Temptation In Regency Society. Margaret McPhee
fingers worked upon the other. When she felt the gentle scrape of his teeth, she clutched that dark head to her, watching his mouth work thoroughly against first one breast and then the other.
His hands found her hips and drew them lower so that she felt the tease of the hairs on his broad muscular thigh against the hot wet centre of her womanhood. Her grip shifted to his shoulders and tightened as he rubbed his thigh gently against her. Arabella moaned again and slid higher up his thigh, until she could feel the probe of his manhood against her hip.
They stilled, his mouth coming back to find hers. And when he rolled her on to the bed their bodies clung together. He lay on his uninjured side, clutching her to him. And she could feel the raggedness of his breathing and the race of his heart as they positioned their legs to minimise the strain on his wound. And when at last she welcomed him into her body it had never felt so right. There was no dominant, no submissive. Nothing of taking, only of sharing. They moved together in a partnership, both rejoicing in their union and striving to the same end.
They loved, for there could be no other word for it. And Arabella was only aware of the moment and the man. Dominic filled her senses. Dominic filled her body.
‘Dominic,’ she gasped as she exploded into a thousand shards of shimmering pleasure.
‘Arabella,’ he groaned and she felt the warmth of his seed spill within her.
They lay in each other’s arms, feeling the pulse of their bodies and the beat of their hearts.
And eventually they slept.
Dominic came every night to Curzon Street after that. And every night they made love. Arabella was no longer fool enough to believe that she could fight against the mire of complex emotions that she felt for Dominic. Since the night he had come to the house covered in blood she had known that much as she hated what he had done to her, she did not hate him. Indeed, there was a part of her that knew they would always be bound together, and not just through Archie. If Arabella had allowed herself to think too much of her situation it would have been unbearable.
She knew what she was—his mistress, a woman he had bought from a brothel.
And she knew what he was—a man who had betrayed her and ruined her life.
And she knew, too, that contrary to everything that she should feel she still cared for him.
Arabella did not want to think what that said about her. Or what it implied about Dominic.
Dominic watched Hunter as the other man pulled up the tails of his coat and stood with his back before the warm flame of the fire. There was only the slow steady tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the soft sounds of the flames upon the coals.
‘I am sure I saw Arabella Tatton coming out of an apothecary shop in Bond Street the other day.’ Hunter’s voice was steady and he was watching Dominic.
‘Did you?’ Dominic’s heart picked up some speed but he feigned indifference.
‘She was carrying her gloves … and she was not wearing a wedding ring.’
‘Really?’ Dominic pretended to examine his nails.
‘And she asked her coachman to take her home to Curzon Street.’ Hunter shifted his stance and Dominic could smell hot wool.
Silence.
‘It all begins to make sense. Why you are so very protective of Miss Noir’s identity. Why you have been so intent on keeping her hidden from view. Not one party. Not one ball, save Prinny’s masked carnival at Vauxhall, so I hear. Hardly your normal treatment of a woman … unless there is something of her identity that you wish to conceal.’
Still Dominic said nothing, but he felt his body tense as if in preparation for a fight. He thought of the tenderness of their lovemaking. And he wanted to protect her, even from Hunter.
‘It is her, is it not?’
‘You are mistaken, Hunter,’ he said and the look in his eyes bellowed the warning that his words only whispered at.
‘Hell’s teeth, Dominic! I am not a fool. I know that Arabella is Miss Noir.’
Dominic did not remember moving, but the next he knew he was two inches in front of Hunter’s face, staring down at him as if he would like to rip him limb from limb.
Hunter shook his head and met his gaze. ‘Do you honestly think I would breathe one word of this outside of this room? Your secret is safe with me.’
Dominic knew that it was, but it did not make him feel any better.
‘I think I am in need of a drink,’ said Hunter weakly and ducked under Dominic’s arm to stroll across the library and pour them both a large brandy. He passed one glass to Dominic and took several swigs from the other himself. ‘I hope you know what you are doing.’
Dominic took a sip of brandy. ‘Everything is under control.’
‘Is it?’ asked Hunter and the look on his face said that he did not believe it. ‘Have you forgotten what she did to you?’
‘I have not forgotten.’ Nothing of the pain.
‘Then this is some kind of revenge?’
Dominic set his glass down upon the mantelpiece with a thud that threatened to fracture the crystal stem. ‘Hell, Sebastian, what kind of man do you take me for? I found her in Mrs Silver’s that night! What did you expect me to do? Walk away and leave her there?’ he shouted.
‘After breaking your betrothal to run off and marry some other man? Yes. That is exactly what I would have done.’ Hunter shook his head again. ‘I thought you were over her. I thought you had learned your lesson from her. Lord, but she made a damn fool of you!’ Hunter peered closer at Dominic’s face. ‘But you still want her,’ he said slowly as if the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place to reveal the answer.
‘Yes, I want her,’ admitted Dominic. ‘I have never stopped wanting her. Any sane man would. I do not have to like her to bed her.’
Hunter was still looking at him. ‘Were that true you would not give a damn who knew she is your mistress. The shame would be on her, Dominic, not on you. No, there is more to it than that.’ His eyes narrowed with speculation.
‘Leave it alone, Sebastian,’ Dominic warned.
But Hunter never could take a warning. ‘You still care for her,’ he said quietly.
The glass within Dominic’s hand shattered, sending the splinters of glass flying across the mantelpiece and spilling the brandy to pool with the blood, but Dominic felt nothing of the pain.
Hunter pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and appeared by his side. First he checked there were no glass fragments in Dominic’s hand, then used the handkerchief as a bandage to staunch the bleeding. He eyed Dominic with concern. ‘This is worse than I thought,’ he said, and Dominic knew Hunter was not referring to the cut upon his hand. ‘You do not want me to, but I will say it anyway. You are making a mistake with her, Dominic.’
‘Be that as it may, I will not give her up,’ said Dominic; he knew he sounded stubborn and bad tempered and that he should relax and pretend that she did not matter to him in the slightest.
‘I did not think that you would,’ replied Hunter quietly. ‘You do care for her, Dominic.’
‘I care only that she warms my bed,’ said Dominic and knew that he was not fooling Hunter for a minute, yet his pride would not let him admit the truth. He did not think he even understood himself what the truth was any more.
He tensed against any more of Hunter’s questions, but his friend let the matter drop, clapping a hand of support against Dominic’s shoulder. ‘I think you are in need of another brandy.’
‘It is just an arrangement for sex,’ he insisted. Except Dominic knew that he was lying. Even Hunter knew he was lying. There were other aspects to what was