Beneath the insistent demand of his, her lips parted still more. For the span of a heartbeat, she sensed a curious impatience in him. She didn’t understand it, any more than she understood the restless questing in her belly. She longed almost desperately to wind her arms around his neck, to lift herself on tiptoe and press herself against his length and revel in it. But coward that she was, she didn’t quite dare. And just when she sensed they were on the verge of something…oh, she didn’t know quite what it was, only that it was something…something more, he raised his head.
She made a faint, mewling sound of protest. Was it over so soon, then?
“Arabella?”
Still a little dazed, she opened her eyes.
He ran a fingertip down her nose. “A word of warning, my dear Miss Vicar. I saw you tonight with your beaux, flirting and laughing. Don’t trust them, any of them. All they want is your virtue.”
Arabella blinked.
“And the next time I try to kiss you…”
“Yes?” she said breathlessly.
“Run, sweetheart. Run as far and as fast as you can…lest I catch you.”
Eight
“Arabella? Arabella, whatever is wrong with you this morning?”
Her aunt’s voice seemed to come from a very great distance away.
Arabella pasted a bright smile on her features. “Yes, Aunt?”
Aunt Grace gestured grandly to her plate. “My dear, first you scooped oodles of orange marmalade on your toast. You then followed with berry jam — which Cook does quite wonderfully, I daresay — but you then smothered the whole of it with marmalade again.”
Arabella looked down at her plate. The sight almost made her gag. Her toast was a mound of mush…
Which was exactly how she’d felt when Justin kissed her.
“Furthermore, I do believe you’ve put a dozen lumps of sugar in your chocolate.”
“Oh, Aunt, surely not.” Arabella took a sip and nearly choked. It was sickeningly sweet.
They were in the morning room for breakfast. Even Uncle Joseph, who usually resided behind his Times throughout the morning repast, had lowered it to regard her with one shaggy brow upraised.
“Arabella,” he asked, “is something amiss?”
“Nay, Uncle,” she denied quickly. “I didn’t sleep terribly well last night, I’m afraid.”
That, at least, was the truth.
She’d spent the entire night tossing and turning. Half a dozen times she’d bolted upright, unable to believe it had really happened.
Her first kiss, and it had not come from the man who would be her husband. That wondrous occasion that every girl dreamed of had come from the most notorious rake in London.
How on earth had it happened? She should have been mortified. She should have been horrified. Saints above, she should have had the presence of mind to stop it. She shouldn’t have allowed it to happen in the first place! And indeed, it galled her to admit that it was not her willpower that prevailed in the end, but Justin’s. Why, if it had been up to her, she’d have let him go on kissing her forever.
Oh, and if he only knew the scandalous, wanton thoughts that even now ran through her brain…The exquisite warmth of his mouth sealed upon hers was almost sinfully delicious…
Miss Vicar indeed.
Her mind revived the memory with a clarity that was all too vivid. Her cheeks flooded with heat. He’d bewitched her. Bedazzled her. After all, the moon was full last night. Why, if she believed in such nonsense, she would have seized on it as the perfect explanation for her scandalous behavior.
Instead, she thought glumly, she had only one. She had liked kissing Justin. The feel of his mouth on hers — the feel of him! — so hard and warm and purely male, was compellingly seductive. She hadn’t known that a mere kiss could be so intoxicating. Almost addictive. She had liked it so much that she wished he would kiss her just once more…
Her fingers crushed her napkin in her lap. That would never happen, she told herself almost bitterly. He’d only kissed her because he’d been foxed.
Foxed or no, she did not relish the prospect of facing him again. No doubt he would see it as some sort of victory. Would he taunt her? Mock her weakness in that arrogant, infuriating manner that irritated her to no end?
She had succumbed. She, who had fancied herself above those giggling ninnies who batted their eyelashes and practically cast themselves in his path!
And he would delight in reminding her.
