Chapter Twelve
Are you certain you don’t wish to consider the earl’s offer? There are worse things than a marriage of convenience to a wealthy, handsome nobleman.
—Fanny to Arabella
Not surprisingly, Arabella rose late the next morning, weary from her lack of sleep but filled with a warm glow from Marcus’s enchanting lovemaking. As he’d predicted, her body felt a bit tender, but she couldn’t regret spending the entire night with him and experiencing all the incredible delights he’d promised her.
Marcus had shown her pleasure so deep, so blissful, that her senses might never recover.
When finally Arabella finished bathing and dressing and went downstairs expecting to find him at breakfast, she discovered from Simpkin that she had just missed his lordship.
Ignoring her sharp little stab of disappointment, she read the note Marcus had left her, which said he had unexpected business in London but that he would return this evening in time for dinner.
In truth, Arabella realized, she was glad she wouldn’t have to face him just now. After the wanton passion they’d shared all through the night, she needed time to regain a semblance of composure.
She felt sluggish and bleary-eyed all morning long—until Simpkin announced that Lady Eleanor Pierce was calling. Wondering at the purpose of the visit, Arabella received Marcus’s sister in the morning parlor and was flattered by the warmth of her greeting.
“How delightful to see you again, Miss Loring,” Lady Eleanor said with an appearance of genuine sincerity.
Arabella smiled at her caller, who was garbed in a pale blue carriage dress and bonnet that set off her raven curls and rosy complexion to perfection. “I regret you drove all this distance for nothing, Lady Eleanor. Your brother has gone to London for the day.”
“Oh, but it is you I came to see. I would very much like to become better acquainted with you. I admire you prodigiously—a lady courageous enough to manage her own academy.” Accepting the seat Arabella offered, Lady Eleanor sent her a shrewd look. “And any woman who can resist my brother is someone I want to know. I also,” she added before Arabella could think how to respond, “wish to apologize for my aunt’s officious meddling in your affairs.”
Torn between amusement and caution, Arabella took a wing chair opposite her guest. “I suppose I should not have stated my opinions so fiercely.”
“You were gravely provoked. I do hope you will forgive Aunt Beatrix. She means well and she has been like a mother to me, drumming proper conduct into my head. But she had no right to rebuke you for not disavowing your friend. Your anger was wholly justified.”
Arabella smiled ruefully. “Perhaps…but normally I wouldn’t dream of making a public scene. It was very bad of me to dampen the evening for you and your friends.”
“But you didn’t dampen it for me. I was thoroughly intrigued.” Eleanor gave a charming laugh. “I confess I should like to hear more about Fanny Irwin. She is said to be an Incomparable among Cyprians.”
“Your brother would not be happy if I shared tales of a notorious highflyer with you,” Arabella pointed out.
Eleanor’s throaty laughter was engaging. “True. But Marcus doesn’t dictate to me, nor does he try to keep me smothered in swaddling clothes the way our aunt does. In truth, he is the best of guardians.”
“Is he?” Arabella replied curiously.
“Yes, but he does like to have his way, so I can see how there might occasionally be friction between the two of you, as there appeared to be last night.” Her smile turned mischievous. “It is good to foil him sometimes, though. Men deserve to be kept on their toes…shaken up now and then. It won’t do to let them think they have the upper hand all the time. Don’t you agree?”
They shared a congenial laugh, and Arabella found herself relaxing. She liked Marcus’s sister immensely.
Eleanor’s next comment, however, took her aback. “I confess we were all astonished to learn Marcus proposed to you, since he has always had an aversion to marriage. But now that I have met you, I can see why he acted so precipitously.”
Arabella winced. “Lady Eleanor…” she began, determined to put period to any misunderstandings about her future with Marcus. But his sister interrupted.
“Please, we needn’t be so formal. Just Eleanor will do. I have yet to grow accustomed to the title of lady, since Marcus’s petition to the Crown to raise my precedence to an earl’s sister was only recently granted. And may I call you Arabella?”
“Of course you may. But I must tell you, I don’t intend to wed your brother.”
