The covers had been turned down as expected, but a large pile of clothing lay on top, including the rose silk gown Arabella had worn to the theater this evening.

When he caught the sparkle of rubies and the gleam of pearls among the silks and sarcenets, a heavy frown descended on his brow. Arabella had returned all the gowns and jewelry he had bought her!

A folded sheet of vellum rested on the pile. Ripping it open, Marcus read the terse message inside:


My Lord Danvers, you may give these to your paramour. I do not require them any longer.

Your eldest ward, Miss Loring


Knotting his jaw, Marcus threw on a dressing gown, gathered up her gowns and jewels, flung open his door, and stalked down the corridor to the opposite wing of the manor, where Arabella’s bedchamber was located.

He had been extremely patient until now. He had resolved to woo her with tenderness and passion in order to win her surrender.

But since his strategy was obviously getting him nowhere, more drastic measures were called for.


When her bedchamber door flew open, Arabella was sitting at her dressing table, making a desultory effort to brush her hair.

She felt utterly wretched. As a girl, she’d hated witnessing her parents’ fights, but she hated fighting with Marcus even more.

Arabella bit down on her quivering lower lip. Her turmoil just now was only more evidence that she’d allowed her emotions to become too involved with Marcus. She had lied earlier when she’d claimed she wasn’t jealous of his beautiful mistress. She’d been eaten up with jealousy, proving she was in over her head. She couldn’t let it continue-

Marcus’s startling entrance made her leap up from her dressing table and whirl to face him.

When she spied him standing there, looking dark and irate, holding her beautiful gowns, Arabella swallowed. She had known he wouldn’t be happy that she’d returned her new wardrobe as a symbolic severing of their guardian-ward relationship, but she hadn’t expected Marcus to barge into her bedchamber while she was preparing for bed.

As she eyed him warily, his gaze raked over her, taking in her long-sleeved nightshift, her unbound hair, her bare feet. Even though the white cambric covered her completely, Arabella still felt defenseless, so she hurriedly took refuge behind her dressing table chair, using it as a shield.

“Marcus, what do you mean, invading my rooms this way?”

“You misplaced your wardrobe, sweeting.”

“No, I didn’t. I intended to give everything back to you.”

“Well, I won’t accept. These garments and jewels belong to you, and you are keeping them.” His eyes bored into hers, brightly blue, beautiful, as he strode forward and flung the pile on her bed.

Her hands moving to her hips, Arabella stared back defiantly at him-a defiance that turned to alarm when he advanced on her.

“Marcus, leave my bedchamber at once!”

“I intend to. And you are coming with me.”

She tried to elude him, scurrying to the other side of the bed, but he reached her in three determined strides. Bending, Marcus caught one arm behind her knees, the other at her back, and swung her up in his embrace, ignoring her shocked gasp of outrage.

Disregarding her fiercely whispered demands to put her down, he carried Arabella along the dim corridor, past the main staircase.

“Where are you taking me?” she exclaimed when she realized he was heading toward the far wing, which traditionally belonged to the earls of Danvers.

“To my rooms. I’m wooing you, just as we agreed.”

“I never agreed to this!”

“Spare your breath, love. I intend to show you what our marriage bed will be like.”

Her heart thudding wildly at his declaration, Arabella renewed her efforts to break free, but she couldn’t make Marcus release his tight hold.

Moments later, he entered his bedchamber with her, kicked the door shut behind him with his bare foot, and strode over to the massive bed, where he unceremoniously dropped her.

With a sputter of indignation, Arabella came up swinging, intent on boxing his ears.

Before her hand could strike, though, he caught her and dragged her hard against him. The abrupt contact startled her, making her body go rigid.

Arabella drew a sharp breath as she stared up at Marcus. His midnight blue eyes had sparked and darkened with something far different than anger as he held her closely, her breasts pressed against his broad chest, her thighs nestled against his muscular ones.

When he next spoke, his voice suddenly lowered to a husky murmur. “I plan to prove to you that you don’t want any lovers but me, Arabella.”

She tried to pull back, but Marcus wouldn’t let her go. “I do not want you for a lover,” she declared in a shaky voice.

“Yes, you do.”

