Courtship Wars: To Pleasure A Lady Part 8

Since Arabella's broken engagement, f.a.n.n.y had taught her a good deal about men. f.a.n.n.y would know much better than she how to rout Lord Danvers.

Meanwhile, Arabella mused, she would be wise to use every resource at her disposal, which meant enlisting help from trusted allies, beginning with her housekeeper and butler.

Feeling an unexpected tingle of antic.i.p.ation, Arabella left her horse in the stables with one of his lords.h.i.+p's grooms and detoured to the kitchens to meet with Mrs. Simpkin. The housekeeper, who had *

also become cook when the rest of the staff was let go, regularly prepared tasty if modest meals with the aid of their one chambermaid. And even though three days ago the new earl had installed a dozen servants at the Hall, Mrs. Simpkin still held sway in the kitchens.

If the elderly woman was puzzled by Arabella's unusual request for that evening's dinner, she was too well-trained to show it. But the twinkle in her kind brown eyes suggested a willingness to abet the conspiracy.

"Oh, and Mrs. Simpkin," Arabella added casually, "I would be obliged if Simpkin would remain in the dining room when he waits on us this evening. I would prefer to be alone with Lord Danvers as little as possible."

"I will tell him, Miss Arabella," Mrs. Simpkin said. "Would you also like Simpkin to be present beforehand? Lord Danvers has asked that you join him in the drawing room for a gla.s.s of wine before dinner."

"Yes, please," Arabella answered, glad that the housekeeper had readily agreed to aid her cause.

After was.h.i.+ng, Arabella dressed for dinner in the most conservative evening gown she owned. Her wardrobe was not extensive, and most of her gowns were outdated and had grown shabby with wear.

But upon opening the academy, she'd invested in several fas.h.i.+onable gowns to impress her pupils'

wealthy parents. After all, she had her image as a lady of quality to uphold.

When she regarded herself critically in the cheval gla.s.s, however, Arabella found her appearance rather dissatisfying. Her empire-waist gown of dark blue silk boasted long sleeves and a high neckline, and thus exposed little of her charms. But her flushed cheeks betrayed her excitement at the prospect of spending the evening in his lords.h.i.+p's company.

How dull her existence had become if his presence could enliven her life so profoundly! Or perhaps it was merely the antic.i.p.ation of locking horns with the earl as they strove to best each other.

At the thought, Arabella felt herself smile. She had every intention of besting him. She would play his game to win.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she left her bedchamber to launch her opening salvo in their courts.h.i.+p war.

When she reached the drawing room below, Simpkin awaited her outside in the corridor. The gray-haired, very proper butler offered Arabella the ghost of a conspiratorial smile before preceding her into the room and announcing her. "Miss Loring, my Lord Danvers."

Marcus rose when she entered. His blue gaze raked over Arabella, taking in her reserved attire, but he made no comment other than one of greeting. "Welcome, my dear. I am pleased you could join me."

At his avuncular tone, Arabella gave him a curious glance, but then realized he meant to treat her merely as his ward for the benefit of the serving staff.

"Come and sit beside me," Marcus added, indicating the gold brocade settee that had seen much better days.

Arabella hesitated, reluctant to be seated so close to him. He looked infernally handsome in a blue evening coat and white satin breeches that molded to his athletic form, and an intricately-tied cravat that only enhanced his chiseled masculine features.

Deploring her rapid pulse, Arabella did as she was bid but took the far end of the settee. She caught the pleasant scent of citrus cologne as Marcus settled at the other end. He had evidently shaved for the evening, a disturbing realization since it implied he was taking his courts.h.i.+p of her very seriously.

"That will be all until dinner is served, Simpkin," his lords.h.i.+p said when the butler had poured them each a gla.s.s of Madeira. "You may shut the door behind you."

Hiding her concern, Arabella met Simpkin's gaze and nodded slightly in resignation. Already Lord Danvers was scuttling her plan to avoid being alone with him. She was maddeningly conscious of his lithe, powerful body lounging so near to hers.

"Was it necessary to dismiss Simpkin?" she asked when the servant had withdrawn. "It isn't quite seemly for us to be alone together like this."

