Page 37 of Wickedly Yours
Petra sat back and clasped her gloved hands. “You are ahorridperson.”
Arabella blinked and stiffened her spine. True, shewasa horrible person, or at least she had once been. Before Corbett.Before Malden. Now Arabella thought of herself as merely unpleasant. She was striving to become likeable and Petra was making her efforts more difficult.
“I will not allow you to harm my cousin again.Ever.” Petra’s voice was full of determination. “Why Rowan agreed to this marriage rather than sending you somewhere far away, as you deserve, is beyond my understanding.”
“I’m sure most things are beyond your understanding,” Arabella snapped.
Petra had the decency to redden. “I see nothing to recommend you.” She leaned closer. “This marriage is akin to inviting a large snake into our midst and hoping it does not decide to swallow us all whole.”
Arabella carefully spread her fan upon her lap and waited for the boiling rage within her to subside. It was not often that one was compared to a snake. She was surprised how much Petra’s words hurt, for she cared nothing for the girl or her opinion. Again, it occurred to her that she could simply tell her brother or Malden everything. Arabella would be outwardly declared unredeemable and she could avoid unfortunate conversations such as these.
“My apologies, Lady Petra, all thiswailing,” Arabella allowed the double meaning to sink into Petra’s pea brain, “has upset my delicate constitution. Of course, I mean the opera.” A brittle smile molded her lips. “I fear I am not an admirer.”
Petra reddened further. At least she wasn’t so stupid as to not recognize an insult.
Arabella stood, enjoying the shocked look on Petra’s face. She refused to sit quietly and be insulted by a girl whose greatest daily challenge was deciding what ribbon best matched her dress. The Dunbar coach sat parked just outside. Malden be damned. She’d done her best.
“Excuse me, Lady Petra. I bid you a good evening.” Inclining her head slightly, Arabella made for the door.
24
Rowan headed back towards his father’s box leaving Lord White to sputter from his rebuke. The conversation had been long overdue. White’s arrogance in assuming he could walk into the Marsh box and openly show his distaste for Arabella was at an end. He had made things perfectly clear to White. Now Rowan’s anger was directed at his parents. His mother in particular. Didn’t either of his parents wonder at Lord White’s insistence Rowan marry his daughter Gwendolyn?
He kept such things from his parents.
Rowan sometimes purchased the markers of gentlemen he thought might prove useful to his future business dealings. He rarely told the gentlemen in question he held their markers, preferring to negotiate through a third party. When the chance came to purchase Lord White’s debt, Rowan did so. White was well respected in Parliament despite his lack of financial sense and he was a friend of Rowan’s father. Friend of his father’s or not, Rowan didn’t care for White. He’d had a number of the man’s markers for years. Somehow White found out Rowan held his debts, so large a sum that if called due, White would be ruined.
Which was why Lord White had ingratiated himself with Lady Marsh. His determination to have Gwendolyn wed Rowan was nothing more than a bid to have his markersforgiven.
I should call them all due immediately and bankrupt him.But he wouldn’t. Rowan rarely made decisions out of anger and White could still prove useful someday.
Nick had interrupted Rowan’s discussion with White to inform him he and Jemma were taking the Dunbar coach. She was unwell and indeed, upon seeing his cousin’s face, Rowan became concerned. Jemma was pale and shaking and Nick’s face creased with worry. He assured Nick he would see Arabella home.
Arabella.
He’d been in a constant state of arousal since he’d spotted her, shocked to see her in a gown ofcolor. True, the deep indigo could be mistaken for black, but all in all, the gown was a vast improvement over the browns and grays she typically favored. And he could see the graceful curve of her neck and the swell of her breasts pushing against the bodice. Rowan could not take his eyes from the expanse of lovely pale skin. The sable mass of her hair was not braided or subdued into an unflattering hairstyle but had been allowed to spill over her shoulders in artful disarray. He had inhaled bergamot, wanting desperately to nuzzle beneath her ear and nibble at the nape of her neck.
Desire, so fierce he’d nearly tripped approaching her, radiated throughout his entire body. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, deliberately seducing her with soft whispers and the press of his leg against hers, forcing the lush body next to him to soften. He’d been about to ask the color of her chemise, but the lights came up.
While no one else seemed to be anxious to see him wed to Arabella, possessing her was all Rowan could think about.
Entering the Marsh box, he made straight for the seat where he’d left Arabella. The chair was vacant. The box had emptied of guests and only his mother, father and sister remained.
“Where is she?” He spoke without pretense.
His mother pretended ignorance. “I believe the duke has taken her for a stroll around the terrace. I’m sure she’ll be right as rain in a few moments. She was in dreadful need of some fresh air. Poor lamb.”
Besides the fact his cousin Jemma would violently object to being called a ‘poor lamb’, Lady Marsh was being deliberately evasive.
“The duke and duchess have gone home as I’m sure you’ve guessed.Arabella, Mother. Where is she?” He cast a sideways glance at his sister.
There was a reason Petra didn’t play cards for every emotion showed on her face. And just now, she looked rather guilty.
A hint of a smile graced his mother’s lips.
“She left.” Petra interjected. “A headache. She doesn’t like the opera and compared the singing to wailing.”
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You allowed her to leave? Alone?” Of course they’d allowed Arabella to leave by herself.
