Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage

Arabella had no doubt from the determined tone of his voice that conversation was the last thing the arrogant Duke of Carlyne wished to continue..

Darius strode from the ballroom, pulling Arabella through yet another crush of people where they stood chattering and laughing in the cavernous hallway, although he was not unaware of the expression in her beautiful brown eyes as he looked for a room where he could be alone with this insultingly outspoken young madam. Those eyes of hers, Darius knew, could sparkle with laughter as easily as they now snapped with anger.

So far the former had never happened in his presence..

Whenever he and Arabella St Claire had chanced to meet this past year and a half it had always been at one function of the ton or another. Occasions when this feisty little miss had treated the disreputable Lord Darius Wynter with all the haughty disdain of which a St Claire was capable—if she deigned to acknowledge him at all. Which usually she had not.

The tenuous accuracy of Arabella’s recently voiced insults proved that although she had appeared to be completely unaware of him personally, she had obviously not been above listening to the scandalous gossip that so often circulated about him amongst the ton!

It was time—past time—for Darius to demonstrate to her that as the Duke of Carlyne he would no longer tolerate such dismissive behaviour from her or anyone else!

The noise and heat of the wedding party faded, and Darius kept his hand tightly about her elbow as he strode forcefully down a corridor towards the back of the house.

‘What is in here?’ He indicated a door to the left of the hallway with his free hand.

‘It is a linen closet, I believe. Lord Wyn—Your Grace,’ she corrected herself hurriedly as she stumbled along beside him, ‘this really is most improper—’

‘Here?’ Darius ignored her protests, his expression grim as he indicated a door to the right.

‘Hawk’s study. But we cannot go in there!’ she protested agitatedly.

Darius thrust the door open before pulling her into the darkened room behind him. ‘Now.’ He took both her hands in one of his and lifted them over her head as he pushed her back against the closed door and pressed the length of his body against hers. ‘Shall we put to the test your claim that I am the very last man you would ever contemplate being intimate with? ‘ His eyes glittered down at her as he slowly lowered his head with the intention of capturing her pouting lips with his own.

Arabella couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Her struggles to release her hands from Darius’s steely restraint were only causing her body to become pressed more intimately against his. Causing her to feel more closely the hard warmth of his chest and thighs even as those cynical lips claimed hers.

Despite her earlier attempt at sophisticated bravado, Arabella had never even been kissed before. Her own lack of any deep interest, along with the threat of her brothers’ wrath raining down on the head of any man who dared take such liberties with their young sister, had been enough, it seemed, to warn off any of the young bucks she had met so far.

Not so in the case of Darius Wynter who, at one and thirty, was most certainly not a young buck. Nor, as the illustrious Duke of Carlyne, was he in awe of any of her brothers.

A mouth that had appeared hard and sculptured was instead softly intimate as Darius kissed Arabella with a thoroughness that made her body tremble and shake even as it burned. Her breasts somehow felt fuller as they pressed against the restraining material of her gown, and there was a heat between her thighs that Arabella had never experienced before. A flowering that caused her to shift her hips in restless need. What she needed exactly, she was unsure. She only knew that she wanted something more than he had so far given her.

Darius raised his head to look down into the flushed and beautiful face reflected in the moonlight that shone so brightly through the window directly across the room. He noted the feverish glitter of Arabella’s eyes as she looked up at him. The warmth in her cheeks. The fullness of her lips. The uneven rise and fall of the creamy breasts that spilled so temptingly over the low neckline of her gown.

The burn of Darius’s gaze returned to the pout of her mouth. ‘Open your lips for me,’ he encouraged gruffly.

Arabella frowned. ‘Certainly not!’

She was such a little vixen in her condemnation of him. So critical of his reputation. The same reputation that, along with his lack of wealth, had no doubt caused this haughty young lady to refuse his offer for her the previous year.

Darius’s grip tightened as he held her hands pressed to the door above her head, his eyes glinting down in promised retribution for all of her earlier slights. ‘Open your mouth, Arabella,’ he rasped. ‘Show me how a real woman kisses,’ he added, with challenging scorn for her earlier effort.

He was instantly rewarded by the light of battle that caused Arabella’s eyes to shine more brightly in the moonlight as she glared up at him. ‘If you will but release my hands, Your Grace?’ she snapped angrily.

He gave a hard smile. ‘I have no intention of releasing you only to have you use your little claws on me.’

Arabella was furious. More angry than she could ever remember being in her life before. Which, considering how often in the past her brothers had caused her to lose all patience with them, was impressive indeed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Perhaps you might enjoy the way I use my little claws on you …’

‘Perhaps.’ Darius Wynter gave a soft appreciative laugh and slowly released her hands before taking a step back. ‘I am waiting, Arabella,’ he drawled seconds later, when she made no attempt to make good on her threat.

