The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(303)

Arabella stood waiting for something, anything other than a mild distaste to flood through her. She had tried and tried. As had Adam.



But he left her completely cold, untouched. Why, oh why was it that the only time she had ever felt alive in a man's arms had been with Blake of all people? The one man she was not supposed even to consider marrying. The man who was determined to do his duty and marry her off well, if only so he could go back to his bachelor lifestyle without her underfoot?



The man who was so cold he didn't need love, didn't want it, would rather confine himself to cold water baths and the tame fulfilling of needs upon his past-her-prime widow Leonore Ross, who was as icy and calculating as a lizard.



She tried once more, slanting her head and opening her mouth, putting her hands on his shoulders. But it was like a mathematical exercise, an intellectual quest, just as when she had kissed Philip Marshall. The surge of passion was absent.



One fact was all too apparent to her, however, even as she tried once more: she didn't love Adam. There was no wildfire sweetness, no singing of her blood. Adam might as well have been a marble statue for all the life and spark she felt within either of them at the contact.



Finally Arabella could tolerate it no longer. "Please, no, that is more than enough. I must go before someone sees us."



Adam nodded and did not try to detain her. He would have to play things respectably for a little while longer, until she was his. He would have all her money, and be home free. A least she was young and pretty enough. Innocent, of course, but it would be fun breaking her in.



Even better, once they were wed, she would be his property, just as much as her fortune. He could satisfy some of his more debauched proclivities upon her without there ever being any danger of her having recourse to the authorities regarding what he would do to her every night.



Then when he was tired of her, one little riding accident, and he would be home free.



At this happy thought, he swaggered off back to the ballroom, licking his lips and then starting to whistle a little tune.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE



Arabella fled to the privacy of the library, running straight in without even shutting the door. No matter how far or how fast she ran, however, she could not flee her own nature, she knew. With her hands over her eyes she began to weep, and so did not see Blake in the shadows by the bookshelves.



He was completely taken aback. She had just been kissing her cousin a moment ago, and they had looked so happy together. Had Adam tried…



But no, she did not seem scared, and her dress was undamaged. Yet she was weeping as though her heart would break.



He debated on whether or not he should just leave her, give her some privacy. But he cared too much. No matter what had happened, they were supposed to be friends. He had a duty to look after her. He had to try to help, even if what he heard was utterly painful to him.



Finally, unable to help himself, he spoke tenderly to his distraught love. "Darling, why are you so distressed?" Blake whispered.



He moved closer and rested his hands gently upon her partly bared shoulders, feeling the warmth of her soft flesh radiate right through his gloves.



She stepped away and sighed, drying her tears with the back of her wrists. "I'm sorry, Adam. You must think me a dreadful flirt, but I cannot allow you to press your attentions any further, as if we were to be wed."



"No, not a flirt," he denied hotly, his voice hoarse with barely suppressed passion. "But I don't understand--"



She sighed. "I'm sorry. I've tried. But it's just no use, Adam. I must tell you the truth. Much as I regard you, I cannot place my whole life in your hands, my, my person in your bed."



Blake's loins tightened painfully. Lord in Heaven, she was refusing her cousin after all? What had happened here? He had just seen them kissing!



He had to find out what had happened between them, even though he knew it was the worst sort of perfidy to allow her to maintain her belief that she was speaking to the man who had evidently just offered for her hand.



He clung to the shadows away from the fire lest she turn around and discover her error, and said, "Please, tell me what you honest feelings are. I thought you liked me, that you returned my esteem. May I ask why you do not wish to marry me, if it's not too painful for you to discuss?" he whispered, consciously imitating the younger man's speech.



She sighed again. "I have no wish to cause you or myself any pain or further embarrassment. I fear a candid answer would provoke both."



"Let me be the judge of that. I would like the truth, however dreadful you think it may be," he said softly.



"Very well, then. I'm sorry if what I'm about to say wounds your dignity. Please keep in mind that you did ask. The plain truth is your heart and um, your body don't speak to mine."