Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom

by Samantha James

“Justin, wait.”

  “What is it?”

  She turned her face into his neck. “My maid,” she said in a small voice. “Annie. She’ll be waiting for me. I — I don’t want her to see me like this.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Indeed, her maid rose from the chair in the corner when the door opened. “Your mistress is indisposed,” Justin said smoothly, “but you may go. Someone will be up shortly to tend her.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and left.

  Candlelight flickered from the wall sconces. Justin made his way across the room and set her on her feet near the bedside. She sat, one hand feeling for the bed behind her.

  On her features was an expression of utter consternation. Justin sat down beside her. “What is it?” he asked quickly. “What’s wrong?”

  She raised her face to his. Her skin was pasty white. “Don’t tell anyone, Justin. Please don’t tell what McElroy did. That horrible wager…” She shuddered. “Everyone will laugh.”

  “Arabella,” he said helplessly, “I know how you must feel.”

  “You don’t!” she burst out. “How could you? No one has ever laughed at you. You — you’re too perfect!”

  She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders heaved. She began to weep.

  Justin was shocked. His arms closed around her. “Arabella, what nonsense is this? You’re the pink of the ton. No one laughs at you —”

  “They do!” she cried. “They always have. They always will! I’ve heard people talking. Whispering. All my life. It’s not enough to have this — this horrid red hair that I cannot hide. It’s not enough I’m as tall as most men! It’s always been like that, always. Oh, I’ve pretended not to notice, not to care that people stare as if— as if I’m a freak! And now everyone gossips and calls me by that horrible name — The Unattainable.” She gave a dry, broken sob that stabbed his chest like the point of a sword.

  “All my life I just wanted to be like everybody else — look like everyone else. Do you know what it’s like to gaze into the mirror and cringe? To hate what you see and know there’s nothing you can ever, ever do to change it?”

  The muscles in his throat locked tight. God help him, he did. But not in the same way as Arabella…

  His arms tightened. Her sobs scalded his heart.

  It was the whisky, he knew, that opened the flood tide of emotion inside her, combined with the shock of McElroy’s assault, and his revelation about the wager. Hell, it was all of it!

  He held her as she rocked against him, feeling her pain, her bitterness. He knew her stubborn pride would never have allowed her to expose herself to him otherwise. He’d just been given a glimpse into a part of her he’d never dreamed existed, a vulnerable part she hid deep within herself.

  He ached inside. He ached in a way that had never happened before. “Listen to me, Arabella. You’re beautiful. Yes, you’re different. But don’t you see, that’s the attraction. That’s why when you walk into a room, there’s scarcely a man who can take his eyes off you. You’re like a brilliant, exotic flower.”

  Her head was nestled into the notch between his neck and his shoulder. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

  Her contrariness made him want to smile. Even now, she argued with him. But that was a part of what drew him to her. But at least she’d stopped crying.

  One corner of his mouth turned up. He dropped a brief kiss on her brow. “Sweetheart, rest assured, I am not a man to say things to a lady that I don’t mean.”

  “For pity’s sake,” she grumbled, “stop calling me sweet —” All at once she pressed her fingertips to her lips. “I don’t feel very well.” She lurched from his arms to her knees beside the bed.

  Justin was beside her in a heartbeat.

  By now she lay sprawled on the floor. “I think I’m going to be sick!” She raised stricken eyes to his.

  “No, you’re not,” he said firmly. “Just take a long, deep breath and don’t even think about it, much less say it…That’s the way, sweetheart. A few more, just like that…” After a few moments, he ran a finger down her cheek. “How are you feeling now?” he murmured. “Can you rise?”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. Vehemently she shook her head, still a little green. Justin shifted, propped his back against the bed, and eased her head into his lap.

  Arabella winced. “My head hurts,” she moaned.

