Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom

by Samantha James

  Standing before the mirror in the room she’d been given, Arabella gazed unsmilingly at her reflection. She looked well enough, she supposed. Her gown was made of airy peach gauze, a color that softened the brassiness of her hair. The cut was simple and flowing, trimmed by a row of iridescent beading around the neckline and high-waisted bodice. She chose it on purpose, for it was one of her favorites. She needed comfort. She needed courage. She needed whatever she could muster to rally her defenses against the enemy.

  Exiting her room, she glanced to the right, then the left, an expression of consternation on her features.

  Across the hall a door opened. “Oh! Hello, there,” said a lilting, musical voice.

  Arabella glanced up to see a stunning woman with rich chestnut hair standing across from her. “Hello,” she said. “You’re Julianna, aren’t you?”

  “I am. And you are…Arabella, yes?”

  Arabella nodded. Like the marchioness, Julianna was tiny; Arabella noted wryly that she barely reached her chin. Her eyes were as vivid as Justin’s, but they were blue — and without his icy penetration.

  “I thought so. I recognized you by —”

  “Yes, I know. My hair. No one ever forgets me. Ah, that’s what comes of being a redhead, I suppose.”

  “Actually, I was going to say I recall you from some years ago.” Julianna’s eyes sparkled. “A particular incident involving my brother Justin —”

  “Oh, dear.” Arabella couldn’t withhold a smile. “I fear I’m quite infamous in your household.”

  “Yes, well, Justin can be a swaggering oaf at times. He stomped around for days, while Sebastian and I laughed for weeks!” Julianna tipped her head to the side. “Shall we join the others?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Arabella gratefully accepted the offer. If left to her own devices, she should have been quite hopelessly lost. They had turned to the left and now traversed a hallway that seemed to go on forever.

  “My word,” she said. “How big is this house?”

  Julianna let out a laugh that sounded like bells tinkling in the wind. “One hundred and two rooms. It’s a monstrosity, isn’t it? I quite prefer my own tidy little house in London.”

  Arabella eyed her curiously. “Do you live alone?” The question emerged before she thought better of it, but Julianna didn’t seem to mind her forwardness.

  “Yes. Sebastian, Justin, and I all resided together until Sebastian married Devon. Indeed, it was time for Justin and I to go our own ways. I am, according to the gossips, a spinster.” Her beautiful eyes darkened. “It’s beyond me why, when a woman passes the age of one-and-twenty, she is promptly put on the shelf. A man, on the other hand, is hailed as a gadabout and no one thinks the worse of him. That I have chosen not to marry is no one’s business but my own. Why must I do what everyone expects? Why must you? Why must anyone?”

  Arabella blinked. Julianna’s vehemence was startling.

  Julianna appeared to have noticed it as well. “Pray forgive me. I didn’t mean to lecture.”

  “And I didn’t think you were,” Arabella assured her promptly. She smiled. “Frankly, it’s refreshing to find a woman who isn’t afraid to think for herself. I fear I’ve never been able to hold my tongue when I probably should, so I’ve acquired a reputation as the opinionated sort, and it’s just so…” As usual, her hands began to flail about.

  “So unfair,” Julianna put in. “And so vexing!”

  “Yes. Yes! As if our only goal in life is to marry and have babies…not that there’s anything wrong with that — but I should like to make up my own mind without Society constantly looking over my shoulder and passing judgment.”

  “Oh!” Julianna declared. “Blessed be, a woman after my own heart. But you must find the whole business of being regarded as The Unatt —”

  Arabella threw up a hand. “I beg of you, do not say it!”

  By the time they reached the drawing room, they were chatting as if they’d been friends for ages. A little of her unease departed, and for the first time since yesterday, she was cautiously optimistic that this house party wouldn’t be such an ordeal after all, particularly when she saw that Georgiana and her parents were present. She beckoned to Georgiana, who hurried across the floor.

  Georgiana’s face lit up when she saw her. “Arabella! I’m so glad you came! I confess, I feared you would cry off—” She broke off as Arabella sent her a warning look. “But it appears I’ve forgotten my manners. Who is your friend, Arabella?” Georgiana smiled at Julianna.

