Regency Rogues Omnibus (114 page)

Darth tried his best to keep Arabella warm with two blankets and his own fur-lined cape. But it wasn’t long before she was shivering in his arms. He cursed beneath his breath as he rearranged the coverings, opening his finely tailored jacket, so he could bring Arabella more into the warmth of his body. He felt her sigh and nestle closer to him, resting her face in the crook of his neck. He was glad for that small sigh, believing it showed some consciousness on her part, as he pondered how long it had been since he had held a woman in his arms. Too long to even consider, he judged, however he had dreamed about it. What man would not, who lived under the imposed celibacy that he did?

Darth spread his fingers through the strands of Arabella’s hair. God did not instantly strike him dead for his audacity, so he delved deeper to feel the full weight of the luxurious mass lifted up and across his palm. He was alone now, he reminded himself. No one would see his weakness as he lifted the thick rich tresses, pressing them to his nostrils to inhale deeply. The scent of jasmine, light and exotic, wafted his senses. So unexpected was the fragrance that he nearly growled his pleasure. He could feel the sound buried deep in his chest as he let a few strands of Arabella’s mahogany shaded hair slide over his lips, tasting them with his tongue. How many tormented nights had he dreamed of such a simple action?

He could feel the sweet buxomness of Arabella’s breasts compressed onto his chest and he experienced the beguiling roll of feminine flesh each time the carriage jostled. The silk of his shirt and the linen night shift she wore were no barrier when she shivered against him and the tips of her nipples hardened into fat circular buds, prodding his chest like fiery brands.

He was instantly staggered, sinking his face into the scent of jasmine with soft tendrils of hair skimming along the texture of his jaw. One of his arms supported Arabella’s back as his other hand searched for her small bare feet to make certain they were covered as well. With that same hand he began to rub their creamy texture, exploring little toes, soft arches, and how they fit into the palm of his hand. It was another area on a woman that men would not generally consider giving much attention too.

Only a man such as him, who was left with only his dreams, and therein laid his insanity.

Less than halfway to the estate, Arabella began to moan, muttering the name Nicholas several times and bringing Darth out of his revere. The man’s name from her lips seemed to burn him, causing a black cloud to descend in his mind.
Who was this Nicholas
she called out for in her helplessness,
he wondered, as envy stoked his passions and he found himself growling, “She
is
mine.”

In that moment, Darth considered the papers stating Arabella’s ownership to him, which were still in his pocket where Robert had shoved them. He had not seriously considered any notion of slavery or an utterance like the one he had just made. It had simply come to him as he was blinded by the unreasonable jealousy he felt over another man’s name on Arabella’s lips, while he was the one who held her so closely in his arms. What was happening to him, over just holding a woman in his lap?

He knew the answer with an anguished feeling that turned into disgust at how lowly he had fallen into the pit of his own making.

Chapter Four

Within a mile of his estate Darth felt Arabella’s chill turn into a radiant heat and he realized with alarm that a fever had set in. He wondered once again how he found himself in this most unusual situation as he recognized that he was worried. The carriage finally pulled up to his Tudor styled manor house and he sighed in audible relief. He wasted no time getting down out of the carriage — his long strides took him quickly to the immense sewn oak door, which opened heavily upon his arrival.

“Quickly now, Chicery, I have an injured party here,” Darth stated firmly upon entering the manor with his black covered bundle.

“Your lordship, what is this?” Chicery, Lord Peregrine’s valet, exclaimed shutting the door and looking up to see his master taking the staircase steps two at a time.

“I hope the fire in my bedchamber is full-blown, Chicery. She has acquired a nasty fever,” Lord Peregrine called over his shoulder, as Chicery sniffled at the belittling of his skills. Then he realized what his lordship had said, and further what his lordship intended to do. He hastened up the steps exclaiming, “Sir, surely not your own bedchamber! I will ready another one, quick as a whip. She, sir, did you say she?”

