The Duke's Gamble (2 page)

Bella followed Beecham up the stairs, her heart pounding with fear. They turned left down the hallway and walked past at least ten doors before the butler stopped. He knocked on the door and after a moment, a faint male voice answered. The butler opened the door and stepped inside.

“Your Grace, Lady Arabella has arrived.”

Beecham stood aside for her to enter.
 

Oh lord.
Her stomach twisted and she was assaulted by a wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to move, praying that she wouldn’t cast up her accounts on the expensive carpet beneath her feet.

The room was a study, and it was cavernous. She vaguely noticed that the wall to her right was covered in books and to her left was a fireplace. It was the man before her who captured all her attention. The dark-haired man was seated behind a large oak desk which was oddly spartan amid the rich fabrics of the drapes and rugs and the understated opulence of the furnishings. The window behind him stretched from floor to ceiling, and the light made it difficult to see his features clearly. Not that she could see his face. His head was bent as he wrote rapidly, the sound of his quill scraping across the paper audible even to her.
 

“I assume the necessary preparations have been completed?”

Every nerve in her body jumped at the sound of his voice. It was deep and dark, the rich timbre marred by an edge of roughness. She didn’t understand why but the husky rasp of his voice caused the tension within her to multiply a hundredfold.

“Everything is as you requested, Your Grace,” answered Beecham.

“You may go.”
 

“Very good, Your Grace.”
 

Bella heard the door close but she did not turn around. The duke had not raised his head at all, continuing to write as if he had not been interrupted. As if she was not in the room. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. She stood there as her initial fear began to turn into anger. What was this? Was he trying to put her in her place? Show her that she was so worthless he could ignore her if he chose to?
 

She had never been the kind to paste simpering smiles on her face and agree with the opinions of the men that she spoke to. She had run her father’s household for three years. She had been the one who dealt with the creditors, the one who had overseen the sale of more and more of the contents of the house, the one who had to tell each and every servant that she could not afford to pay them, the one who had to admit to the tenants that she could not provide any assistance except for what she could do with her own two hands.

This thought gave her strength, and she prepared herself to speak. She needed to know what he intended to do with her. The uncertainty was unbearable. But as she opened her mouth, he laid down his quill and stood.

The words died in her mouth.

Her eyes widened as the duke walked towards her. No, not walked, prowled. He was tall, his shoulders broad under his black coat. A dark gold silk waistcoat emphasised his flat stomach and made it obvious that despite his wealth, he was not given to excesses. The muscles in his thighs shifted under the close-fitting fawn breeches as he approached her. At any other time Bella would have blushed at the vulgarity of her thoughts but there was something about him, a magnetism that made it impossible for her to look away or think of anything except his magnificent form.

He came to a halt before her. Bella stared at features which were too angular to be handsome. Black slashes of eyebrows drew attention to his dark eyes. His nose was straight, prominent above lips which she could only describe as perfect. Her breath quickened. Her eyes lingered at the thin, sculpted curves of his upper lip, and the sensual fullness of his bottom lip. She suddenly realised that she had been staring for much too long, and looked quickly up at him.

Avalon evidently felt no such compunction. His eyes were dispassionate, almost cold, as they swept from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes. Bella clenched her hands, feeling as if she was a mare that he was considering whether she was worthwhile to purchase. His brows drew together and she wondered whether he had changed his mind.

“You’re too thin,” he said abruptly.
 

The sound of his voice after the long stretch of silence made her start. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re too thin.” He circled her, and she could feel his gaze burning through her thin muslin gown.
 

“W-why does that matter?” Bella finally managed to force the words out of her mouth. Her voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, and she cursed herself for appearing so weak.

Avalon ignored her question, returning to his position before her. He regarded her with an impassive expression. “You’re afraid of me.”

The statement was unexpected but she quickly recovered. “I would be a fool not to be, would I not?” When he gave her an enquiring look, she added, “There are more than a few rumours about you.”