Eleanor’s lively expression turned serious. “I do so wish you would. I would dearly love to have you as a sister. Of course I have Marcus, and Heath and Drew are like brothers to me. But it isn’t the same as having other women to talk to and confide in. And I think we could become great friends.”
Arabella’s mouth curved in unwilling amusement. “Surely you don’t expect me to accept your brother’s offer simply to provide you with a sister?”
She dimpled. “Well, I suppose not. But I want you to accept for his sake as well. I think you will be the ideal wife for him. Marcus needs a challenge. He would never be happy with a milquetoast bride.”
“I am flattered you think so,” Arabella said evenly, “but there are many other considerations to take into account when deciding to wed.”
“I know,” Eleanor agreed. “I have had my share of proposals, two of which I accepted before changing my mind. And truly, I can sympathize with your desire for independence. I feel much the same way—not wanting my life to be controlled by a husband. But Marcus would be a far more lenient husband than most.” When Arabella remained silent, Eleanor leaned forward earnestly. “Tell me your other objections so I can plead Marcus’s case.”
Unable to help laughing, Arabella shook her head. “I applaud your zealousness on his behalf, but honestly, there is nothing you could say that would induce me to wed your brother, or anyone else for that matter.”
Eleanor was not deterred, however. “It cannot be that you find Marcus uninteresting. In terms of wit and charm, he is leagues above all my current suitors.” Receiving no response to her leading comment, she added, “I confess I am bored to death with my beaux at present, they are so deadly dull. That, or wicked fortune hunters, which admittedly are much more intriguing but too dangerous to toy with, even in fun.”
“I don’t find your brother dull in the least,” Arabella admitted.
Eleanor sent her another perceptive glance. “Despite his reputation as something of a rake, Marcus is not so very wicked—no worse than the typical nobleman, at least. Perhaps you have heard rumors about his former mistresses, but I can assure you, he has no real interest in any of them.”
“And I can assure you that his mistresses are of no import to me,” she dissembled.
“You are wise, then.” For the first time, Eleanor looked wistful. “I broke off my first engagement when I discovered my betrothed kept a mistress…although I have since wondered if perhaps I made a dreadful mistake. I would not want you to make the same mistake, Arabella, and harbor regrets for the rest of your life.”
Other than raising a polite eyebrow, Arabella refrained from responding, but Eleanor seemed not to notice. Instead, she turned her head to gaze out the parlor window, apparently lost in her own somber reflections. “Marcus was very understanding, even when I jilted my second betrothed. He is the very best of brothers. I don’t know what I would have done without him when I was a child. Our parents were not particularly…warm. I used to live for his visits home from school.”
Suddenly shaking herself, she returned her focus to Arabella and summoned a bright smile. “But enough about me. It is you and Marcus I am concerned about. I think he must be smitten with you, since nothing else would induce him to consider matrimony so suddenly.”
“Would you care for tea, Eleanor?” Arabella asked pointedly, determined to close the subject.
Finally taking the hint, Eleanor laughed. “Yes, I would, since I am parched. And I promise not to pester you any further just now about wedding my brother.”
She waited while Arabella rang for refreshments and returned to her chair, then said lightly, “Whether or not you decide to marry Marcus, I hope we may be friends.”
Arabella smiled with true pleasure. “I would like that very much…although I doubt Lady Beldon will approve.”
“Don’t worry about Aunt Beatrix,” Eleanor assured her. “I will deal with her. Please say you will visit me in London.”
“I would be pleased to. I rarely have the chance to come to town except to chaperone our pupils—an occasional outing to let them practice being in society.”
“Then perhaps you can bring them to my aunt’s house for tea.”
“They would be in raptures over such an invitation,” Arabella said honestly.
“And I do hope you will give careful consideration to my brother’s marriage proposal—” When Arabella gave her a warning look, Eleanor held up her hands. “But I shall say no more on the subject for now. So tell me about your academy. I find it fascinating that you would take so bold a step.”
