Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom

by Samantha James

  “Oh, God,” she whispered.

  Justin’s breath scraped harsh and ragged. “Do not swear.”

  Yet in those words lay a world of frustration…a world of passion…a world of feeling. Burying his head against her shoulder, he calmed his racing heart and allowed her body to adjust to the feel of him embedded deep inside her heat. So acutely sensitized was he that he was just a hair away from spilling his seed.

  “I cannot help it.” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Justin, this feels so — so…”

  He kissed the arch of her throat, then raised his head. His eyes found hers. “I do not hurt you?” That he could speak was a miracle.

  Her smile was blindingly sweet. “No,” she breathed. “God, no…”

  Her smile faded. She guided his mouth down to hers, twining her tongue around his and driving him half-wild.

  Slowly he began to move. His hands slid beneath her buttocks, bringing her closer still. Unable to stop himself, he drove in to the hilt, loving the way she clutched at him, the way her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. Her hips were churning, seeking his again and again. Faster and faster he plunged, torrid and intense, loving the way she wrapped her arms and legs around him and clung.

  He cast back his head, the cords in his neck taut. She scorched him, both inside and out. “Arabella,” he said thickly. And then again, “Arabella!”

  In some faraway corner, he remembered that night at Vauxhall Gardens when he’d first kissed her…He’d told himself that what he felt was lust. Passion. That she was the one woman who denied him, thus, she was the one woman he wanted, the one woman he must have.

  But nothing had prepared him for this moment. For this night. Nothing had prepared him for her. For it was impossibly sweet…she was impossibly sweet. The world was blazing, and stars were shattering, falling down all around. The night exploded…and so did he.

  Seventeen

  One week later they returned to London from Bath.

  From the achingly tender moment Justin made her his, Arabella harbored no regrets, no doubts. Marrying Justin had been the right choice — not that there had been much choice in the matter. But in truth, that was of little consequence. There would never be another man for her, never in this world. She’d promised herself she would marry only for love…

  And she had.

  She knew, deep within the depths of her soul, that Justin Sterling was the only man she would ever love.

  But it was a secret tucked close within her breast, a secret that would remain undisclosed for now. There existed between them an easy camaraderie that she suspected had come as a pleasant surprise to both of them. Arabella was loath to do anything to upset the balance. She didn’t know if Justin wanted her love; she didn’t know if he could ever return her love.

  But he desired her — she had learned that much in nearly two weeks of marriage. Not a single night had passed that he did not make love to her. Beneath his tutelage Arabella discovered there were many sides of lovemaking — playful, hot, tender. She experienced them all at the hands of her new husband, and Justin appeared quite delighted at her response. Some nights he claimed her with a burning intensity, an almost wild, possessive frenzy that thrilled her beyond reason. At others he was almost painfully slow, so meltingly sweet and tender she wanted to cry. But always…always he made her feel as if she were the only woman on earth. Arabella could hold nothing back, nor did she wish to.

  From that very first night came the yearning hope that from such a beginning, the seeds of love might grow. And she would continue to nurse the hope that her love could tame the wildness in him.

  Indeed, there was every reason to believe it already had. Upon their return from Bath, Arabella was rather startled to find her things had been moved into Justin’s bedchamber. There was an adjoining one, and she had somehow convinced herself that was the one she would occupy. Arabella knew it was the norm for Society husbands and wives to occupy different chambers, though her own parents slept in the same bed and always had, as did Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph. Perhaps it was her way of staving off disappointment, for she didn’t want to hope for too much…too soon.

  She turned to find him watching her, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said with a supremely arrogant arch of his brow, “but I find I dislike the idea of separate bedchambers for husband and wife.” Despite his formal tone, there was a faint light simmering in his eyes.

  Hers were suddenly sparkling mischievously. She bowed her head, her tone in perfect accord. “Sir, I am in complete agreement.”

  They returned downstairs, where a brief repast had been prepared for the noonday meal. They had just finished when Arthur, Justin’s butler, appeared with a silver tray. He set it before his master with a flourish.

  “You were missed, my lord.”

  Justin began to sift through the stack of invitations. “Apparently word of our wedding has spread quickly,” he commented. “Our presence is much in demand.” He studied the gilt-edged invitation in his hand. “The Farthingales are having a fete tonight. I daresay it shall be quite the crush. Shall we make our debut as husband and wife there?”

  The Farthingales’ was where they had met again. Did he recall? Arabella wasn’t certain, for he sounded rather blasé. Disappointment shot through her, quickly masked. “Must we?” she murmured.

  Justin glanced at her inquiringly.

  Arabella pulled a face. “You just said it will be quite the crush.”

  “Ah, yes. Lady Farthingale spares no half-measures when it comes to her parties. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”

  “Wonderful. And everyone who is anyone will be talking about us. Lord, but I detest gossip!”

  “And I submit there is only one way to squelch gossip. Besides, why delay the inevitable? The sooner everyone sees us together and discovers we are happily wed, the sooner we can quiet those wagging tongues.”

  Did he mock her? Arabella looked at him sharply, but his demeanor was one of utter calm.

