Margaret McPhee – Unmasking the Duke's Mistress (страница 11)

She would not let herself think of him as Dominic. He was just a man. And Arabella was not naïve enough to think that a woman had to love a man before she could give herself to him. After all, she had slept with Henry when what she had felt for him was affection and gratitude, and nothing of love.

The moment could not be delayed for ever so she set the needlework down on the little sewing table with care and rose to her feet, skimming a hand down as if to brush out the wrinkles in her skirt.

Only then did she look at him.

Arabella was a tall woman, but Dominic stood a good head and shoulders above her. Tall with broad shoulders and a build that was well muscled. His tailoring was a deep midnight blue over the pristine white of his shirt, waistcoat and cravat. His tailcoat of superfine looked as if it had been fitted by a master tailor. Long legs clad in dark breeches showed too well the musculature of his thighs, leading down to matching top boots, the gloss of which could be seen even by the candlelight.

His face looked paler than the last time she had seen him, his features as breathtakingly handsome as the man from her nightmares. She knew every plane of that face, had kissed every inch of it. His expression was intense and unreadable. And when her eyes finally met his she knew in that instant that all of her resolve was in vain. For she could not even look at him and remain unaffected.

Her heart skipped a beat and then raced off at a canter.

‘Dominic,’ she heard herself whisper, and all of the old emotions were back, all of the love, all of the hurt, all of the hate. She felt her eyes begin to well and looked hastily away so that he would not see it, furious with herself for such weakness. She thought of Archie and that gave her the strength that she needed. She might not be able to do this for herself, but she could most definitely do it for her son.

‘Arlesford,’ she corrected herself and this time she was glad to hear that her voice was strong with just a hint of disdain.

‘Arabella.’ He made a small bow, but otherwise did not move.

He stood there so quiet and still and yet she could sense the tension that surrounded him. It emanated from every pore of his body. It was betrayed by the slight clenching in his jawline, in his lips, in the way he was looking at her. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, so dark as to appear almost black, and he was looking at her with such intensity as if to glean every last thought from her head.

She felt the nervousness ripple right through her body at the thought of all that she sought to hide.

‘The house is to your liking?’ he asked.

‘It is very nice, thank you, your Grace. Beautifully furnished with impeccable taste.’ She kept her face impassive and her voice cool.

They looked at each other across the small distance and the silence was awkward and tense. She glanced away, waiting for him to shrug out of his tailcoat and suggest that they go upstairs. But that was not what Dominic said.

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