For the next hour, Arabella explained the workings of the school and answered Eleanor’s numerous questions, and then gladly accepted when she offered to help with the academy in any way possible. For the remainder of her visit, Eleanor steered clear of any further mention of her brother, and when she took her leave, merely reminded Arabella of her promise to visit.
Arabella was relieved not to have to defend her position any further. Last night her distress at seeing Marcus’s beautiful mistress had cured her of any idiocy in thinking she might be prepared to risk her heart again. But it was not a subject she felt comfortable discussing with a relative stranger like Marcus’s sister, no matter how charming and delightful she found Eleanor.
She couldn’t even discuss the matter with her own sisters, for then she might have to confess how she had willingly succumbed to Marcus’s seduction. Perhaps her surrender had been inevitable, Arabella reflected, given his potent powers of persuasion. And admittedly she was glad that he had awakened her to passion. But her wanton behavior was the worst sort of example for her virginal sisters.
Moreover, she would have to justify to them why she was recklessly courting the danger of scandal by sharing their guardian’s bed.
She would also find it hard to explain to them the yearning Marcus stirred in her. Not just the physical desire, which alone was beguiling, but the longing to unlock the mysteries of womanhood. By remaining a spinster for the rest of her life, she would miss the vital experiences most other women enjoyed—husbands, lovers, children. Her last few days with Marcus was her one chance to explore a wondrous world she normally would only be able to dream of.
Tess might understand her conflicting feelings, but Arabella wasn’t inclined to burden her friend with such private confidences when Tess was only just now getting over her sorrow at losing her betrothed to war.
No, Arabella decided, it would be much better to keep her affair with Marcus secret.
Avoiding her siblings, however, proved impossible. When Arabella attended the academy that afternoon, Roslyn and Lily caught her daydreaming about her magical night with Marcus. As soon as the class ended, they drew her into a private parlor to question her.
“What is wrong, Arabella?” Roslyn asked in obvious concern. “You were distracted all during your lesson on deportment, and there are circles beneath your eyes.”
“Are there?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. “I suppose I got too little sleep last night, since we returned from London rather late.” When Lily eyed her with a frown, Arabella added cheerfully, “I am perfectly well.”
“You don’t look it,” Lily replied bluntly. “And you have been extremely secretive of late. You told us you were to attend the theater with Lord Danvers, but you said nothing about meeting his sister and aunt or his noble friends. We had to rely on Winifred to learn of it.”
Roslyn’s tone was more gentle. “Winifred also said there was a contretemps between you and the earl last night.”
“So what happened?” Lily asked.
“Nothing of any consequence.” Except that I wound up in Marcus’s bed and relished every moment of it.
“Then why are your cheeks so flushed?”
With effort, Arabella refrained from raising her hand to her warm cheeks; the true cause of her distraction was not a proper subject for her sisters’ tender ears.
“Lord Danvers and I had a disagreement about our future,” she prevaricated. “He still believes he can persuade me to accept his marriage proposal, and I was simply setting him straight on the matter.”
Both her sisters frowned as they scrutinized her intently. “Should we be worried for you, Arabella?” Roslyn asked.
“Whatever for?”
Roslyn searched her face. “We are concerned that you are becoming too susceptible to the earl. That you may be growing overly fond of him.”
“Yes,” Lily explained. “We fear you will let yourself fall in love with him, and he will break your heart just like that blackguard Underwood did.”
Arabella felt her cheeks flush further. “You needn’t worry. I have no intention of falling in love with the earl.”
“Are you certain, Arabella?” Lily asked earnestly.
Arabella smiled reassuringly. “There is no reason for you to worry, truly.”
“But that dreamy look in your eyes…You had that same look the last time you were in love.”
“It is merely sleeplessness,” she insisted. Her dreamy-eyed look had nothing to do with being in love with Marcus. It was merely that she was so new to carnal relations. Every touch, every caress, was a novel experience; every sensation he made her feel was burned into her memory.
But her heart was safe enough now that she had renewed her resolve to keep it well-guarded.
“I think perhaps it is time we came home,” Roslyn said slowly.
Arabella’s instinctive response was to object. She didn’t want her sisters at Danvers Hall just yet. Not when she still had four more nights with Marcus.
