Arabella's Taming Read online

  He had no wish to marry Arabella. Thomas wanted a restful, easy wife who would provide him with a restful, easy life. He had no desire to be set aflame; rather he wanted a hearth fire to relax with, and Arabella was all sparkles and explosions, like fireworks above the Thames. Yet, in dissuading Isaac from matching them together, it appeared he'd been rather too vehement in describing the parts of Arabella's personality which did not suit his vision of the future.

  Seeing the apology and indecision on Thomas' face, Isaac relaxed a touch. "Don't worry, I realize you didn't mean it the way it sounded."

  "I never meant to run her down," Thomas said ruefully. "I just wanted to ensure you knew she wasn't for me."

  Isaac clapped his hand on Thomas' shoulder. "Well, you should have no more qualms about that. Hartford seems to be in earnest. I expect he'll propose before the end of the Season and from what I've seen I can't imagine Arabella will refuse him."

  Strangely, the notion didn't sit well with Thomas at all.

  Chapter 2

  Hyde Park just after dawn was a nearly deserted scene of greenery and damp fog, perfect for a lady who desired to gallop her horse when she was in London. Because, of course, galloping her horse was considered scandalous for a lady, as were most physical activities. Society frowned upon women who rode at a gallop, although many women did so on their own estates in the countryside.

  Galloping was not actually the problem; being caught doing so was.

  Acutely aware of how unfair it was when gentlemen could gallop whenever they pleased, and were lauded for doing so, Arabella consoled herself with the knowledge that she had a better seat than most men she knew. She could ride like a demon, even in side saddle although astride was easier. Men thought they were naturally better riders than women, but she'd wager they'd fall off at the first fence if they were forced to ride in voluminous skirts with their balance tilted to one side.

  She'd made the bold proposition of a side saddle race to several men her first Season, even saying she'd grant them the dignity of riding in their usual breeches rather than skirts. So far there had been no takers, although she'd chased off two prudishly huffy suitors with the outrageous idea that women were better riders than men.

  Arabella had not been sad to see them go.

  Mist, the feisty mare she preferred to ride, danced impatiently beneath her, as eager to stretch her legs as her mistress. The dappled grey could be stubborn, sneaky, and occasionally ill-tempered, but was also spirited and fiercely loyal with moments of incredible sweetness. In other words, she was the perfect match for Arabella.

  Leaning forward over Mist's neck, Arabella streaked across the open greenery. Hyde Park was not a very exciting gallop, lacking the fences and hills of the Manchester estates, but at least she could feel the wind in her hair, turning her cheeks red. The damp didn't bother either of them in the least.

  It was almost like flying if she pretended the fog was actually clouds, and she felt freer on Mist's back than anywhere else in the world. She could even forget the groom riding along behind her, there for propriety's sake. Poor David was forced to awaken at dawn every morning to ensure she had a chaperone for her early morning jaunts, but—like Arabella—he returned to bed after the ride. Isaac was not unsympathetic to the young man's plight; as he was the only servant in their employ able to mostly keep up with Arabella on horseback, he was her usual companion for her ride both at home and in London.

  Out of the fog, another rider emerged on the other side of the park, running a course parallel to hers. With the grey gloom hanging about them, Arabella couldn't see much other than the shape of a man on a black horse, their features obscured. But she could tell he was a bruising rider, certainly as good as herself, and also running flat out.

  Excitement leapt inside of her as they traveled neck and neck, yards apart and yet somehow running together, racing.

  The idea that Hartford had come out early to meet her and race her flitted through her mind, he was well aware of her early morning rides, but she quickly dismissed the notion. Like the lazy lion he was often compared to, Hartford was not an early morning riser. Late hours and late mornings was his motto; he'd been almost amused when she'd told him why she enjoyed mornings.

  Granted, she liked them quite a bit better in the countryside where the pace of life was a little slower and she went to bed quite a bit earlier. Hartford preferred town life and town hours, so she had a feeling that a marriage between them would involve living separate lives on many an occasion. She certainly wasn't going to give up her time in the countryside, no matter how much she enjoyed the more active lifestyle of London. Arabella intended to have both.

  She was rarely able to ride like this in the city other than early in the morning when no one was about. Certainly she’d never had an opportunity to race with a worthy adversary like the gentleman across the lawn. At any other time of day—or if more people were about at this time—it would be utterly scandalous. In the country, ladies had much more leniency.

  As they reached the end of the open field, Arabella finally pulled up, grinning with delight despite her inability to pull ahead of her mystery competitor. She certainly wasn't going to send Mist into the trees where the terrain was unfamiliar, especially when visibility was so low due to the fog. The gentleman was also slowing to a trot, turning his horse in her direction.

  Mist walked forward briskly, shaking herself slightly at the new pace. Both of them could have run for far longer, but at least they'd gotten out the worst of their excessive energy.

  As the black stallion came closer, Arabella realized with a sudden shock that she recognized the horse. Her gaze jerked upwards as the last person she expected to see—even less likely than Hartford—met her eyes and raised his eyebrow at her in a superior manner.

