Chapter 9 #3
"Did he?" Arabella looked at her husband, who appeared to be contemplating murder.
"Oh yes. You should have seen him with Matilda. Absolutely besotted. Of course, that ended tragically." She paused delicately. "But I'm sure you know all about that."
"Cassandra," Lucien said in a warning tone.
"What? Surely your wife knows about your past? It would be rather odd if she didn't, wouldn't it?"
"What would be odd," Arabella said, moving to stand beside Lucien in a show of unity, "is discussing my husband's past with someone who wasn't invited to be part of his present."
Cassandra's perfect composure cracked slightly. "I see marriage has given you claws."
"I've always had them. I simply choose when to use them."
"How fierce. Lucien, darling, wherever did you find her?"
"In a lake," Lucien said flatly. "Now, was there a purpose to your visit, or did you simply come to be unpleasant?"
"I came to offer my congratulations, of course. And to see for myself the woman who finally caught the elusive Earl of Blackthorn."
"Well, now you've seen her."
"Yes." Cassandra's gaze swept over Arabella again. "She's not quite what I expected."
"What did you expect?" Arabella asked.
"Someone more... I don't know. More everything, I suppose. After all, to capture Lucien after he swore never to marry again... I assumed you must be extraordinary."
"She is," Lucien said firmly.
"If you say so." Cassandra gathered her gloves and reticule. "Well, I shouldn't keep you. I'm sure you have much to... discuss. New marriages require so much adjustment, don't they? All those little disappointments to navigate."
She moved toward the door, then paused, looking back. "Oh, I nearly forgot. The Desclaires are hosting a ball next week. You simply must come. Everyone is eager to meet the new Countess." Her smile was pure venom. "I'll make sure you receive an invitation."
And then she was gone, leaving behind only the cloying scent of her French perfume and an atmosphere that could have been cut with a knife.
"Well," Arabella said after a moment. "She's delightful."
"I'm sorry," Lucien said immediately. "I should have refused to see her."
"No, it's better this way. Now I know what we're dealing with."
"What we're dealing with is a vindictive harpy who can't accept that I chose someone else. Twice."
"She was that upset about Matilda?"
"She was that upset about being rejected. Cassandra doesn't love me; I doubt she's capable of love. But she can't bear losing."
"And now she sees me as competition."
"Unfortunately, yes."
Arabella moved to the window, looking out at the gardens where the storm had left everything fresh and sparkling. "We should go to the ball."
"Absolutely not."
"If we don't, she wins. Everyone will think we're afraid."
"I don't care what everyone thinks."
"Maybe you should." She turned to face him. "You've hidden here for years, Lucien. Maybe it's time to stop."
"I'm not hiding."
"Aren't you?"
He crossed to her in two strides, pulling her against him. "I wasn't hiding last night."
"No," she agreed, her pulse accelerating. "You weren't."
"This thing between us.....It's separate from her. From society. From all of it."
"Is it? Can it be? We're the Earl and Countess of Blackthorn. Like it or not, we have a position to maintain."
"I've never cared about position."
"Because you've never had to. You were born to it. But I'm new to this, and if I'm going to be your wife, really be your wife, then I need to face down the Cassandras of the world."
He studied her for a long moment. "You want to go to the ball."
"I want to show her and everyone else that I'm not some mistake you made in a moment of misguided chivalry. I'm your choice."
"Are you?" His voice had gone low, intimate. "My choice?"
"I'm here, aren't I? In your house, in your life, in your..." She paused, color flooding her cheeks.
"In my bed?" he finished, a smile playing at his lips.
"That too."
He kissed her then, deep and possessive, as if claiming her all over again. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.
"Fine," he said. "We'll go to the ball. But if Cassandra causes trouble..."
"We'll handle it together."
"Together," he repeated, as if testing the word. "I'm not used to together."
"Neither am I. But I'm willing to learn if you are."
Before he could respond, a tremendous crash came from the hallway, followed by Thistle's enthusiastic barking and Morrison's strangled cry of dismay.
"Together might be tested sooner than expected," Lucien observed.
They found Thistle in the hallway, tail wagging proudly, having apparently knocked over a suit of armor that had stood there since the Tudor period. Morrison looked as though he might faint.
"That armor," he said weakly, "has survived four centuries."
"And it will survive this too," Arabella said, already kneeling to gather pieces. "It's just temporarily redistributed."
"Like the dog's understanding of personal property," Lucien added, but he was helping too, and she caught him slipping Thistle a treat when he thought no one was looking.