Page 45 of Wickedly Yours
She grasped the flower before her, holding the fragile stem so firmly it snapped. Filled with loathing both for herself and Barker, Arabella could think of nothing else but the stabbing of Corbett.
A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped, but it was only Rowan, holding out her lemon ice.
* * *
Arabella had blamed a headache,brought on by two lemon ices and the sun, for her somber mood on the drive home. She put a hand to her head, rather dramatically, and sighed.
Rowan wasn’t impressed with her acting skills.
As he’d walked towards the terrace, Rowan could have sworn he saw a man hovering at Arabella’s back as she looked at the flowers spilling from the railing. When he arrived at her side, there was no one there.
After leaving Arabella at the Dunbar residence, Rowan mused over his future wife as his carriage rolled through the streets. She was not only intelligent but highly educated. Her reasoning and ability to decipher what he was really doing with the Newsome properties was nothing less than brilliant.
Too bad I don’t completely trust her.
He did not think he imagined the man on the terrace behind Arabella. Possibly it was nothing more than coincidence. Maybe it had simply been a gentleman who happened to only pass behind her. But her behavior afterward betrayed her. She was nervous. Unsettled.
He couldn’t imagine what she could be hiding from him. Was she planning on fleeing to the Continent to avoid their marriage?
Doubtful. Her happiness at Gunter’s had not been practiced. Her enjoyment of his company did not ring false. If anything, the heat in her eyes matched his own.
Rowan pictured her eating the lemon ice again and moved his thoughts from her odd behavior and toward a more pleasant direction. Their wedding night for instance.
27
Rowan’s hand held hers firmly in the warmth of his. “You look beautiful. I am partial to you in blue. And red.”
Heat pinked her cheeks at his reference to her red chemise. For the wedding ceremony today, Arabella had chosen another dark blue gown, this one shot with deep green thread. She knew the color would please him as would piling the heavy mass of her hair into an array of curls left to dangle over her shoulders. She wore her sapphire earrings. Arabella had never felt so beautiful.
If only her new mother-in-law would cease her weeping.
She strove to keep from frowning at Lady Marsh. While Arabella and certainly everyone else was aware of Lady Marsh’s disapproval, the woman didn’t need to wail as if she were attending a funeral. Lord Marsh sat with a stony look on his face, though he was careful to not show his displeasure as strongly as his wife. Not with the Duke and Duchess of Dunbar present.
Rowan said his vows in a deep, sure tone, squeezing her hand as he did so, in a sign of encouragement. Last night she’d had nightmares of him leaving her as the vicar requested his vows, while his family clapped their approval. She’d even dreamt he’d laughed as Corbett appeared, announcing to everyone Arabella had promised to marry him as he took her hand to become her rightful husband.
Arabella did not have a restful night.
Her voice only trembled slightly as she spoke the words that bound her forever to Rowan. The vicar said something else, but she was so focused on the ruby and diamond ring placed on her finger she barely heard him. The ring was heavy and only a little lose. Before she knew it, Rowan had brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The smile he bestowed upon her was full of wicked intent mixed with true affection and made Arabella’s toes curl inside her slippers. She may have sighed.
Lady Marsh sniffed loudly.
Rowan tucked her hand securely in the crook of his arm as they were offered hugs of congratulations and well wishes. A dark-haired man approached, a smile on his swarthy face.
“Brendan,” she cried happily, hugging her cousin. “I’d no idea you would venture to London for my wedding. You’ve not been to town in ages; I’d thought you’d forgotten the way. Rowan, may I introduce you to my cousin, Brendan, Lord Morwick.”
The two men shook hands as Arabella’s eyes took in her cousin. His hair, black as sin had grown overly long, nearly brushing his shoulders. His trousers didn’t appear to match his coat and he looked a bit rumpled. Brendan cared little for clothing or the trappings of being an earl. He was happiest crawling through the caves that littered the moors outside his estate and studying rock formations. Overly large in height and build, like every other man who shared the bloodline of the Duke of Dunbar, Brendan, with his wild hair and olive complexion, resembled a pirate more than an earl.
“Congratulations on your wedding, love.” Brendan whispered in her ear as she released him. “Let me know if he gives you any trouble.”
Arabella nodded solemnly. “I shall.”
The group proceeded to the dining room where an enormous wedding feast had been prepared in Rowan and Arabella’s honor. One dish after another was brought out from a steady stream of servants, the aroma causing Arabella’s mouth to water. She was starving. In addition to not sleeping, her nerves had not allowed her to eat anything.
As the conversation flowed around the table, Arabella sipped at her wine and waited for her nerves to calm. She looked at Rowan down the length of mahogany laden with food and found her new husband watching her. His mother was busy chattering away in one ear, but he seemed focused on Arabella and paid Lady Marsh no mind. When his gaze fell to her lips, heat flowed up Arabella’s chest.
In the weeks leading up to their wedding, Rowan’s slow seduction had inflamed Arabella to the point she thought of little elsebuther wedding night. No wonder he was considered a bit of a rake amongst the ladies of theton. He did not flirt overtly with her, instead his hands would glide down the length of her spine as she walked. Or he’d casually tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing his fingers to brush her cheek. He’d argue with her then kiss her savagely as if he would devour her whole.
Her desire for Rowan was rather terrifying.