Chicery reached his lordship, who was glaring down at him in his own frightful way. “There is no time for other rooms, Chicery. Open this door! Did you not hear me say fever? We must keep her warm.”

Chicery opened the door quickly and followed the earl inside, mumbling as he went. “But we have no proper lady’s maid, sir. And you know Mrs. Wellborn, the housekeeper, lives off the estate.”

“Get over your proper societies bashfulness, Chicery. After all these years together you should know that I of all people hold no store in it. Now pull down those bed covers,” Darth order none too kindly in his rising concern, because Arabella had begun mumbling fiercely and was thrashing her head about in his arms.

“Your own bed, sir! What would your dear departed mother say and with no proper lady’s maid?” Chicery asked, but still did as he was told.

“She would smile her kindly smile at my extreme chivalry. Now go and brew some of that concoction you gave my little niece Victoria last spring for her fever. It worked wonders.” Darth put one knee to the bed as he leaned over and laid Arabella in its center. Without hesitation he began to unwind his black cloak from around her slender form. This sent Chicery into another string of worried muttering as he turned to leave the room.

“Come, little dove, you must fight this,” Darth murmured as he realized Arabella’s night dress was soaked through with her climbing fever. Her delicate cheek bones and smooth temple had acquired a ripe peach-tinted appearance and she kept tossing her dark head from side to side in the early stages of her delirium. Darth knew there was no other choice, the nightgown had to be removed, and he went to fill a china basin with water. Then he grabbed a linen cloth along with the basin and brought it back to set it on the cherry wood night stand by his bed. Gazing down at Arabella, he realized that she was as good as naked already with her sodden gown clinging to her flushed skin. He found that he could not help himself now. Not sure if he wished to. It had been too long since he had experienced a woman’s naked flesh.

He knelt by the bed, with near reverence, and slowly undid the tiny buttons at the collar of Arabella’s night dress. If his hands trembled, he would not admit it and if he was showing himself to be a weaker fool, he would not admit that either. He could tell himself that he owned Arabella now and could do with her as he pleased. However, that would not have mattered either, for he felt as if nothing on this earth could have stopped this journey for him now ... He was driven.

With his fingers help, the collar spread open to the valley between Arabella’s breasts. Darth’s gaze lingered for a time, on the vision of material lying open at a wide V, clinging to the healthy young mounds of Arabella’s breasts. It was tantalizing, this half-dressed and undressed state. The edge of linen fabric running over the curve of her bust had been pulled so low by his own hand that it revealed the circlet tops of her peach colored nipples. Nipples that were puckered into twin swollen kernels, pushing upward beseechingly against the transparency of the clinging material.

He did not, however, go so far as to touch them. Finding he was completely satisfied to only gaze at them, and then reveal more. Carefully, Darth peeled the gown from Arabella’s dainty shoulders. He pulled it beneath her until he had it lowered to her slender waist, and then pulled further past the flare of her curving hips. The experience of undressing her was a sensual emotion in its own right. The night dress came off, out from under her diminutive feet, and he did naught, but let it fall to the floor at his side. He had closed his eyes, anticipating the moment he would open them and experience Arabella’s nudity in total.

Opening his eyes, Darth’s breath caught as a tremor ran the length of his frame.

Arabella was exquisite as he had known she would be. Her apricot flavored skin was flushed to resplendence with the fever and the sable tuft of richly curling brown hair adorning her pussy was positioned perfectly between her sleek thighs. Her belly was so tender and feminine that he found he could do naught else, but lay his cheek in reverence to its satin.

And it was satin, he could feel it against the hard line of his cheekbone as he inhaled deeply and caught the scent of jasmine, but also Arabella’s own special feminine fragrance so close to his nostrils. Darth blew a warm puff of air through the downy brunette curls covering Arabella’s delicate pussy, watching the curls ruffle sweetly with his hot breath. He understood that he was depraved, taking from Arabella’s weakness of the moment and showing his own weakness in return. He might have stayed in that position for eternity and been completely happy with nothing else, had not Arabella began to whimper in her delirium, bringing him back from his personal homage.

