Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom

by Samantha James

  “Ah, yes, and left a trail of broken hearts in the wake.”

  “And yours among them,” said the first woman. “Ah, yes, well, hearts do mend, don’t they? But perhaps you should cast your hat back into the ring.”

  “Oh, I would not be averse to it were he to look my way,” the second woman said lightly. “But Agatha has her eye on him again, you know. They were lovers a few years ago, if you recall, just after she married Dunsbrook. But how many has she seen since? A dozen?”

  “Ah, but what of him? Surely thrice that many!”

  Arabella’s entire body burned. How blithely they spoke of dalliances and indiscretions, of affairs and infidelity. How frivolously they spoke of love and lovers — dear God, they made but a mockery of the words!

  Theirs was a world she would neither embrace nor understand, a world she deplored with all her being. And the gentleman in question — oh, but she used the term most generously! — why, he was the worst of all!

  Love was faith and fidelity and all that went with it. Love was what her parents shared. And, particularly after her conversation with Aunt Grace, she was very, very certain that love was what Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph shared.

  “Yes, I remember the way Agatha carried on. Why, to this day I recall the jealous fit she threw when she discovered he was carrying on with Lady Anne — what a tizzy! You’d have sworn he was her first and only love. I won’t deny Justin Sterling is a lover of superb finesse, but it’s not as if he’s the only man with such…skill.”

  The man they were discussing was Justin. Oh, but she should have known!

  “Well,” the first voice said cattily, “we certainly know who his next mistress won’t be, don’t we?”

  “Ah, yes, The Unattainable.”

  “The very one.”

  “God, yes! Did you see her at the Bennington affair last night, lumbering about like a…a horse? I’m sure he only danced with her out of pity, though I can’t imagine why.”

  The second exclaimed with snobbish delight, “I quite agree. God knows what the gentlemen see in her. Why, I do believe it’s all a vast joke, that they’re all secretly laughing at her!”

  Oh, God. In but a heartbeat, Arabella’s pleasure in the evening fled. Her happiness shattered, like a piece of fine china dashed to the floor. She cringed, sick to the dregs of her soul. She couldn’t help but remember what Aunt Grace had said only this afternoon about the ton being fickle.

  The toast of the Season indeed. Sweet Lord, she might well end up the laughingstock of the year.

  She couldn’t bear one more second. Only half-aware, she arose. Blindly she walked, her steps quickening. Then suddenly she was almost running, tearing along the path, twisting and turning.

  When at last she stopped, her heart was pounding. The lights of the square were far behind her; her flight had taken her into a deeply wooded area. She glanced about in dismay, and no little amount of fear. She had strayed far from the rest of the party. She’d heard tales of thieves lying in wait for unwary females, and had no doubt they were true. Oh, why had she come so far!

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel nearby. Her eyes darted into the shadows. She clutched her skirts and prepared to flee. All at once strong fingers whirled her about. A dark, featureless shadow loomed before her. Frightened almost beyond her wits, she opened her mouth.

  “For pity’s sake,” a voice intoned irritably, “don’t scream. It’s only me.”

  The man restraining her stripped off his mask. Her breath caught on a gasp. Arabella looked up. Set between sharp green eyes was a long, elegant nose.

  “Perhaps the very reason I should!”

  His eyes flickered over her. “What are you doing out here? There are thieves and footpads —”

  “And rakes and scoundrels?” she queried archly.

  He made no response, but his lips thinned.

  “You’re following me, aren’t you? How the devil did you recognize me?”

  “My dear Arabella,” he drawled, “masquerade or no, there is nothing about you that does not remain” — his gaze flickered over her, lingering on her hair — “distinctive.”

  Arabella was stung. She knew what he meant. Her height. Her hair. Justin Sterling, with his perfect, impeccable looks, had no idea what she had endured her entire life! He couldn’t possibly know how it hurt to be jeered at, laughed at, sneered at.

