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Sighing, Arabella lightly pinches the pale pink silk between her fingers. All the colors and fabrics of the modiste’s shop has always been her favorite part of visiting, exploring the new fashions from Paris and imagining how she’d look in something that daring and beautiful.
“ Must I wear white?” she asks, frowning into the mirror. The dress isn’t ugly by any means, as a matter of fact, Miss Chloe Edwards has done a truly amazing job of transforming something so simple to flatter Arabella’s figure, but she can’t help wanting more . “It’s just so plain .”
A musical laugh rings through the shop as her sister-in-law steps up to adjust one of Miss Edwards’ pins. “You are anything, but plain, my dear.” Abi smiles as she turns to the modiste. “Although… perhaps we can add a little gold? The Queen’s only stipulation is that all the debutantes are in white.”
Excitement trills in Arabella’s chest and down to her toes. After years of waiting, it’s finally time for her to enter society. She’s been dreaming about attending balls and musicals since she was a little girl. At the age of twelve, she’d sit on the main staircase and wait until her brothers came home to pester them for details about the Caverder’s masquerade or the poetry reading at the Smyths'. They’d scold her for falling asleep in the entryway and gripe and groan about the events Mother dragged them too, but every time they would describe everything in perfect detail until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer and they had to fetch someone to carry her back upstairs.
She still remembers the first time Ozzy met Abi. He’d come home grinning like a fool and bursting with information about a ball where he’d only made time for a single dance with the woman who’d later become his wife. As she listened to him describe every step of the dance that brought them together and the sounds of the instruments fading away, all she could do was hope that someday someone would talk about her like that. Like the world is suddenly worth living in, brighter and better than ever before just because she’s in it.
There’s a little tear in Abi’s eye that she frantically dabs away with a handkerchief. “Oh, Arabella , you look…
“Of course she does, My Lady,” Chloe scoffs, pinning the last of the gold thread into the train. “She’s been waiting for this day forever.”
Guilt and sadness swirl in her chest as Arabella quickly avoids their eyes. The blame for her late presentation to the Queen is no fault of theirs, no one could have predicted the tragic passing of her father, the carriage accident that took him from them mere days before the start of Arabella’s first London season. Over the next year, her mother had slowly faded away, her broken heart slowly sapping her energy away until she joined her husband.
“She’d be so proud of you,” Abi whispers, gently adjusting the glittering diamond necklace that adorns Arabella’s neck.
“Thank you.”
It comes out as a choked sob, Arabella’s light squeeze of her sister’s hand saying more than words ever could. She can’t help the sadness, the tightness in her chest that’s bemoaning her mother’s presence, but she’s eternally grateful to Abi. Despite their lack of shared blood, she’s always behaved exactly the way Arabella would have expected a big sister to behave. It’s only thanks to her sponsorship that she’s able to make her first real foray into society.
Following a quick hug, Abi draws herself up to her full height and puts on an air more fitting to the Countess of Devon, drawing Chloe away to make arrangements for the delivery.
Pure white satin flows around her as Arabella rocks from side to side. Despite her protests, the dress really is beautiful, golden designs accentuating the natural shape of the dress. Sparkling jewelry decorates her limbs, popping out against pristine white gloves.
The next time she dons this gown, she’ll be standing in front of the Queen, announcing to the ton that Lady Arabella Singh is now an eligible young lady.
Llewyn Pritchard whistles to himself as he strolls down the streets of Mayfair. He’s always preferred the city to the cold country estate of his uncle, or rather, his country estate. His uncle, a great blustering walrus of a man, had never managed to sire an heir, leaving the title and crumbling estate to his closest living relative. In a matter of hours, Lewie found himself with land, tennants, a title, and more debt than he’d ever be able to repay.
Things are easier in London. He could pass the day-to-day affairs of the estate to his staff, relying on the endless parties and soirees of the ton to keep him well fed and entertained instead of spending money he doesn’t have. The peerage is so unlike himself, always trying to entrap one with a conversation that has deeper meanings he can never fully decipher or looking for scandals in every corner, but they can always be counted on to keep one busy. As a lowly country squire, Lewie is not considered one of the most eligible bachelors of the season, but he is nevertheless an unmarried man with land in his name and that alone is enough to ensure his invitation.
“Look out!”
Startled, Lewie looks up to see a carriage barrelling down the street. The driver is panicked, desperately fumbling for the dropped reins as his horse goes wild. Nostrils flared and eyes wide and unseeing, the spooked horse is completely beyond control. The mess of thundering hooves can’t be stopped and it’s heading directly towards a girl of about nineteen, standing frozen in the center of the street.
