Chapter 10
Nightly Negotiations
For a man who has lived most of his life in a permanent state of anger, one would think that Gerald would be able to manage this emotion better than most. The truth was that he did. Up until yesterday.
From the moment Arabella had her outburst, he had been walking in a haze filled with such conflicting emotions that he had never felt before.
In his life, on the off chance that he actually felt something, it was sharp, cold, clean, and focused.
But for the first time, Gerald was not sure what exactly he was feeling.
A monster. That‘s what she called him. It was not the first time that Gerald heard those words addressed to him, whether it was in business, in Parliament, or across a ballroom. They always flew over his head; he never gave much value to what people thought about him.
And yet, seeing Arabella attack him with that same accusation stung deep into his pride. Because, against all logic, somehow her opinion mattered to him.
Perhaps it was the fact that she had provided him with the most fun he had had for years, even his whole life.
It was maybe the way she didn‘t cower, she didn‘t simper, she didn‘t beg or cry or break down into hysterics.
She simply fought with the means given to her in the situation that she was in.
She fought valiantly, with wit and grace.
And he loved every moment of it. From the annihilation of ice to that ridiculous hat.
Then again, he would be lying to himself if he didn‘t admit that it was something more.
He desired Arabella with a force that he had never experienced.
Under his wounded pride and his fury, he couldn‘t forget, not even one detail of the moment they shared in that carriage.
He kept replaying the taste of her lips, the feel of her tongue against his, the sound of her moans, the warmth of her body, the way it melted under his touch.
And he lived in a perpetual state of desire, his body still chasing that intense yet serene feeling he felt when he was tangled in her skirts.
“Darn it, Arabella!” he hissed into the night.
If he stayed in his home alone with these thoughts any longer, he would go crazy. He grabbed his coat, his cane, his hat, and his gloves, and he rushed out. The carriage was brought round, and he flew into London to his gentlemen‘s club, where he would have to control himself.
The moment he stepped in, he sought out Morgan. He was, after all, the only person who knew the whole truth. And sure enough, he found Morgan at his usual spot, nursing his favorite brandy.
“By Jove, Gerald!”
Morgan sprang out of his armchair the moment he saw him. As his friend approached, Gerald could see that Morgan was really worried about him.
“What on earth has happened to you?” Morgan asked.
“It can‘t be that obvious, surely.”
“I have known you many years, Gerald, and I must say I‘ve seen you in your ups and your downs. Well, mostly downs, but you get the gist. And I must say I am surprised that it was even lower than down.”
Gerald said nothing, just went to the bar, got a full glass of whiskey, then he downed it in one gulp and asked for another.
“I admire your dedication to getting intoxicated as fast as possible,” Morgan scoffed, “but before you pass out, would you care to explain to me what exactly has brought you to this situation?”
Gerald took the filled glass and made his way to the quietest corner of the gentlemen‘s club. He sat down and looked at the amber liquid as if it held all the answers that he required.
“Enough of the mysterious act!” Morgan demanded. “Is it about Miss Arabella?”
The moment her name was mentioned, Gerald’s body tensed. His grip on the glass made his knuckles go white, and his sharp inhale marked his turbulence.
“We can safely assume that whatever it is, it has to do with Miss Arabella,” Morgan concluded. “What did you do?”
“What makes you think I did something?”
“I could mention all the times that you have been responsible for bringing people into the same situation that you are now. But seeing that you are so focused on losing your senses tonight, let‘s spare each other time, and you tell me what you did.”
Gerald drank his whiskey. Then looked at the empty glass and scoffed at the nice little allegory of his life. Because right now, he strangely felt equally empty.
“We went out for a promenade at Hyde Park. There was an incident with an old lady that we had to help back to her home.”
“So you‘re telling me that you were promenading during the daytime and helped another human being in their time of need? On the same day?” Morgan mocked. “My friend, I am really worried about you.”
“You should worry about yourself more if you keep talking.”
“Fine, Your Grace,” Morgan bowed in complete defiance. “I am all ears.”
“We found ourselves alone in the carriage.”
Morgan‘s ears perked up.
“You‘re very particular about staying alone with another woman.”
“Miss Arabella is basically my fiancée. Was, at least.”
