Margaret McPhee - Temptation In Regency Society

‘Most unusual,’ Arabella said and glanced away. So Dominic would not be arriving this afternoon. She allowed herself to relax a little, and stopped looking at the clock.

By three o’clock, Arabella’s measurements had been taken, they had been through the fabric sample book twice and Arabella had ordered a minimal and conservative wardrobe. Madame Boisseron must have been disappointed, given that she knew Arabella had carte blanche to order exactly as she wished and as much as she desired. But rather than be tight-mouthed, the dressmaker only smiled and looked at Arabella kindly and told her the clothes would be delivered as each dress became ready.

Immediately the door closed Arabella made her way upstairs to Archie and her mother’s bedchamber and turned her mind away from Dominic Furneaux.

But she could not keep him from her thoughts for ever. Too soon the day faded into night and Arabella sat alone in the drawing room, waiting for him to arrive. She knew that he would expect her to thank him for the free rein with the dressmaker and for his generosity of purse, but the words stuck in Arabella’s throat and she knew that she would be unable to bring herself to say them.

She waited; the clock ticked loudly and its hands crawled slowly, and the embroidery within her lap remained untouched. She worried over what he might say to her. And she worried over what she might say to him. But most of all she worried over the moment when he would take her to bed.

But Dominic did not come to the house in Curzon Street. Not that night, or the next, or the night after that.

Dominic was trying to check through the accounts for the land that encompassed his estate. It was a tedious task and one that required sustained concentration, which was the very reason he was sitting with the books spread before him this afternoon. Anything to keep his mind off Arabella Tatton.

The tactic was not proving successful and so Hunter’s arrival in his study was something of a relief.

Hunter squinted at the pages lying open on the desk and then looked at Dominic with a knowing expression. ‘There’s enough crossed-out and overwritten ink on that paper to write a novel. Quite unlike your usual precision, Arlesford. Looks to me like you have got something—or some one —else on your mind.’ Hunter smiled and arched an eyebrow.

Dominic ignored the bait and bent his head to the columns of numbers on the page before him. Hunter was right, he acknowledged dismally. The page had been clear and legible before Dominic had started his checking.

‘Came by to drop you a warning.’

Dominic felt his stomach tighten. Hunter would not be here right now if it were not something concerning Dominic.

‘You are not going to like it,’ warned Hunter.

Dominic thought of Arabella.

Hunter helped himself to Dominic’s decanter of brandy and filled two glasses. ‘It’s Misbourne. Trying a new approach.’

Dominic released the breath he had been holding as he accepted the brandy from Hunter. He took a sip and watched his friend lounge in the chair on the other side of the desk.

‘He is saying that there was some kind of old agreement made between your father and him years ago. An oath to bind the two families by marriage between you and his daughter.’

The news was not anything Dominic wanted to hear, but at least it did not regard Arabella.

‘Aye, a pact sworn with the earl when the two of them were young, single and in their cups. My father never meant to hold me to a boy’s drunken foolishness. And I’ll be damned if I’m pushed to it by a louse like Misbourne.’

‘Misbourne is risking much with his tactic; he must be very determined to make a match between you and Lady Marianne Winslow.’

Dominic’s gaze met Hunter’s and with the mention of marriage the awkwardness of the past—of what Arabella had done—was in the room between them.

Hunter gave a nod. ‘Just have a care over him, Dominic. He is not a good man to have as an enemy.’

‘I know and I thank you for the warning, my friend.’

There was a silence in which Hunter sipped at his brandy. Then he smiled. ‘To change the subject to a lighter note …’

Dominic relaxed and raised the glass to his lips.

‘You are creating quite a stir with Miss Noir.’

Dominic stilled, then set the glass down on the desk without having taken a mouthful.

‘What do you mean?’ He thought of the lengths he had gone to, to keep the transition of Arabella from Mrs Silver’s to his mistress a secret. ‘You did not tell them anything of it?’

Hunter raised his brows and there was a genuine wounded look in his eyes. ‘I hope you deem me better than that.’

Dominic gave a nod. ‘Forgive me.’

‘I do not know how, but the whisper is out about you and the mysterious Miss Noir. People are intrigued by the story. And they are asking questions.’

‘Then let us hope that they find no answers.’ It should not matter if all of London knew that it was Arabella he had taken as his mistress. After what she had done, it was the very least she deserved. But knowing that and doing it were two different things. He knew what the gossips would do to her if they discovered who she was. They would have a field day with the complete and utter destruction of every last aspect of her character.

‘She must be something special that you are taking such a care to hide her,’ mused Hunter. ‘Who is she, Arlesford?’

‘None of your damn business,’ said Dominic and lifted his glass of brandy to his mouth. He wondered what Hunter would say if he knew the truth.

Hunter laughed. ‘Now I really am intrigued, if you are keeping her secret even from me.’

‘Especially from you, Hunter,’ Dominic said as if in jest, but he had never been more serious.

‘I am not such a bastard that I would steal my best friend’s woman,’ Hunter protested and finished his brandy in a gulp.

Dominic drew a wry smile. ‘Knowing your reputation, I am not about to take any chances.’ Better to blame it on that than let Hunter know it was Arabella.

Hunter laughed. ‘She must be something special.’

All levity vanished from Dominic’s face. He tapped the base of the glass against the wooden surface of his desk as he thought of Arabella.

‘She is,’ he said and glanced away.

‘Dominic?’ Hunter probed. But Dominic had no mind to discuss the matter even with Hunter, so he just shook his head.

‘Do not go further, friend,’ he said quietly.

Hunter gave a subtle nod, then smiled, refilled their glasses and raised his in a toast. ‘Miss Noir, long may the ton fail to unmask her.’

Dominic chinked his glass against Hunter’s, but he did not smile. And as he drank the brandy his mind was filled with Arabella Tatton and what it would mean to them both were she to be unmasked.

It was another reason he should not return to Curzon Street. And yet one more reason that did not relieve the compulsion that whispered to him night and day to retrace his steps straight back there.

‘He did not call upon you again last night?’ Mrs Tatton enquired over the toast. ‘That is the fourth night in a row.’

Four nights during which Arabella’s initial relief at Dominic’s absence was beginning to turn into something else. A niggle of worry that would not be stilled. She nodded, trying to let nothing of her true thoughts show upon her face, and spread some honey upon another slice of toast for Archie.

‘Who did not call?’ asked Archie.

Arabella’s mother met her eyes over his head. The two women looked at one another.

‘Your mama’s friend,’ said Mrs Tatton. ‘Now eat up your toast, Birthday Boy, before it grows cold.’