His legs are moving even before he’s even finished taking in the scene. Lewie’s always been fast and he’s praying that he can get there in time. The sound of wheels clattering over the stones grows louder, the horse so close that he can feel its hot breath closing in. Reaching out, he wraps an arm around the girl’s waist, pulling her tightly against him as the carriage wooshes past.
“Are you alright, Miss…?”
With how close she is, Lewie can feel the way her heart is beating frantically against her chest. Long black hair has fallen out of her updo, looking so soft that Lewie has the ridiculous urge to wrap it around his fingers. Her fear has brought a flush to her tawny skin, pretty hazel eyes wide and unseeing.
Time seems to freeze as he looks down at her, her lips parted slightly as her breaths come hard and fast. Despite his many interactions with the gentry, he’s fairly sure he’s never seen her before and yet something about her seems so familiar. But he’s certain he’s never met her at any society functions, he’d remember meeting a gorgeous girl like her.
“Arabella! Thank heavens you’re alright!” A young woman of perhaps five-and-twenty comes rushing the street, heedless of the onlookers and traffic.
The girl in Lewie’s arms lets out a scandalized squeak, hurriedly pushing herself away and flusteredly soothing out her dress. Pity, he kind of liked the way she had clung to him like shelter in a storm. Something about this girl made him want to protect her, to shield her from anything that might cause her harm.
“I’m sorry, Abi, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Even her voice is somehow pretty, the words flowing like a stream, pleasant and melodic as it trickles over the stones. “I’m fine, all thanks to…”
Bowing, Lewie takes her hand in his, lightly brushing his lips over her knuckles and watching that beautiful blush rise to her cheeks. “Llewyn Pritchard, Miss.”
“Lady Arabella Singh. And my sister-in-law, Countess Abigail Singh of Devon.”
“My Lady.” He spares the countess only the barest modicum of attention required. She is pretty, with chestnut hair and eyes the soft brown of cognac. It’s no wonder her husband is rather famously in love with her, but Lewie’s attention has been on Miss Singh since the moment he first registered the feeling of her in his arms. “I hope you can forgive me for taking such liberties, but you see…”
That adorable blush creeps back across her face as she worries her lip between her teeth. “Oh, um…”
“Nonsense,” the countess says with a wave of her hand. “We simply must find a way to thank you properly.”
“The honor of your company is more than enough, My Lady.”
The two women share a silent conversation in the way only two properly brought up ladies can, slight eyebrow raises and tiny flicks at the corner of their mouths saying words that he’ll never be able to interpret.
“Well, that settles it then!” Clapping her hands together, Abigail Singh throws one more pointed look at her sister-in-law before flashing a soft smile at Lewie. For some reason, he has the strangest feeling that he ’s the reason Miss Singh is trying to hide her frustration behind a polite smile. “Are you free for dinner this week? Sunday perhaps? I’m sure my husband will be most eager to meet you, he does have such a soft spot for our Arabella after all, and after such a heroic deed–”
“It was nothing, My Lady.”
“Sunday it is!”
Blinking in surprise, Lewie glances at Miss Singh. The poor thing looks scandalized at her sister’s way of trapping Lewie into dinner. He couldn’t decline now if he wanted too, not that he had any inclination to do so. Something in him really wanted to see the younger Miss Singh again, even if he knew he shouldn’t.
Anxious worry knots itself in her chest as Arabella directs the servants in setting up her brother’s dining room. Being presented to Queen Charlotte yesterday had been terrifying enough, but that was nothing compared to the fear of sitting through a full dinner service with Mr. Llewyn Pritchard, her sister-in-law, and both her brothers.
“You seem quite focused on your preparations, sister,” Marshall teases, leaning casually against the wall. His hair has grown longer since the last she’d seen him and he has it tied up in a small knot at the base of his neck that would have half the women of the ton gasping at his daring. “I promise you, your Mr. Pritchard will be much too distracted to focus on the fact that his salad fork is not exactly straight.”
She can feel her brow knitting in confusion, it would certainly drive her mad to see an improper setting, and she’d be mortified if a guest found a single thing to critique her on. Let alone a guest like Mr. Pritchard. She’s been able to focus on little else than the warmth of his body that seeped through her clothes as he held her, the way his sky blue eyes had radiated kindness. There was a dimple on his cheek when he smiled and a single strand of his light blonde hair had fallen over his forehead.
“Don’t tease her,” Ozzy scolds, giving his twin a stern glare.
Only ninety seconds separated her brothers, but sometimes, it felt like Ozzy had always shouldered the responsibility of taking care of his siblings. Since inheriting the title, it was clear that he took that responsibility even more seriously than before, ensuring that Arabella had a sizeable dowry and doing everything in his power to make sure the Singh name remained unblemished. Marshall seemed content to galavant around the globe and gain a reputation as a bit of a rake, but Ozzy seemed to grow up in the blink of an eye.
