Nicole Jordan - To Pleasure a Lady

Her eyes flared then with a different emotion, while his senses avidly relayed the excitement of touching her.

She felt warm and intensely vital. Intensely alive. Her feminine softness raised every primal male instinct he possessed.

It was all he could do to keep control of himself. “The next time you threaten a man, Miss Loring,” he advised in a voice that was suddenly husky, “make certain you are prepared to carry it through.”

With another small cry of frustration, she snatched her hand from his grasp and stepped back. “I will take note next time, your lordship.”

Marcus was startled by how badly he wanted there to be a next time. He watched as Arabella tossed down the rapier, where it clattered on the floor.

“You should be glad I am too much of a lady to run you through,” she declared. With that she spun on her heel and stalked to the door. But then she paused to shoot a darkling glance over her shoulder. “If you want a battle, Lord Danvers, I promise I will give you one.”

I have finally met the earl and he is even more vexing than I anticipated.

– Arabella Loring to Fanny Irwin

Her gaze was challenge incarnate, a challenge Marcus couldn’t resist. When he took a step closer, however, Miss Loring promptly quit the room. He followed her out to the corridor and stared after her, totally bemused.

She brushed past his two friends, who were cooling their heels in the corridor, and crossed to the entrance hall, where his butler hurriedly opened the front door for her.

When she swept out, Marcus suppressed the urge to give chase. Yet the tantalizing encounter had left him hungry for more of her.

“Your mouth is agape, old son,” Heath observed, clearly amused.

Marcus clamped his mouth shut, yet he couldn’t deny the truth of the accusation. Arabella Loring had left him with all his primal male instincts aroused.

Shaking his head in bafflement, he returned to the salon and proceeded to pour himself a generous ale, then sank pensively onto the leather couch, contemplating his intense reaction to his eldest ward.

His friends followed suit and settled in nearby chairs. Heath was the first to speak. “You didn’t tell us Miss Loring was stunning, Marcus.”

“Because I didn’t know.” His solicitors had advised him to expect a beauty, but they hadn’t warned him about her vibrancy, her inner fire, or he might have been better prepared to face her.

“She certainly set you back on your heels,” Drew commented, his tone edged with sardonic humor. “From what we heard, she threatened to unman you. You were right-you have a virago on your hands.”

“No,” Heath disagreed. “More like an Amazon or a Valkyrie.” His tone was rather admiring.

“I prefer a bit more calm in a female,” Drew drawled.

“Not I,” Heath replied. “A pity you sent us out of the room, Marcus. I would have liked to witness the fireworks.”

Fireworks was exactly what he’d felt with Arabella, Marcus thought, bemused.

“You still look confounded,” Drew added more seriously.

Marcus nodded his head in agreement. He’d never before experienced that instantaneous, powerful feeling of attraction. Just being near Arabella had ignited a spark of desire in him.

Which was remarkably novel. He’d known countless beautiful women before. Hell, he’d enjoyed more than his fair share of beauties. So what made his eldest ward so different? The fact that she hadn’t fawned over him? That she wasn’t eager to please and gratify him as every other woman was?

“Perhaps,” he rationalized, “I was just taken aback because she was so unexpected.”

“There’s no doubt she will prove challenging,” Heath said needlessly.

She would indeed, Marcus thought, remembering Arabella’s parting declaration of war. Elementally challenging. Irresistibly intriguing. The image of her flashing gray eyes and red-gold hair would be hard to forget.

He took a long drink of ale. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that his interest had been acutely aroused by an elegant spitfire like Arabella. For months now all his usual pursuits had seemed deadly dull. And he’d been excruciatingly bored by all the women chasing him, ladies and lightskirts alike.

“So just how do you intend to manage the fiery Miss Arabella?” Drew asked.

“Truthfully? I’m not yet certain. I expect I’ll move up my visit to Danvers Hall to Monday.”

“I would say you underestimated your dilemma in marrying her off to some unwitting dupe.”

Marcus laughed inwardly. “No doubt.” The task of arranging her a proper match would be harder than he’d imagined. And whoever attempted to court her would have his work cut out for him. “It may be impossible to find a husband for her.”

“I’m not so certain,” Heath countered. “I imagine any number of men would find her spirit appealing. If she shows half that passion in bed, she would make some man a magnificent mistress.”

Marcus shot his friend a scowl. “Mind your tongue, man. That’s my ward you’re speaking of.”

Heath returned a rueful grin. “True, you can’t seduce your own ward. A shame she’s so well-born. Wouldn’t be honorable. Forbidden fruit and all that.”

Forbidden, true, Marcus acknowledged regretfully. His current connection to the Loring sisters was purely a legal one, and they were all of an age that they didn’t require a guardian to supervise their every action, yet he was still responsible for their welfare.

Even so, he couldn’t deny that taking Arabella for his mistress held a definite appeal. He was between mistresses at the moment, since nothing seemed to satisfy him lately. Slaking his carnal needs in a lush, perfumed body had held little allure recently-until now.

An image of a willing Arabella in his bed ignited another surge of desire in his loins. The thought of having all that fire beneath him, surrounding him, made Marcus shift uncomfortably in his seat.

Heath added in a provoking tone, “As I said, you could always offer for her yourself. It would be entertaining to watch you try to conquer her.”

Drew’s mouth twisted with a mocking smile. “You might find it refreshing, having to chase a woman for a change.”

