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‘I do not believe that any of them will be in a hurry to whisper tales in his ear.’
‘Then in that, at least, we have been fortunate.’
‘Yes.’
Mrs Tatton’s gaze met Arabella’s. ‘What manner of man is he, this protector of yours? Old, bluff, married? I cannot help but worry for you. Some men …’ She could not go on.
‘He is none of those, Mama,’ said Arabella and rubbed her mother’s arm. ‘He is …’ But what could she tell her mother of Dominic? A hundred words sprang to mind, none of which would relieve her mother’s anxiety. ‘Generous … and not … unkind,’ she managed. But what he had done almost six years ago was very unkind. ‘Which is what is of importance in arrangements of the purse.’
Mrs Tatton sighed and looked away.
‘We will be careful with the money he gives me. We will save every penny that we can, and soon, very soon, there will be enough for you, me and Archie to leave all this behind. We will go back to the country and rent a small cottage with a garden. And no one need be any the wiser to this whole affair.’
‘We will be able to hold our heads up and be respectable once more.’ As if Arabella could ever be respectable again. For all that illusions could be presented to the world, she would always know what she had done. Nothing could ever cleanse her of that shame. She linked her arm through her mother’s and smiled as if none of this affected her in the slightest. ‘It will work out all right, you will see.’
‘I would like that, Arabella.’ Mrs Tatton nodded and something of the anxiety eased from her face. ‘Your papa and I were very happy in the country.’ She smiled with the remembrance and the two strolled on together, pretending to each other that the situation was anything but that which it really was. And oblivious to the undercurrent of tension Archie played and ran about around their skirts.
Dominic pretended it was just a day like any other, but it was Friday and there was not a moment when he was not aware that Arabella would be waiting for him at Curzon Street that night.
He spent most of the day closeted with his steward who had come up from Amersham to discuss agricultural matters, namely moving to increased mechanisation with Andrew Meikle’s threshing machine. After which Dominic went off to watch a four-in-hand race between young Northcote and Darlington, before going on to White’s club for a drink with Hunter, Northcote and Bullford. But for all that day he was distracted and out of sorts. Indeed he had not been in sorts since the night of meeting Arabella. His usual easy temperament was gone and with each passing day the unsettled feeling seemed to grow stronger. It should have been desire that he was feeling, an impatience to satisfy his lust upon her, to have her naked, warm and willing beneath him.
But it was not.
Surviving. The word whispered again through his mind and he set the wine glass down hard upon the table before him.
‘Arlesford?’ Bullford said more loudly.
Dominic glanced round to find Hunter, Bullford and Northcote looking at him expectantly. ‘Did not catch what you said.’ Dominic’s voice was lazy and his fingers moved to toy with the stem of his glass as he pretended a normality he did not feel.
‘I was just saying that young Northcote’s keen to try out some new gaming hell in the East End,’ said Bullford. ‘Apparently it is quite an experience and certainly not for the faint of heart. If anyone can wipe their tables it would be you and Hunter. Never known a couple of gamblers with as much luck. Hunter’s up for it. Will you come and make a night of it?’
‘Not tonight,’ he said carefully, ‘I have other plans.’ The echo of her voice whispered again in his head. It is my first night here. Forgive me if I am unfamiliar with the usual etiquette. He tried to ignore it.
Bullford smiled in a leery knowing way. ‘Ah, the mysterious Miss Noir. Heard you bought her from Mrs Silver. Got the luscious girl stowed away safe and good from the attentions of the rest of London’s most eager males?’
Dominic felt his teeth clench and his body go rigid at the manner in which Bullford had just spoken of Arabella. His response shocked him, for Bullford did not know that Miss Noir was Arabella. And Arabella was indeed a lightskirt. But the rationalisations did little to appease his anger and he had to force himself to slow his breathing and uncurl his tightly balled fists.
But Bullford seemed oblivious to the danger and waded in further. ‘Liked the look of her myself in Mrs Silver’s. Unfortunate for me that you got to her before I did, or the little lady could have been warming my bed tonight.’
‘Rather, I assure you that the turn of events was most fortunate for you.’ Dominic’s voice was cold and hard. He did not understand why he felt so livid. He only knew that if it had been Bullford that had gone upstairs with Arabella in the brothel … Dominic swallowed hard and felt the fragile thread of his self-control stretch thinner.
‘Bullford.’ Hunter attracted the viscount’s attention and gave a warning shake of the head.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Bullford smugly. He tapped the side of his nose and winked at Dominic. ‘Say no more, old man. Affairs of the breeches and all that. Strictly hush, hush. We will move the plans to another time and let you enjoy Miss Noir tonight.’
It was all that Dominic could do not to grab Bullford by the lapels of his tailcoat and smash a fist into his mouth, even though the man had only said aloud the very thing that Dominic planned to do. It was as if some madness had come upon him.
Hunter adroitly changed the subject.
But Dominic was already out of his seat and walking away, leaving all three men staring behind him.
Archie was fast asleep in bed in a snug little bedchamber at the top of the house in Curzon Street with his grandmama by the time the carriage rolled to a stop outside.
