Tall, Dark & Notorious: The Duke's Cinderella Bride

Long enough, Hawk guessed, to show him in what contempt she held his summons. An opinion supported by the fact that, instead of sitting in the chair he had indicated, his sister chose to make herself comfortable in one of the armchairs beside the empty fireplace.

What had he ever done, Hawk wondered impatiently as he stood up to join her, to deserve two such stubborn women in his life at the same time? One openly rebellious, the other less obviously so but nevertheless just as determined to go her own way?

Arabella regarded him with cool brown eyes as he sat in the chair opposite hers. ‘I cannot help but question your reasons for bringing Miss Smith here, Hawk.’

He had been expecting his sister’s attack—if not actually prepared for the subject of it!—having already taken warning at the rebellion darkening the beauty of Arabella’s eyes.

Arabella had grown so quickly from child to young woman, it seemed now to Hawk as he looked at her, that for once he was not quite sure how to proceed with the interview. He was certainly in no mood for cajolery, but to openly forbid a continuation of what he saw as Arabella’s wilfulness might only result in her doing something totally reckless.

He quirked dark brows as he decided to ignore—for the moment—the slight she had cast upon Jane’s character. And his own…‘You do not like Miss Smith?’

Arabella met his gaze unblinkingly. ‘I did not say that. I merely wondered as to the propriety—’

‘I advise you not to proceed any further along this line of conversation, Arabella!’ Hawk cut in with harsh warning. ‘Suffice to say that Jane’s presence here is one of complete innocence.’

Arabella’s eyes—those brown eyes that could look at a man and melt his very soul—yes, even those of her three elder brothers!—met his own with hardened scorn. ‘I am supposed to believe that Miss Smith is here for my amusement only?’

His mouth tightened. ‘Those are the facts, yes!’

‘They are…?’

The turn this conversation had taken was highly insulting to Jane—as well as echoing Jane’s own concerns of earlier—and yet even so a part of Hawk could not help but appreciate, even secretly admire, his young sister’s refusal to be cowed by him.

Although that admiration in no way deflected Hawk’s own determination not to be dictated to by a girl of only eight and ten. ‘I did not ask you here to talk about Jane Smith, Arabella,’ he said quietly.

‘I very much doubt that you asked at all!’ Arabella’s tone was sharply resentful. ‘Despite Miss Smith’s attempt to make it seem as if you did,’ she added tauntingly.

Hawk shook his head. ‘We will return to the subject of Jane later. For the moment I wish only to talk about you, Arabella. You have been on your own since your return to Mulberry Hall almost two weeks ago. I wonder how you have managed to fill your time during those two weeks?’

‘You forget that Lucian remained for several days after accompanying us here,’ Arabella dismissed. ‘Talking of Lucian—’

‘Which we were not,’ Hawk cut in hardly.

‘Then perhaps we should have been,’ his sister came back tartly. ‘Have you seen or spoken to Lucian recently…?’

Hawk frowned. ‘Not for several weeks, no. Why?’

Arabella sighed. ‘He seems—changed. Hardened. Even cynical.’

‘War does that to people, Arabella,’ Hawk dismissed impatiently. ‘I am sure that is only a temporary—aberration. We were talking of you, Arabella…’ he reminded her firmly.

Arabella met his gaze coolly for several long seconds before turning away with a dismissive shrug. ‘I have been forced to fall back upon reading and embroidery for my amusement.’

He nodded. ‘And I understand from Jenkins that you have also been out riding on the estate every day, have you not? Without your groom?’

‘What of it?’ Arabella challenged sharply.

She loved and admired all her older brothers. Loved Sebastian perhaps the most, as he was nearest to her in age. Lucian, more taciturn and private now following his years in the army, had always been her steadfast protector—the one who had always been there to pick her up if she should fall. But Hawk—so tall and broad-shouldered, always so busy about the St Claire estates and so toplofty when it came to his rare and infrequent appearances in Society—was the brother whose approval Arabella had always sought, the brother she most wanted to please.

