‘You are looking very lovely today,’ Darius remarked dryly to his wife of two hours.
Hours during which he had smiled and been polite to both Arabella’s family—all those St Claire aunts and uncles and cousins—and numerous members of the ton, who ordinarily would have returned to their country estates this late in the year, but had instead stayed on in town to attend two fashionable St Claire weddings.
No doubt gossip and speculation about the second of the two weddings would sustain many a conversation on a cold winter’s evening before the ton returned to London en masse in the spring—with the added and erroneous assumption that the heir to the Carlyne dukedom would be born an indecently short time after the wedding!
‘Thank you.’ Arabella had no intention of returning the compliment by telling Darius how breathtakingly handsome he looked, in his snowy-white linen and austere black jacket and thigh-hugging black pantaloons, with his hair gleaming deeply gold in the reflection of the hundreds of candles illuminating the ballroom at St Claire House.
Seeing Darius in church earlier, as he’d stood at the altar waiting for her to join him, had literally robbed Arabella of her breath. So much so that for a few brief moments she had been unable to move as the organ began to play. Only the recently acquired knowledge of Darius’s previous offer for her, one that had been made willingly, had prompted her into moving forward on silk-slippered feet.
Apart from her three brothers, Darius now stood head and shoulders above their wedding guests. Even if he had not, the deep gold of his hair and the handsomeness of his features would have distinguished him from every other man in the room.
Or perhaps that was only Arabella’s biased opinion?
‘When can we decently take our leave, do you think?’ Darius looked bored by the whole proceeding.
Arabella arched blond brows. ‘Decently?’ she prodded.
Darius shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Or indecently?’
‘I would have thought, having been through this once before, that you would have more knowledge of the correct etiquette than I? Or perhaps your previous marriage was of such short duration that you have simply forgot ten?’ she taunted.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Have a care, Arabella,’ he warned her softly.
‘Or what, Your Grace?’
‘Or I might give myself the pleasure, once we are alone, of placing you over my knee and administering suitable punishment,’ Darius murmured huskily, and was instantly rewarded by the flush that appeared in Arabella’s cheeks.
Of anger? Or anticipation ?
This past week had shown Darius that his new bride possessed all the courage he had imagined and more, as she had steadfastly refused to be daunted by any of the underlying displeasure of the ton in her choice of husband. Just as she had withstood all the gossip and speculation that had circulated around town after their wedding was announced. She had also, without fuss or ado, aided her sister-in-law Jane with the arrangements of that wedding. Best of all, she had been gracious and compassionate to Margaret, his brother’s widow, a lady that Darius himself held in high regard, when they had dined with her.
In fact, Darius could not fault Arabella’s behaviour towards everything and everyone this past week. Everyone but himself, that was.
Whenever the two of them had chanced to be alone—which, admittedly, had not been often—Arabella had tended to be either sharply critical or coolly dismissive, giving him little idea as to how she really felt about him. But Darius had every intention of rectifying the coolness of her manner towards him later this evening, once they were finally alone together at Carlyne House.
In fact, the anticipation of at last being alone with her was only adding to Darius’s frustration with the social expectations it was so necessary to fulfil at one’s own wedding. He physically ached to finish what the two of them had started in Hawk St Claire’s study a week ago. Especially when he considered it had been that intimacy which had forced him into having to offer Arabella marriage!
His promised conversation with Lucian St Claire, once he’d finally managed to get the other man alone, had assured him of the other man’s silence. Lucian had confirmed that he had not in any way broken the promise he had given to Darius six months ago. Nor would he.
Arabella looked down her provocative little nose at him. ‘Am I to assume from that remark that I should expect to be beaten on a regular basis in our marriage, Your Grace?’
‘You can expect to receive something on a regular basis in our marriage, Arabella,’ he warned harshly. ‘Especially if you intend to continue addressing me as “Your Grace” in that patronising manner.’
Her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘I am not sure that I altogether approve of a man who would threaten to beat his wife.’
Darius raised blond brows. ‘I do not believe I have ever asked for your approval, Arabella.’
No, he never had, Arabella acknowledged with a frown. In fact, she could never remember Darius, either as the disreputable Lord Wynter or the more respectable Duke of Carlyne, ever asking for, or indeed needing, anyone’s approval. Least of all her own.
Arabella grudgingly admitted that it was this very arrogance, the feeling of dangerous uncertainty whenever she was in Darius’s company, that made him so fascinatingly attractive to her…
‘Nor,’ Darius continued softly as he moved to stand in front of her, and so effectively shut the two of them off from their guests’ curiosity, ‘did I, in fact, threaten to beat you in the manner you describe. I assure you, Arabella, that I would endeavour to ensure that you thoroughly enjoy any … punishment that I choose to administer to you.’
Arabella felt colour blaze in her cheeks at the bluntness of his conversation. ‘Perhaps the women you are used to associating with enjoy such—such rough treatment, Darius, but I assure you that I do not.’
‘I hope you will come to appreciate at least a little sport in our marriage bed, Arabella.’ His eyes gleamed down at her mockingly. ‘I assure you, there is nothing quite like it for rousing the blood.’
Arabella felt herself becoming flustered. Had she, after all, taken on more of a challenge in becoming Darius’s wife than she was capable of dealing with?
Darius had been married before, and had indulged in a prodigious number of affairs with ladies both in the ton and out of it. In comparison to those women Arabella knew herself to be very young and inexperienced. Perhaps too much so to sustain the interest of a man as experienced as Darius undoubtedly was?
It was a little late for her to be having second thoughts now, when the wedding had already taken place and she would shortly be retiring for the night with her husband to Carlyne House!
She looked searchingly into his face. ‘I believe, sir, that you are deliberately trying to alarm me …’
His mouth quirked. ‘Am I?’
‘Yes.’ Arabella felt more and more confident of the fact as she saw the humour deepen in his vivid blue eyes. ‘It is very cruel of you to tease me in this way, Darius.’
He raised a wicked brow. ‘Perhaps in the same way it was cruel of you to tease me this past week?’
Her eyes widened. ‘I was not aware of indulging in any such teasing.’
She was so very young, Darius realised ruefully. And so completely unaware, it seemed, of the physical provocation of the creamy swell of her breasts and the way her hips swayed so seductively beneath the soft material of her gown when she walked.