“It’s not everyday a woman entertains her first suitor,” he continues.
The twinkle in his eye makes her want to melt on the spot out of sheer embarrassment. “He’s not a suitor ,” she protests weakly. “Mr. Pritchard saved my life.” For whatever reason, she feels a strong need to defend his worth. “The carriage was coming so fast and…”
As she tells the story, her thoughts drift to the feeling of his palm against her lower back, scalding hot through layers of clothing. She had to have imagined it, but she could have sworn she felt those fingers twitch slightly before Abi had interrupted, a moment of weakness as if he was restraining himself from pulling her closer. A part of her is terrified at the thought of what he could have done, and another part wishes she would have found out.
“Besides, your wife is the one who invited him over for dinner,” she protests.
“And I have long since learned that it is never worth arguing with my wife.”
“That is because she is almost always right,” Abi says. With a start, Arabella realizes that her dimple is in almost the exact same place as Mr. Pritchard’s, only a handful of centimeters above the left corner of the mouth. “Don’t you two have anything better to do than torture your sister?”
Ozzy’s hazel eyes are filled with nothing but sheer devotion as he looks at his wife and a bolt of jealousy flares to life in Arabella’s chest. That’s what she wants, a love match, not a practical marriage designed to elevate her standing in society.
Laughing, Marshall pushes himself off the wall and throws an arm around Arabella’s shoulders. “What type of brother would I be if I didn’t ensure that my sister’s suitors have only the best intentions?”
“You would know,” she mutters.
“I heard that, little sister.”
Arabella is still debating between threatening her brothers or just getting it over with and strangling them herself when the butler comes in to announce that Mr. Pritchard is waiting for them in the sitting room.
Unconsciously, Arabella’s hand jumps to straighten her hair, earning a snicker from Marshall and a knowing look from Ozzy. Only her sister-in-law seems to take pity on her, smiling encouragingly.
The air leaves her lungs as she turns the corner and spots him, blonde hair catching the last of the sunlight coming in through the window and turning into strands of gold. His navy suit is perfectly tailored to his athletic frame, the color making his eyes look impossibly brighter. And then he smiles at her and she goes a little weak in the knees.
His smile is pure sunshine, radiating warmth and happiness. It has her smiling back on instinct, desperate to keep that joyful expression on his face.
Like any proper gentleman would, he greets the hostess first, who wastes no time in introducing Marshall and Ozzy. Feeling like she might die from embarrassment, Arabella bites her tongue as both her brothers try to intimidate their guest.
“Miss Singh, I trust you are well?”
He looks so genuinely concerned for her health that her heart skips a beat. That single lock of hair has fallen out of place again and she has to physically stop herself from reaching out to tuck it behind his ear. What is wrong with her? What is it about this man that makes her want to dig deeper and learn everything that makes him who he is? All she’s seen so far are brief flashes, but she likes what she sees; a caring, selfless man who can make her pulse leap with a single glance.
“Yes, quite. And you?”
Such boring words, the niceties and empty questions demanded by society falling off her lips on instinct. And yet she finds herself leaning forward, actually caring about what he has to say.
“I can honestly say that my day is much improved thanks to the generosity of your family.”
A foreign, swooping feeling covers her stomach, as she tucks her arm into his and guides him towards the dining room. Throughout the meal, Arabella fluctuates between a delighted giddiness and mortified embarrassment. Every time she looks up she can see Mr. Pritchard smiling softly at her, eyes flicking back to the conversation when she catches him. He reveals a love of sport, a devotion to his grandmother, and lets slip that he has a soft spot for one of the greyhounds in his country estate.
Of course, for every good thing that occurs, another two bad things happen in the form of her older brothers. Ozzy never breaks societal protocols, dancing well within the realm of propriety as he asks questions about his family, the estate, the title. Marshall is less subtle, flirting with the boundary of politeness as he drops hints and subtle threats regarding Mr. Pritchard’s intentions.
Eyes blue as the sea, Lewie’s eyes never leave her face as his lips brush against the back of her hand. Lewie . She wasn’t even sure when she’d started thinking of him as such, it is terribly familiar, and yet it feels infinitely more fitting than Llewyn and certainly less stuffy than Mr. Pritchard, esquire.
“Until next time,” he murmurs, low enough that he’s out of earshot.
Arabella can’t help the ear-to-ear smile that breaks out on her face at the thought of seeing him again. Elated, she sends him off, closing the door behind her with a wistful sigh.
