“Arabella! How are you?” Georgiana laughed. “Oh, I confess it seems so odd to think of you as a married lady now!”
Arabella wanted to scream, certain she could not endure one more comment about her new marital state. But she gave herself a mental kick. Georgiana was the one person who would know something was amiss if she was not careful.
“I may be married,” she said lightly, “but I hardly consider myself a matron.”
Georgiana frowned. “I say, are you feeling quite the thing?”
“Splendid,” Arabella lied cheerfully, “though it has been a very full day. We only arrived back from Bath at noonday, you know.”
They chatted for some time, and made plans to go shopping next week. It had been quite a while and Justin still hadn’t returned. Arabella scanned the ballroom.
Georgiana saw and laughed. “Such an anxious bride,” Georgiana teased. “There he is.”
Arabella frowned. “Where?”
“Coming this way…Oh, but now I see Lady Dunsbrook has stopped him.”
Arabella’s heart seemed to trip. “Agatha Dunsbrook?”
“Yes. I didn’t know the two of you were acquainted.”
“We’re not,” Arabella said quickly. “I believe I’ve heard the name, though.”
Indeed, Arabella thought vaguely, it was true. For she suddenly remembered vividly the night of the masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens, the conversation she’d overheard about Justin…and his many mistresses. What was it they had said?
It would not be beyond reason to say that he’s bedded down with fully half the women here tonight, now, would it?
And this woman among them.
She couldn’t stop the sheer, stark pain that wrenched at her insides. Nor could she tear her gaze away from Agatha Dunsbrook.
She could scarcely imagine anyone more beautiful. Soft, blond ringlets were caught up on her crown. Petite, Agatha did not even reach Justin’s shoulder. She was, Arabella decided, a study in grace and loveliness, all the things that she could never be.
Tipping her glass to her lips, she drained the champagne.
“I met her last week,” Georgiana went on. “I do not intend to be mean-spirited, but I confess, I really did not care for her. Do you remember Henrietta Carlson?”
“Implicitly,” came Arabella’s response.
“Well, she put me in mind of Henrietta.”
Which was not a good thing. It was one thing to be pretty. After all, Georgiana was pretty and sweet. But to be pretty and unkind…
“Oh, I hear my name,” Georgiana said. “I shall see you next week, if not before, love.”
Arabella bade her good-bye. Her attention returned to Justin, who was still with Agatha. Even as she watched, Agatha tiptoed her fingertips so they snuggled into Justin’s elbow. She stepped closer, then reached up to touch Justin’s cheek.
Agatha has her eye on him again, one of the women had said.
Ah, but Arabella could well believe it, for the gesture was shamelessly bold.
She felt dizzy. Weak. It was the champagne, she thought hazily. Hauling in a breath, she forced herself to look away, gathering herself in hand.
In that instant, Arabella made a vow to herself.
She would not be rash. She would not be hasty. But she would not allow Agatha Dunsbrook to make a fool of her, either.
In three seconds, if Agatha Dunsbrook was still with her husband — by God, her husband — she would march over and pry Agatha’s pink little fingers from her husband’s arm, then wrap her own around Agatha’s pretty little neck. At the thought, one hand began to flex.
One.
Two.
Three.
She looked up. Neither Justin nor Agatha was in sight.
“Not getting tipsy again, are we?”
Her husband stood before her. Taking her empty champagne glass, he gave it to a passing footman.
Arabella regarded him unsmilingly. His gaze sharpened. “Are you unwell?”
Slowly she let out her breath. “I’m fine,” she said with a shake of her head. “Truly, I am.”
He studied her, as if to assess the truth of her statement. “Do you realize,” he said softly, “we are standing in the very place where we renewed our acquaintance last month?”
Arabella bit her lip. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”
He cocked a brow. “How could I forget?”
“I was hiding from Walter that night,” she confided. “I was afraid he was going to propose.”
“And instead I found you. Instead I proposed.”