  She felt like a freak in a circus sideshow — and never more so than now.

  Her mantilla had slipped to her shoulders. She dragged it up over the froth of curls pinned at her crown. Angry, bitter hurt crowded her throat. “Must you insult me?” she cried.

  “God’s blood, I meant no insult.”

  “Oh, but you did! I — I don’t need to be reminded of my shortcomings. I know my hair is quite unattractive, but there’s nothing I can —”

  “Unattractive! Why, quite the contrary.” Indeed, it was a startling admission…or was it? Justin wasn’t quite sure. He knew only that he had come here tonight hoping to encounter her. She had grown into a woman of wit and intelligence — a woman fully capable of a wicked repartee that rivaled his own. Indeed, their first meeting, as well as the second, had inspired a rather reluctant admiration. Was it any wonder he looked forward to the next?

  “It’s…well, it’s what makes you...you.” Lord, but he sounded lame. He, the master of seduction, the man who had wooed and won his way into the boudoirs of more ladies than he could even remember, found himself at a startling loss for words. Where was his usual glib flattery, the practiced ease which was second nature?

  Not that it came as any surprise, but she appeared singularly unimpressed. Eyes flashing, she raised her chin. “Let me pass,” she said calmly.

  “Not yet. We have much to discuss.”

  “We have nothing to discuss.”

  “Don’t we? If you recall, we have some unfinished business, you and I.”

  “What business?” she asked sharply.

  “Do you forget so soon? We neglected to settle last night on the price of my silence about your cher amour Walter.”

  “He is not my love and you know it.”

  He merely gave her a mundane smile in return.

  “You’ve decided to plague me, haven’t you, Justin? It’s revenge for the prank I played on you as a child.”

  “My, but you’re in a mood, aren’t you?”

  Arabella said nothing. She lowered her head. He had moved close. Less than the span of her palm was all that lay between them.

  “Arabella?” he queried.

  His nearness was disarming. He was disturbingly, distractingly masculine. She felt helpless against him! All at once she couldn’t think. Her heart was clamoring so that she could scarcely breathe.

  “Not having the vapors, are you?”

  The amusement in his tone brought her head up in a flash. “I never have the vapors,” she stressed.

  “No, I don’t suppose you do.” He eyed her. His tone had turned almost grim. “Why do you look at me as you do?” he asked curtly.

  “How do I look at you?”

  “As if you would do me harm. When you look at me, I see nothing but contempt.” There was an edge in his tone that did not bode well.

  “Our dislike is mutual,” she stated bluntly. “There is no need to pretend otherwise.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Nor will I.”

  “Why not? Are you a coward, Arabella?”

  “I am not!”

  “Then why do you refuse to answer?”

  “And why can’t you leave me be? If anyone saw you come after me —”

  “And what if they did?”

  Arabella pressed her lips together. As if there were any need to ask! He was baiting her, she knew. But if he wanted to hear her say it, then so be it.

  “Because I’ve no wish for my name to be bandied about with yours.”

  His eyes grew frosty. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed.”


  “Why, Arabella?”

  “Simply because you are who you are! You are what you are!”

  “You refer to my reputation.”

  Later she would wonder what possessed her, that she dared to challenge him so. “Yes. I despise men like you.”

  “Arabella, I do believe you cast aspersions on my character.”

  “Character?” She cast him a withering look. “You have none!”

  “Oh, come. Am I not a man of eminent distinction?”

  Now he mocked not only her, but himself. “Perchance a man of eminent delusion,” she muttered.

  He tipped his head to the side. “My, but this grows interesting. Truly, what do you think of me?”

  “I think you would rather not know.”

  “Oh, come. Out with it.”

  Arabella glared. “You are a rake.”

  The merest lift of his brows. “What? That’s all? That’s why you dislike me?”

  Another glare, more heated than the first.

  “That’s what I thought. Please, pray continue.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you are, Justin Sterling.”

  “You profess to know a very great deal about me. What, precisely, do you know?”

