Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom

by Samantha James

  As if she had a chance of capturing such a rogue…

  As if she even wanted such a rogue!

  Never mind the niggling little voice inside that reminded her he was the most devastatingly divine-looking man to ever walk the face of this earth.

  For one perilous instant, when he had bent his head to hers, it tumbled through her mind that he was going to kiss her. She’d totally forgotten where they were, that they were surrounded by more than a score of guests. She totally forgot everything. That he was a scoundrel. A profligate. She forgot all but the moist heat of his mouth poised so near to hers. A part of her whispered that she had only to move her head ever so slightly…Thankfully, anger came to her rescue.

  She paced the length of the chamber, trying to calm herself. When he was near, she knew not what to do, or say, or think. What was it about him that distracted her so? But she could never let him know it. Never. Somehow, she must learn to ignore him. He delighted in torturing her, she was certain of it. And she always managed to play right into his hand!

  Picking up a lacy shawl, she set her lips firmly together. The next time, she vowed, would be different. She wouldn’t allow him to faze her, no matter the provocation.

  On that note, she left her room and retraced her steps.

  The drawing room was empty. She’d tarried too long, she realized, and she’d neglected to ask where the music room was. Stepping out into the hall, she glanced first one way and then the other. The faint sound of laughter reached her ears, but with the vastness of the entrance hall, it seemed to echo all about her.

  “Looking for something?” inquired a male voice from behind her.

  Arabella whirled. “My lord. Heavens, you startled me.”

  He spread his hands. “My apologies, then.”

  She pasted a bright smile on her features. “Do you know where the music room is? Or are you as lost as I?”

  He stepped forward, his hand on her elbow. “Allow me,” he said smoothly. He ushered her down the hall and took the corridor to the right, where he opened a door.

  “After you,” he murmured politely.

  Arabella stepped inside. Her gaze swept around a vast, dark, empty chamber. “I fear you’re mistaken. This isn’t the —”

  Behind her, the door clicked shut.

  Arabella turned. Patrick McElroy stood leaning against a wide mahogany door, arms crossed over his chest.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

  An easy smile curled his lips. “It’s deuced hard to be alone with you,” he said mildly, “but I doubt we’ll be missed.”

  He stepped forward.

  Arabella stepped back. A prickle went down her spine. Too late she remembered what Justin had said that night at the Benningtons‘.

  Where the welfare of innocent young maids is concerned, he’s dangerous.

  He didn’t look dangerous. But she disliked the glint in his eye. In fact, she disliked him, period.

  “My dear Arabella, I only brought you here to declare myself—”

  “Declare yourself what? Mad? Because that’s what you are!”

  “Come, aren’t you the least bit attracted to me?”

  “Attracted to you —” Why, the lout was even more conceited than Justin. Her pulse leaped. She should have been wary, for the cad had surely led her away from the others. Fool that she was, she’d fallen for his ploy.

  She eyed the door. It wasn’t locked. Moving quickly, she tried to shoulder her way past him.

  He snared her arm in an iron grip. “No need to be hasty, love. A kiss is all I ask.” He gave a grating laugh. “Well, a kiss and perhaps a bit more.”

  Arabella gasped and struggled to free herself. “Let me go, you oaf!”

  “Is that any way to talk to one of your most ardent admirers?” With the heel of his hands, he slammed her up against the wall next to the door. Arabella struggled. Panic raced through her. She was strong for a woman, but no match for a man. She couldn’t displace either him or herself. For the first time, she was truly alarmed.

  “Let me go!” She tried to bring her hands up, but he caught them in his and jerked them behind her back. Pinned by the weight of his body, she couldn’t move.

  There was no way she could avoid his moist, wet lips. It spun through her mind that his kiss was nothing like Justin’s. Justin’s kiss was honey and magic. She felt nothing but revulsion when an insistent tongue rammed between the seam of her closed lips.

  Arabella gagged and bit down, hard.

  He cursed and jerked back. “You little witch!” He reached for her once more, but the movement allowed Arabella all the space she needed. She brought her knee up hard against his groin.

  McElroy doubled over with a grunt. Arabella ducked beneath his arm and wrenched the door open.

  She smacked straight into a broad chest.

  Ten

  Strong hands descended to her shoulders, steadying her even as she flung herself against him. It took Justin but an instant to assess the situation. His gaze swung from Arabella’s stricken features to McElroy. The man was hunched over, one hand clamped over his bleeding lip, the other cradling his vitals.

  “The chit is vicious!” McElroy gasped. “Look what she did to me!”

  Justin’s expression turned to stone. “Pack your things and get out,” he said through his teeth. “Now.”

  McElroy attempted to straighten. “I will not,” he snarled. “I was invited by your brother.”

  “And that invitation has just been retracted.” Sebastian stepped inside, his gray eyes cold and wintry. Seizing his collar, he started to jerk McElroy from the room like the cur that he was.

  Sebastian paused at the threshold. “I trust you’ll see to the lady?”

  “I will,” he said grimly. “But after the entertainment, I suggest you inform her aunt she decided to retire.”

  Hearing the door close, Arabella moved her head slightly. “Is he gone?” Her voice was muffled against his chest. Her fingers were still wound around the edge of his waistcoat.