Arabella had been pacing the drawing room nervously, unable to settle to anything through the evening. Dominic’s imminent arrival was foremost in her mind. She knew that it was him as soon as she heard the horses. She did not need to wait to hear the footsteps upon the outside steps or the opening of the front door or the gentle murmur of voices to know that she was right. The tempo of her heart began to increase. Her hands grew clammy and she prayed that Gemmell’s assertion of the servants’ discretion could be trusted.
She grabbed a piece of needlework and sat swiftly down in a chair by the fireplace so it would look as if she was not bothered in the slightest over his visit. She heard the drawing-room door open and close again. And quite deliberately kept her attention focused on the sewing for a moment longer, even though she knew he was standing there.
She steeled her courage. Told herself that this … coupling need mean nothing to her. That she could give him her body while locking away all else. Don so much armour that he would not so much as glimpse her heart, her soul, her feelings, let alone get near enough to hurt them again.
She would not let herself think of him as Dominic. He was just a man. And Arabella was not naïve enough to think that a woman had to love a man before she could give herself to him. After all, she had slept with Henry when what she had felt for him was affection and gratitude, and nothing of love.
The moment could not be delayed for ever so she set the needlework down on the little sewing table with care and rose to her feet, skimming a hand down as if to brush out the wrinkles in her skirt.
Only then did she look at him.
Arabella was a tall woman, but Dominic stood a good head and shoulders above her. Tall with broad shoulders and a build that was well muscled. His tailoring was a deep midnight blue over the pristine white of his shirt, waistcoat and cravat. His tailcoat of superfine looked as if it had been fitted by a master tailor. Long legs clad in dark breeches showed too well the musculature of his thighs, leading down to matching top boots, the gloss of which could be seen even by the candlelight.
His face looked paler than the last time she had seen him, his features as breathtakingly handsome as the man from her nightmares. She knew every plane of that face, had kissed every inch of it. His expression was intense and unreadable. And when her eyes finally met his she knew in that instant that all of her resolve was in vain. For she could not even look at him and remain unaffected.
Her heart skipped a beat and then raced off at a canter.
‘Dominic,’ she heard herself whisper, and all of the old emotions were back, all of the love, all of the hurt, all of the hate. She felt her eyes begin to well and looked hastily away so that he would not see it, furious with herself for such weakness. She thought of Archie and that gave her the strength that she needed. She might not be able to do this for herself, but she could most definitely do it for her son.
‘Arlesford,’ she corrected herself and this time she was glad to hear that her voice was strong with just a hint of disdain.
‘Arabella.’ He made a small bow, but otherwise did not move.
He stood there so quiet and still and yet she could sense the tension that surrounded him. It emanated from every pore of his body. It was betrayed by the slight clenching in his jawline, in his lips, in the way he was looking at her. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, so dark as to appear almost black, and he was looking at her with such intensity as if to glean every last thought from her head.
She felt the nervousness ripple right through her body at the thought of all that she sought to hide.
‘The house is to your liking?’ he asked.
‘It is very nice, thank you, your Grace. Beautifully furnished with impeccable taste.’ She kept her face impassive and her voice cool.
They looked at each other across the small distance and the silence was awkward and tense. She glanced away, waiting for him to shrug out of his tailcoat and suggest that they go upstairs. But that was not what Dominic said.
‘I wish to talk to you, Arabella.’
‘Talk?’ Her heart gave a stutter. A shiver of warning rippled down Arabella’s spine. She did not want to talk. Instinctively Arabella glanced up as if she could see through the floors above to the small bedchamber at the top of the house.
She feared what talking might reveal.
She feared that Dominic would learn of Archie, his son.
Chapter Five (#ulink_3120ba5c-a8f5-56d4-829a-c1090a670726)
If Dominic knew the truth, then God only knew what would happen to Archie. Her son would be branded a bastard, his life ruined before it had barely begun whether Dominic acknowledged him or not. If he knew he had such a fine son, he might wish to raise Archie himself or send him away to be raised by someone of his own choosing. For what man, especially a duke, as rich and powerful and ruthless as Dominic, would leave his child with a woman he had found in a bordello, no matter the explanations she could offer? Archie would be taken away from her to be with people who did not love him, who did not understand a small boy’s tender needs. Arabella trembled from the force of the fear.
She wetted her suddenly dry lips and gave a false laugh to hide the fear. ‘But what more is there for us to talk about, your Grace? We have already settled upon all of the relevant details.’
She saw the flash of anger in those dark eyes. ‘I would have you call me by my given name. And there is the whole of the last six years that we have barely begun to discuss, Arabella.’
‘I thought you already knew.’ Attack is the best form of defence, she thought and gathered her weapons as best she could. ‘I married Henry Marlbrook. He died. I went to Mrs Silver’s. That is all you need know, Dominic.’ She turned away to gain some semblance of control over her emotions once more.
‘On the contrary, Arabella. I think I need to know a great deal more than that.’
‘What do you want me to tell you?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘How good a man Henry was?’
‘Infinitely better than me. You made that very clear.’ His eyes bored into hers.