  “All I need to know!”

  “Such as?”

  “You are a profligate,” she said.

  “And?”

  “A cad. A Corinthian.”

  A slow smile edged across his lips. “Come, surely you can do better than that.”

  “Do you think I haven’t heard tales of your escapades with your lady friends?”

  “Clearly that distresses you.”

  Oh, but he was outrageous! Totally unrepentant. Arabella was reminded of poor Emmaline Winslow sobbing her heart out. How could he be so callous? “You are a rogue. A bounder.”

  He quirked a well-shaped brow. “I’ve never given my attention to any woman who did not want it.”

  “No doubt a masterly achievement in your eyes.” Arabella hitched her chin high. His aplomb unraveled her temper. “You, my Lord Vice —”

  “Lord Vice? Oh, that is rich, coming from you, Miss Vicar!” He directed his gaze heavenward. “Are you finished?”

  Her eyes were snapping. “I am not!”

  “Well, then, pray continue.”

  “You are despicable.”

  That brow remained cocked high. “Surely you can do better than that.”

  Arabella took a deep breath. “You are despicable —”

  “You repeat yourself, my dear.”

  “Despicable and odious. I find you utterly detestable. Thoroughly unlikable —”

  “Odd,” he cut in. “It seems I only have this problem with you.”

  Arabella made a shrill sound. “You are vile. Uncouth —”

  “Never in front of a lady.”

  “Clearly you find this a great source of amusement. But I’ll have you know, unlike the rest of the willy-nilly females who giggle behind their fans whene’er they spy you, I see you through unclouded eyes. No decent woman will ever have you. Why, I doubt the woman exists who could penetrate your —” She gestured wildly at his chest.

  “Heart?” he supplied.

  “What! You have a heart?”

  “Is that all?” he asked coolly. “You detest me because I’ve a fondness for beautiful women?”

  “Your reputation is thoroughly reprehensible and you know it.”

  “I avail myself of what pleasures may come my way, though I admit my reputation is one I’ve probably cultivated.”

  “You are a womanizer and a wastrel, Justin Sterling. Furthermore, I don’t like you very much! So let’s just leave it at that, shall we?” She tried to step around him.

  He didn’t allow it. A long arm snaked out and stopped her cold.

  “Unhand me,” she said clearly.

  “I think not.”

  Arabella turned her head. A chill went through her. Only then did she note his smile was wiped clean. His eyes had gone utterly cold.

  Sharply she spoke. “What the devil are you doing?”

  An unpleasant smile rimmed his lips. “I should think it would be obvious, my dear.”

  She had no chance to reply. Before she could move, before she could say a word, he snatched the mantilla from her hair.

  Her hand went to her head. “Justin! Why did you do that?”

  “Let us call it a token of your affection, shall we?”

  He twisted so that they stood face-to-face. With his free arm, he crushed her against him. Arabella’s breath left her lungs in a rush. She stared directly into his dark features. His intense regard was unnerving. Too late she recognized her rashness; too late she regretted it! She had challenged him, and a man like him wouldn’t take such a thing lightly. Truthful or not, she had been unwise to taunt him so.

  A blistering heat resided in his eyes, along with something she didn’t fully understand. Anger? Most assuredly. Desire? No, she thought. Surely not desire. And yet…

  “Give it back,” she said levelly.

  “You’re in no position to make demands, Arabella.”

  Indeed, she thought frantically, she was in no position she’d ever thought to find herself in! His nearness was overwhelming. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. He was rock-hard and broad. Once again she was acutely conscious of the way he made her feel small and feminine.

  “Let me be.” She strived for disdain. Somehow she feared she only managed to sound desperate. “I know what you’re trying to do, Justin.”

  “Tell me,” came his silken invitation.

  Nervously she wet her lips, summoning a bravado she was far from feeling. “You’re trying to frighten me.”

  He smiled nastily. “Am I succeeding?”