“You need us to help defend you against him,” Lily added with conviction. “Tess can spare us, since we have nearly finished sewing all the garments for her war widows and orphans.”
Managing a smile, Arabella shook her head. “Truly, there is no need for you to come home. I am capable of fighting my own battles. And the wager is almost over. Only four more days until I will have won.”
“And what happens then?” Roslyn asked.
“Why, then we will be free of Lord Danvers and his guardianship, and we can resume our normal lives,” Arabella said brightly, determined to disregard the dubious looks her sisters were giving her.
She was indeed perfectly capable of handling her relationship with Marcus on her own, Arabella repeated to herself two hours later when she dressed for dinner. She had every intention of treating him with cool, rational dispassion.
The difficulty was that the moment she saw him, she forgot every bit of her resolve. When he joined her in the drawing room just in time for dinner to be announced, there was nothing cool or rational about her body’s response to him. Her heart leapt and her pulse soared, while her skin instantly turned hot at the intimate look he was giving her.
His blue gaze was sensual and very male. That, combined with the low, husky sound of his voice when he merely apologized for his tardiness, stroked Arabella’s nerve endings with pleasure and turned her limbs to jelly.
It took all her willpower to greet Marcus in kind and allow him to escort her in to dinner. When she placed her hand on his arm, she actually felt it tremble. They were lovers now, and all her senses were trumpeting the fact.
His behavior was all that was proper, however, no doubt for the benefit of the servants. It was only when the soup had been served and the footmen had withdrawn that Marcus allowed the conversation to become more intimate.
“Simpkin said my sister called on you this afternoon. What did she want?”
“She wished for us to become better acquainted,” Arabella answered.
“I confess that worries me.”
Arabella gave Marcus a curious glance. “Why would that worry you?”
“If I know Eleanor, she did something outrageous such as request an introduction to your courtesan friend.”
Arabella smiled as she picked up her wineglass. “Not quite, but I imagine she would have accepted had I offered. Instead, she made me an offer. Your sister kindly invited me to London to visit her.”
Marcus gave her a penetrating look. “I trust you don’t intend to introduce my sister into Fanny Irwin’s circles.”
“Of course not. I have a perfectly good understanding of propriety, Marcus. I merely refuse to be ordered to abandon my own friendship with her, by your aunt or anyone else.”
Marcus’s mouth quirked. “As long as you don’t solicit any more of Fanny’s advice about lovemaking. Anything you want to know, I will teach you. We can continue your education when you come to my rooms tonight.”
Arabella arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you presuming a great deal, expecting me to share your bed tonight?”
“No. I still have to prove that you don’t want any other lovers after we are wed.”
She didn’t need proof. After Marcus, she was certain she would never want anyone else. But she had no desire to prolong their futile argument. “The question is immaterial because we won’t be marrying.”
His blue gaze narrowed on her. “If you think I will allow you to stray from our marriage bed, sweeting, you are gravely mistaken.”
Arabella narrowed her own gaze. “I thought we declared a truce last night.”
“That was last night. And truce or no, you won’t be taking any other lovers.”
There was an unmistakable ring of possessiveness in his tone, which unaccountably mollified Arabella’s vexation. The possibility that Marcus might be jealous somehow pleased her.
Unwilling to admit it, however, she returned a cool stare of defiance.
As if realizing how sharp their discussion had become, Marcus suddenly stopped himself and smiled—a charming, enchanting grin that warmed Arabella down to her toes. “You are right, love.” Taking her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips for a lingering kiss. “I am supposed to be playing the role of romantic suitor. Pray, let me rephrase. Will you do me the great pleasure of sharing my bed tonight?”
Arabella applied herself to her soup while she pretended to consider his request. “Perhaps.”
“You still owe me the better part of four hours of your time today,” Marcus reminded her as he lifted his own soup spoon. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “We can spend it exploring the depths of your sensuality.”
The mere thought sent a thrill of excitement and anticipation surging through Arabella. “Very well, since I owe you,” she allowed, ignoring the laughing gleam in Marcus’s dark eyes.