"Nonsense," Marcus responded easily. "There is no impropriety in a guardian sharing a gla.s.s of wine with his ward. And it is indeed necessary, since I need a measure of privacy in order to woo you."

Not having a ready reply, Arabella took a sip of her wine and hid her grimace at the bitter taste...along with her satisfaction. Mrs. Simpkin had succeeded in making the brew unpalatable as she had requested.

"About our wager," Arabella began, "I have been thinking. Perhaps we should establish some basic rules of conduct."

"Rules?"

"I suppose limits would be a better word. We should define what conduct is allowed and not allowed between us to prevent you from going beyond the bounds of a proper courts.h.i.+p."

Marcus sent her a lazy smile that was full of charm. "Haven't you heard that all is fair in love and war?"

Arabella found herself staring at his mouth. "You know very well our wager has nothing to do with love, my lord. But that is precisely my point. How can I trust that you won't resort to something devious?"

"Because wagers are governed by a gentleman's code. My honor will only permit me to go so far."

Her mouth curved. "That is comforting to know."

"You should not be comforted," Marcus remarked. "I still have a great deal of leeway within the bounds of the code." He laughed softly at her worried expression. "Never fear, sweeting. I won't do anything to you unless you are completely willing."

Arabella swallowed. "You won't find me willing."

"We shall see. As for rules, I mean to hold you to your pledge to give me a fighting chance to win our wager."

"Yes, but simply because I agreed to let you court me, it does not follow that I must make it easy for you."

"True."

"I intend to do everything in my power to foil you."

His roguish grin made her breathless as he raised his gla.s.s of Madeira. "So let the games begin."

As he gazed at her over the rim of his gla.s.s, Arabella's heart accelerated in an erratic rhythm. Thankfully, the intimate moment was broken when Marcus took a swallow of wine.

Wincing at the taste, he set his gla.s.s aside on a table. "I would never have expected your step-uncle to suffer such inferior quality wine. I will have to rectify that, since I intend to stay here for at least a fortnight. Tomorrow I'll have some casks delivered from my cellars in London."

Arabella's heart sank at the reminder. A fortnight was beginning to seem an interminable length of time.

But perhaps she was going about trying to win in all the wrong ways. What if she could simply persuade the earl that he didn't want to marry her? "You know, my lord-"

"Marcus."

"Very well, Marcus. I don't believe you have fully considered what a marriage between us would be like. If you had, you would realize that we wouldn't suit in the least."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, I wouldn't make you a comfortable wife."

His mouth quirked. "What makes you think I want a comfortable wife?"

"Most n.o.blemen do. You want a lady to bear your heirs and manage your household, and to look the other way when you flaunt your mistresses or engage in various dalliances and indiscretions. I could never be so agreeable, my lord."

When Marcus remained silently studying her, Arabella went on. "Lady Freemantle told me a great deal about you and your friends. You are all notorious bachelors." She refrained from adding that her ladys.h.i.+p had a great deal of admiration for the new Earl of Danvers.

"My friends?"

"Your fencing partners last week. Those are your close friends, the Duke of Arden and the Marquess of Claybourne?"

"Yes."

"Well, the stories of your conquests and sporting exploits are repeated in drawing rooms even this far from London. Based on all the tales about you, I can say with utmost confidence that you would not make me a comfortable husband."

He c.o.c.ked his head at her. "I doubt you want a comfortable husband, any more than I want a *

comfortable wife. Somehow I can't picture a woman of your spirit settling for a milquetoast."

Arabella gave a soft laugh of exasperation. "That is precisely what I have been trying in vain to make you see. I don't want any sort of husband!"

"You've made that abundantly clear." Marcus relaxed back against the settee. "But allow me to point out that your appraisal of my character is based on gossip and innuendo."

"Perhaps. But I have little doubt you are the same ilk as my father."

"Ah, we begin to get to the crux of the matter." Stretching out his long legs, Marcus laced his fingers over his stomach. "You take a dim view of rakes."

Arabella smiled a little bitterly. "Can you blame me? My father was a philanderer of the first order, and I have no intention of subjecting myself to any husband like him."

"So you condemn me out of hand."