  "What are you doing here?" she blurted out, too taken aback to even attempt to be circumspect.

  Then she reminded herself that she wasn't trying to impress him anymore anyway so it didn't matter that she was being rude.

  "Riding." The one word answer was said so blandly, so indifferently, Arabella narrowed her eyes at him.

  Thomas was the last person she would expect to tease her, but if he'd been anyone else she would have sworn that's exactly what he was doing.

  Tilting her chin up, she turned Mist so the mare could keep walking. Thomas' hulking stallion, aptly named Brutus, whinnied and immediately followed, taking Thomas' attention as he reasserted his control over the animal. Arabella couldn't help but hide a smirk.

  Gentlemen insisted on riding stallions, which were wont to become troublesome when they caught the scent of a likely mare. Not so unlike the gentlemen themselves, actually.

  Mist ignored the stallion's interest as the pair came up beside her and Arabella, Thomas having regained Brutus' attention. She'd taken the few moments to compose herself, but her curiosity remained. Especially since she'd assumed he'd ride on now that he'd seen who she was. Then again, she'd been rather surprised to know he'd willingly race any lady, particularly in Hyde Park where they might have been seen despite the fog and early hour.

  True, it was unlikely there would be any observers out and about, but she wouldn't have expected 'unlikely' to reassure Thomas when it came to matters of propriety.

  "Now what do you think you're doing?" she asked, deciding to keep to her rude tack rather than attempting to change course now.

  "Riding with you," he said, almost amiably.

  A kind of dark frustration rose up within her. Not two weeks ago she would have been overjoyed to race a gentleman in the park, discover it was Thomas, and then have him ride along amiably with her. She might have even tried to turn such a situation to her advantage and flirt with him.

  Now, his presence prickled, ruffling her calm and making her skin itch.

  Despite herself, she couldn't help but notice how attractive he was. His dark hair was windswept, making him look slightly more rumpled than he normally did and she had the oddest urge to reach over and run
her fingers through the locks. Well, perhaps the urge wasn't so very odd, considering. The gleaming Hessian boots secured in his stirrups almost glowed with the dew clinging to them, giving way to muscular thighs in brown breeches, and a navy riding coat that hugged his broad shoulders to perfection.

  He looked as though he'd trotted out of a painting, one devoted to celebrating the masculine form and lifestyle of the ton.

  Resentment stirred, because Arabella certainly didn't want to still be attracted to him or feel anything for him at all. If only it were so easy.

  "I have no need of an additional escort," she said sharply, waving an indolent hand behind her where she could hear David following them. "David manages just fine."

  "Yet here I am." The placid way he said it was even more provoking.

  Arabella pressed her lips together. Often when they met, she prodded and Thomas growled and grumped at her assertions. Having the situation turned about was much less enjoyable. Her best option forward was to turn it again.

  "I'm surprised you unbent enough not only to race, but to do so without scolding me afterward," she said, which was true enough. Turning her head, she gave him a disbelieving look. "Am I to suppose you have no averse opinions on ladies who gallop through Hyde Park in the early morning?"

  Since she'd heard him complain to her brother about that very thing, she knew that he did.

  The hesitation before he answered was clear, but he still surprised her.

  “If you must gallop, now is certainly the preferred time.”

  ******

  The expression of shock and disbelief on Arabella’s face was enough to make Thomas bristle. He knew she thought he was a hidebound prig, far too concerned with propriety and Society’s rules, but he did understand the need to occasionally break them. He didn’t necessarily approve, but if she was going to gallop then it was certainly better she did so now than at any other time of the day.

  And she really was a bruising rider. He hadn’t actually expected her to be able to keep pace with him, and he’d felt strangely delighted when she had. The emotion didn’t sit well in his chest, since he knew he really should be disapproving, but he couldn’t quite manage it. When he’d seen her across the park, herself and her horse in high spirits, he’d found himself moving to challenge her without even thinking about it.

  He hadn’t considered who might see them, what an observer might think, he’d just reacted. Hopefully he wouldn’t make a habit of it. At any rate, he certainly wasn’t going to castigate her when he’d been the one to initiate the race; that would be the height of hypocrisy.

  Swinging her head around to face front, for once it appeared that Arabella couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  Which gave him an opening to say what he truly wanted to say, what he’d wanted to say since he’d seen her last night with Hartford. It wasn't his business, she wasn't his concern, and yet he couldn't hold back.

  "You know Hartford will not make for a very faithful husband," he said, his sincere concern coloring his voice. Aware he was overstepping his bounds already, he kept private his opinion that Hartford would also let her run wild, in addition to running wild himself. While Thomas was looking for a comfortable match, rather than a love match (although he assumed love would come if he was comfortable and happy), he had trouble imagining Arabella happy in such an arrangement. Especially as all her friends were currently happily in love with their husbands.

  "I don't believe that's any of your business," Arabella said tartly.

  "It's not," he acknowledged, earning a startled look from her. Then she rolled her eyes as he continued. "However, I can't help but be concerned. I know Gabrielle would be distressed if you were to live unhappily-ever-after."