To him, it was nothing. Justin Sterling was a man who had doubtless kissed a hundred women in his lifetime. But to Arabella…she had felt his kiss in the very marrow of her bones. Indeed, now, the morning after, she remembered every subtle nuance. The startling width of his chest, the way his breath swirled in the back of her throat as her lips parted beneath his.
And indeed, that train of thought was proving treacherous. Uncle Joseph had resumed reading his paper, but Aunt Grace was still looking at her with eagle-eyed sharpness. “Arabella,” she said sternly, “were you out in the garden again without your bonnet?”
No! But I’ve been out in the garden with Justin.
She had an almost hysterical desire to blurt out the truth. Instead she said primly, “No, Aunt Grace.”
“You’re looking quite flushed, dear. And you haven’t eaten a thing.” Aunt Grace fretted. “I do hope you’re not coming down with a fever.” Aunt Grace reached out and placed a plump hand on her cheeks. “No, no fever, thank goodness. That wouldn’t do, you know. We must depart tomorrow morning, remember.”
Arabella looked at her. “We’re leaving?” she queried brightly. Oh, perhaps to Bath, she thought hopefully. She directed a swift prayer heavenward. She adored Bath. Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph had a charming house there, and she loved nothing more than to take long walks in the surrounding hills, the perfect place to seek respite from the turmoil in her mind.
Best of all, they would be far, far away from Justin Sterling. There would be no further encounters — chance or otherwise — which pleased her to no end. She ignored the nagging little voice which reminded her she had been the one to seek him out last night.
“Yes, dear,” Aunt Grace was saying. “We’ll be leaving rather early.”
Arabella smiled, the first genuine smile of the day. “Where are we going, Aunt?”
Aunt Grace finished the last of her tea. “The Marquess of Thurston and his wife are hosting a house party, remember? We’re going to Thurston Hall, their country estate.”
“What?” Her mind balked. She very nearly shrieked her dismay. She knew the Marquess of Thurston, of course. He was Justin’s elder brother, Sebastian. Sweet Lord…
“Yes, dear.” Aunt Grace pushed her chair back from the table. “The invitation arrived last week. I’m certain I mentioned it. It must have slipped your mind.” She sounded almost gleeful. “A week at Thurston Hall…It’s an enchanting place, dear. I confess, I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Not so with Arabella. Long after Aunt Grace had left the table, Arabella remained where she was. Aunt Grace was right. The invitation had slipped her mind. Indeed, she’d completely forgotten it. Finally, she got to her feet, expelling a long-pent-up breath.
Was it too much to hope that Justin would not be in attendance?
She scoffed. She might as well resign herself to it right now. Justin would be there, no doubt, as dashing and as dangerous and daring as ever.
She didn’t welcome the niggling little voice in her brain that suddenly reminded her of her speech last evening…
I suspect we are hardly going to be able to avoid seeing each other. So we are simply going to have to come to some sort of agreement. We must be civil to each other, at least.
What had she been thinking, to spout such nonsense? Why did she have the feeling those words would come back to haunt her?
She had no doubt he would find some other way to plague her.
Ah, well. But at least one thing was certain. At least she needn’t worry that h
e might kiss her again. There was no possible way on this earth that would ever happen again.
Perhaps someday, if she ever wed, that is, she might tell her grandchildren that she’d been kissed by the handsomest man in all England…
They would never believe it. How could anyone, for she could hardly believe it herself.
The Burwell carriage was a well-sprung affair admirably suited for travel. Aunt Grace babbled on as they left the sprawl and bustle of London behind; both Arabella and Uncle Joseph listened with half an ear. They stopped briefly for luncheon at a roadside inn, then resumed their journey.
It wasn’t long before her aunt and uncle drifted off. Arabella smiled at the picture they presented. Aunt Grace was snoring slightly, her mouth open, her head propped against Uncle Joseph’s shoulder. Her uncle had tipped the brim of his top hat forward to shield the glare from the sun. Aunt Grace shifted; he reached out and lightly squeezed her plump little fingers.