"Is it really out of hand? How many mistresses do you have in keeping?"

A dark eyebrow rose at her impertinent question. "Is that really any of your affair, darling?"

"It is if you expect me to consider your proposal of marriage." When he hesitated, Arabella smiled sweetly. "It is a simple question, Marcus. How many mistresses do you have?"

"None at present."

"But you regularly employ one?"

"I have in the past. Most gentlemen of means do."

She arched an eloquent eyebrow of her own. "I cannot take a blithe view of adultery. I would never tolerate affairs and infidelities from my husband."

"Some men give up their mistresses upon marrying."

"But I could never trust that you would do so, or that you wouldn't relapse, even if you promised fidelity in the beginning."

He held her gaze levelly. "I am not your father, Arabella. And you insult me to put me in the same category."

The sudden intensity of his tone took her aback. "Forgive me," she apologized with a strained smile. "I am only attempting to make you understand why I don't want a marriage of convenience. If your parents had endured a marriage such as mine had, I'm certain you would be just as adverse to repeating their experience."

His mouth twisted sardonically. "As it happens, my parents were much more discreet in their affairs than yours were. But I confess, their experience left me with no fondness for the inst.i.tution of matrimony."

Marcus paused. "Apparently, though, your mother was as guilty as your father of faithlessness."

Arabella's smile faded. "I don't like to speak of my mother."

Victoria Loring's initial transgressions had been nowhere near as severe as her spouse's had been; her single affair had stemmed out of revenge against her husband's countless infidelities. Yet she had committed a worse sin, to Arabella's mind, by abandoning her family. For a moment, Arabella closed her eyes at the dizzying wave of pain that memory conjured up.

Marcus must have seen her expression, for he made a sympathetic sound. "You have not had an ideal time of it, have you, love? First the scandals and being forced from your home, then having to earn your living."

Her eyes opened abruptly, finding his blue gaze alarmingly tender. "You needn't pity me, you know. I have long since gotten over the pain and humiliation." Which was a lie, Arabella added to herself. "In any case, adversity builds character, or so they say."

"You and your sisters have had more than your fair share of adversity."

She managed a shrug. "We were determined to make the best of our lot. The worst part was being dependent on our step-uncle's largess, at the mercy of his whims. More than once he threatened to evict us. But thankfully, we were able to open our academy. It offered us gainful employment so we wouldn't be forced into menial servitude or compelled to wed as our only means of survival."

Marcus's response was forestalled by a discreet knock on the drawing room door. When he bid entrance, Simpkin appeared to announce that dinner was served in the small dining parlor.

Glad to leave off such an uncomfortable subject as her family chronicles, Arabella took Marcus's arm to accompany him in to dinner, an action she regretted immediately. Beneath his coat sleeve, she could feel the warmth radiating from him, could feel the hard muscles flex under her fingertips. The contact did strange things to her pulse.

She was glad to see that their places had been set at either end of the long table, with a significant distance separating the two.

Marcus shook his head at the arrangements, however. "We needn't be so formal, Simpkin. I prefer to have Miss Loring seated beside me."

"As you wish, my lord."

The butler obeyed, hurrying to rearrange the place settings. When Arabella was finally seated to his lords.h.i.+p's right, Simpkin gestured at the two attending footmen to serve the soup course.

When that was done, Marcus nodded. "Thank you, Simpkin. I will ring when we are ready for the next course."

All three servants silently withdrew, without shutting the door at least. Yet the open door couldn't dispel the sense of intimacy Arabella felt at sitting so close to Marcus, or allay her tingling awareness of his nearness.

Trying her best to ignore him, Arabella applied herself to the bland-looking soup, which appeared to be greasy chicken broth with a few pieces of limp vegetables. She nearly choked at the first sip, since it was so salty as to be almost inedible.

After one taste, Marcus shot Arabella a questioning glance and then set down his spoon. Innocently, she forced herself to continue eating her soup.

"So tell me about this academy of yours," Marcus said, his tone curious.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I am intrigued by it. And because I want to learn everything about you to aid my courts.h.i.+p."

When she grimaced slightly at the reminder, he merely smiled. "You said your academy is something of a finis.h.i.+ng school? How did it start?"