Marcus sent his friends a look of annoyance. “Have a care, my fine fellows. If you keep ragging me about matrimony, I’ll find a way to make you marry my wards.”

“I can understand,” Drew replied, unintimidated, “why the Loring sisters would object to your guardianship. Women like the illusion of pulling all the strings, making men dance to their bidding. Not being treated as an unpleasant duty, as you seem to consider your wards.”

“I wouldn’t find the duty unpleasant at all,” Heath mused. “I could enjoy a dispute with the likes of Miss Arabella. What about it, Marcus? You’ve been complaining for some time about boredom. A battle with her will surely add spice to your life.” Heath paused, surveying Marcus over the rim of his mug. “And judging from that glint in your eye, you think so, too.”

Marcus nodded. Battling Arabella Loring would be a cure for his ennui, no question. “Doubtless it will prove interesting. I’ll find out when I travel to Danvers Hall next week to settle the issue of their marriages.”

He didn’t know just yet precisely how he would deal with Arabella. But he was keenly looking forward to their next confrontation.

The trouble with bearding a lion in his den, Arabella thought as she climbed into her patroness’s plush traveling chaise, was that one risked being eaten. Perhaps she had escaped becoming a tasty meal for Marcus Pierce, the new Earl of Danvers, but her pride had certainly suffered.

As the coachmen whipped up the team to return to Chiswick, Arabella sank back against the velvet squabs and waited for her wits to stop whirling. Lord Danvers had made her so addled for a moment that she’d actually forgotten her purpose in coming.

She’d traveled to London this morning, determined to use logic and charm to make him see reason and convince him to relinquish his unwanted guardianship. But he had completely taken her off guard when she’d interrupted his fencing practice.

It was deplorable, the way her pulse had quickened at her first sight of him. He was tall and athletically built, with thick ebony hair, midnight blue eyes, and the square, chiseled features of a Greek god. But no marble statue had ever made her want to touch it or sparked such brazen images in her mind as he had kindled.

Arabella winced, remembering how his open shirt had exposed part of his muscular chest and the dark hair curling invitingly in the gap. The earl’s state of undress, combined with the gleam of amusement in his shrewd blue eyes, had totally disconcerted her. And then she had allowed him to provoke her into losing her temper.

She couldn’t imagine what had prompted her to threaten him like that when she had meant to sweetly persuade. It clearly had been a mistake to challenge him, since a man of his ilk obviously relished challenges.

Lord Danvers had shockingly turned the tables on her, rendering her breathless by nearly kissing her. What was worse, she had wanted him to do it! She’d made an ignominious but judicious retreat without attaining her goal, not trusting herself to remain any longer.

The encounter had left her unsettled inside and supremely vexed with herself, not only by her failure but by her foolish attraction to him.

“Silly widgeon,” Arabella muttered to herself. “You not only let him get the upper hand, you acted like any other witless female, attracted to a handsome nobleman.”

His lordship’s superior smugness was just what she had expected. He was a provoking devil, arrogant and highhanded, thinking he knew what was best for them. Yet she couldn’t deny his impact was potent. She had felt the fire between them during those few brief moments when they’d been locked together in a battle of wills.

With a sigh of disgust, Arabella turned her head to gaze out the carriage window at the passing countryside.

She should have been better prepared for him. Her good friend Fanny Irwin-whom she had known since childhood and who currently was London’s most famous courtesan-had warned her about Marcus Pierce. About his striking looks, his roguish charm, his keen intelligence. As one of the country’s most eligible aristocrats, he had enchanted half of England’s female population-and bedded a good number of them.

Most women found his sort of rakish charm appealing. But then most women had not had to suffer a libertine father their whole lives long, as Arabella had.

Her new guardian was too blasted handsome for his own good. The thought made Arabella press her lips together in self-reproach. Her mother had sacrificed everything for a handsome face…including her own daughters. The wrenching pain of Mama’s abandonment still cut like a knife, even after four years.

When Victoria Loring had absconded with her lover, her daughters were left to deal with the resultant humiliation and disgrace. Then to exacerbate matters further, their father, Sir Charles Loring, had gambled away the last of his fortune two weeks later and was killed in a duel over one of his mistresses.

Beyond the emotional devastation of losing both their parents and their family home in one fell blow, the Loring sisters had paid dearly for the scandals in other ways. Arabella had lost her betrothed because of it. Her three-month engagement to a viscount-a man she had sincerely loved-had been quickly terminated, since he wasn’t brave enough to defy the vicious censure of the Beau Monde for her sake. His professions of love had proved as ephemeral as cloud wisps, leaving Arabella feeling as if her heart had been broken, just as the poets maintained.

Roslyn, the real beauty of the family, had been denied any sort of respectable future. When her Season ended so abruptly, so did her chance for any suitable marriage proposals. Even more mortifying, she’d been offered carte blanche by three different rakes, infamous propositions that never would have occurred had their step-uncle been a better guardian.

Lilian had had no chance to make a respectable match, either, although she claimed not to mind. Damming up her feelings of anguish and grief, the youngest Loring sister had run a little wild, rebelling against society’s strictures and the haughty arbiters of the ton who had repudiated her and her siblings.

Lily had become something of a hellion, much to Arabella’s chagrin. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for failing to protect her sisters, since she was the eldest. She’d only been nineteen when their mother abandoned them, but she still felt responsible. Particularly since their step-uncle was such a curmudgeon who cared so little for their welfare.