  Arabella made the introductions. “Georgiana Larwood, Lady Julianna Sterling.”

  Georgiana bobbed a curtsy. “Lady Julianna, I’m so very pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said hastily.

  But the look that had passed between Georgiana and Arabella had not gone unnoticed by the sharp-eyed Julianna.

  “I do hope your reluctance to attend doesn’t stop you from enjoying the house party.”

  “It wasn’t that I was reluctant,” Arabella said lamely, “I simply forgot about the invitation until Aunt Grace reminded me yesterday morning.”

  A dimple appeared beside Julianna’s lovely mouth.

  “Good. For I should hate to think you were reluctant. Or that it had something to do with my brother Justin. His behavior can be atrocious, you know. I do hope he hasn’t been rude to such lovely ladies as the two of you.”

  “Oh, he’s been nothing but charming to me,” Georgiana put in brightly.

  Arabella could have cheerfully throttled her. She said nothing.

  Julianna’s gaze of mild inquiry had yet to leave Arabella. “Oh, dear,” Julianna murmured ruefully. “Arabella, pray do not tell me he has been misbehaving again.”

  Oh, if she only knew…It was all Arabella could do to stop her hand from stealing to her lips, which tingled in remembrance of his kiss.

  “Well,” she stated without thinking, “he won’t be doing it again, that much is for certain.”

  Julianna chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Whatever it was he did, I do hope he wasn’t too outrageous. You’re not a hen-hearted miss, thank heaven. Indeed, I suspect, you’re just the woman to set him in his place.”

  Just then Julianna was hailed by someone across the room. She raised a hand, then glanced back at Arabella and Georgiana. “The Dowager Duchess of Carrington is calling me. I’d best attend to her.” Her smile encompassed them both. “Ladies, a pleasure meeting both of you. Welcome to Thurston Hall, and may your stay be an enjoyable one.”

  Julianna left, and Arabella and Georgiana looked at each other. “I like her,” they announced in unison, then laughed.

  “I wonder why she isn’t married,” Georgiana mused.

  The very same thought had been running through Arabella’s mind.

  “We came downstairs together,” Arabella murmured, “and she informed me quite openly that she’s regarded as a spinster. She seems very much the independent sort, doesn’t she? She told me she has her own house in London.” She paused, then said, “I don’t mean to sound unkind, but how old is she, do you think?”

  “Twenty-five or -six, I should imagine. She’s so lovely, it’s a wonder that she’s never married. I can’t imagine she wouldn’t have received a score of proposals her first Season.”

  Arabella bit her lip. “She stated quite distinctly that it was she who had chosen not to marry, and it was no one’s business but her own.”

  There was an odd expression on Georgiana’s features.

  “What is it, Georgiana?”

  “Actually, I heard Mama and Papa mention her name on the way here, when they thought I was napping,” Georgiana admitted, lowering her voice. “Papa said it was a shame what happened to her. Mama declared it had quite scarred her forever.”

  Something flashed in Arabella’s mind. The night of the Bennington gala, Justin had laughed and said something about his family name being synonymous with scandal — yes, that was it! But what —

  She was suddenly thoroughly disgusted with herself. �
��Would you look at us!” she exclaimed. “We both abhor gossip, yet here we are!”

  “You’re right, of course,” Georgiana said immediately. “ ‘Tis our behavior that is atrocious.”

  The conversation turned to other things, and while they talked, Arabella scanned the room.

  The gathering wasn’t particularly large; she guessed there were perhaps thirty people milling about. She’d met most of them at some time or other in London. Across the room, a tall, powerfully built fair-haired man gave a brief salute. She frowned. She knew him, she thought vaguely. Ah, Patrick McElroy, the man who had asked her to dance at the Bennington gala. She inclined her head briefly in acknowledgment, then turned back to Georgiana.

  And then she saw him. Justin.

  And if there were a hundred butterflies residing in her belly before, there surely numbered a thousand now.