Marshall’s low laughter echoes through the foyer. “Still want to claim he’s not courting you?”
The next time he sees Miss Arabella Singh, Lewie’s able to recognize her by nothing more than the back of her head. Something about the way she carries herself, the curve of her neck and the way the morning light casts highlights over her raven hair, is just so quintessentially her that he could recognize it immediately. The way his body reacts to her presence scares him; his heart rate picks up, his chest feels lighter, his mind taken up by thoughts of her.
He should just walk past, let her continue walking through the park wrapped up in her own thoughts. From the moment he inherited the title, Lewie told himself that he wouldn’t marry. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t , subject a woman to the poverty and ruin that would befall him as soon as his family’s debts caught up to him. But there’s something about Lady Arabella Singh that has him wishing that he could live that life, one filled with the sounds of small feet running through the house as he and his wife sat in the sitting room, sharing happy smiles and loving looks.
“Miss Singh!”
She starts slightly, her face transforming into a wide smile as soon as she catches sight of him. A smile like that is entirely too perfect for this world. Lady Arabella’s smile isn’t confined to her mouth the way so many of the gentry’s are, it sparkles in her hazel eyes and creates a small divot on the bridge of her nose, her features bright and welcoming.
“Mr. Pritchard! What a lovely surprise.”
“Shall we promenade?”
A delightful shiver runs down his spine as she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and lets him guide her down the path. From the moment they met, he’s known how she feels in his arms, the perfect way her body fits against his, and every brief amount of contact since has just served to remind him of that moment.
Pursing her lips tightly together, Miss Singh lets out a mournful sigh, glancing behind her to ensure her maid is following at the proper distance. “I fear I owe you an apology.”
“Whatever for?”
“My brothers are… rather protective of me. I can’t imagine how you must have felt fielding their endless questions and Abi was no help at all. I promise they’re not always like that.”
Laughing, Lewie carefully steers her around a puddle. It had rained overnight and smell lingers in the air, moisture clinging to everything in sight and refusing to let go. “I rather enjoyed it.”
The love shared between the Singh family was clear as day and Lewie had loved seeing them together, teasing and free. It was clear they loved each other, even if they drove each other crazy at times. Everyone had their place, never left out or ignored. It reminded him of when he was little, the chaos of being the only boy in a family of girls, the youngest of four in a happy home in the country. Now they were scattered all over Britain, all married off with kids of their own, leaving Lewie alone in the city.
“Really?” she asks in disbelief, temporarily forgetting to match pace with him.
“They care about you, and you, them. That kind of love is rare amongst the peerage, it’s refreshing to see a family as close as yours.”
A pink blush colors her cheeks as she refuses to meet his eyes. He has a sudden urge to lift her gaze to his, but he wouldn’t dare to do something so intimate. They walk in silence for a moment, but it’s never uncomfortable or awkward. Somehow, just being next to her puts him at ease. They don’t need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, he can just be , enjoying the scent of jasmine on her skin and the way she subconsciously sways a little closer to him as they stroll.
“Oh!” she exclaims happily, catching sight of a flock of birds gathering at the base of a large oak. “Look at all of them, there’s so many.”
Lewie goes stiff, his feet refusing to carry him closer. “Uh… um… I…”
“Mr. Pritchard? Is everything alright?”
“I uh… I don’t care for birds, especially pigeons.”
Her laugh is soft and sweet as the summer rain, kissing his skin and leaving a lingering impression. Had he really never heard her laugh before? Or did it just not have that same effect on him? That immediate lightness and warmth that spreads through his entire body?
Tugging him towards the tree and waving for her maid to approach, Arabella shakes her head lightly. “What did these poor things ever do to you?”
“When I was little…” He should most definitely not be telling her about the time he was attacked by pigeons, it was less than flattering and not at all befitting of a British gentleman, and yet, he can’t help but tell her the truth. Every detail flows from him, to the way he’d run shrieking back inside to hide behind his older sister to the way he was convinced that the same bird had come back every day for weeks. “Let’s just say we have a mutual understanding to give each other a wide berth.”
Entranced by the gentle, nimble motions of her fingers dividing the loaf of bread her maid seemingly conjured from nowhere, Lewie doesn’t realize how close the birds are until it’s too late. They surround them on all sides, beady eyes trained on the food in Arabella’s hand and staring him down as if they can smell his fear.
Her eyes are soft and affectionate as they meet his, her gloved fingers brushing his palm as she places a piece of bread into his hand. “Just breathe,” she encourages, guiding him down to a rather undignified squat. Together, they spread the food on the ground, Lewie holding his breath the entire time and waiting for the moment they attack. To his surprise, they seem hesitant to approach, the first bird cautiously stepping forward only after they’ve risen to their feet. “They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”
Leiwe almost laughs with relief as she guides him to a nearby bench, taking a seat and watching the pigeons descend on their offering. The terror has subsided slightly with Arabella next to him, but that was an experience he’s not eager to repeat.