  “What if there are questions?”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure there will be, given the precipitous nature of our wedding. But who says we must answer them?”

  Arabella released a breath. “I suppose you’re right. And there is one thing that shall give me a great deal of pleasure.” She smiled with sudden brilliance.

  “And what is that?”

  “I shall never be called The Unattainable again!”

  “True enough.” He leaned over and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “I regret that I’ve some business at the bank I must attend to this afternoon. I fear it won’t wait. Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a while?”

  She smiled. “I hardly need a keeper, my lord.”

  “Good. If you need anything, just ring for Arthur.”

  Arabella nodded. Once he was gone, she rose and wandered about the house rather aimlessly. She considered a nap but quickly discarded the idea; in truth, the notion came to her out of boredom, certainly not because she was tired. It occurred to her then that she and Justin had been in each other’s company almost constantly since their wedding day. And now that he was gone, she was — oh, but she couldn’t deny it! — rather lonely. She missed him, she realized, then immediately wondered if he missed her…

  Oh, but what foolishness was this? She chided herself sternly and retraced her path down the stairs. At the door to Justin’s study, she paused. Would he mind if she used his desk? She owed Mama and Papa a letter, she realized guiltily. She’d never been the type of correspondent to write daily when her parents were away, but there had never been a lapse of more than a week, either. Feeling a bit of an interloper, she made her way into the room and sat in the leather chair. Opening the drawer, she found a few sheets of vellum. Dipping a quill into a small pot of ink, she began to write.

  Dear Mama and Papa,

  I hope this letter finds you well. Justin and I have just returned from Bath. The weather was surely
delightful.

  She stopped. What the devil was she doing? Mama and Papa would not want to hear about the weather in Bath.

  Taking a breath, she tore the sheet in half and began anew. It proved more difficult than she imagined, for somehow the right words simply would not come. The process was repeated three more times until she was satisfied with what she’d written. Putting aside the quill, she read her efforts.

  Dear Mama and Papa,

  I trust the two of you are well. I know the news of my marriage must have come as quite a shock, being so sudden, as it were. You may have heard tales of my husband, but I know what others do not. Justin is a good man — the best of men, the perfect husband for me. And so I pray you, do not worry. I assure you, I am the happiest of brides. I look forward to the day when we are all together again and you may see for yourself.

  Your loving daughter,

  Arabella

  Twice more she reread the letter.

  She halted. All at once the words began to waver. She struggled to bring them into focus, but it was no use. She saw them through a watery mist. A terrible ache filled her chest, even as her eyes filled and overflowed. She bent her head, trying to will the tears away. But alas, she blinked. A single teardrop skidded down her cheek and splashed onto the vellum, smearing the ink. She gave a stricken sound, for now the letter was hopelessly ruined…

  That was how Justin found her.

  He stared, for an instant unable to believe what he was seeing. Her head was bowed low, her shoulders were shaking, and the tiny little sound she made wrenched at his heart.

  He approached. She had yet to be aware of his presence, and so he spoke. “Arabella?” he said tentatively.

  Her head jerked up. “Justin!” she cried. “I didn’t hear you come in!”

  He’d startled her, he realized. It took an effort to steady his voice. He’d hurried home, anxious to see her, impatient with even this brief absence. All he wanted was to take her in his arms and kiss her lips. The last thing he’d expected was this.

  “What’s wrong, Arabella?”

  She began to babble. “Why, nothing. Nothing at all. You’ll have to forgive me, I fear. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just dashing off a note to…to Mama and Papa.”

  Justin eyed the pile of torn stationery, then the single sheet that still sat in the center of the desk. Whatever possessed him, he couldn’t say. Reaching out, he picked it up.

  “Justin!” she cried. “That letter is private!”

  Justin made no answer. Quickly he scanned it. A teardrop stained the ink, a teardrop in the shape of a heart. Seeing it, he felt his own heart grow cold.

  Slowly he shifted his eyes back to Arabella’s face. With his thumb he blotted the dampness from her cheek and held it up.

  His gaze never left hers. “Blind I am not,” he said, his tone very low. “And while the business of being a husband is new to me, I am quite sure this is not a sign of the happiest of brides.”

  She snatched the letter from his grasp and clamped it to her breast. When she would have stepped around him, he caught her arm.

  Coolly she faced him, her lips pressed together.

  Bemused, confused, and frustrated, he stared at her. “What, have you nothing to say?”

  “What would you like me to say?”

  “I would like for you to tell me what the bloody hell is wrong!”

  “There is no need for such language, Justin.”

  “The hell there isn’t!” he exploded. “Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  Her gaze flitted away. Her lips trembled. For one awful moment, he was certain she would burst into tears. She bowed her head low, and an empty silence yawned between them.

  “It’s nothing,” she said in a rush, her tone very low.

  “Nothing,” he repeated. “I return home to find my wife in tears, and you say it’s nothing? God’s blood, I thought something terrible had happened! I thought…Christ. I don’t know what I thought!”