  He stood near his brother. They were of equal height, the Sterling brothers. But Justin’s build was leaner, his hair a shade lighter than Sebastian’s, but still so very dark. Dastardly though he was, he was as elegantly handsome as always. He was clad in black evening clothes, the cut of his jacket so close and tight it outlined every taut, spare line of his back and shoulders. He laughed, a flash of white against his bronzed skin, and glanced idly away.

  Their eyes caught…oh, but for the merest moment!

  Arabella swallowed. His gaze was subtle. Yet the sense of awareness that swept over her was keen. Everything inside betrayed her. Her heart pounded, her pulse skittered, then began to clamor wildly. Oh, what foolishness was this? He would surely think she had been deliberately looking for him, the cad!

  Silly girl, chided a voice inside. You were.

  Justin said something to Sebastian, then began to saunter his way across the room.

  And then he was standing next to her. “Miss Larwood, how nice to see you again. And Miss Templeton, you are ravishing as always.”

  Was that meant to be a slur? Knowing him, it surely was. Praying none of the turmoil she felt showed, she lifted her face. She was even smiling. Just what she would have said, she never knew, because the dinner bell sounded.

  “Miss Templeton, please do me the honor of allowing me to escort you in to dinner.”

  Before she could say a word, her hand was whisked into the crook of his elbow, her fingers trapped beneath his.

  Arabella was speechless. He did not ask. He simply assumed that she would accept. If she could have refused, she would have. But it wouldn’t do to make a scene.

  Fuming, she had no choice but to accompany him into the dining room.

  Nine

  In all honesty, Justin didn’t know until the last minute that he would be seated next to Arabella during dinner. While the others were still streaming in from the drawing room, she let him know in no uncertain terms she thought otherwise.

  She tipped her head and said under her breath, “You arranged this, didn’t you? To spite me, I suspect. Well, you’ve evened the score, Lord Vice, several times over, I believe.”

  “My dear Miss Vicar, I suspect we have my sister-in-law Devon to thank for the seating arrangements. She has this insanely romantic notion that a wife will tame my wild, wicked ways.”

  “No respectable woman will have you!”

  She detested him. Could it be any more obvious? He could almost hear her gnashing her teeth.

  With an effort he leashed his temper. “Yes,” he replied pleasantly, “I do believe you’ve made your opinion of that quite clear.”

  But inside he was smarting. Her disdain seared his soul. And now the gauntlet had been thrown, the die cast. She offered no quarter and he would give none.

  He was at his most outrageous, roguish behavior. Within reason, of course, considering they were at the dinner table. While the conversation around them flitted from the theater, to the weather, to the appalling condition of the roads between here and London, he allowed the length of his thigh to ride against hers. Repeatedly. He reveled in the way she went rigid. When she requested wine, he poured for her, waiting for her to take it from his hand. When she did, he deliberately trailed a fingertip along her knuckles.

  From the corner of his eye, he noted a flush had risen on her cheekbones. Most enchanting, he decided distractedly, and one which nearly matched the color of her gown. That, too, he had admittedly admired when he saw her come into the room with Julianna; it clung to her high, full breasts and swirled gently around her form.

  He wasn’t the only one who had noticed. A surge of possessiveness shot through him when he saw Patrick McElroy’s eyes alight on her form as she’d entered the drawing room. Now McElroy sat some distance down the table from he and Arabella, on the same side; McElroy couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see him, which was fine with Justin.

  He began seething when he saw McElroy alight from his carriage earlier in the day. He’d wasted no time confronting Sebastian. It seemed Sebastian had originally issued the invitation to McElroy’s father, the earl; they were in the midst of negotiating a business transaction and he’d hoped to finalize matters. The earl had written back stating that he had other plans for the week, requesting that his son Patrick attend in his stead. Sebastian had agreed, for his only experience with Patrick McElroy was the front McElroy put on in Polite Society.

  Indeed, McElroy might fool others with his affable manners and pleasant countenance, but there was another side of him that Justin had never liked. His tongue could be coarse and vulgar. He had a mean streak a mile wide. Justin had witnessed it firsthand at a boxing match some months ago. McElroy had nearly taken his opponent’s head off, and even with the other man battered and bleeding and down, he’d had to be restrained from battering the man even further.