He saw the moment his friend realized that something awful had happened in that carriage.
“Did you… offend the lady?” Morgan accused carefully.
Gerald looked up with a heated look. He was many things, but not a defiler.
“I thought so,” Morgan said, relaxing his shoulders. “I know you, Gerald, and despite what people think, you are not that deeply evil.”
“We did kiss, though.”
Morgan dropped his glass. Luckily, it hit the thick carpet, so it was not broken, but still, a few people turned to see what was going on.
“Can you please control yourself?”
“I would ask the same question, but the answer would be that you can‘t when you are alone with Miss Arabella.”
Gerald looked at his friend menacingly and with an open warning. Such comments were not appreciated.
“I do understand,” Morgan said with glee, “that it is a rare occasion for you to have pleasurable human interaction, but I would like to remind you that what you‘ve just experienced falls into the good category.
That means that you don‘t have to resort to alcohol.
Yes, it was quite improper what you did, but I am guessing that with Miss Arabella, she was an eager participant.
After all, you said it yourself. She‘s basically your fiancée. So no harm done.”
Gerald scoffed at that comment. Harm was indeed done, and tonight all the whiskey in the world could not take that pain away.
“Would you care to pacify my raging thoughts,” Morgan said seriously, “and reassure me that harm was not done?”
“She‘s repulsed by me,” Gerald said. “She called me a monster and very clearly stated that she doesn‘t want to marry me.”
Morgan‘s face dropped. Then he got up, went to the bar, asked for two glasses of whiskey, thought again, and took the whole bottle with him before returning to their table.
“I see,” he said while pouring both of them a new drink. “Well, I can‘t say that I‘m surprised. Your fame precedes you, and on good days, you do absolutely nothing to hinder this reputation. I can only imagine what you do on your bad days.”
Gerald sipped on his drink, his mind replaying the look that Arabella had given him.
“So what are you going to do now?” Morgan asked. “Will you cancel the wedding?”
Gerald frowned the way one does when he‘s about to get stung; he expects it. He knew what he had promised Arabella. But it pained him to admit that this is what he had to do now.
“I‘m still thinking about it,” is all he said.
* * *
It was an hour later that night when Gerald returned to his home, not feeling the least bit better. Still restless, he went to his study instead of his bedroom. He couldn‘t face the prospect of a sleepless night, tossing and turning. It would be better to pretend that he was working.
His mind went back to Morgan‘s question. What was he to do now? He had already applied for a marriage license, and if he were to be true to his word, he would have to cancel that. Admit defeat, let the ton perhaps know that he had failed to secure a bride.
“Darn it!” he cursed.
His door was knocked on as the butler appeared at the door.
“Your Grace,” the butler said. “There is a lady requesting an audience.”
Gerald‘s face darkened. No lady ever requested an audience with him, and surely not one in the dead of the night.
“And who is that lady?” he demanded.
“She refused to reveal her identity and insisted on talking with you.”
Immediately, suspicion got hold of his soul. In the middle of the night was no good sign. This could very well be a scheme from his family to trap him. Still, he was curious to see what ploy they were going to use.
“Let her in.”
Not long after, he heard the footsteps of his butler, accompanied by the rustle of a dress. The door opened, and a woman stepped in. She had her face hidden under the hood of her cloak. But somehow Gerald knew before that woman took down that hood. Arabella.
At the moment she took off her hood, he was faced with her deep blue eyes. For a few seconds, he was stunned. He had noticed them, of course, the first time he saw her, but it was a different matter to look at them at this hour in his study.
“You.” He hissed, harsher than he intended.
Arabella must have expected some kind of brutish behavior, but still she flinched at the tone of his voice.
“I must say this about your person, Miss Arabella,” his voice sounded hoarse and cruel, “you never cease to surprise me.”
It came out sharper than he meant it to. Her brows drew together slightly.
“I was not aware I had made it my life’s mission to astonish you,” she bit back.
“No,” he said evenly. “You seem to do it effortlessly.”
Her usually soft face turned to icy stone, her blue eyes steeled with determination, and her body sat up straight.
“I‘m not here to play games, Your Grace.”
“And yet this is what you have been doing. I am curious as to what game you‘re playing right now.”