The Officer's Temptation Ch. 09

Author's Note: No full sex scene in this chapter.

The Officer's Temptation: Ch. 09

A Door Once Shut

"I asked for a cup of tea, not for it to be splashed all over my dress." Arabella's face scrunched up in discontentment and she patted a napkin against her sleeve. "Now I look a mess." The servant that had been pouring her tea dipped her head quickly, retreating back against a wall.

"I don't see anything wrong with the way you look," Nicholas said, glancing over the edge of the paper.

"That's because you are across the table."

"I can't see the spill at all."

"It's on the lace of my sleeve, of course you can't see it."

"Whatever you say, darling." Nicholas made a grunting sound. The paper crinkled as he turned the page.

Marlowe placidly scaped some jam over the buttered roll on his plate. Arabella's sleeve did not look splattered to him, but she rose abruptly from her seat, delicately placing her napkin on the table. "I'll have to change before going to the gardens."

Marlowe's stomach sank at that. All of the women had planned to visit a famous rose garden that afternoon, though the others had already left, intending to first call upon a friend of Mrs. Jennings who had just come to town. Arabella was to join them directly afterwards, and though Marlowe had his suspicions about why Arabella had wanted to accompany him and Nicholas to the local market instead of going on the visit, he had hoped that she would not find a way to force him into more time alone with her.

"You had best hurry if you want me to accompany you to the market first," Nicholas said. "You know I am supposed to call upon Mr. Whitmore before noon today." He folded the paper on the table and took out his watch. "Indeed, it is high time that we left. You've been dawdling all morning."

"I'll be quick about it. For heaven's sake, it does not take so long to change a dress!"

Marlowe slumped against his chair. The sinking pit inside him seemed to weigh him down. It was odd how dread seemed to have its own gravity. He felt all the worse for it, as he had originally been looking forward to the trip to the market. He had been thinking that he should find something for Kate, some small token with which to repay her kindness in giving him drawing lessons-a new set of pencils or pastels, something practical that she would enjoy using, and something that would make her smile and think of him when she left to study in Paris. He should have never mentioned that he was venturing out to go shopping to Nicholas, who had then in turn mentioned it to Arabella.

His hand clenched around his teacup. It was growing cold. He wished that he had thought to splash something a little more heartening into it, but truth be told, he was barely recovered from his last hangover, and he didn't think it would do his reputation any good to be seen drunk quite so often as he had been lately.

"What do you think about the invitation?" Nicholas's voice broke through his thoughts.

Marlowe realized that he had been staring at his cup for minutes, letting the dregs go bitter. It was fitting. "The Invitation?"

"It came in the post this morning. Mrs. Hughes must have read it when you were still dressing. Lord and Lady Foley leased a villa for the season just on the outskirts of town. There are quite a few English on tour, apparently, so they are hosting a small ball, and inviting a few locals of import."

"I've never liked balls."

"That's a blatant lie. You always liked to dance at the country balls. And I know you stepped out quite frequently in London. I know I do not go to town often, but we do hear all the society news in the country."

Marlowe grimaced. "Some of my experiences in London are all a bit hazy now, if you mark me."

Nicholas snorted. "Further proof that you do indeed enjoy a ball."

Marlowe caught himself grinning, "Well, I suppose I have been known to enjoy myself. Of course, I didn't have my mother hovering in London. I daresay she will scrutinize my every dance partner."

"So you intend to have many?" Nicholas's look was shrewd. "Or just a few? Perhaps one in particular..." His paper made a particularly pointed rustle as he shook it out to fold.

Marlowe made a harrumphing sound in his throat. "Well I can't say until I see the ladies, can I?" He idly wondered what dress Kate might wear to a ball, how she might wear her hair... how her cheeks might flush from dancing, if the rosiness spreading down her creamy neck and to the tops of her breasts. He pulled at his uncomfortably stiff collar.

"Judging by your expression, your imagination is already quite at work."

"Has my mother already accepted?" Marlowe sidestepped.

"Yes, on your behalf as well as the Jennings, I believe." He smiled shrewdly. "Do you suppose there will be any room for me on Miss Jenning's dance card? Or will all the spots be marked with your name?"

