Her bold gaze was like a whirlpool, sucking him in. Memories swarmed between them: their bodies, their mouths, their exhilarating passion, and this infernal longing for more.
If only he could whisk them both away to the desert and lay her down under the endless night sky. But they were in a drawing room, amidst chatter, candles, music, tea. He despised her. He wanted her. She was dangerous. He was mad.
“I am not here for you,” he managed to say through gritted teeth, and plunked down his teacup before he crushed it in his rough, hungry hands.
She nudged the abandoned cup on its saucer to align their patterns, but she overshot.
“I am not here for you,” he repeated, as again and again she tried and failed to align that saucer and cup.
Finally, scowling at the recalcitrant china, she clasped her hands in front of her and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. Another attempt, and still she had no words. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on Freddie.
“You…” She cleared her throat. “You are here for your sisters, no doubt. And you seem to be friends with Sir Walter suddenly.”
Sweet relief: She had mercifully salvaged the conversation.
“Have you discovered the power of subterfuge?” she went on.
“Diplomacy,” he corrected. “I am exercising admirable restraint. I even refrained from calling him a brazen and corrupt hypocrite to his face.”
It was not to his taste, pretending to like someone he despised. When Sir Walter casually inquired as to the purpose of his lordship’s visit, Guy had murmured something vague about Vindale Court having multiple attractions and let his eyes rest on Matilda Treadgold. That set Sir Walter’s face aglow, and he had promptly arranged for his niece to lead Guy to little Ursula. His infant sister turned out to be a delightful doll-like creature, with feathery blonde curls, a sweet smile, and a stream of incomprehensible babble.
“Congratulations,” Arabella said dryly. “But I do wish you would listen to me about Freddie. You must find out—”
“No.” He raised one hand. “You do not tell me what I must or must not do. Let that be the first rule.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, are we to have rules? How adorable. Next you will expect me to obey them.”
“I’m not such a fool as that. But I do not need your help to gain custody of my sisters and rebuild my family.”
“If you care so much, I wonder you let something as trivial as a broken heart drive you away.”
“I didn’t leave because Clare Ivory broke my heart.”
“Why did you leave?”
Leaving had been the only possible end to a decade of struggle for control—over Guy. That struggle culminated in that final, bitter fight, when Guy insisted on marrying Clare, at which his father, using his bulk to loom over him, threatened to lock him in the cellar until he agreed to marry Arabella.
“You cannot make me!” Guy had yelled, with the fervor of youth. “I will never be your puppet.”
Father had been scornful. “You’ve not enough sense to make your own decisions. You’ll do as I say, until you learn to be the man you should be.”
“A corrupt tyrant like you?”
“This is my country,” Father had replied coldly. “And you will do as you are told as long as you breathe my country’s air.”
So they had divided up the world: Father had won tyranny in Britain, and Guy had won freedom everywhere else.
Arabella was eyeing him expectantly.
“It was about principles,” he finally said.
“Principles?”
“Yes. Have you heard of them?”
She shrugged. “My governess might have mentioned them, but then she told tales of fairies, unicorns, and honorable gentlemen, so I never paid her much mind.”
He laughed despite himself. “My father was certainly not honorable. His favorite game was finding ways to milk money and power from his position, and he expected me to do the same. His explanations for his unethical behavior always sounded so reasonable. I was a terrible disappointment to him, what with my ethics and all.”
“Terrible affliction, ethics. Rather like a rash, I imagine.”
“I can see why he approved of you. In every letter I wrote, I promised to return if I could earn an income and marry as I wished, to which he declared I would behave as he saw fit and marry you.”
Finally, he had shocked her enough for it to show. “You cannot mean you spent all those years arguing over me? That’s preposterous. Britain has other heiresses, and our fathers were never that devoted.”
“You became the symbol of my obedience.”
“No wonder you were so adamant against marrying me.”
He shrugged. “Your ruthless, quarrelsome nature was a factor too.”
“Oh dear. And here I thought that was my chief charm.”
The world tilted. Was Arabella laughing at herself? Impossible.
“And so you seek your perfect bride,” she continued, cynical to the bone. “She’ll gaze at you with wide, adoring eyes and once more the great man will tumble headlong into love.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said cheerfully, refusing to be riled. “I enjoyed being in love. It makes one feel more alive, not unlike drinking and gambling, but better for one’s health. And when I meet a lady both adoring and adorable, pleasant and pleasing— Believe me, Arabella, I shall fall so fast I get a concussion.”
Something flickered in her expression, like a soft wistfulness, chased away by the sardonic hoist of a perfectly arched brow.
“Can it be thus arranged? Does one order one’s sweetheart like a new coat, specially tailored and cut to size? Who knew love was so convenient?” Her gaze traveled pointedly to Miss Treadgold, finishing up at the pianoforte. “But of course, what his lordship orders, his lordship gets. Sir Walter informed me at dinner that you are here to court his niece.”
“Any man would happily choose Miss Treadgold over every other lady in the room.”
Her eyes widened. “Even over me? Good grief. I cannot imagine why.”
“Ha! Because men prefer a woman who nurtures her young to one who eats them.”
“Don’t be absurd. I haven’t eaten any babies in years.”
Surprised laughter burst out of him. No mistaking it this time: Arabella was definitely making fun of herself. Another revelation: Her lips might not curve, but her eyes smiled and laughed.
Stars above, had she always been laughing at herself? Were her outrageously arrogant declarations in fact jokes at her own expense?
Once more, Arabella was rendered new and strange, like the night sky on the other side of the world, where the stars were arranged differently, fascinatingly familiar yet forever changed.
He had to remember where they were. Who she was. What she had done.
To remind them both, he said, “Sculthorpe must be pleased about that.”
Her eyelids barely flickered in response. “Was it he who broke your nose?”
“No. That happened when I was away. I was this big brash Englishman, expecting everyone to leap to my command. My face practically invited other men to hit it.”
“Because in England, everyone always let you win.”
He shifted uncomfortably. He had only discovered that upon venturing into the world without the protection of his name. Yet Arabella, years younger than he, had noticed. But then, when he was a boy, she was the only person who ever challenged him.