“The great Lleywn Pritchard has a flaw after all,” she teases. “He’s terrified of a bird only a fraction of his size.”
Mouth open and closing wordlessly, he gapes at her.
“I like it. It makes you seem more… genuine,” she adds, hurriedly rushing to soothe the sting of what might be interpreted as an insult.
Genuine is the one thing he can’t fully be with her, and yet it’s something he desperately longs for. A part of him is tempted to lay his feelings at her feet, to admit that he can’t quite stay away from her even if he knows it’s cruel to go through the proper steps of courtship knowing that it won’t end with a betrothal. But the more he thinks about it, the easier it is to imagine a life where she’s Mrs. Arabella Pritchard. Life with Arabella as his wife would be easy, happy . Falling in love with her would be so natural, and he was terrified he was already halfway there.
Arabella laughs in delight as Lord Ryan Collins twirls her around in time with the music. She’s always loved dancing, the exhilaration of a quadrille or the slow gracefulness of a minute. So many memories of her and Ozzy involve her begging him to teach her a new style, letting him guide her effortlessly around the ballroom as the servants looked on. Even now, she’d never met anyone who was as good at dancing as her eldest brother. How he ended up married to a woman who couldn’t dance at all was a mystery to her. Abi was always faking sprained ankles and hot spells to get out of dancing at events like these, leaving Ozzy to watch on as couples danced in a kaleidoscope of colorful silks and chiffons.
The breathlessness of a dance, the endless parade of young men and the electrifying atmosphere of the ball, is what she’d been waiting for since the age of ten. And yet she can’t help feeling something is missing. Or rather, some one . With every turn, she can’t help scanning the crowd for a flash of blonde, seeking out vibrant blue eyes and a dusting of golden stubble. Lord Collins is perfectly nice, Mr. Lennox-Ross makes her laugh, and the Portuguese ambassador has every other woman in the room swooning, but none of them make her feel the same way Lewie does.
Just when she’s about to give up, a throat clears behind her. “Good evening, My Lady. I hope I am not too late to pencil myself in for a dance.” Her dance card is rather full, but there’s one space left that she’s been secretly hoping to share with him since she arrived. One golden brow lifts in surprise as he glances at the card. “Do you have permission to dance the waltz?”
“I do.” She might have lied and told Viscount Jamal Saint Laurent that she was unsure just to save that space for Lewie, but she can’t make herself regret the transgression when it’s rewarded by having him guide her to the floor just in time to pull her into his arms.
He’s careful to maintain the proper amount of space, her voluminous skirts barely brushing the tips of his shoes. Those amazingly blue eyes of his lock onto hers, filled with a comforting familiarity that makes her feel giddy with delight, his warm palm settling naturally onto her back and Arabella nearly gasps from the heat of it.
This is nothing like dancing with Ozzy. This is intimate, sensual. She’s never felt so bold, or so comfortable , in her entire life. The rest of the ballroom fades away as Lewie guides her across the floor. They seem to move as one, the sound of the strings rising and falling in time with two hearts beating as one. Arabella loses sight of where her body ends and his begins, the movements flowing between them in an endless wave.
Completely in tune with him, she becomes wrapped up in the way one corner of his mouth continues to tick upwards, the small scar just above his cupid’s bow that she’s never noticed before. Excitement and delight flow through her, eclipsing their movements and making everything else seem clumsy and unnatural. His gaze holds hers the entire time, minutes or days and she’d never know the difference. She’s completely lost in the sea of his eyes, seeking out and treasuring every flicker of affection or joy she finds. The emotions surface like a wave, gone in an instant before being replaced by something stronger.
Her heart is threatening to beat out of her chest, her breath coming harder and faster. It’s something she never wants to end and yet she knows the moment is creeping closer, the music starting to reach its natural conclusion.
Lewie holds her for a millisecond longer than he should’ve, something flickering in his expression that she can’t quite place before he steps back to bow. “Thank you, My Lady, for something I’ll never forget.”
Still fighting to recover her breath, she watches him melt into the crowd of bodies and she knows in her soul that something has changed. The Prince of Wales himself could walk through those doors and ask for her hand and it wouldn’t matter. She’s hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Mr. Lewie Pritchard and no other man will ever compare.
Mentally berating himself, Lewie wanders through the halls of Singh Manor without giving much thought to where he’s going. He knew it was a mistake to ask Arabella to dance, let alone something as intimate as a waltz, and yet he’d done it anyway.