Marlowe was fortunately spared a reply by the return of Arabella, who was now outfitted in one of the short-sleeved white day gowns that were so popular at the moment. Nicholas checked his watch again. "Perhaps you should take the carriage straightaway to the gardens, dearest. I'm not certain there will be enough time for you to visit the market."

"Nonsense. I only need one little thing. I'm sure it will take me no time at all to find it." She hung a straw basket over her arm and adjusted the bonnet on her head. "Now hurry or we shall all be late."

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They were, of course, running late. By the time the carriage was brought around, the clock was ticking closer and closer to half-past eleven and Nicholas was tapping his foot in anticipation. He handed Arabella up wordlessly and climbed in after her. Marlowe took the seat across. Maybe it was the hot and close air, but the dread pooling in him made him feel as if he were riding towards his execution.

"Hughes, would you be terribly put out if I asked you to accompany my wife to the market? You had your own business there, did you not?"

And there was the executioner's axe. He wondered how the woman managed to do it so perfectly every time. "I do have my own affairs to see to," he hedged.

Nicholas crossed his legs and sat back as the carriage launched forward. "It's just that Whitmore's is a half-mile east of the market, and I did say that I would arrive before noon."

"Of course."

"It's no worry, my dear," Arabella said, placing a gloved hand on Nicholas's sleeve. "Lieutenant Hughes and I will be quite alright. I only need to pick up a new ribbon before I join the ladies at the garden. Perhaps the Lieutenant will help me find a hackney from the market straight to the gardens and then you may take the carriage all the way to Whitmore's."

Nicholas relaxed. "That is the very thing that I was going to suggest." His sharp gray eyes trained on Marlow. "If you are amenable to that, of course, Hughes. A fine husband I make, asking another man to escort my wife out so often."

Marlowe sighed and cursed his mother for instilling in him such a heavy sense of obligation. "Don't worry yourself, Balfrey. I know you hate running behind schedule. I'll see that Arabella makes it to the gardens safely." He fidgeted with his cuff. He did not relish the time alone with Arabella, but maybe he could make the most of the opportunity. It was broad daylight, they would be in public, and he was in full possession of his wits for once.

The carriage slowed as they reached the edge of the market square. It was bustling and vibrant in the sunlight. The smell of fresh baked goods mingled with the scent of exotic perfumes and spices and the conversation that buzzed in the air. A small dark-eyed child in his mother's arms waved a doll at Marlowe as he stepped out of the carriage. Marlowe sighed. Reluctantly, he extended his hand to Arabella, helping her step down. A thread of her golden hair had slipped from her bonnet and it caught the light like gold. The hot sun shone into her emerald eyes, lightening them to an unearthly jade and she beamed at Marlowe.

Her beauty almost made his throat close up. He had been so frustrated by her wild behavior and escalating attentions that he had almost forgotten how incredibly breathtaking she was. Was this what it would have been if he would have met her before Nicholas? If it was his wife he was escorting out on this beautiful day?

A moment later and the carriage jolted off, carrying Nicholas away to his engagement. Arabella took Marlowe's arm, and he sighed at the feeling of her warm, feminine weight against him. Her thoughts seemed to mirror his. "Out in public like this, no one would know that it is not you who is my husband."

"And if I were, would you be his lover as you are now mine?"

Hot color rose in her cheeks. "How can you ask me such a thing?"

"It matters not. I am not your husband, and you are not my wife." Marlowe raked a free hand through his hair. It was so hard to organize his thoughts around her. Especially so close and with the sweet scent of her perfume clogging his mind. It would be so easy to melt into her presence and forget the rest of the world. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly resisting it.

"Does that suddenly concern you?" her voice was careful and calm, but he thought he detected a tint of anger around the edges.

Marlowe felt a tide of emotion riding in him. "If you have any children, they will be his. They will not be mine." It was a topic that he had been almost studiously avoiding, even in his thoughts-the fact that even now his dearest friend's wife could be carrying his child. He wasn't sure why it was bubbling out of him now when it would be so much easier to relax and enjoy the beauty of the moment.

Arabella tensed beside him. "What do you mean? Why do you bring that up now?"

