Unmasking the Duke's Mistress. Margaret McPhee

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.