‘He was a thousand times the man you are,’ she taunted.
‘You forget your position, Arabella.’
‘No,’ she said and tried to control the raggedness of her voice. She forced a tight smile to her mouth. ‘I understand my position exactly.’ She glared at him. ‘Do you want me in here? Perhaps on the sofa? Or on the rug before the fireplace? Shall I undress for you now?’ she demanded.
‘Arabella!’ he said harshly, but there was a flash of pain in his eyes that matched the pain in her heart.
And she realised that she was doing this all wrong, risking everything.
She closed her eyes, rallied her senses. ‘Forgive me,’ she said in her normal voice and when she opened her eyes she did not look at him.
‘Arabella,’ he said more softly.
But his kindness was worse than his contempt. It reminded her too much of the man she had loved.
‘What has happened to you?’
‘You already know the answer to that question,’ she said quietly.
‘No, Arabella, I do not.’ His eyes studied hers. ‘I wish that you would tell me.’
Her heart was knocking so hard against her ribcage that she was surprised he could not hear it.
‘All of it that happened across the years,’ he said.
She shook her head and forced a smile, trying to fool him.
His gaze did not waver.
‘In Mrs Silver’s, when you were pretending to be Miss Noir, you said that it was your first night there.’
‘A harlot’s lie. It is what men want to hear, is it not?’ She glanced away and pressed her fingers hard against her lips, hating the words she must say. But say them she would, for she did not want his pity. And she did could not risk his questions.
Dominic stood there still and silent.
‘Shall we go upstairs?’ She knew her part in all this, knew what he had come for. And once he had it, he would go and the ordeal would be over … at least for now.
He said not one word, but he followed her up the stairs to the large cream-coloured bedchamber on the first floor.
There could be no room for modesty, nor the last remaining shreds of her pride. She knew what was required, knew what she must do.
She turned away from him and forced herself to strip off her clothing, every last stitch. And when she was naked she sat down at the dressing table and took the pins from her hair, uncoiling its long length while her eyes watched his reflection in the looking glass. She watched while he slipped off his tailcoat and abandoned it over a chair. His waistcoat followed.
She sat there, waiting for the inevitable. Gathering her courage for what must come. But Dominic made no move towards her.
The nerves shivered right through her body. She swallowed. Did a mistress wait for her protector to come to her, or did he expect her to go to him? Arabella did not know the answer. But the quicker this was over, the better for herself. So she rose and walked to him. It took every ounce of Arabella’s strength not to wrap her arms around herself to cover her nakedness, to make herself stand there before him and let him look at her.
His touch, when it came, was gentle, reverent almost, and she shivered at the sudden flash of unbidden memories from a lifetime ago—of the passion and the love that had been between them.
He ran a hand over her hair, his hand sliding round to the nape of her neck. His fingers rested there light as a butterfly and the tingle beneath them seemed to run through the whole of her body. Slowly, deliberately, he trailed the tips of his fingers down the column of her throat.
Arabella deliberately masked any sign of emotion from her face as she stood there and let him touch her, angling her head to allow him access. He was her protector. This was what he was paying for. It meant nothing. But already she could feel the hard thud of her heart and everywhere his fingers touched, her skin burned, and she felt like weeping.
His hand dipped lower, so that she felt his fingers trace all the way out to the end of her collarbone and all the way back again. She tried to control the unsteadiness of her breathing, the gathering sob, but that only seemed to make it worse.
Not one word did he say. Not once did he meet her eyes, just kept his gaze fixed on the magic that his fingers were working.
He paused.
Arabella held her breath.
And then inch by tiny inch his fingers followed the path down into the valley between her breasts.
Again he halted, but whether it was to torture her, or himself, she did not know. If he continued like this, Arabella did not know if she could bear it. He placed a palm upon her left breast and beneath it she felt her heart jump and race all the harder. Beneath the cover of his hand her nipple was already taut and tender.
Arabella willed herself not to respond. He did not love her. She thought of all he had done six years ago. But when his palm slid away and his fingers teased at her nipple, plucking it, there was nothing she could do to prevent it bead all the harder. Her wantonness appalled her.
She squeezed her eyes closed to prevent the tears, knowing what would follow.
But his hand halted and dropped away, so that he was no longer even touching her.
Each tight line of his body and the bulge in his breeches revealed that he was every bit as aware as she of the tension that hummed between them. Slowly, his gaze raised to meet her own and there was something in his eyes as he stared at her. The strangest expression. Not lust as she had expected. Not victory or even arrogance. Realisation, maybe. And something else that she could not quite define. Something that looked almost haunted.
‘Dominic?’ she whispered.
But Dominic gave no sign of having heard her. He stood there frozen, staring as if he could see into the very depths of her soul.
And then he backed away, raking a hand through his hair as he did so.
‘I cannot …’ he said and his face was white. He turned away, gathered up his waistcoat and tailcoat and made for the door.
‘Dominic!’
He stopped where he was, hesitated with his hand stilled in its grip of the doorknob, but did not turn round.
And then he left, closing the door quietly behind him.