He knew perfectly well she couldn’t possibly refuse such an irresistible offer.
Later, after retiring alone to her bedchamber, she waited another three quarters of an hour for the household to settle down for the night before slipping down the silent corridors to the masters’ apartments. Marcus had prepared carefully for her visit, Arabella saw with surprise as she shut the door behind her. Flickering candle flames cast a golden glow about the room, illuminating the massive bed, which was strewn with crimson rose petals.
Her heart melted at the romantic gesture, but it was the sight of Marcus that made her breath falter and her throat go dry. He looked stunningly handsome lounging there on the bed, wearing only a dressing gown. His raven hair was slightly tousled, while his robe was partway open to expose his broad, muscular chest. A chest she had explored at length last night and hoped to do so again very shortly.
Remembering the enticing feel of him, Arabella felt her pulse start to throb wildly. Suddenly weak-kneed, she leaned back against the door for support.
When she hesitated there, Marcus raised an eyebrow, taking in the silk gown she had worn to dinner. “You are still dressed.”
“I thought it unwise to risk being seen near your bedchamber in my nightshift.”
“True. But you have on far too many clothes. We will have to remedy that at once.”
Casually rising, Marcus sauntered over to her. He bent his head and kissed her lips, a slow, lazy, utterly possessive kiss that sent her blood racing. Then he led Arabella to stand beside the bed, where the fragrance of roses scented the air.
Taking his time, he undressed her with tantalizing slowness, starting with her hair, removing the pins one by one, letting the tresses fall in a rippling mane around her shoulders. The candlelight caught the red-gold sheen, turning it to flame and capturing his intent gaze.
“You have the most glorious hair,” Marcus murmured, threading his fingers through the silken mass almost reverently.
“Thank you—” Arabella started to say before her reply was cut off by her helpless moan. Marcus had left off caressing her hair and moved his hands to cup her breasts. Even through layers of fabric—bodice, corset, and chemise—she could feel the arousing heat of his palms. Her nipples peaked instantly…a fact he evidently recognized, if the sudden darkening if his eyes was any indication.
With a knowing half smile, Marcus drew down her bodice and underclothes to bare her breasts, then lowered his head to feast. Arabella gasped at the erotic feel of his mouth suckling her nipples, the titillating caress of his tongue. Her hands reached up to clutch his shoulders, bracing herself against the delicious sensations he was causing.
“And you have the most luscious body,” he murmured between warm strokes of his tongue.
“Do I?” Arabella asked hoarsely, barely able to breathe.
Leaving off his ministrations, Marcus lifted his head to flash her an amused look. “What is this, sweeting? Are you fishing for compliments?”
“No…not at all.” Color rose in her cheeks. “It’s only that I have no way of knowing what a man finds…appealing about a woman’s body. I don’t have the experience to judge.”
“Didn’t your friend Fanny tell you?”
“She only told me about a man’s body…what to expect.” Arabella glanced down at Marcus. He had purposely let his dressing gown hang open, exposing his nudity. He looked like a very beautiful, very aroused male, intensely vital, intensely appealing. With a smile, Arabella trailed her fingers down his powerful chest to his abdomen. “And I have discovered all on my own that you have a very splendid body.”
“I am honored you think so,” Marcus said graciously. When Arabella’s hand would have moved lower to his loins, however, he caught her wrist. “Not yet, love. If you touch me, I can’t vouch for my control.”
He undressed her fully this time, removing her slippers and stockings, then her gown and underthings. When she stood naked before him, he shed his robe and drew her fully against him, letting her feel the hard, heated press of his nude body.
His hot breath burned her ear as he whispered, “You can’t fathom how I have looked forward to tonight.”
Yes, she could fathom it, for she had done the same since the moment she’d awakened this morning.
His lips feathering kisses along her neck, he eased Arabella back upon the bed and followed her down to lounge on his side, his weight braced on one elbow as he continued nibbling at her skin. “I’ve wanted this for ages…making love to you on a bed of rose petals. Ever since you gave away all my bouquets, in fact.”