She marveled that she had been so blind. Oh, she’d always known that Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph loved each other. She had just assumed it had come after they wed. But in these last few days, she saw what she had never really seen before. A touch here, a sigh there, a whisper, the slightest nod of the head, the tiniest exchange of smiles…all were signs of love, signs that they were comfortable in that love and didn’t mind that others saw.
Her throat tightened oddly. Her parents were like that, despite the disparity in their appearance — her mother so dainty and fair, her father a great, hulking giant. Yet no two people could have been more in tune with each other. It was almost as if one were but an extension of the other. How many times did Mama begin a sentence, only to have Papa end it? Then they would both laugh, and gaze at each other in a way that occasionally made her think she’d almost been forgotten. For though her own heart swelled near to bursting with love, at times it was blunted by an elusive hurt. Oh, she knew they adored her. She had grown up knowing she was very, very loved. Not once did she doubt it. And yet, she couldn’t deny that at such times, she felt…lonely. Lonely and wistful and envious of all they shared…
Oh, drat. Drat! What was this melancholy sadness that lurked in her breast? She didn’t know, only that she wished with all her heart that it would cease.
Determined to banish it, she turned her attention to the window, to the open countryside north of London. Windmills dotted the landscape, and flowers seamed the meadows in riotous profusion.
The next thing she knew, she was being jostled awake by Aunt Grace. “Arabella,” came her aunt’s whisper, “we’ve arrived, dear.”
Arabella glanced up. Her eyes widened. A massive structure of sprawling grandeur, the front of Thurston Hall was dominated by tall white columns. It was truly an awesome sight.
A liveried footman dressed in crimson and gold helped them alight and they were ushered into the house. They had no sooner stepped inside than the marquess met them in the entrance hall. A large man, Sebastian Sterling strode toward them with a grace that belied his great size. “Joseph. Grace. Welcome to Thurston Hall!”
“Good to see you again, Sebastian.” The two men shook hands, and Sebastian turned to Grace. “Grace, you look enchanting as always.” He turned to Arabella and took her hand. “And Arabella! It’s been several years now, hasn’t it?”
Arabella smiled up at him. She had always liked his calm, forthright manner, even as a child. “Hello, my lord.”
“No need to stand on formality here. Call me Sebastian.”
“Sebastian, then,” she murmured.
“I hear tell you’re the talk of the town. Do you know, I predicted several years ago you’d take the ton by storm.”
“She certainly has,” injected Aunt Grace. “Did you know she’s had three offers already?”
Her aunt was practically crowing. Arabella smothered a groan as she thought of Walter. What would she do if she knew the number was really four?
Sebastian chuckled. “A discerning woman, then. I can appreciate that.”
Just then a woman emerged from one of the rooms off the entrance hall. She was petite, with bright, golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight. Her eyes, Arabella noted as she drew close, were almost the same color as her hair.
“Grace. Joseph!” she sang out. “How good to see you again.” Extending her hands, she greeted them warmly, then slipped her arm through her husband’s, slanting a smile toward Arabella. “Who is this lovely young lady?”
Sebastian made the introductions. “Arabella, my wife Devon. Devon, Miss Arabella Templeton. Her mother Catherine is Grace’s younger sister.”
Devon’s eyes widened. “Arabella!” she exclaimed. She glanced at Sebastian. “Is this the same Arabella who gave Justin his comeuppance some years ago?”
Arabella bit her lip and glanced at her aunt. This was probably the only one of the escapades from her younger days that her aunt didn’t know about.
“A female who got the best of Justin.” Devon was almost squealing, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have been there. Oh, but I think you and I will get on famously.”
Arabella couldn’t help but smile in return. She liked Devon’s warmth and openness immensely. But she had the distinct sensation Aunt Grace would have a few questions for her later…
For the time being, Grace transferred her attention to Devon. “We’ve hardly seen you in London since the little ones were born,” Grace said.