“Of all the unmitigated arrogance-”

His mouth came down on hers then, capturing, seizing, his tongue probing deep to duel with hers.

His stunning kiss, however, lasted only a moment before he broke it off.

“You want me, Arabella. You can’t deny it.”

She did want him, she admitted as Marcus held her even closer. She wanted him desperately. Her breath fled as the fiercest longing swept through her…heat and desire and need.

Marcus felt the same longing, she knew, for he had gone completely still. Time suddenly seemed to halt, the very air vibrating with a blazing tension that had nothing to do with their battle of wills. His eyes seemed to burn as they stared down into hers.

Her gaze trapped by his, Arabella stood unmoving.

His expression softening, Marcus reached up to brush her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “I mean to satisfy you, Arabella. To pleasure you. To show you delights you’ve never dreamed of.”

Passion throbbed between them; her pulse thudded in her ears.

Abandoning any pretense of resistance then, Arabella raised her face to his. “Stop talking and kiss me,” she said hoarsely.

That was all it took. Bending, Marcus seized her mouth again, savagely ravishing, and Arabella responded just as fervently. They kissed violently as days of pent-up frustration exploded between them.

In some dim corner of her mind, she felt him guiding her backward toward the high bed. Without breaking the kiss, Marcus urged her down but at the last moment turned and fell back so that she sprawled over him, her hair forming a red-gold curtain around them.

Their mouths remaining locked, he ravaged hers with pleasure. Arabella returned his ardor with all her might, her breath coming in panting gasps. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses, couldn’t deny the desire and hunger surging through her veins, through every nerve and sinew in her body. She felt frantic, an urgent clamoring need that wouldn’t be satisfied by only his mouth. She wanted much, much more from him.

Whimpering, she pressed herself desperately against the strong, muscular male body lying beneath her, suddenly aware that his dressing gown had fallen open to expose his hot, bare skin, his naked loins…his swollen hardness that jutted upward to press against her abdomen. Instinctively, her hips ground against him, seeking to get closer.

With a strangled groan, Marcus tore away his mouth from hers. His hands tangled in her hair as he stared up at her. “If you don’t want this, then tell me now.”

She knew what he was asking. Her throat dry, her breath rasping, her heart pounding, Arabella nodded slowly. “I want this… I want you.”

Fire flared in his eyes. Marcus rolled over her, pinning her beneath his weight. Then reaching up, he grasped the delicate collar of her nightdress and ripped the thin cambric to her waist, baring the ripe fullness of her breasts. Before her surprised gasp could even escape her throat, his head dipped to her breasts and he took a taut nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. Arabella nearly came up off the bed at the delicious sensation.

Squeezing the firm mounds together, he lavished attention on her throbbing nipples until she was moaning hoarsely for him. “Marcus…please…”

His hand reached down between their bodies then, dragging up the hem of her torn nightshift, slipping between her thighs to stroke her pulsing cleft. “Not yet. You’re not ready for me yet.”

“I am…this fire…” She was burning with need for him, her very core aching with flaming hunger.

Lifting himself up, he tore her nightdress the rest of the way, then shrugged out of his dressing gown and threw it to the carpet, baring his magnificent, powerful body. Kneeling between her spread thighs, he took her hips in his hands and bent to her.

When his magic mouth found her feminine center, her response was half scream, half sob-a helpless, pleading sound that turned to a keening cry as he ravished her with his sensual expertise, his lips stroking, his tongue plunging in deep. Her hands clenched in his hair as the fire built to a raging inferno, then finally erupted inside her.

When eventually she regained her senses, Marcus was kneeling over her, watching her, his eyes tender, his face taut and flushed with his effort at control.

“Please, don’t stop…” Arabella managed to begin a hoarse whisper.

He went utterly still. For a long moment they remained staring at each other, their gazes locked, time frozen in a moment so sharp, so raw, she could hear his heartbeat, feel the turbulent rhythm echo her own. She knew what caused his hesitation. He was her first lover, her only lover. The next step would be irrevocable.

“Marcus,” she whispered again, reaching for him.

His smile was solemn and enchanting, his voice low and hoarse as he replied, “I won’t stop.”