A soft laugh tumbled from her throat as he pressed his warm lips there. When she would have replied, he found her mouth and gave it the same erotic attention, wooing her with laughter and tenderness and incredible sensuality.
It was quite some time before he finally drew back to survey her. “Luscious,” he repeated, his appraising scrutiny flickering over her nakedness.
Holding her gaze, he scooped up a handful of rose petals and sprinkled them over Arabella. Then gathering a few more in his fingers, he ran them slowly over her body…the swells of her breasts, the curve of her hip, her belly, and lower…stroking her woman’s mound, the sensitive folds below. Exhaling in a whimper, Arabella arched hungrily against him.
“You’re very responsive to my touch,” Marcus observed.
“You make me that way.”
The rose petals on her skin felt incredibly sensual. The velvet softness caressed her flesh as his hot gaze was doing, making her tremble.
“Marcus, you cannot torment me this way….”
“Yes, I can, angel. I want you senseless from wanting me.”
She was already senseless with desire for him, and she wanted him the same way. She wanted to torment Marcus and make him ache with the feverish hunger he had kindled in her.
Struggling for a semblance of control, Arabella raised her hands and pushed at his shoulders, compelling him to roll over onto his back amid the rose petals. She could tell by his look that her unexpected action had surprised him.
“Turnabout is fair play,” she said with a faint smile.
“So it is.” Marcus lay there, compliant, but his eyes held a bold challenge. “Do you intend to have your wicked way with me?”
“Precisely.” She had never felt the least urge to be wicked and wanton with anyone else. With Marcus she felt that way every moment he was near, and often when he was not.
She felt supremely wicked now as the soft candlelight gleamed tantalizingly over his body. He was beautiful, lithe and strong and totally irresistible.
Suspecting he could see the yearning in her eyes, she gathered some rose petals of her own and dragged them slowly downward over his chest, smiling when he inhaled sharply. Rather than continue caressing him, however, she scattered the handful of petals over him, letting them drift down to his loins, where his manhood stood stiffly erect.
“Roses become you,” Arabella murmured, a hint of husky laughter in her voice.
She could tell Marcus was striving to remain still, for his hands curled into fists at his sides. Yet he made no move to stop her. Instead, he watched intently as she knelt above him.
Her hair teasing his skin, she bent and pressed a light kiss to his chest. She could feel the tension in his body, feel his heart thudding beneath her lips. And that was before she let her kisses glide lower. When her lips touched him beneath his rib cage, his stomach contracted reflexively.
“Does that hurt?” she asked innocently, raising her gaze to his.
“You know damn well it doesn’t hurt,” Marcus muttered.
“Then what does it feel like?” When he didn’t answer, Arabella caressed the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with her fingertips. “Does it feel pleasurable?”
He gave a low, strangled sigh as her hand curled around his thickly engorged shaft. “God, yes.”
Holding him lightly in her grasp, she bent low over him to let her breath whisper over his skin. His arousal jerked eagerly, and when she pressed her lips to the crest, she made him shudder.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he rasped.
“From you, Marcus. I am only following the example you set me last night.”
His ragged laugh turned to a groan. “You are an excellent learner.”
Encouraged, Arabella closed her lips over the swollen head, tasting him with her tongue, intent on pleasuring him as he had pleasured her. His entire body went rigid as he fought for control.
His helpless response roused a potent feminine sense of power in Arabella. She had never felt more keenly aware of her senses; the sweet scent of roses, the alluring musk of Marcus’s skin, the heat swelling between them, the arousing taste of him. She could imagine him thrusting inside her, darkly male and powerful, as she sucked and pulled gently, coaxing another groan from him.
Savoring the sound, Arabella sighed at the sweet spasm of desire that arrowed down to her loins, deep in her center. She could feel her own secret flesh grow moist and swollen, her blood stirring thickly with excitement.
Marcus had squeezed his eyes shut, while his hands clenched at his sides. His restraint was obviously slipping, though, pleasure eroding his will.