He dropped her arm and faced her in the street. "What I mean, Arabella, is that..." he cleared his throat and steeled himself. "What I wish to know is: are you with child? Nicholas said something to me the other day, and I can't bear to see you without thinking of it!" The words fell out of his mouth quickly, as if a dam had been broken. In a way it was a relief to say them, to let out the dark secret that had been gnawing away in his gut.

"Is that why you have been so cold to me?" She bit her plump bottom lip and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Answer me."

A frown shadowed her features as she took his arm and began walking again. He was forced to trot along beside her. "I do not know. I thought... I thought that my courses had begun but then they seemed to stop again. I think... I think I may finally be."

His heart sank. "Is it mine?"

"Marlowe, how could I possibly know? I don't even know for certain if I am with child or not."

He groaned. "But you wish to be, don't you? I remember months ago, in the glade I asked you if we shouldn't be more careful, and you never answered."

She sighed. "I confess that it does not trouble me. I am a married woman, not some poor housemaid who should be cast off into the street when her belly began to swell. Why shouldn't I look forward to a child? Yours, Nicholas's, it makes no difference!" Her free hand lightly touched her stomach and her voice dropped. "I would love any child just the same."

"Well, it makes a difference to me, Arabella! Did you not consider how I would feel knowing I had a child in the world? And that I could not acknowledge it without doing irreparable damage to your reputation, my family, and my friend?"

"You'll forgive me if l confess that I thought that it did not trouble you overmuch. You can not pretend to have been careful yourself. You do know how children are made, do you not, Lieutenant?" Her green eyes were scathing.

He groaned. "I'm a fool," he realized. His own voice echoed back against the stone wall of a building. He realized suddenly that there was very little foot traffic, and indeed that they had been walking away from the market instead of towards it. He had been so distracted that he hadn't even noticed. "Arabella, where are we? We were supposed to be going to the square."

"No. We are going somewhere much more interesting."

"Where?"

She sighed heavily. "It's a surprise. It was supposed to be a nice surprise, though I fear you have ruined the fun for yourself with this dark mood."

"I am in no need of another surprise today, Arabella!"

"I know that you are upset, Marlowe, but I never could have dreamed that you would be so affected by something like this. It was naive of me, perhaps, but I thought that you might be happy for me. I thought that it would not change anything between us! And why should it? We can go on loving each other and when the child is born, if he resembles you, then chances are Nicholas will never notice. Most men never do! And if the child belongs to Nicholas then you are I will just be more careful in the future! I truly can not see why you are determined to let this make a mess of things when what we have is so perfect."

"Arabella, this is madness."

Arabella pressed a hand over her face and sighed. "I know why you are being like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought at first that it was jealousy. That you were jealous of Nicholas. But it's something else, don't you see? You only need to get it out of your system. And that's where I am taking you, you know. I didn't mean for us to have this conversation this way, but it just proves that I was correct. I think you're going to very much enjoy the surprise."

"What are you talking about?"

Arabella's eyes bore a hole into him, intense with anger and something else. "Do you want to know what was in Miss Jennings's sketchbook?"

"Miss Jennings's sketchbook?" He almost stopped in his tracks at the change of subject. "That is her own private business."

"Well, perhaps it would be private, except it concerns someone else."

He sighed in frustration. "Will you speak plainly?"

Her eyes narrowed. "There were sketches of you, darling. Your face in profile, you looking out over the railing of a ship. She's been drawing you!"

Marlowe's heart fluttered but he forced his face into neutrality. "And what of it?"

"Don't be naive, Marlowe. She is clearly infatuated with you."

"She is only a dear friend."

Arabella made a harrumping noise. "She's been out for several seasons now, you know. Couldn't catch a man in society, so now her sights are set on you. And you know it, and it flatters you, and it distracts you from me, and I pray that this is all it is!"

"Don't be ridiculous. You shouldn't be jealous of Ka-Miss Jennings."

"It's not ridiculous. Your mother throws you at each other every chance she gets. Maybe I wouldn't mind it if you married her. Then it would be so much easier for us to sneak off together! I could tell Nicholas I was only going over to see my dear friend Katherine. Or is it Kate that you call her now?" Her lips curved into a mocking smile.

"Arabella, that's obscene. I don't think it is right for you to speak of her in this way."

