Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage by Carole Mortimer Read Free Book Online Page B

it came to physical intimacy. ‘I am sure you will very quickly learn to satisfy all my very normal sexual appetites, Arabella.’
    Once again her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed before raising her chin proudly. ‘As, no doubt, you will learn to satisfy mine?’
    She was a vixen. A little hellcat. Verbally spitting and clawing despite her obvious unease at discussing such an intimate subject with him. ‘That part of marriage I am already looking forward to with the greatest of pleasure,’ Darius assured her throatily.
    A challenge entered the deep brown depths of her eyes. ‘I would prefer us to have a lengthy betrothal in order that we might become better acquainted with each other on a social level before—’
    ‘No.’
    She eyed him uncertainly. ‘No?’
    Darius looked down at her between hooded lids. ‘No,’ he repeated firmly. ‘If we are to marry at all, then it must be immediately.’
    ‘I—But—Why?’ Arabella didn’t even attempt to hide her bewilderment.
    She had been envisaging spending the winter months as Darius’s betrothed. With perhaps the wedding planned for next spring or summer. Six, possibly nine months when the two of them could spend time together, tormenting and challenging each other if they must, before contemplating the complete intimacy of marriage.
    The implacability of Darius’s expression told her that such an arrangement was totally unacceptable to him. ‘Take it or leave it, Arabella,’ he stated uncompromisingly. ‘You will either marry me by special licence next week or we will not marry at all.’
    Next week? Was he insane ?
    Arabella pulled out of Darius’s grasp to move away from him. ‘I cannot possibly organise a wedding by next week!’
    ‘I fail to see why not.’ Darius appeared unmoved by her obvious shock. ‘Obtaining a special licence should pose no problem. All of your family and the majority of the ton have already gathered in town in order to attend your brother’s nuptials yesterday. Hawk’s duchess has proved she is capable of being hostess to a wedding supper at short notice. As I see it, a week is more than time enough for you to obtain a suitable wedding gown.’
    As he saw it, perhaps. As Arabella saw it the idea of marrying this man as early as next week was unacceptable. Terrifyingly soon, in fact.
    ‘Why the rush, Darius?’ She made her tone deliberately light. ‘I realise that this situation has been thrust upon us by—by certain actions that took place between us yesterday evening, but we both know that there is no real reason for such a hasty wedding to take place.’ Hercheeks burned at the memory of the intimacies the two of them had shared the previous evening.
    Darius felt a sharp stab of sympathy for Arabella’s obvious bewilderment as to his insistence on a short betrothal and a hasty wedding. Reminding him that for all Arabella was a St Claire, and as such in possession of the same arrogant self-confidence as her three older brothers, she was nevertheless still only nineteen years of age. A very young and innocent nineteen years, despite her previous claim otherwise.
    He wished that he could grant Arabella the lengthy betrothal she so obviously desired—months during which the little minx had no doubt intended to tempt and bedevil him!—but the truth was, once their betrothal was publicly announced, Darius simply dared not leave her for any length of time without his full protection.
    He dared not.
    ‘Next week, Arabella. Or there will be no wedding.’
    Arabella looked up at him searchingly, knowing by the grimness of Darius’s expression—the stern set of his mouth and the coldness of his blue eyes—that he was unshakeable in his decision that she would marry him next week and be damned, or the two of them would not marry at all.
    She drew in a deep breath. ‘Very well, Darius.’ She gave a tiny inclination of her head. ‘I will inform Hawk that we have decided to marry as early as possible next