  But McElroy was far, far away at the other end of the table, and Justin would much rather concentrate on the beauty at his side.

  In between the third course and the fourth, she dropped her napkin. He rescued it for her, allowing his hand to linger in her lap. Was she becoming flustered? He hoped so.

  He knew for certain when he bent his head to hers, as if to confide some intimate secret in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Her head swiveled. She leveled on him an icy stare. “If you are attempting to make advances toward me —”

  He gave her a mundane smile. His lips hovered but a breath from the dainty shell of her ear.

  “My dear,” he whispered, “if I were making advances, you would know it.”

  He both saw and heard the breath she sucked in.

  He lowered his head still further, so that his mouth brushed the skin of her temple. “Or do I misinterpret? Perhaps you are the one attempting to flirt with me.”

  “Certainly not!” Her chin jutted out. “Have you ever heard of scruples, sir?”

  “Certainly not.” He borrowed her phrase of the moment before.

  “I thought not.” Eyes sizzling, she turned back to her plate.

  Their fiery exchange unexpectedly made his blood sing. His mood suddenly lightened. God, but he’d been dreading this house party. Thurston Hall was Sebastian’s pride and joy, while it was Justin’s bane. He hated it here. He presented himself here only when the requisite family affair demanded it and departed as soon as he could. The Hall reminded him of…far too many things he would rather not ponder. It roused anger and resentment and a host of other emotions that were better left buried. But with Arabella here, at least he wouldn’t be bored. Hell, it might even be bearable.

  He was a brute to torment her so. He’d frightened her the night of the masquerade, and then he was the one who had been afraid. But clearly Arabella was not one to wallow in defeat. She spoke what was on her mind, and there was usually plenty on her mind, he decided with wry amusement. Truth be told, he admired her resilience, her pluck.

  And God above, the very sight of her stole his breath away. When she entered the drawing room, fire sparked within him. She was brightness and warmth, all color and light compared to the pale simpering misses of the
ton. Behind her prim, proper exterior was an earthy, sensual creature, with a wildness to match his own. He’d tasted just a hint of it the other night.

  The meal concluded, Sebastian rose and announced there would be entertainment in the music room. “Rest assured,” he said with a warm gaze at his wife, “my wife will not be singing.”

  Devon wrinkled her nose prettily.

  Beside him, Arabella rose. “I think I’ll fetch my shawl,” she stated coolly. “There is a decided chill in here.”

  She wasted no time heading toward the door. Justin remained where he was for a moment, surveying her as she crossed the room. She didn’t glide, like a proper lady would have. No, he decided wryly, there wasn’t a dainty bone in her body. She strode with her head held high and her shoulders back, her carriage straight and proud. He silently applauded. She couldn’t hide her height and so she used it to advantage.

  She paused to speak to her aunt. The lamplight burned on the fluted wall behind her. Oh, if she knew the picture she presented! The gauzy material of her gown was almost paper-thin, affording a view of long, well-shaped legs. He imagined those irresistibly long legs locked high and tight about his waist. Oh, but she would fit him perfectly…

  Christ, what madness was this, that he was fantasizing about Arabella!

  Yet the illicit vision remained high and bright in his mind’s eye, starkly vivid, her curls spread out in wanton disarray on the pillow, those eyes like heaven half-closed in sultry promise, her arms reaching for him…

  Arabella…reaching for him? Now, there was a fantasy. His lips twisting in self-derision, he rose and headed toward the music room.

  Through some miracle, Arabella managed to find her room through the maze of hallways. There, she paused for a moment, pressing her hands against the flush of her cheeks. She wasn’t cold. She hadn’t wanted her shawl. She just needed a moment to gather her composure. Oh, but Justin was incorrigible, totally brazen! She’d glanced back at him as she left the drawing room. His gaze swept the length of her, and she had the most ridiculous notion he could see right through her gown. And how dare he insinuate that she was flirting with him? Why, the notion was totally preposterous!