  “No!” she lied.

  And he knew it. She knew it by the way his smile slowly ripened and his green eyes glittered emerald fire in the night!

  “Perhaps you should be frightened,” he said in a tone all the more lethal for its velvet softness. “Ah, yes, perhaps you should be.”

  His gaze slid over her, dwelling long and hard on the outline of her breasts. Arabella’s heart lurched. Her stomach dropped to the ground.

  “Don’t,” she said haltingly. “You use women, Justin. Discard them like old shoes, with nary a thought. But I won’t let you do that with me.”

  “My dear, you couldn’t stop me.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “Must I remind you of your own words? I’m a scoundrel. A cad. So don’t play with fire. Don’t play with me! Whose reputation would suffer if our names were linked together, if it was known that you were here with me in the dark — here in Lovers’ Walk — here in my arms? Certainly not mine! Yours, however…” He let the sentence dangle.

  Oh, God. What had she done? She had unleashed something in him, something wild and primitive, something far beyond her experience…far beyond her ability to control. He was like an animal on the hunt, she thought frantically.

  “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

  “Wouldn’t I?” The slant of his smile was almost cruel. “Oh, yes, Arabella, I see you take my meaning. I could see to it that your prospects for marriage end this very night. You say no decent woman will ever have me. You’re right. I do not deny it. But, by God, no decent man would ever have you. Not even poor, besotted Walter.”

  Their eyes collided. A simmering tension hung between them. His features were an ominous mask, his expression forbidding, each word a pelting blow.

  For, God help her, it was true. She would be forever shamed. Forever shunned.

  She had erred badly, she realized. Somehow she’d always known that Justin was dangerous. What she hadn’t known was how much — or that he might prove dangerous to her.

  A tremor went through her. She gave a tiny shake of her head. Her gaze grazed his, then skidded away. “Don’t!” she said on a strangled breath. “Please, don’t ruin me.”

  He wanted to, he realized. The ugli
ness inside him wanted to show her. He wanted to hurt her. To lash out and punish her for saying that no decent woman would have him.

  His father had said that, too. The night he’d died. The night he, Justin, had killed him.

  Damn her! he thought fiercely. Damn her feistiness. Damn her prim, prudish ways! For being such a spitfire, for being so defiantly strong-willed and impetuous. And damn her scornful, reckless tongue!

  His arm around her back tightened. She was stiff in his embrace, but she didn’t resist him. He wanted to give in to the wickedness inside him, the thunderous need that made his head roar and scalded both his blood and his temper. An elemental heat reared up in him. She had fired his lust, stirred his anger, and the wickedness inside him clamored for him to lower her to the ground, to taste and explore the hot, silken interior of her mouth as he would and say to hell with her innocence. To hell with his conscience. He wanted to drive between her thighs again and again until the world exploded in a crimson haze of pleasure.

  Christ, but he was vile!

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  Slowly she raised her head. She didn’t avert her face, though he sensed she wanted to. He saw her convulsive swallow, glimpsed the shimmer of wetness in her wide-set eyes, felt her struggle to control her emotions in the deep, tremulous breath she drew.

  Something inside told him how much it cost her, to stand before him on the verge of tears. And somehow, that very sense told him he was the last person on earth she would want to bear witness to her tears…yet what had he done?

  “Please,” she whispered, so low he could barely hear. “Please, do not disgrace me. I…it would kill my Aunt Grace.”

  He cursed her in that instant, just as he cursed himself. He’d wanted her cowed. Beaten.

  And she was.

  Abruptly, he released her.

  “Go,” he said harshly. “Go before I change my mind.”

  She needed no further encouragement. Grabbing her skirts, she bolted past him toward the square.

  Not once did she look back.

  Seven

  Back at his townhouse, Justin downed the contents of an entire bottle of brandy. Bleary-eyed and barely aware, he fumbled his way up the stairs to his chamber. Fully clothed, he passed out face-down on the bed.