Watching her dance with so many others, a vision in pink, was tortuous. Every time he’d seen her smile at someone else, heard her laughter over the din of the ballroom, was a dagger to his heart. Until she was back where she belonged, in his arms and channeling every precious bit of her attention on him. Arabella was grace incarnate, moving through the steps of the dance like she’d been born with slippers on her feet, and he’d never wanted to let her go.
Even now, having left her behind on the dance floor, he can smell her jasmine perfume, feel the softness of her curves under his palm. This woman is making him lose all semblance of control. He can’t have her and yet there’s nothing he’s ever wanted more than a lifetime at her side. She haunts his dreams, plaguing him with endless what ifs.
“Mr. Pritchard?”
He hadn’t even heard her following him, and yet he’d recognize her voice anywhere. Moonlight falls over her beautiful features as she steps a little closer to him, concern filling her hazel eyes. Raven waves curl around her ear and Lewie gives in to the impulse to take that single lock of hair between his fingers.
Arabella’s lips part slightly in a soft gasp, tilting her face up to his. This is beyond dangerous, a scandal in the making if anyone were to catch them, but the only thing he can focus on is the shape of her mouth and the want in her eyes.
“Lewie…”
Lewie . Not Mr. Pritchard, but Lewie . She’s never called him that before and the sound of it goes straight to his head. How is he supposed to deny his feelings for her when she’s openly acknowledging the connection between them? It’s impossible to ignore, something pulling him back to her no matter how many times he tries to pull away.
Something in his brain screams at him to step away, to get some distance from her enchanting presence, but his body refuses to listen. The fingers playing with her hair dive deeper, cupping the side of her face and angling her face towards his. Surprise, acceptance, then anticipation flicker across the features he’s been unable to purge from his mind as he slowly closes the gap.
The second their lips touch, Arabella melts into him. Everything about her is soft and warm, her hand gripping his shirt as if she never wants to go. Her mouth moves against his, timid and unsure, growing in confidence with every second that passes. Little whimpers and moans slip out, his hand on her back pressing her ever closer.
He can’t get enough of her, sweet and perfect and his, if only in this moment. Faint music trickles in through the open window of the orangery, flowers blooming all around them. This one kiss is going to have to sustain him for an eternity, the first and last time he can give in to the intense feelings she’s stirred within him. God, if could live forever in this moment, he would. Nothing matters except for the fact that he adores her and that she seems to feel the same about him. Bliss and warmth radiate through him, spilling from her lips and seeping into his bloodstream.
Light as butterfly wings, he brushes his lips against hers again, moving his kisses across her cheeks and down her neck. “My Arabella…” Her pulse stutters at the words, another delightful little mewl falling from lips reddened from his kiss.
All the air leaves his lungs as Lewie suddenly finds himself being slammed against the wall, a strong forearm pressed against his chest.
“What in damnation do you think you’re doing?” Marshall hisses. Lewie never would have thought eyes the exact same shade as Arabella’s could incite so much fear. They’re blazing with fury, teeth clenched tightly as Marshall tries to hold himself back.
At least it’s not Ozzy, he tells himself. The earl would have marched them to the altar faster than he could blink. Through his dazed vision, he can clearly make out Arabella, chest heaving as she fights to compose herself, hair mussed from where he’s run his fingers through it obsessively. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to have been caught by Ozzy…
But then he realizes that putting his ring on her finger would be dooming her to a life of poverty. A life like that would slowly suck away her soul, the bright optimism that he admired so much would disappear before his eyes. And he could never live with himself if he did that to the woman he loved.
“Are you going to marry her?” Marshall practically spits, putting a little more pressure on Lewie’s chest.
Scandalized, Arabella rushes forward and tries in vain to pull her brother away. “Marshall! You’re hurting him!”
“I need an answer, Pritchard.”
Lewie can’t look at her, hanging his head sadly. “I can’t.”
“You… but…”
The pain in her voice breaks his heart. He’d do anything to break free of Marshall’s hold, to sweep her into his arms and take away the anguish that’s causing her to clutch at her chest like he just robbed her of the ability to breathe.
“A duel then, at dawn.” Marshall’s voice is scarily calm, as if the thought of death scares him less than the thought that someone could take advantage of his sister without doing what any self-respecting man should do and marrying her. “You have until then to change your mind.”
His arm disappears from Lewie’s chest, but the pressure doesn’t lessen. There are tears filling Arabella’s eyes that she’s not even trying to hide, looking at him with so much betrayal it makes him feel as if the world is going out from under him. Apologies claw at his throat only to be smothered by the guilt, knowing that he kissed her due to his own selfish desires without stopping to think that she’d be expecting a proposal. He’d let her think that. Not intentionally, of course, but every minute they spent together, every interaction that made him fall in love with her, seemed to be leading them to that result. And in another life, he’d happily pledge his heart to Lady Arabella Singh.
