the corridor to her bedchamber and closed the door behind them. The strained silence that ensued did not last long.
“How could you, Arabella?” Lily demanded unhappily. “Sneaking out with the earl for a midnight tryst. You have been kissing him, haven’t you? Your hair is disheveled and your mouth is red and bruised.”
Indeed, she looked a perfect wanton, Arabella realized when she glimpsed her reflection in the cheval glass. She bit her lower lip in chagrin. At least the damp, tender ache between her thighs wasn’t visible.
Her muteness only distressed Lily more. “Just how far has your affair with Lord Danvers gone, Belle?”
She could feel heat searing her cheeks. She had no desire to confess that she had not only given her virginity to Marcus, she’d spent the last three nights making mad, passionate love with him.
Before Lily could press her further, however, Roslyn intervened in a gentler but just as troubled tone. “We are worried for you, Arabella. You are exhibiting all the signs of a dangerous ardor. We don’t want you to be hurt again.”