  Justin nodded. He was so furious he could barely see straight. Arabella, however, glanced up and saw only the fierce clench of his jaw.

  “Why do you look like that? It wasn’t my fault. He — he tried to kiss me!”

  Justin’s eyes darkened. He didn’t blame her. He’d underestimated McElroy. He’d never dreamed the man would have the nerve to approach Arabella here in the house. He’d seated himself in the last row of chairs to await Arabella’s return. Julianna had just begun to sing when it came to his attention that McElroy was absent as well. Sebastian had seen him leap up and followed. Then there was the frantic fear when he’d first glimpsed her face…

  Arabella tried to wrench away. He didn’t let her. His arms closed around her, a gentle imprisonment. “I don’t blame you, Arabella. I don’t,” he stressed, holding her tight, stroking the curve of her spine until he felt some of the tension leave her.

  Curling his fingers beneath her chin, he brought her eyes to his, slowly searching her face. With his thumb, he brushed the curve of her cheek. “Did he hurt you?” he asked, the timbre of his voice very low.

  She drew a deep, quavering breath, then shook her head. “He didn’t have a chance,” she admitted. “I bit him, and then…” She colored.

  Justin noted with relief that the cloudiness was fading from her beautiful blue eyes. At her words, one corner of his mouth turned up. He pictured McElroy’s pose as they burst inside. Maybe the wretch would think twice before pressing his unwanted attentions on another female.

  “I must say,” he murmured dryly. “I begin to see why you’re known as The Unattainable.”

  She flared. “Oh!” she cried. “You are insufferable. Is there nothing you take seriously?”

  “Hush, Arabella. Hush. You were very brave.” She tipped her head and stared at him rather oddly, and it was then he realized he was almost crooning.

  After a moment he felt her push away. He loosened his grip and let his arms fall
to his sides.

  She glanced around. “What is this room?”

  “My fa —” He caught himself just in time. “Sebastian’s study,” he finished. A band of tightness crept around his chest, until he thought he would choke. It was just outside this room, mere steps away that —

  Abruptly he squeezed the thought shut. He would not go there. He would not. It was bad enough that he must endure being at the Hall without dredging up all the anger and hurt. God had delivered his punishment by relegating him to his own brand of hell. Twelve years of guilt was not enough, it seemed.

  Only a lifetime would do.

  Moonlight cascaded through tall mullioned windows. The draperies had not been closed. Arabella moved to stand near one. Justin lit several candles, then turned to her.

  “Arabella,” he said.

  She pivoted, one hand idly caressing the heavy crimson fabric.

  “There’s something you should know,” he said grimly. “There’s a reason McElroy did what he did tonight.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Yes, I know. He’s obviously a scoundrel.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “How could it possibly be more —” She halted when she saw him shaking his head.

  “The night of the Farthingale ball. Five men made a wager at White’s that night, a wager concerning you. McElroy was one of those men.”

  Her eyes didn’t waver from his face, but her expression had gone wary. “What kind of wager?”

  His gaze bored into hers. “Do you remember what I told you that night at the Barrington gala? About your beaux?”

  “Fitzroy was there. And Brentwood and Drummond,” she said slowly. Justin was aware of the precise moment comprehension set in. “You said…not to trust them, any of them.” She flushed. “For they were only after my…” She flushed, unable to go on.

  “Your virtue,” he finished quietly. “The wager, Arabella, was three thousand pounds to the man who claimed The Unattainable’s maidenhead.”

  Her eyes were huge, her skin pale. “Are you saying…”

  “Yes,” he cut in abruptly.

  A mantle of silence hung in the air, and then her eyes found his. “That’s only four,” she said faintly. “What about the fifth man, Justin? Is that why you came to the Farthingale ball that night? To see the prize? To see The Unattainable?” She was standing behind a chair. She gripped the back so tightly her knuckles showed white. Her voice had gone utterly cold. “Was it you?”

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. Something dark and bitterly ominous crept over him. Yes…No. Oh, Christ. He couldn’t tell her about the other bet — that careless, foolish wager with Gideon. God, but he was a bastard. He couldn’t! He was drawn to her in a way he’d never dreamed possible. How damned ironic, the sinner and the saint, he thought blackly. It was selfish, but so be it. She would hate him even more and he couldn’t bear the thought.

  She was right. He had no scruples. For even now it was himself he sought to protect.

  “No,” he heard himself say. “It was William Hardaway.”

  “Hardaway. Yes, of course. He called on me twice this week.”

  He saw her chin come up, and then she turned her back on him.

  His eyes narrowed. “Arabella?”

  “Yes?” She sounded perfectly normal. Admittedly, she was bucking up rather well, particularly in light of McElroy’s assault.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “What do you expect me to say?”

  She pivoted to face him. The way her hands locked before her gave her away. Yet when she spoke, she sounded utterly calm. “It seems I must thank you for guarding my virtue. After all, it is worth a good deal of money, isn’t it? Granted, you’re the last man in the world I’d have expected to do so, considering our feelings for each other. Though perhaps it’s some grand joke to you.”