“And what do they say?”

Bella licked her lips, watching as his gaze lowered to her mouth. “Th-that you are entirely ruthless—and heartless. That the only thing that matters to you is the pursuit of wealth and you would do anything to get what you want.”

“I also feast on innocent babes for breakfast.”

Bella blinked. Had her ears played a trick on her? Surely he hadn’t just made a jest. But a ghost of a smile was playing about his mouth. That sinfully delicious mouth. She tried to focus on their conversation. “Yes, well, you do have thousands upon thousands of tenants. I suppose they would keep you well supplied with infants. Does Your Grace prefer males or females?”

Avalon’s lips twitched. “Females. Only females.” He took a step closer. “I am very particular, you see.” He was close enough that she could smell the faint scent of cigars mixed with bergamot and pine. He touched a lock of her hair by her ear.
 

Bella suppressed a shiver. What was the matter with her? “You can’t be
that
particular if you wanted me.” Lud, why had she said ‘want’?

Avalon, of course, didn’t fail to notice it. What surprised her was the way he spoke his next words, quietly, as if he were musing. “Want would not be the word I would use.”

“So, you don’t want me?”

“On the contrary. When it comes to you, Lady Arabella, obsession would be closer to the truth.”

Obsession? The Duke of Avalon, reportedly the richest, most influential man in England was obsessed with her? A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to escape.

“I can see that you don’t believe me,” he murmured. His thumb brushed her cheek and she shivered involuntarily. “I saw you at the Anstruthers’ ball.”

“The Anstruthers’ ball?” When had that been? She hadn’t attended a social gathering in almost three years. A warm hand cupped her neck, fingers caressing the sensitive skin there. Sensation streaked down her spine and she tried to suppress a shiver. What was he doing? And worse, why was she allowing him such liberties? Head spinning, she sought to say something vaguely sensible. “I … I would not have thought you would attend anything so frivolous as a ball.” That was not what she meant to say.

Avalon’s lips curved so faintly it was barely noticeable. “I was in attendance because of a particular card game. You disappeared before I could obtain an introduction. I searched for you everywhere, you know.”

Bella shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t understand why you would look for me.” She did not possess the sort of beauty that drew the attention of the opposite sex, as evidenced by the lack of a single offer of marriage. And then her mother had fallen ill and any thoughts of marriage disappeared.
 

His eyes narrowed. “You truly don’t know how exquisite you are, do you?”

Exquisite?
She shook her head, feeling bewildered. Ever since her father had told her about his agreement with the duke, anger and resentment had burned inside her. Against her father, yes, but just as equally against the man who had forced her into this untenable situation. She had arrived ready to hate him with every fibre of her being. Yet here he was, telling her that he found her exquisite, that she was an obsession of his. She didn’t know what to think. The intensity in his black eyes unnerved her. Made her heart race with fear and something that felt oddly like … excitement.

“I have waited a long time for this moment.”
 

“This moment?” she whispered, watching as heat flared in his gaze.

“This very moment,” he murmured, his head lowering to hers.

She didn’t have time to do anything. Not even to take a breath. Warm lips brushed hers lightly.
 

Once.
 

And again.
 

Bella brought her hands up to his chest in a reflexive motion but instead of pushing him away as she had intended, they stilled. For he had settled his mouth against hers. His kiss was unhurried, the pressure firm, yet gentle, and slowly, her lips softened and parted under his coaxing. The first taste of him was shockingly intimate, causing her breath to catch. The small sound seemed to galvanise Avalon, for his hand tightened around her nape. He placed his other hand on her waist and pulled her against him.

His tongue swept into her mouth, exploring and caressing and stroking. She was lost in the mastery of his kiss, her anger and resentment forgotten as her senses became overwhelmed by him; his smell, his taste, the sound of their laboured breathing, the heat of his hand burning into her lower back. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his wool superfine, and she strained to get closer to him even as his mouth ground down on hers so hard that her lips felt bruised. She vaguely wondered who this wanton female was, but the thought was lost when her tongue’s tentative foray into his mouth was met with a sensuous sucking that made her knees buckle.