“We’ve hardly been in London since they were born, which suits us just fine. We love it here in the country,” Devon said simply. “It’s here we want the twins to grow up.”
Arabella gasped. She couldn’t help it. “You carried twins?” she said in disbelief. Her gaze went up and down Devon’s diminutive figure. “My word, how —” She colored and broke off. “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”
“And none taken,” Devon responded with a laugh. “Believe me, I was big as a cow.”
“Not quite,” her husband said with a chuckle. He covered her hand with his. “But no matter, you carried it off beautifully.” He was staring down at her as he spoke, and in his eyes glimmered an unmistakable light. Devon flashed him a dazzling smile in return.
Arabella winced. Another obscenely happy couple. What was it these days?
She was just about to clear her throat when Devon dragged her gaze from her husband’s.
“I’ll have Jane show you to your rooms,” said the marchioness. “We’ll dine at half-past eight. That should give all the guests a chance to rest. It’s such a tiring journey from London, isn’t it?”
Indeed, Aunt Grace was yawning. “A nap sounds just the thing, don’t you think, Arabella?”
Arabella didn’t, but she didn’t say so. Nor was she the least bit tired. But she didn’t mind shutting herself away in her room till the dinner hour. The longer the time till she encountered the beast in his lair, the better. Perhaps, she decided cautiously, luck was with her after all, and Justin would not be joining his brother’s house party.
She was totally unaware of Devon’s thoughtful gaze following her up the grand staircase.
“Love, you’re up to something,” Sebastian said sternly. “I know that look.”
“Oh! I am not! I was only thinking that young Arabella seems a very spirited sort.”
Sebastian cocked a brow. “Young Arabella,” he stressed, “is probably not much younger than you, my love. But yes, she’s definitely a woman of spirit.”
Devon smiled a smile that sent warning bells clanging through her husband.
Sebastian expelled a breath. “Devon, what is on your mind?”
Her eyes opened wide. “Sebastian! Don’t look at me like that. I was just thinking…”
“Yes?”
“…that Justin may have met his match.”
“Devon,” he said dryly, “you don’t understand. While I have always regarded the prank Arabella pulled on our dear Justin as vastly entertaining — which is why I told you about it — Justin was never so amused. ‘The v
icar’s child is the devil’s child,’ he always said. And if you saw his scowl when he —”
“But she is a child no longer, Sebastian. You made the observation yourself.”
“Nonetheless, believe me when I say that Arabella Templeton is the last woman on earth that Justin would —”
“Precisely why she may well be the right one.” Impish amber eyes twinkled up at him. “Look at the two of us.”
Sebastian narrowed his gaze. “Has the duchess arrived yet?” he asked suddenly.
He referred to the Dowager Duchess of Carrington. “As a matter of fact, she has,” Devon confirmed.
“And the two of you have had your heads together, haven’t you?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
“Meaning that I’m well aware she loves nothing more than to play matchmaker, and I do believe you’ve decided to take on the very same role yourself.”
“Oh, come!” Devon protested. “We’ve been wed for two years already and I’ve yet to do so for either your sister or your brother.”
“Well, we both know how Julianna feels about marriage. As for Justin and Arabella —” He shook his head. “Devon, he’s always regarded her as a veritable hellion.”
She raised her brows. “Precisely the term I would use to describe your brother.”
“True, but —”
He broke off when his wife picked up her skirts and stepped around him.
Now he was the one who was scowling. “Where the devil are you going?” he called after her.
She swiveled to face him, her expression one of the utmost innocence, which only made him all the more suspicious. “To see to the seating arrangements for dinner.”
“But you did that days ago!”
She blew him a kiss. “I know,” she said sweetly.
Arabella tried to nap after all, but she couldn’t sleep. She was too restless. And it felt as if a hundred butterflies had taken up residence in her belly. An hour before dinner, her maid came in to help her dress. By then, Arabella was almost finished. All that remained was to pin up her hair, lace up her stays, and do up the myriad buttons on the back of her gown.
Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom Page 9