She laughed cruelly. "If you think that's obscene, just wait to see what I have in store for you. We're here." She pushed open a discreet-looking door. The light was dim after the bright sunlight of the exterior and Marlowe could not see well as his eyes adjusted. There was the sound of laughter, a heavy scent of perfume, and a woman in silk who stood and nodded to Arabella, walking slowly over.

"Close your eyes," Arabella whispered to Marlowe. "I know we just quarreled, but I do want this to please you."

"Absolutely not. Where are we?"

Arabella smirked as she undid the ribbon to her bonnet, dropping it into the little straw basket she carried. She fished out a few coins from her purse and passed them to the woman in silks, who inclined her head of dark curls and walked forward, urging them to follow. Arabella grabbed Marlowe by the wrist and pulled him after her down the dark hall.

"Where are we?"

"I told you-it's your surprise." She somehow made the words sound seductive, even though he could tell she was still angered by their conversation in the street. Snippets of Italian floated through the dim corridor along with half-heard strains of music, laughter, and underneath that, the suspicious sounds of moaning and grunting.

"Is this a brothel?"

They had reached a small door at the end of the hall. The woman passed Arabella a key and she slid by Marlowe as she passed, letting her breasts glide over his arm. "Why don't you tell me, darling?" The edge had fallen out of Arabella's voice. It was all honey now, deep and seductive. Dangerous.

He felt her hand brush against his groin and he flinched. "What are you doing? Arabella, I don't think-"

She shushed him. "Let me show you something." She leaned in slowly, hand still rubbing below his waist. Her tender lips closed on his and he felt intoxicated by her smell, remembering all too well the slick slip of her tongue, the wet heat that would welcome him between her thighs. She opened the door. "I told you that I had a surprise."

"I fail to see how the inside of a brothel could be any surprise to me. I-" but the words died on his lips. Sunlight overwhelmed the room, and he blinked after the dim light of the hall. The back wall was nothing more than a stone fence, allowing access to a brilliant courtyard. Surging greenery served to give partial privacy, but he could see the bright dots of flowers through the gaps, and hear the distant laughter and cries of lovers. In the center of the room was a grand bed, carved of sturdy wood. It had a gauzy canopy that was tied back. A woman sat in its center and Marlowe gasped to see her.

Her eyes were startlingly blue, her dark hair in soft curls pinned to her head. Her skin was the color of fresh cream, and largely exposed by the thin navy material that clung to her, loosely wrapped over one shoulder and clinging to the curves and valleys of her chest. It was tied around her waist in a golden cord, in a style that he supposed was meant to mimic that of the ancients. She turned her head and smiled invitingly and Marlowe saw that her beautiful nose was slightly upturned.

Arabella reached her arms around him from behind and he flinched. "Who does she remind you of?" she whispered breathlessly in his ear. She pressed a hand against his shoulder and guided him to a winged chair. The woman on the bed watched with a coy smile on her face as Arabella knelt before him. Before he could protest, she was sliding a hand up his leg.

"What is the meaning of this?" He couldn't take his eyes off the beautiful woman at the center of the room.

Arabella laughed, light and tinkling. He thought of the fairy stories he had heard when he was a child. Beautiful creatures, and cruel. "You know very well. She's my gift to you. I've seen the way that you look at her, at Miss Jennings. She is beautiful, is she not?" She leaned closer to him and he felt her hot breath on his skin. Her hands roved up his thighs, over his chest and shoulders. Her face was close, her breasts pressed together as she leaned in. She turned her head back towards the whore on the bed. "Come here," she commanded.

The woman rose with another sly smile. As she walked, Marlowe realized that the material that she was wrapped in was really no more than a translucent gauze. He was mesmerized by the sway of her full breasts beneath the cloth, the seductive sway of her hips. He swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry,

Arabella rose as the woman reached them. "This is to help you, Marlowe. To put her out of your head." She fingered one of her golden ringlets and smiled. "I'm about to make all your wildest desires come true." She faced the dark-haired woman and lifted her hands to the golden cord around her waist. With a quick tug, it loosened and fell, snaking to the floor. Arabella next turned her attention to the small knot holding the other woman's gown at the shoulder. Once undone, the garment slid as smoothly as water down the woman's body, exposing the expanse of her delicate flesh to Marlowe.