She continued her tender ministrations, wanting to drive him to a frenzy of longing. Her fingers fondled the turgid length of his shaft and the velvety, swollen sacs beneath while she plied him with warm caresses of her tongue and lips. A low, panting growl rumbled up from his throat, and a dozen heartbeats later, his hips rose up to meet her, driving his length deeper into the recesses of her mouth.
His hunger only served to heighten her desire, and she suckled harder, which pushed Marcus to the edge of his restraint.
His jaw knotted tightly, he grasped Arabella’s shoulders and pulled her away.
“That is quite enough.” His voice was harsh and husky, his eyes brilliant with heat as he captured her gaze.
But it is not enough, she wanted to protest. She stared at him in the simmering glow of candlelight, faint with desire for him. She wanted him desperately, longed to feel him deep inside her.
Marcus must have wanted the same thing, for he drew her up to lie upon him so that her thighs straddled his. The melting hunger inside her turned to a relentless ache as his hands settled on her hips and he lifted her, holding the naked core of her poised above his thick shaft.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Arabella drew a long, shuddering breath, yearning for the searing pleasure of their joining…a breath that sighed out of her as Marcus complied with her unspoken wish. Lowering her slowly, he parted the wet, swollen folds of her sex with his phallus and gently, very gently eased the silken head into her quivering flesh.
Impaled on his hardness, she bit back a soft moan at the rapturous feel of him, the fullness of his penetration.
And then he began to move, igniting a burst of fire inside her. When Arabella arched her back in response, his hands reached for her breasts, stroking them, teasing her taut, straining nipples. And when she rocked against him, he lifted his hips to meet hers, thrusting his huge, burning shaft into her.
His face was hard with need; the desire she saw there made her chest feel tight as he slowly drove upward again, and then again with more urgency. Her moan turned to a sob, a sound that seemed to enflame him.
Grating out her name, Marcus grasped her hair to pull her face down to his. He kissed her as if he was determined to steal every ounce of willpower she had. Arabella struggled to remain in control, but his tongue plunged into her mouth like the driving rhythm of his flesh sheathed deep in her body. Her inner muscles clutched at him as shuddering tremors began to ripple remorselessly through her.
A keening whimper escaped her throat. She could feel the fire, the all-consuming need, swelling and building.
An instant later, Arabella cried out, convulsing wildly as the relentless waves of pleasure engulfed her entire body.
His control broke then. Marcus’s strong body arched helplessly beneath her, guttural groans of release ripping from his throat as he reached his own harsh, powerful climax deep within her.
His arms came around her as she collapsed upon him. In the melting afterglow, Arabella lay there bonelessly, still joined to Marcus, her breasts pressed against his sweat-dampened chest, her face nestled in the curve of his throat, their ragged breaths mingling, their frantic heartbeats slowing.
It was a long while before Arabella recovered her senses. Marcus was stroking her hair, a tender gesture that made her sigh.
“I believe you won that round,” he murmured hoarsely.
Not moving, Arabella suddenly swallowed hard. No, she hadn’t won at all. Once again Marcus had shattered all her control.
Yet that wasn’t solely what worried her. It wasn’t even that his vaunted powers of seduction had proved so overwhelming. It was that her resolve to remain emotionally indifferent was slipping away with his every sensual caress.
There was supreme peril in letting herself become too attached to Marcus, a warning voice clamored in her mind. She could hear her sisters’ worried voices questioning whether she was in danger of falling in love with him. You need us to help defend you against him, Lily had insisted.
Perhaps she should have listened, Arabella reflected as she pressed a kiss against the warm bare skin of Marcus’s neck. Perhaps she did need reinforcements to help maintain her defenses. If she had any hope at all of remaining dispassionate toward Marcus—
A helpless laugh whispered from her lips as she caught herself nibbling on his delicious skin. Even a fool could see she wasn’t able to defend herself against him on her own. Not when she was so desperately attracted to his lovemaking.
Just then Marcus shifted beneath her, reminding her that their flesh was still joined in the most intimate way possible. A sweet jolt of fire shivered through Arabella as he captured her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his for another burning kiss.
Most definitely she would be wise to ask her sisters to come home, Arabella decided as she gave herself up to the searing enchantment of his kisses.