Lady Arabella's Scandalous Marriage. Кэрол Мортимер

the two of them had shared the previous evening.

      Darius felt a sharp stab of sympathy for Arabella’s obvious bewilderment as to his insistence on a short betrothal and a hasty wedding. Reminding him that for all Arabella was a St Claire, and as such in possession of the same arrogant self-confidence as her three older brothers, she was nevertheless still only nineteen years of age. A very young and innocent nineteen years, despite her previous claim otherwise.

      He wished that he could grant Arabella the lengthy betrothal she so obviously desired—months during which the little minx had no doubt intended to tempt and bedevil him!—but the truth was, once their betrothal was publicly announced, Darius simply dared not leave her for any length of time without his full protection.

      He dared not.

      ‘Next week, Arabella. Or there will be no wedding.’

      Arabella looked up at him searchingly, knowing by the grimness of Darius’s expression—the stern set of his mouth and the coldness of his blue eyes—that he was unshakeable in his decision that she would marry him next week and be damned, or the two of them would not marry at all.

      She drew in a deep breath. ‘Very well, Darius.’ She gave a tiny inclination of her head. ‘I will inform Hawk that we have decided to marry as early as possible next week.’

      ‘I will be the one to inform your brother as to our intentions, Arabella,’ Darius cut in decisively, a cynical curl to his top lip. ‘As is my right as your future husband.’ He quirked one arrogant brow.

      Arabella bit back the argument that had been hovering upon her lips, wisely deciding that prudence was probably the better course at this point in time. There would be plenty of opportunity after they were married for her to show Darius that she had no intention of being a conventional meek or obedient wife….