And she knew that she had not pleased him during the weeks of her first Season…

But Hawk was the Duke of Stourbridge, a man looked up to and respected wherever he went, and Arabella was well aware that it was because of who her brother was, because of his title, that she had received at least half the marriage proposals that had been forthcoming during those weeks in London. The other suitors perhaps had genuinely believed themselves to be in love with her, but Arabella, determined to marry a man she admired and loved as much as her brothers, had felt unable to return the feelings of any of those men.

For the first time in her young life Arabella knew she had genuinely displeased her eldest brother. It was something that she had felt, still felt, dearly. But she had hoped to talk to Hawk once he returned to Mulberry Hall—to perhaps explain the reason for her refusals. And now, instead of being alone at Mulberry Hall with her eldest brother, Arabella found him accompanied by a single woman of quite breathtaking beauty!

Miss Jane Smith.

What was she, Arabella, supposed to make of such a strange occurrence? What was she supposed to make of Miss Jane Smith?

To Arabella’s way of thinking, Hawk had only added insult to injury by announcing that he had brought the other woman here to act as her companion!

Her brother raised a languid hand. ‘I am merely attempting to make conversation with you, Arabella—’ He broke off to look at her frowningly as she gave a hard laugh. ‘Have I said something to amuse you…?’

The hard glitter in his eyes told Arabella that he, at least, was not in the least amused!

She stood up impatiently. ‘I am sure that you recognise scorn when you hear it, Hawk. We are both aware that you never merely “make conversation”!’ She began to pace the hearth. ‘Whatever it is you wish to say to me, Hawk, please say it and stop prevaricating in this tortuous way!’

Hawk watched her from behind guarded lids, appreciating how much like their mother she looked at that moment, with the colour flaring in her cheeks and that sparkle in her eyes. The pale lemon-yellow gown she wore—not that garish yellow so unsuitable for Jane!—with its touches of cream lace, suited Arabella’s golden colouring perfectly, its becoming style proof once again, if he should need it, that Arabella was no longer a little girl to be cossetted and spoilt.

‘Very well, Arabella,’ he drawled hardly. ‘What I really want to know is did you arrange to meet anyone while you were out?’

‘Arrange to meet anyone?’ She frowned her puzzlement. ‘What—? Ah.’ A knowing smile curved her lips. ‘What you are really asking is if I happened to meet any single gentlemen whilst out alone and unchaperoned?’

Hawk pursed his lips consideringly. ‘It is a possibility that has occurred to me.’

‘Hawk, if you suspect me of having taken a lover then why do you not just say so?’

He could hear the slight trembling in his sister’s voice even as she issued the challenge, realising as he did so that he had pushed Arabella almost to the point of tears. He did not have to look far for the perpetrator of this new sensitivity within him to a woman’s emotions—Jane Smith had stormed his male defences in just this way too. More than once.

He sighed. ‘I am not making any such accusation, Arabella—’

‘Are you not?’

Hawk’s mouth firmed at her scornful tone. Damn it, he was the Duke of Stourbridge, with all the power and influence that went along with that title, and as such he would not suffer this lack of respect a moment longer!

‘No, Arabella, I am not,’ he bit out forcefully, standing up to look down at her censoriously. ‘However, I do forbid you to go out riding on your own again.’

‘You forbid me, Hawk?’ she echoed incredulously.

‘I forbid you,’ he repeated tersely. ‘In future, if you wish to go out riding without the protection of a groom, perhaps Miss Smith might accompany you—’

‘To the devil with your Miss Smith!’ Arabella stamped her slipper-clad foot in temper.

‘She is not my Miss Smith, Arabella,’ Hawk reproved frostily.

‘Well, she is certainly not mine—nor ever will be!’

Hawk drew in a deeply controlling breath before speaking again. ‘It is my wish that you will be kind to Miss Smith, Arabella—’