Margaret McPhee - Temptation In Regency Society - Unmasking the Duke's Mistress

His face looked paler than the last time she had seen him, his features as breathtakingly handsome as the man from her nightmares. She knew every plane of that face, had kissed every inch of it. His expression was intense and unreadable. And when her eyes finally met his she knew in that instant that all of her resolve was in vain. For she could not even look at him and remain unaffected.

Her heart skipped a beat and then raced off at a canter.

‘Dominic,’ she heard herself whisper, and all of the old emotions were back, all of the love, all of the hurt, all of the hate. She felt her eyes begin to well and looked hastily away so that he would not see it, furious with herself for such weakness. She thought of Archie and that gave her the strength that she needed. She might not be able to do this for herself, but she could most definitely do it for her son.

‘Arlesford,’ she corrected herself and this time she was glad to hear that her voice was strong with just a hint of disdain.

‘Arabella.’ He made a small bow, but otherwise did not move.

He stood there so quiet and still and yet she could sense the tension that surrounded him. It emanated from every pore of his body. It was betrayed by the slight clenching in his jawline, in his lips, in the way he was looking at her. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, so dark as to appear almost black, and he was looking at her with such intensity as if to glean every last thought from her head.

She felt the nervousness ripple right through her body at the thought of all that she sought to hide.

‘The house is to your liking?’ he asked.

‘It is very nice, thank you, your Grace. Beautifully furnished with impeccable taste.’ She kept her face impassive and her voice cool.

They looked at each other across the small distance and the silence was awkward and tense. She glanced away, waiting for him to shrug out of his tailcoat and suggest that they go upstairs. But that was not what Dominic said.

‘I wish to talk to you, Arabella.’

‘Talk?’ Her heart gave a stutter. A shiver of warning rippled down Arabella’s spine. She did not want to talk. Instinctively Arabella glanced up as if she could see through the floors above to the small bedchamber at the top of the house.

She feared what talking might reveal.

She feared that Dominic would learn of Archie, his son.

If Dominic knew the truth, then God only knew what would happen to Archie. Her son would be branded a bastard, his life ruined before it had barely begun whether Dominic acknowledged him or not. If he knew he had such a fine son, he might wish to raise Archie himself or send him away to be raised by someone of his own choosing. For what man, especially a duke, as rich and powerful and ruthless as Dominic, would leave his child with a woman he had found in a bordello, no matter the explanations she could offer? Archie would be taken away from her to be with people who did not love him, who did not understand a small boy’s tender needs. Arabella trembled from the force of the fear.

She wetted her suddenly dry lips and gave a false laugh to hide the fear. ‘But what more is there for us to talk about, your Grace? We have already settled upon all of the relevant details.’

She saw the flash of anger in those dark eyes. ‘I would have you call me by my given name. And there is the whole of the last six years that we have barely begun to discuss, Arabella.’

‘I thought you already knew.’ Attack is the best form of defence, she thought and gathered her weapons as best she could. ‘I married Henry Marlbrook. He died. I went to Mrs Silver’s. That is all you need know, Dominic. ’ She turned away to gain some semblance of control over her emotions once more.

‘On the contrary, Arabella. I think I need to know a great deal more than that.’

‘What do you want me to tell you?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘How good a man Henry was?’

‘Infinitely better than me. You made that very clear.’ His eyes bored into hers.

‘He was a thousand times the man you are,’ she taunted.

‘You forget your position, Arabella.’

‘No,’ she said and tried to control the raggedness of her voice. She forced a tight smile to her mouth. ‘I understand my position exactly.’ She glared at him. ‘Do you want me in here? Perhaps on the sofa? Or on the rug before the fireplace? Shall I undress for you now?’ she demanded.

‘Arabella!’ he said harshly, but there was a flash of pain in his eyes that matched the pain in her heart.

And she realised that she was doing this all wrong, risking everything.

She closed her eyes, rallied her senses. ‘Forgive me,’ she said in her normal voice and when she opened her eyes she did not look at him.

‘Arabella,’ he said more softly.

But his kindness was worse than his contempt. It reminded her too much of the man she had loved.

‘What has happened to you?’

‘You already know the answer to that question,’ she said quietly.

‘No, Arabella, I do not.’ His eyes studied hers. ‘I wish that you would tell me.’

Her heart was knocking so hard against her ribcage that she was surprised he could not hear it.

‘All of it that happened across the years,’ he said.

She shook her head and forced a smile, trying to fool him.

His gaze did not waver.

‘In Mrs Silver’s, when you were pretending to be Miss Noir, you said that it was your first night there.’

‘A harlot’s lie. It is what men want to hear, is it not?’ She glanced away and pressed her fingers hard against her lips, hating the words she must say. But say them she would, for she did not want his pity. And she did could not risk his questions.

Dominic stood there still and silent.

‘Shall we go upstairs?’ She knew her part in all this, knew what he had come for. And once he had it, he would go and the ordeal would be over … at least for now.

He said not one word, but he followed her up the stairs to the large cream-coloured bedchamber on the first floor.

There could be no room for modesty, nor the last remaining shreds of her pride. She knew what was required, knew what she must do.

She turned away from him and forced herself to strip off her clothing, every last stitch. And when she was naked she sat down at the dressing table and took the pins from her hair, uncoiling its long length while her eyes watched his reflection in the looking glass. She watched while he slipped off his tailcoat and abandoned it over a chair. His waistcoat followed.

She sat there, waiting for the inevitable. Gathering her courage for what must come. But Dominic made no move towards her.

The nerves shivered right through her body. She swallowed. Did a mistress wait for her protector to come to her, or did he expect her to go to him? Arabella did not know the answer. But the quicker this was over, the better for herself. So she rose and walked to him. It took every ounce of Arabella’s strength not to wrap her arms around herself to cover her nakedness, to make herself stand there before him and let him look at her.

His touch, when it came, was gentle, reverent almost, and she shivered at the sudden flash of unbidden memories from a lifetime ago—of the passion and the love that had been between them.

He ran a hand over her hair, his hand sliding round to the nape of her neck. His fingers rested there light as a butterfly and the tingle beneath them seemed to run through the whole of her body. Slowly, deliberately, he trailed the tips of his fingers down the column of her throat.

Arabella deliberately masked any sign of emotion from her face as she stood there and let him touch her, angling her head to allow him access. He was her protector. This was what he was paying for. It meant nothing. But already she could feel the hard thud of her heart and everywhere his fingers touched, her skin burned, and she felt like weeping.