Avalon’s arm tightened around her before he tore his mouth away with an abruptness that shocked her back into the present. Her lips throbbing, she wobbled slightly when he released her and took a step back. He stared at her, his eyes hot and wild.
 

Chapter 3

“Damn it to hell.” Castor raked a hand through his hair, then quickly dropped it to his side when he realised it was shaking. What in damnation had just happened? Where was the distance, the detachment he was supposed to maintain? It was just a façade, of course, because Arabella’s effect on his composure was equivalent to that of a cannonball on an enemy vessel at close range.
 

Arabella.
 

Yes, he thought of her as Arabella. His Arabella, to be exact. In his mind, she had always been his, even when he had absolutely no claim on her.

The first time he saw her five years ago, across the width of the Anstruthers’ ballroom, he had found himself unable to tear his eyes from her. He did not know what it was about her that had drawn him to her. She had been pretty enough but there were beautiful women there. When she had thrown her head back in laughter at something her companion said, he had been shocked by the ferocious desire that consumed him to possess her.
 

Later that evening, he had stood behind her, close enough to hear her conversation with Baroness Worsley. The baroness was in her eighties and deaf as a post, yet the young woman had remained eminently patient with her companion, the low contralto of her voice unfailingly gentle. Castor could not tear himself away. To his frustration, he had still not managed to obtain an introduction by the time she accompanied the elderly woman to supper, and by then, his card game was due to begin. When he had emerged from the card room, she had disappeared. He had searched for her; had even gone as far as to make discreet enquiries to discover her identity.
 

When he finally discovered that she was Melton’s unmarried daughter and only child, he was forced to stop and think. He was one of the wealthiest men in the land, yet he could offer her nothing. For he had been engaged. When his betrothed succumbed to consumption two years ago, he had to wait for the mourning period to pass. By then, Arabella’s mother was ill, and he knew she would not leave her parent. When her mother passed, he briefly wondered if fate was conspiring against him. So he watched as Melton’s debts mounted and his estate declined; gritted his teeth and forced himself not to act even as his man of business, whom he had sent to gather information about Arabella, sent reports of her dire financial state. Castor’s admiration of her grew as he learnt of her resilience and the many efforts she made to support the small household that was left. And when her mourning period was finally over, he struck.

Now she was his. She stood before him, trembling slightly, her eyes dazed, her lips red and swollen from his kiss. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this hard that he could feel the blood pulsing in his aching cock. He had to clench his hands to stop himself from reaching out for her. The desire she had unleashed had been unexpected, and all the more devastating because of it. She was a virgin, yet he had been a hair’s breadth away from lowering her onto the ground and taking his pleasure within her. The thought made his cock jerk and he swore again.
Enough, you undisciplined fool.

His frustration made his words sound harsher than he intended. “Come.” He did not remain to see her expression.
 

Upstairs, the door to her bedchamber was already ajar, and upon their approach, a number of footmen came filing out. Castor was relieved to see his housekeeper follow after them. Her brow was furrowed and she appeared preoccupied but when she saw him, she came to an abrupt stop.

“Your Grace!”

“Mrs Robbins, this is Lady Arabella. Lady Arabella, my housekeeper Mrs Robbins.” He provided no other explanation, and he saw Arabella blush. She was clearly embarrassed at what his housekeeper must think of her.
 

“Mrs Robbins,” she said, inclining her head as the older woman curtsied. She looked surprised when his housekeeper gave her a beaming smile.

“Lady Arabella. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you. Now, your bedchamber is ready, and so is your bath. His Grace thought you would be tired after your journey, so a tray will be brought up shortly. Will you be needing any assistance?”