Page 67 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
He flinched away, then spun on his heels and continued down the steps.
“No, wait!”
Her breath was shallow as she chased him, the rain plastering her hair to her cheeks, the hem of her gown soaking up the mud.
“Please, can’t we just—”
“Leave me alone!” he roared again, the sound almost lost amongst the storm. He turned to face her once more. “Forget what has happened between us, Arabella. I could never be with someone like you, given who your father is. You are tainted and sullied by your association with him. It’s over, Arabella.”
Chapter 32
Arabella watched him leave, her mouth gaping and her heart wrenched in two. Her entire world fell around her shoulders, everything she had ever believed broken and damaged. And still, the rain poured.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, but long enough that the other men started to leave, trailing from the house in good humour and full of gossip. Her brow furrowed, and her head lost in confusion, she wandered back inside. Her dress had soaked through with the rain, and she shivered against the cold.
How could he have been so cruel?
And worse, he was a hypocrite! His words were rich indeed given his own insistence on becoming a full member of the Lord’s Society. She hated her father and what he stood for with a fierce passion, but she could not remove her association with him. It was a fact of birth, of nature. But Sebastian hadchosenhis connection with the society and all they did. He had opted to become one of them.
And what maddened her even more was that it was not her father who had tainted her but Sebastian himself. He had turned her wanton and lustful, and now she was no better than her father. The thoughts that had once excited her now disgusted her, and that he had done that to her enraged her.
“Arabella!” Priscilla had just descended the stairs in search of her granddaughter, only to find her lost and soaked in the hallway. She gasped and ran to Arabella. “Good Lord! What happened? What on earth were you doing outside on a day like this?”
Arabella looked at her grandmother, but nothing seemed to quite make sense. The world felt surreal as if nothing was quite tangible, and her thoughts consumed her. “I …”
“Quick, Gibbs,” Priscilla called, motioning to the butler, “fetch a towel and send the maid for tea!”
Priscilla guided Arabella to the bench seat that ran along the eastern wall of the entrance hall, there more for decoration than use. It was hard and narrow, but Arabella liked the sensation of something solid beneath her.
Priscilla perched next to her, not quite on the bench, fussing over her. She moved the hair from her eyes and stroked her cheek, warmth and love radiating off her, and Arabella leaned into it, grateful for something familiar and tender.
“Dear child, you’re positively freezing. What on earth has got into you?”
“He …”
“Love,” Priscilla said, the word dark upon her lips as she answered her own question. “That’s what’s got into you. Oh, poor dear Arabella. I wish you had heeded my words.”
Arabella choked back a sob and looked at her grandmother, blinking her into focus. “I’m sorry. I thought … I was sure I could convince him not to go ahead with it, but when he came running from the dining room … Grandmother, something happened with my father, but I don’t know what. The duke wouldn’t even speak to me, but his cheek ...”
“He is a fool and no mistake.”
Gibbs came running back into the entrance hall with a towel, quickly followed by a maid with a tray of tea, urgency written across their faces. Priscilla wrapped the towel around Arabella’s shoulders and pulled it tight, wrapping in as much warmth as she could. Next, she poured the tea from the pot the maid had placed on the bench next to them, stirring in no fewer than three lumps of sugar, then she held the cup to Arabella’s lips.
“Here, drink this. The heat will be good for your body, and the sweetness good for your soul.”
Arabella took a sip, her shaking hands coming up to wrap around the cup. The steam alone seemed to bring her to her senses as it washed across her cold, damp cheeks. She blinked, looking around.
“Goodness, I’m sorry, Grandmother. I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just wanted … I mean, it’s raining and …”
“And you were caught in a flurry of emotion. I understand perfectly well, but now we need to get you warmed up and feeling better.”
Arabella nodded and was about to say more when her father came down the stairs. He wore a surprisingly bright expression as if he had just won something, amused by whatever had gone on behind closed doors. Arabella stood to face him, the towel falling from her shoulders as she did so.
How can he look so pleased with himself after what he has done?She pictured the blood welling from the gash on Sebastian’s cheeks and shivered again.
“There you are, Arabella. I wanted to speak to you.” He seemed not to notice the state of her—the emotion raging in her eyes nor the rainwater soaking her to the skin.
“I saw the Duke of Ravenswood,” she replied. “He looked hurt.”