Arabella’s mouth firmed determinedly. She could do this. She could do anything she wished if she set her mind to it.

Even seduce Darius Wynter.

How hard could it really be? The man was, after all, an acknowledged and indiscriminate rake.

Arabella gave a knowing smile as she closed the distance between them, her gaze holding his as her hands moved up to caress lightly across his shoulders before touching the silky softness of that golden hair where it rested on the collar of his jacket. Her fingers became entangled in that silkiness as she pulled his head down to hers so that she might be the one to instigate the kiss. As instructed, she parted her lips this time, immediately aware of the deeper intimacy of their kiss. Of the way her pulse quickened and her body suffused with a new heat as she felt the hot rasp of Darius’s tongue against her parted lips, that tongue retreating slightly, only to repeat the heated caress seconds later. Beckoning. Enticing. Encouraging Arabella to do the same to him, perhaps?

How Arabella wished at that moment that she knew more about the intimacies that took place between a man and a woman. How she wanted to bring this arrogant man to his knees in the heat of his desire for her. Longed to have him beg and plead for her capitulation as he became lost to that need.

His need for her, Arabella St Claire, and for no other woman.

She allowed her instincts to take over as she pressed her body against Darius’s to run her tongue lightly over his parted lips, at once feeling the leap of the pulse in his throat. A second, deeper penetration of her tongue elicited a low and throaty groan.

Emboldened, empowered by this evidence of Darius’s pleasure in the caress, Arabella stroked her tongue into his mouth. Again. Then again. And each time she felt the intriguing pulsing of the firm length of Darius’s thighs as they pressed into the welcoming well of her own heat.

What had started out as a game to Darius, a punishment for both that past slight in refusing his offer for her and Arabella’s scorn earlier this evening, was a game no longer. His arousal was hard and throbbing inside his pantaloons, and he was consumed by the overwhelming need to carry this interlude to its natural conclusion.

Darius satisfied himself momentarily by using his own tongue to duel for dominance. Finally winning that battle, he returned those delicate strokes of hers with penetrating thrusts.

Yet it was not enough—in light of the many months that Darius had desired this particular young woman perhaps it never would be—and he groaned his frustration with the clothes between them that prevented him from touching every inch of Arabella’s firm and ripe body.

Still kissing her, he manoeuvred her away from the door and guided her towards the huge desk that stood in front of the window.

The top of the desk was completely clear of the clutter that littered Darius’s own desk in Carlyne House, Belgravia—which of course it would be, this room being the fastidious Hawk St Claire’s own private domain!—and Arabella stiffened in surprise as she felt the backs of her thighs came into contact with that sturdy piece of furniture. At least Darius hoped it was sturdy enough for what he had in mind.

This young woman had accused him of being a rake and a scoundrel—amongst other things—and Darius did not intend to disappoint her. His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons on the back of her gown.

Arabella had absolutely no idea how it was that only seconds later she came to be sitting atop her brother’s desk, with her dress down about her waist and only the sheer material of her camisole to cover the firm thrust of her breasts.

Although the how ceased to matter as Darius gently pushed her gown up and her legs apart to stand between them, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. He slowly lowered his head to run his tongue expertly over the exact spot where the swollen tip of one of Arabella’s breasts showed dark against the creamy material.

Arabella gave a breathy gasp as that caress caused pleasure to course through her body, tingling down her arms, the length of her spine, before centring as an ache between her heated thighs.

‘You like that?’ Darius murmured with satisfaction as he slowly repeated the caress against her other breast.

Of course Arabella liked that! What woman would not enjoy such heady pleasure as these caresses aroused in her?

For all her earlier claims, Arabella had certainly never experienced such intimacy. Had never really known what transpired between a man and woman when they were alone together. Her mother had died when she was but eight years of age. And her Aunt Hammond, a widow for some years, had never discussed such matters with her. As for her three older brothers—Hawk, Lucian and Sebastian all considered Arabella to be still too young to even think about such things, let alone indulge in them. And Arabella, her outward demeanour deliberately one of a sophisticated young lady about town, was far too embarrassed by her ignorance on the subject to have questioned any of her sisters-in-law.

Which explained why Arabella had reached the age of almost twenty years without knowing of the sheer pleasure, the beauty of physical intimacy.

This time she was prepared for Darius’s kiss, but so lost was she in the heat of that kiss that she offered no objection as he slipped the straps of her camisole down her arms and bared her breasts completely for him to cup and caress.

Arabella had never known, never guessed that such pleasure as this existed. Her back arched as she pressed herself against the caress of Darius’s fingers. Light touches that made the rosy tips of her breasts swell to such an aching sensitivity that it sent an echoing surge of pulsing pleasure between her thighs.

Darius broke the kiss to seek out and taste the hollows of her throat, his lips warm, tongue moist, teeth lightly nipping at her sensitised flesh as he moved lower still.