Their eyes locked.
Agatha was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. She wanted to throw herself against him and start the day all over again. Forget that stupid, silly argument…
He caught her hand within his and raised it. He did not kiss it, but held it suspended so close to his she could feel the moist warmth of his breath upon her skin.
She smiled slightly. “What, sir, are you going to lick me again like you did the last time?”
“Your memory errs,” he said immediately. “I bit you the first time. I licked you the last time.” The corners of his lips flirted at a smile. He retained possession of her hand. “Ah, I see more than a few heads turning in our direction. Should I do so again, it might cause more talk.”
“Ah, but we are wed now.”
He kissed her knuckles, then weaved his fingers through hers. “You tempt me, sweet. But I warn you, I would not be content with tasting merely the inside of your wrist. Why, I vow I would lick you all the way up to your lips, and there I would feast.” With his free hand he traced a flaming line up and down the length of her bare arm, exposed above elbow-length lace gloves.
The prospect sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Justin,” she said faintly, “as you just noted, we have an audience.”
“I anticipate the moment when we don’t.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she stated weakly.
“Why not? As you just pointed out, we are wed. I can say such things knowing you won’t slap me.”
“Yes, but still…Stop looking at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“As if…” Hot color rose from her throat to her cheeks; she could feel its betraying heat.
“As if I should like to devour you inch by inch?”
“Yes!”
“And I shall. But that, I fear, must come later.”
She could feel everything inside going weak. “Are you making advances toward me, my lord?”
“I once promised that when I did, you should know it.”
“Yes, and you shall give husbands a bad name, should you appear quite taken with your wife.”
“Perhaps because it’s true.”
Arabella’s throat constricted. When he gazed at her the way he did just now, it made her stomach plummet clear to her feet and her pulse race as if she’d run a very great distance. He made her feel as if she were the only woman on this earth. Was that his secret? Was this how he captivated so many women?
“Indeed,” he murmured, “I do believe it’s time to take our leave.”
Arabella did not argue. The night was almost over, and she was suddenly anxious to be home — in Justin’s arms.
In the foyer, they waited for the carriage to be brought around. Behind them, someone coughed. Both she and Justin turned at the same time.
“Walter!” gasped Arabella.
“Hello, Arabella.” Walter’s gaze encompassed Justin as well. “My congratulations to the two of you. Do you mind if I give your bride a congratulatory kiss?”
Justin inclined his head. “Not at all.”
Arabella was allowed no chance to either agree or object. Reaching out, Walter grasped her elbows and kissed her lightly on the lips. Drawing back, he studied her, and she sensed there was something more he wanted to say. Yet all she could think was that she would die of mortification if he made a scene…
Walter glanced at Justin, then held out his han
d. “You’re a lucky man, old chap. You’ll take care of her the way she deserves, won’t you?”
For the span of a heartbeat, Justin simply stared at Walter’s extended hand. Arabella held her breath uncertainly, for his expression was rather strange. But then he shook Walter’s hand. Briefly he inclined his head. “I shall,” he said smoothly.
“Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve engaged Miss Larwood for this next waltz.”
Justin said nothing as he escorted Arabella into the carriage. He was polite but distant on the ride home; Arabella’s heart plummeted. The closeness that had sprung up between them had shattered, as surely as if it had never been. But one thought thundered through her, and try though she did with all her might, it refused to be vanquished.
Their first day back in London as husband and wife…and it was a disaster.
Eighteen
In bed that night they lay near to each other, but without touching. For the first time since they had wed, Justin did not take her in his arms, and Arabella felt the loss in every corner of her soul.
The minutes slipped by. The room lay smothered in darkness. Half an hour surely passed, perhaps another. But while her body was still, her mind was not. Wide awake, not wanting to move for fear of waking Justin but feeling she would surely scream if she laid still an instant longer, she eased to one side, then the other.