It had all happened so fast that Arabella’s head is still spinning. Marshall had whisked her away, ushering her into a carriage before anyone else could spot her. She can hear him moving through the house, making preparations for something she could barely fathom.
There’s a very real possibility that this time tomorrow, one of the men she loves most will be gone from this plane of existence.
And she does still love Lewie.
Her heart aches as the memory of his rejection echoes through her thoughts, a stabbing pain beneath her ribcage. But she can still taste him on her lips, the revenant look on his face right before he’d kissed her engrained on her thoughts. It was the look of a man in love, the same look she watched her brother give his wife every day. So why is he refusing to marry her? What is it that makes him willing to risk his life instead of spending it by her side?
Sobs batter her body, leaving her feeling spent and exhausted, unable to even make it up the stairs. She collapses right there in the entryway, waves of grief and disbelief attacking her from all sides. Curse Llewyn Pritchard for stealing her heart, taking it with him like a thief in the night and disappearing when she needs him most. How dare he take her innocence, tricking her into believing it was something he would protect.
The sound of the front door slamming shut jolts her out of a restless sleep.
“Ozzy! Thank goodness!” She practically flies down the stairs to his side. If anyone could talk some sense into Marshall, it would be their level-headed brother. “You have to stop him! Marshall, he–”
“He did the right thing.”
“What?!”
Jaw set with fierce determination, Ozzy storms into his office, Arabella following closely behind. “Mr. Pritchard did something unforgivable, Marshall is ensuring that he pays for his actions.”
“But he could die ,” she pleads. “Please, I can’t lose him…”
Can’t lose either of them. Deep down, she knows she lost Lewie the moment he said he wouldn’t take her hand in marriage, but the thought of never seeing his smile again is incomprehensible.
Before she can break down completely, Abi comes flying into the office in a storm of lace skirts and stubborn determination. “Tell me you didn’t! Tell me that you didn’t agree to be his second.”
The pain and terror in her sister-in-law’s voice is so similar to her own that Arabella’s already fragile heart shatters completely. She shouldn’t be witnessing this moment, the things that occur between husband and wife are not for her eyes and yet she can’t make herself leave as Ozzy takes Abi into his arms. She watches as his whispered words and soothing touches slow the shaking of his wife’s body, jealousy sweeping through her.
Mere hours ago, Lewie was holding her like that, his eyes promising her the world and his kiss transforming the world into something infinitely better than the nightmare she’s currently living in.
“Ozzy… you can’t leave me to do this on my own.”
“Everything will be fine, my love.”
No it most certainly will not. Sunrise is creeping closer at an alarming pace, a silent countdown to the moment death snuffs out someone’s life long before it was due to expire. And no matter what the result is, Arabella’s world will never be the same. Gently clearing her throat, she reminds the couple of her presence, both jumping slightly as if they’d completely forgotten everything but each other.
Abi blushes crimson, but she doesn’t put much space between herself and Ozzy, clearly relying on his touch to keep her composed. “Think about her,” she practically whispers. “Do you honestly believe this is what’s best for your sister?”
“This is for her,” Ozzy insists. “If this gets out, she’s ruined.”
“You weren’t terribly concerned about propriety and scandals when you kissed me the first time.”
The gasp falls from her lips before Arabella can stop it. Ozzy had never once so much as approached the line dividing right and wrong in the eyes of the ton. Or so she’d thought. Although she was so young when they’d wed… and she vaguely remembers rumors that a Miss Grace Anderson had been under the impression he was going to propose to her before Abi stole his heart.
Hesitation flickers across Ozzy’s face and Arabella jumps on it. “ Please , don’t let them do this.”
“Don’t look at me, I agree with her.” Abi crosses her arms and stares at him. “You men and your ridiculous compulsion to solve everything by fighting.”
“But–”
“I swear if this is how you’ll treat our daughter. Look at Arabella, she’s clearly distraught.”
She makes sure to make her expression extra pitiful as he turns back to her. It’s not very difficult, the thought of even trying to appear composed is exhausting.
Sighing, Ozzy gives in, slumping into the chair behind his desk. “Marshall has already left, what do you expect me to do?”
“Stop him!” both women say in unison.
Still in shock, Lewie accepts the pistol from Andy, a good friend from his Eton days. He hadn’t slept, the combination of fear and delight keeping him awake. Again and again, he recalls the feeling of Arabella in his arms, the look in her eyes in the seconds before he kissed her. Visions of her swim behind his eyes, a tawny skinned angel sent to escort him to heaven. And again and again, he hears Marshall challenging him, the gravity of his words as he gave Lewie an ultimatum with only one choice.