  Justin sucked in an impatient breath. Did she truly think so little of him? “I only told you so you would be careful. It was certainly nor my intention to wound you.”

  “Of course not.” Her tone was one of the utmost formality. She crossed to a side table where a decanter and two glasses sat on a silver tray, paused, then glanced at him.

  “May I?” she inquired.

  A dark brow climbed high. “By all means.”

  Her hand hovered over the glasses. “Will you join me?”

  He declined. “Whisky is not my drink, I fear. It’s a little too potent. My tastes run to brandy instead.”

  He thought she might heed his warning. She did not. Instead, she tipped the neck of the decanter into the glass. A considerable amount splashed inside. As daintily as if she were about to indulge in a spot of tea, she raised it to her lips.

  The glass tipped. The liquid went down in one gulp. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. Her eyes watered, but to her credit, she neither coughed nor sputtered nor choked. To be sure, it was expensive stuff. Sebastian favored only the best.

  She proceeded to pour another. His brows climbed higher still. “Well, well,” he murmured. “Miss Vicar has a vice.”

  Her eyes blazed. She whirled on him. “Don’t you dare make light of me, Justin Sterling!”

  He held up both hands in a gesture of defeat. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of your pleasure.”

  She moved to the seat beneath the window, staring out into the night. Justin watched her, silently standing vigil. Her mood was odd. He felt just as odd, out of step somehow. He sensed her hurt, yet he also sensed he was not the one to ease it. His insides twisted. God, he thought blackly, who was he to offer advice? Besides, she wouldn’t welcome it. Not from him. But he wasn’t about to leave her alone, either.

  “Justin?”

  “Yes?”

  She held out the crystal glass. “Will you fetch me another?”

  Justin glanced at the decanter. Ye gods, it was half-empty! And Sebastian would blame him…

  “I think you’ve had enough, Arabella.”

  “Fine,” she said testily. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Hands on his hips, he surveyed her. Her gait, he noted, was none too steady.

  He positioned himself before the table. When she attempted to step around him, he reached for her glass, only to find she was determined not to give it up. He ended up having to wrest it from her grip.

  “I want another.” Her lip thrust out in petulance.

  “No.”

  She glared her defiance. “Why not?”

  “Ladies don’t drink,” he said sternly.

  “You drink,” she accused. “You went to the Barrington gala when you were foxed.”

  “I’m a man.”

  She snorted. “So?”

  “It’s different for men.”

  “Why is it men can do what women cannot?” she demanded. “It’s patently unfair that the rules are so different for men and women! Julianna and I came to that very conclusion on our way downstairs.”

  Julianna. He almost groaned. For all her fragile looks, his sister was sometimes rather stubbornly outspoken and opinionated.

  She blinked up at him, attempting to focus, he suspected. Suddenly she lifted a hand. “Your mouth is crooked,” she announced with a cackling laugh. “You’re not the handsomest man in England after all, are you, Justin?”

  At her touch, Justin froze. The temptation was strong to remove her hand immediately. He didn’t allow anyone to touch his face. Ever. He never had…He willed away the impulse.

  “Sweetheart, that’s not my mouth. That’s my nose.”

  Her fingertips fell away. She scowled fiercely. “Sweetheart? Why do you call me that? You called me that before, you know. Do you call all your women sweetheart? Well, I’m not one of your doxies, Justin Sterling.”

  No, he thought. Dear God, never that.

  She was swaying unsteadily. He caught her by the waist.

  “Let me be,” she protested loudly. “I am not a helpless female. I’ve never swooned in my life. Indeed, I have only the utmost disdain
for women who swoon.”

  She wasn’t swooning. She was staggering. Arabella, the vicar’s daughter, was a drunk! And, it seemed, a rather belligerent one, at that. A dry smile touched his mouth. For the first time, he began to appreciate what Sebastian had put up with many times over the years taking care of him.

  Her gaze had fixed on the door behind him. “Where’s the rest of the party?”

  “They’re in the music room.” The party was still in full swing. Someone was playing the pianoforte. He guessed it would go on for at least several hours. “I’m afraid, Arabella, you’re in no condition for a party.”

  She surprised him by agreeing. “No. I suppose not.” Her eyes climbed to his face. “Is this what it feels like to be foxed?”

  “Yes, sweetheart,” he said softly. “And I think it’s time you went to your room. Are you on the third floor?”

  She nodded. “Across the hall from your sister.” Her voice had begun to grow fuzzy.

  “We have to pass the music room. We must be quiet, all right?”

  A shadow passed over her features. He sensed her sudden change of mood, her uncertainty.

  An arm about her slender waist, he led her outside into the corridor. She stumbled along, close to his side. The stairs might prove problematic; he was half-afraid she’d stumble and turn an ankle. Swiftly, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and swung her high into his arms.

  She gasped and clutched at him for all she was worth. “Put me down. You can’t possibly carry me all the way.”

  “Rubbish.” She had a stranglehold on his neck. “I do believe I’m in danger of being strangled, though.”

  “Oh,” she said weakly. Her grip on his neck loosened slightly.

  He carried her up the stairs with ease. At the door of her room, he paused, feeling for the door handle.