  Still she looked away, everywhere but at him. “Please release me, Justin. I should like a bit of privacy to recover myself, if you don’t mind.”

  Her dismissal cut him to the quick. But Justin knew what was wrong. Clearly she was unhappy. Clearly she regretted their marriage. The letter to her parents proclaimed her happiness…yet her behavior told the tale only too well.

  His mouth tight, he released her. “Very well, then.”

  She whirled, clearly anxious to be quit of him.

  His voice stopped her just before she reached the door. “We’ll leave for the Farthingales’ at half-past seven.”

  He saw the way her back stiffened before she turned back to him. “I prefer to stay at home tonight,” she stated with implicit politeness.

  Justin was already shaking his head. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, my love. You see, I chanced to see Lord Farthingale and several of his friends while I was out. I mentioned we would be in attendance tonight. If we are not, that will surely set tongues to wagging. And I understood you to say that’s the very thing you wish to avoid, is it not?”

  Clearly she did not appreciate his reminder. She glared her displeasure. “As you wish, then.”

  Shortly before eight o’clock, their carriage rolled to a halt before the Farthingale mansion. Arabella was staring dully out the window in the opposite direction.

  “We’ve arrived,” Justin stated flatly.

  A footman opened the door and assisted her out.

  Not a word had passed between them in the carriage. The tension was stifling. Justin was cool and distant; he’d said barely a word since the incident in the study.

  In all her days, she didn’t know when she’d been so miserable. Pride alone stayed her tears, sheer willpower her trepidation.

  They had no sooner set foot inside the ballroom than they were immediately surrounded. There were congratulations and well-wishes — but off to the right, someone smirked.

  “Aren’t you the lucky gent, to succeed with The Unattainable where the others failed, eh, Sterling?”

  Oh, and to think she’d been convinced she would never be called The Unattainable again!

  Beside her, Justin gave an easy laugh. He made a great show of curling her hand possessively into his elbow and covering it with his. “Ah, but my wife is no ordinary woman. I knew I must get her to the altar as fast as I could — and so I did.”

  “Why, whatever do you mean, McElroy?” cried a female voice. “There are many of us who wonder how she managed to capture the handsomest man in all England!”

  There was an answering snicker from a beauteous blonde dressed in green. “Perhaps the better question is how she will manage to keep him!”

  An elegant turbaned head turned in the direction of both women. There came the distinct thump of a cane. “A pity that has escaped your own marriage,” proclaimed a familiar voice. “Why, I’ve heard it said ‘tis a marvel you and your beloved still manage to recall each other’s names. Furthermore, had you been given the privilege of witnessing their first kiss as husband and wife — as I was — I daresay not a soul here would presume to question their devotion to each other.”

  Arabella blinked. A part of her wanted to applaud the Dowager Duchess of Carrington. Another part of her wanted to march over to the beauteous little blonde and bloody her pretty little nose — hardly a ladylike reaction.

  Her gaze slid to Justin’s features, only to discover one dark brow hiked in wicked amusement. He gave a little salute to the duchess, then lowered his mouth to her ear. His lips brushed the curve of her cheek as he spoke for her benefit alone. “I would suggest another demonstration is in order, but that was well said, was it not? Besides, who better to have as our staunchest defender than the Dowager Duchess of Carrington, eh, my love? Now, what say we greet our host and hostess?”

  Arabella bit her lip as they walked away. “She’s outrageous.”

  “And revels in it, too,” he agreed. “If ever there’s a woman to have as your champion, it’s t
he duchess.” He laughed softly. “She wields her cane like a weapon. It’s a sight unlike any other. I give you fair warning, Arabella, should you see it come up, leap back and stand clear.”

  “Her cane?” Arabella queried. “I rather thought it was her tongue she wielded like a weapon.”

  “That, too, and between them, you understand why few dare challenge such a formidable opponent.”

  “Well, I like her,” Arabella announced.

  “Yes, I do believe you two are rather alike,” Justin observed.

  Justin remained at her side throughout most of the evening. To all appearances, he no doubt presented a thoroughly attentive husband, for he retained a possessive hand at her elbow, bending his head close whenever she spoke, as if he hung upon her every word.

  But neither had forgotten the argument that preceded their arrival. She sensed it with everything she possessed, and it made her ache inside. She longed for the closeness that had marked their week in Bath. To make matters worse, for the life of her, she couldn’t explain her behavior, not even to herself! She had no idea what had made her cry, only that something had.

  She managed to maintain her composure, however. The muscles of her face began to ache from smiling, but above all, she had no intention of causing further gossip.

  Lord Farthingale approached. “May I steal your husband away for a moment? I’m sharing a bottle of my best brandy with several of the gentlemen and I should like to offer a toast to the happy groom.”

  Ah, if he only knew, Arabella thought half-hysterically. Lightly she said, “Who am I to keep you gentlemen from such an occasion?”

  Farthingale grinned. “I shan’t keep him away long, I promise.”

  Arabella chatted with several acquaintances, then moved to stand near a marble column at the far side of the ballroom. It was then she spotted Georgiana, who gave a wave and joined her.