  Couching in terms of his sister-in-law's well-being, especially because of her condition, was a bit of a low blow. Not in the least because it certainly wasn't the entire truth.

  To his consternation, Arabella just sniffed and continued riding. He would have preferred she snap back at him, argue with him. Somehow her silence unnerved him more than anything she could have said.

  "Why would you want to marry someone like him?" he asked, feeling more disgruntled. "I'll grant you, as the sister of a Duke, I could understand not wanting to marry lower than a Marquess, but surely there are other—"

  "Excuse me?" Her eyes flamed as her head snapped around, fury practically pouring from every inch of her and making her mare prance a little nervously in reaction to her rider's emotions. "Is that what you think of me? That I would choose my husband based on his title?"

  "Well, certainly not that alone," he said, his words stumbling a little. Did she mean to imply she wouldn't consider social standing at all?

  "Is that why you are always so insulting whenever my brother has attempted to advance the idea of a courtship between us? Because you feel the need to find every flaw you can think of, in order to cover for what you deem your failing—your lower social status? So you find me lacking against that misbegotten list you cling to, rather than admit it's your own lack that you feel?"

  The hurt and anger in her words struck at his chest, along with a certain tightening that was entirely his own emotion. His own revelation, which sent him reeling as the truth he'd never realized became impossible to ignore.

  "I..." He groped for something to say and came up empty. What could he say when he couldn't even order his own thoughts into line, when he hadn't had time to really acknowledge his own insecurity and whether or not it played into his continued rejection of Isaac's teasing comments.

  After all, a viscountcy was a title but certainly not a high one. There were more viscounts in the ton than a man could shake his fist at. A small part of him had always marveled at Felix's easy friendship with the Marquess of Dunbury, even after he'd become friends with the man as well. That friendship, which eventually included a Duke, was both unlooked for and unexpected.

  Still, it was one thing to be friends with a Duke, another thing entirely to marry his sister and forever know she could have made a much more advantageous marriage.

  Not that he'd ever wanted to marry her anyway. Even if she wasn't a duke's sister, she still was far too wild for him, in need of far more discipline and effort that he wanted to put forth in his marriage.

  Wasn't she?

  "Oh, go to hell, you stupid blunderbuss!" she snapped out, and kicked her mare's side. The pretty gray surged forward into a gallop.

  Instinctively, Brutus tried to jump forward with her, but Thomas pulled him up, even as Arabella's groom went galloping past him as well, keeping up with his mistress.

  He felt dazed and completely off center.

  He was so flummoxed it wouldn't even occur to him till much later that she'd cursed and outright insulted him... and it would take another hour beyond that for him to wonder exactly how she knew his responses to her brother on the subject of a courtship between them.

  ******

  Despite leaving Thomas in her dust, Arabella's fury didn't abate and her morning gallop didn't leave her with the usual calm it provided. Instead, she stormed back into Manchester house still fuming.

  Fortunately there was no one else up and about this early. Isaac and Lydia would be in bed for hours yet, especially after the late hour of last night's ball. Her brother used to get up earlier, but since his marriage he and Lydia stayed in their room for at least an hour longer than he used to.

  He thought she had no idea why.

  Twit.

  Men were twits. Stupid, presumptuous, think-they-know-everything twits.

  It was a wonder women married at all.

  Although Hartford hadn't shown a twit-ish side yet. He'd probably hide it until after he married, she thought darkly. Then his wife would find out what a twit he was too.

  That she was very likely going to be the wife in question only made her thoughts even darker.

  She'd been avoiding thinking about what her friends and family would think if she and Hartford had the usual ton marriage
. How they would compare her marital state with their own. If Thomas thought his title was lacking in comparison to others, that was nothing compared to how her marriage would be seen against her friends’ and families’.

  Not that she thought his title meant all that much. She would have loved him if he'd been a mere mister! If he'd been a second or third son instead of a future viscount! That he thought it mattered...

  He was the King of Twits.

  Stomping up to her room to throw herself on her bed and hopefully manage some sleep before truly beginning her day, Arabella tried to push the conversation out of her mind. Not just Thomas' title and his feelings of inferiority about it, but also any comparison about her possible marriage to Hartford against the rest of her loved ones'.

  Chapter 3

  When Arabella had agreed to Hartford's courtship and his honest admission that he was not looking for love, nor would he want anything but the usual ton marriage, she had thought of her own reaction and tried not to think too much about her family and friends' reactions. What she hadn't considered at all was the general reaction of the ton—specifically the women.

  Now, at her first event since Hartford's public courtship began without him escorting her, she was learning first hand exactly what marriage to him would be like.

  There were the expected pitying looks from her sisters-in-law or her best friend Gabrielle and the stiff but contained anger on her behalf from Isaac and Benedict, no matter how she gaily reassured them that she was perfectly content that Hartford was attending his own event. What she hadn't expected was the slightly sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she heard the whispers of the men and women around her, the slight titters and salacious gossip about exactly where Hartford might be and what he might be doing and with whom.