Darth shook his head as if to clear it of its glory and he returned his thoughts to the proper amount of worry over Arabella’s condition. Grabbing the wet linen from the basin, he wrung it out and began to wipe the perspiration from Arabella’s shapely young body. She was shivering again, so he finished her front quickly and turned her onto her stomach to do her back. Then, he knew his mind was truly addled as the possibility of owning her swirled through his thoughts. He could still hear her rich voice saying, “I would do anything, your lordship,” as he moved the damp cloth over the heart-shaped globes of her buttocks.

“
Christ,
” he cursed, and then he cursed one more time for good measure as he turned Arabella onto her back and hastily covered her. It was a good thing, because Chicery chose that moment to reappear and Darth realized that he had nearly been caught. That did more to clear his senses than anything as he began to undergo fury at himself for the disability he experienced. My God, was he a man or a sniveling bilk that he could not be master over his own needs? Agitated, Darth began to stalk the room in his disquiet as Chicery, who was still mumbling, went over to Arabella. Chicery lifted her head and began to feed her sips of the herbal tea.

“Who is she, your lordship, if I might ask?” Chicery sniffed.

“Arabella,” Darth answered as he continued to walk off his self-anger.

“That is all, sir, just Arabella?” Chicery quipped.

Chicery was like a short terrier dog gnawing on a bone,
Darth thought and he resembled one too, with his thin nose and puckered lips as if he had just eaten something distasteful. But the little man was bald and therein stopped his resemblance to a terrier.

“Yes, that is all she told me,” Darth snapped, finally coming to a stop in front of the fireplace mantel, where he proceeded to bend and add more logs to the fire.

“And her family, sir, surely they should be notified or a doctor perhaps?” Chicery offered.

“I am well aware of all that, Chicery,” Darth replied as he straightened and walked toward the massive four-post cherry-wood bed. “I am not certain she has any family. As for a doctor, you know their like will only try and bleed her, and I do not have to tell you how I feel about that. Do I?”

“No family, sir? How in the world did you come across her? A lady such as this could not be traveling alone.” Chicery sniffed again as he emptied the last dredges of tea into the lady’s none too willing mouth.

“I
own
her, Chicery. I even have the papers to prove that.”

Chicery stood up, shock clearly written on his features. “Own her, sir?”

Darth shook his head wearily. “Disregard I said that, Chicery. I do not know where my head is this evening. It has been a long night.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir. If you like, I will sit up with the little Miss?”

“No, but thank you. That will be all for now. She has become my responsibility and I must see this through. Good night, Chicery.” Darth turned back to the big four-post bed after watching his ever faithful valet close the door. Then, Darth sat beside Arabella and wiped a damp cloth across her fevered brow. She seemed much quieter now after drinking the tea. He set the cloth down on the night stand, and then he moved his hand to run a straight lean finger down her delicate cheek.

“Little dove, you and I must make a vow,” he murmured. “I promise to stay with you, but you must promise to fight this fever,” he finished with a sigh. Then he stood and went to remove his black boots and evening jacket, which he carelessly tossed over the wing chair facing the fireplace. Later, Chicery would find his scattered clothes and pick them up to be properly taken care of. The two of them had what Chicery always considered an improper relationship, and one Darth had insisted upon from the beginning.

There would be no dressing and undressing of his lordship, not even the boots. The most Chicery could hope for in this avenue, of striving to be a proper valet, was the setting out and picking up of his lordship’s clothes. Baths were strictly off limits, and no shaving, only the water could be attended to. It had been upsetting to Chicery at first, when he had passed in the duty of valet, from father to son. Only to find the son so heedless of societies structures. But now Darth only heard the occasional muttering about the improprieties.