Still sleep eluded her. She half-rose, peering over at Justin. He lay unmoving, one sinewed arm propped beneath his head, his face turned away from her toward the window. Licking her lips, she rolled over.
“Is it your intention to squirm the night through?”
Arabella froze. She experienced the prick of his tone as surely as she felt the prick of his gaze digging into her back.
Biting her lip, she said nothing.
“Is something wrong?” he queried flatly.
Her fingers curled and uncurled around the blanket she clutched to her chin. “No,” she stated wildly, then clearly thought better of it. “I mean yes. Or rather…I — I don’t know.”
“I do so love a woman who knows her own mind.”
Sarcasm or wit? she wondered. She was never sure. In either case, it only made her more miserable.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He sighed. “You didn’t. I can’t sleep, either.”
She heard him fumbling in the dark, then candlelight melted the darkness. Arabella eased to her back, staring up at the plasterwork on the ceiling. Beside her, Justin pushed himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard.
“Why can’t you sleep, Arabella?”
“My mind will not be still,” she confided. “I cannot stop thinking!”
“About what?”
“Everything,” she blurted.
“Ah,” he said dryly, “that clarifies things quite nicely. Now, I shall ask again. What is on your mind? And pray do not tell me it’s nothing.”
She turned her head, trying to glean his mood from his expression. Encountering only the naked expanse of his chest, she balked but managed to cover her discomfiture.
She compressed her lips. “Why can’t you sleep?” she countered. “And pray do not tell me it’s nothing.”
There was a small silence. “Point taken,” he said at last. “Since you insist, I shall —”
But Arabella was shaking her head. His words were just the impetus she needed to summon her pride.
“Wait. I — I shall go first.” Bravely she sidled up to her elbows, then swallowed. “Is it true you and Lady Agatha were lovers?”
There was a long, drawn-out silence. Arabella braved a look at him, then wondered no longer as to his mood. His features were grim.
“Where did you hear that?”
“The night of the masquerade at Vauxhall,” she admitted. “I heard two women talking —”
“Oh, yes. The women who claimed I was a lover of superb finesse. That is correct, is it not?”
He sounded most annoyed.
“Yes.” Arabella’s tongue stabbed the inside of her cheek. “But is it true?”
“That I’m a lover of superb finesse?” He shot her a look. “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t be asking.”
The fierceness of a blush heated her cheeks. “Not that,” she said quickly. “I mean about Lady Ag —”
“Yes.” His voice cut across hers. Abruptly, he seemed to hesitate. Strong hands closing around her shoulders, he pulled her around to face him. “Why do you ask, Arabella?”
“Because I saw you with Lady Agatha tonight and…well, dare I say it? You looked quite spectacular together.” All at once she was babbling, her insides a mass of fury and confusion. “And I hated it, Justin. I hated being in the same room with her, knowing the two of you were lovers. I hate the idea of coming face to face with such a woman! I realize it can hardly be avoided, given your experience. But I wanted to slap her when she dared to touch you. I wanted to march across the ballroom and strangle her pretty little neck —”
His lips quirked. “Oh, dear. It appears I have acquired a jealous wife.”
His amusement was the last straw.
“I am glad you find this so entertaining!” Alas, what was meant to be defiant was anything but. Her lips quivered along with her voice. She tried to wrench away before he glimpsed her weakness.
Too late. With his thumb and forefinger he caught her chin and brought her eyes to his.
“Arabella! I’m sorry, sweet, I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. I do not mean to hurt you. Arabella —” This time he was the one who floundered. “I am not a saint. But neither have I been with the legions of women that you seem to think. What happened with Lady Agatha was years ago. It meant nothing to me then. She means nothing to me now. Yet should you chance to come face-to-face with her, or any other woman with whom I’ve been intimate —”
“It almost happened tonight,” Arabella said wildly.
“And I repeat, should it ever happen, I want you to remember one thing.”
“What?” she said miserably.