“Are you certain you must do this?” Andy asks sadly.
Gulping, Lewie nods and triple checks his gun. “Yes.” He loves Arabella and for that reason alone he can’t be with her. “There’s no other choice.”
Marshall looks impatient, running his hands through his hair as he paces the field and waits for his second to arrive. But to everyone’s surprise, it’s not Ozzy who bursts into the clearing, but Arabella, looking breathless and crazy astride her horse.
“What are you doing?” Marshall barks, looking like he’s about to rip her off the horse and send her on her way.
Lewie is inclined to agree. What in the world does she think she’s doing here? This is no place for a lady. Duels are nasty, ugly affairs between gentlemen. Heaven forbid she were to get hurt or worse, no, he couldn’t let that happen.
Stubbornly, she swings down from the saddle and goes toe-to-toe with her brother. “Stopping you from doing something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
“Arabella Singh, you–”
Crossing her arms, she pushes past him and stomps over to where Lewie is standing slack-jawed. “Tell me you don’t love me,” she demands.
“I– what?”
“Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t love me.”
Lewie gulps and steels himself for the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. “I don’t love you.”
Blinking twice, she carefully studies his face and frowns, the cutest little crinkle in her brow as she tilts her head to the side. “I don’t believe you.”
“What do you want me to say, Arabella?” he groans. “That I love you so much it kills me? That every breath I take is filled with affection for you?”
“Lewie…” Shaky fingers reach out to cup his face and he crumbles.
“I will love you until the day I die, whether that be today or decades from now. When there is no one left who remembers my name and everything I own is ash, I will carry my love for you. And it is for that reason I cannot marry you. I cannot doom you to the same fate that awaits me.” Shamefully, he weaves his fingers through hers, keeping her palm against his cheek. “I cannot trap you into a union under false pretenses. As much as I long to be able to call you my wife, it cannot be.”
“Tell me.” Her eyes are firm and unyielding, glossy with unshed tears, but her voice is firm. “Tell me why.”
“I’m broke. My title came with more debt than I’ll ever be able to repay. Arabella, if I could wed you in good faith, I would. But what kind of man can’t provide for the woman he loves?”
Tenderly, she wipes away the tears that he didn’t even realize are falling down his face. “And how am I supposed to go on knowing that you love me in return? How can I pledge my troth to another with the knowledge that my heart already belongs to you?”
His soul feels as though it might depart from his body, his wildest dreams come to life and standing before him. This incredible, insightful, kind woman has chosen him for reasons he’ll never be able to comprehend. Yet, she still can’t be his.
“Don’t torture me so, I cannot bear it.”
“Do you think me so vain that I prioritize finery and jewels over my own happiness? I don’t care. I’d rather be the wife of a pauper than the wife of someone I do not care for. I want to be your wife.”
There’s a voice somewhere in the back of his mind telling him that kissing her in front of her brother again is asking for a death sentence, but he just can’t help himself. Salty tears coat her lips as he presses his tightly against hers, clutching at her desperately.
Someone coughs, and Arabella pulls away with a shy blush on her cheeks.
“There better be a wedding this time,” Marshall mutters.
Laughing with relief, Lewie lets his thumb glide over the back of her hand. “There will be, that is, if she’ll have me?”
“Yes!”
They both go tumbling to the ground as she throws her arms around his neck, smiling at each other happily and holding each other tightly.
Reaching up with chubby fists, the baby in Arabella’s arms coos happily. “Welcome to the world, little Ana, we’ve been excited to meet you.”
Her husband’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder, his crystalline blue eyes gazing down at them warmly.
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” she teases. “This place has a ways to go before we can get started on a family of our own.”
Thanks to the generous dowry Ozzy had afforded her and some careful investing, they’ve been slowly working making progress on the Pritchard family debts. It’s been hard, scrimping and saving wherever possible, but it’s a sacrifice she’s more than willing to make.
Lewie takes their niece out of her arms and smiles at her with pure devotion. The sight makes Arabella’s heart swell, he would make an excellent father. Little Ana is Ozzy and Abi’s third child in as many years and Lewie dotes on them all equally, bringing as much love and laughter into their lives as he does hers.
They’re tucked away in their own little corner of the country, far removed from the wild parties and demands of the ton. These days, the only balls she’s invited to are hosted by her brother, most dinner parties composed of her husband and the local vicar and his wife, but she bears the title of Mrs. Llewyn Pritchard, and that’s the only thing she needs.