Page 35 of Wickedly Yours
Arabella clasped her hands behind her back and wandered over to the railing, as far away from the giggling Petra and her mother as she could get. She pretended great interest in the swirling mass of society that filled the theater below, only pushing back when she noticed several women openly watching her.
I wish this bloody evening was over.
“You look beautiful.” The curl dangling just beneath her ear batted against her neck as if teased by a gentle breeze. The briefest brush of fingertips moved against the small of her back.
She arched automatically, her body softening as it sought to be caressed. A delicious tremor followed in the wake of his touch, lighting her skin with awareness of Malden’s presence.
“You are late, my lord.” She announced waspishly.
“Were you worried, Bella?” He moved to stand beside her, his eyes glinting with green and gold lights as they roamed in appreciation over her bodice.
The temperature in the room increased as heat washed up her chest.
“Of course not.” How did he become more attractive each time she saw him? Malden was breathtaking in his dark formal clothes. The sharp lines of his face were clean shaven above the snowy white of his cravat. He smelled of shaving soap with just a hint of tobacco. It was a thoroughly masculine scent, one Arabella found she liked even more than the aroma of cherry tarts baking.
No wonder few women in thetoncould resist him. Though based on rumors she’d heard, few women actuallydidresist. The thought was rather disheartening.
“Bella, you’re clenching your teeth. You must be distraught I’m late.” He was smiling at her, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling in amusement.
“Perish the thought.” She shivered as his hand fluttered against her waist, wishing her heart would stop racing. For God’s sake, he’d barely touched her.
“I am sorry I’m late. There was some business I needed to take care of personally and it was unable to wait.” He brought her hand to his mouth, turning her wrist and kissing the spot where her pulse beat madly. “I’m sorry I worried you, Bella.”
“I wasn’t worried in the least. But it was rude to keep me waiting and I—”
“I will not change my mind.” His voice lowered to a murmur only she could hear. He was still holding her hand, far longer than polite. Even for a betrothed couple.
Arabella looked down at her gloved hand clutched in his, then back to his face. “Release me.”
“Never.” His thumb massaged the base of her palm. But he winked at her and let her hand go, only to take hold of her arm and lead her to the row of seats behind Lady Marsh.
The small, polite touch of his hand on her elbow created a low throb across Arabella’s mid-section and seeped down her limbs. It annoyed her, the way her body reacted to the mere appearance of Malden, for she had no control over the delicious sensations.
After seating her, he exchanged greetings with his mother, sister and Jemma. The women laughed at something he said, and his mother took his arm.
Arabella sat quietly, not attempting to join the conversation. What could she say at any rate? Both women delighted in Malden’s presence. He tensed at his mother’s fawning, the tightening of his shoulders evidence of his discomfort especially since his mother seemed reluctant to relinquish her hold. He joked easily with Petra, teasing her about her newest beau. The two were obviously close.
Arabella wondered if Petra thought about making her disappear as she had once done with Jemma.
Probably.
Nick passed her on his way to sit next to his wife and paused, leaning down with a smirk. “The wailing of cats awaits us. Pray do not run from the box when the soprano starts.”
Arabella allowed a small smile to cross her face. “I shall wait until the tenor begins, Your Grace.” That small gesture by her brother meant the world to her and strengthened her resolve to get through the evening intact. Straightening her spine, she composed her face into polite snobbery, as she had done many times in her life. One did not sit through tedious luncheons for a multitude of charities without knowing how to reflect bored reserve.
Lord Marsh stopped to greet his son, barely sparing Arabella a glance before moving to sit next to his countess.
Malden settled into the chair next to her, the muscular length of his thigh mere inches from her skirts. It was difficult to maintain her stoic manner when he sat so close. Heat flowed from him to curl around her ankles and slide up her skirts. The feeling he produced both calmed and aroused her.
A satisfied smile played upon his lips, but he did not turn to face her, though he leaned closer.
Arabella nearly swatted him with her fan. He clearly suspected the effect he had on her.
As the lights dimmed and the music began, her skirts rustled. A leg moved discreetly into the folds of her gown before stopping. A foot nestled securely next to hers.
She didn’t move. Her heart beat madly in her chest telling herself if she did move, she might well risk tearing her gown. She regarded Malden discreetly from beneath her lashes. He appeared oblivious to the location of his foot against her slipper.
He seemed transfixed on the soprano warbling onstage.