“That no matter how many others are in the room, the only one who matters to me is you. The only woman I see is you. There is only one woman in my life now. That woman is you. To me there is no one more beautiful than you, Arabella.”
Her lips parted. “Truly?”
“Truly.” His gaze captured hers, dark and searing. “The vows we took on our wedding day…I do not forget them, Arabella. I will not forget them. I do not know if I can be the husband you want, the husband you need, the husband you’ve dreamed of. But God help me, I will try.”
Arabella searched his features, stunned at his intensity, the fierceness of his declaration. It washed through her like warm spiced wine. Everything inside her was churning. She was afraid to read too much into all he revealed, and just as afraid not to.
“Now. Do we understand each other?”
She nodded, all at once absurdly happy. But then her eyes darkened.
Justin frowned. “What is it?”
She laid her fingertips on his forearms. “This afternoon in your study…Are you still angry?”
Something that might have been pain crossed his features. “I was never angry, Arabella.”
But she could feel his sudden tension in the way his muscles bunched beneath her fingertips. “I should like to explain. I — I don’t know quite what I was feeling, Justin. I don’t know quite why I was crying…but suddenly I was, and…and then you walked in.” Her words came out in a rush. “It’s not you. Everything has happened so fast. There’s scarcely been a moment to think. Perhaps it’s just the strangeness of it all. But suddenly I found myself missing Mama and Papa…and realizing how I wish they had been here.” Her voice began to quaver all over again.
Justin caught her against him with a groan. “You’re right. It has been a whirlwind, hasn’t it? Perhaps I shouldn’t have left you alone this afternoon. Perhaps we shouldn’t have gone out tonight.”
&
nbsp; Arabella clung to him as he pulled her against him. Sliding down into the covers, he simply held her. At length, he drew back. With his palm he cradled her cheek.
“All right now?”
She smiled through her tears. “Yes. It’s been an odd day, hasn’t it?”
“That it has,” he agreed. The merest hint of a smile crossed his lips. “But I fear I must tell you something.”
“And what is that?”
“I, too, was jealous when Walter kissed you. Insanely jealous.”
“Oh, my,” she breathed. She snuggled back into his arms, then suddenly a peal of laughter rang out.
Justin cocked his head to the side. “What was that for?”
“I fear I must tell you something, my lord,” she teased.
Her smile faded. She took a deep breath. “The dowager duchess was right, you know. Walter could never make me feel the way you do, Justin.” She laid a hand on the center of his chest, her fingertips splayed wide.
He arched a lazy brow. “Are you making advances toward me, wife?”
“I am,” came her shy, swift reply. “Will you oblige me, sir?”
A low, deep laugh erupted. “Lady, need you ask?”
He started to reach for her. She stopped him with a tiny shake of her head, the pressure of her hand pushing him back to the pillow. Leaning over, she kissed him, at first gently, and then with an ever-mounting passion, parting her mouth, angling her head first one way and then the other. Justin allowed her the freedom to explore as she would, fighting to keep his hands at his sides, loving the way she kissed him with wild abandon.
His breath sucked in as she ran her tongue along the plane of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the feel of her palm on his skin, tracing the span of his shoulders, the curve of his bicep. A sense of awe swept over him. This was Arabella, his mind chanted. Arabella touching him. Arabella wanting him…
Each gliding caress resonated through him, penetrating his skin, through muscle and bone…as if she touched his very heart. Her hand coursed over his chest, twining in the thick fur. He could feel her trembling, as if she thought he would stop her.
He could not. He would not.
“Sweet Lord.” The words were nearly lost in a ragged rush of air, for now her fingertips plied across the grid of his belly, across the jutting ridge of his hip, grazing the tip of his rod. Sweat broke out on his brow. Her innocent touch made his blood roar. A tempest of sensation roiled through him, settling in his groin. His shaft swelled and leaped, and he felt her sudden inhalation. A dark, piercing ache shot through his loins. Christ, he thought vaguely, if she kept this up, he would surely burst his skin.
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