  “It’s all these damned pins.” One by one, he removed the pins from her coiffure, dropping them in a pile by his side. When the last one slid from its berth, he threaded his fingers through the heavy mass, gently sifting the silken strands away from her scalp, the movement soothing and monotonous.

  “Better?” he murmured.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She lay against him listlessly. Her lips barely moved.

  His belly tightened as he looked down. Her hair was incredibly long and soft, spilling over his legs and onto the floor, a glorious waterfall of gleaming red strands. Against his will, against all his better judgment, he felt his rod stiffen and swell. Desire struck, swift and merciless, an arrow in the loins. It seemed his body had a mind of its own. He held his breath when she shifted her head. Her brow furrowed, and she settled her cheek at the very top of one hard thigh. Sweet Jesus, now her mouth was perilously near the head of his…She sighed. Even through his trousers, he fancied he could feel her breath, warm and…He drew a shaky breath. With every second, he could feel himself pulsing…pulsing in time to his heart. Oh, Christ. Christ. This was altogether more temptation than he could handle.

  “Arabella. Arabella, I need to get you into bed.” It slipped out unwittingly. He suppressed a groan.

  “No. I don’t want to, Justin. I can’t move.”

  “We must, Arabella. It would hardly do for me to be caught in your room come morning, now, would it? Here, I’ll help you.”

  “Everything’s spinning.”

  “I know, sweet. I’ve much experience in these things, remember?”

  “Yes, I suppose you do, don’t you? Will it go away soon?”

  “Yes,” he lied. She’d never remember, he was certain.

  She was limp as a wet rag, but he managed to get her on her feet. He made brisk work of the buttons on the back of her gown and unlaced her corset, dropping both in a heap at her feet. She stood before him, clad only in her shift.

  “I need my nightgown,” she fretted.

  “No, sweet, you don’t. You can sleep as you are just this one night.” He’d tested his willpower as far as he could…or so he was convinced.

  He turned her in his arms. The shift she wore was no real barrier at all; she might just as well have been naked. Behind her, the candlelight glowed, revealing the lushly erotic outline of her body in stark relief. Her breasts were round as melons, deliciously full. The disks of her nipples thrust against the sheer silk, plump and dark. He wanted to rip away that damned shift and bare her completely. He wanted to curl his tongue around and around her nipples, knowing she would taste like warm honey. Unable to resist, his gaze swept the length of her. He wondered vaguely if the dusky triangle between the juncture of her thighs was as red and curly as her hair.

  “Come,” he said brusquely. “Into bed with you.” He lifted her onto the mattress, whisked away her slippers and stockings, and drew the sheet up over her.

  She immediately thrust it down to her waist. “I’m hot,” she complained. “And it feels strange without my nightgown.”

  “You’ll get used to it, Arabella. It’s just for this one night.”

  “I won’t,” she pouted. “Wouldn’t you feel strange going to bed without your nightshirt?”

  “I don’t sleep in a nightshirt.”

  “What do you sleep in, then?”

  “Nothing.”

  Her eyes rounded. She gaped. “What?” she said faintly. “You mean you sleep…naked?” She said it as if it were a curse.

  “Yes, dear,” he said blandly. “I sleep naked.”

  “Oh! That’s wicked, Just
in.”

  He wanted to laugh at her censure. Somehow he couldn’t.

  Instead he sucked in a painful breath. He’d never put a woman to bed chastely in his life, yet he just had. Oh, but wouldn’t the bucks of the ton hoot if they knew!

  It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to battle the heated rush that sizzled in his loins. Never before had he been so achingly aware of one woman. Never had he wanted a woman the way he wanted this one — the one woman he couldn’t have! Was that the allure? Was it simply that she was the one woman who resisted him?

  “Justin?”

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone about McElroy. You won’t, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You didn’t promise.”

  He sighed. She was babbling, yet completely adorable. “I promise,” he said gravely.

  “And Walter. You never promised you wouldn’t tell anyone he proposed.”

  “I promise now. I won’t tell anyone about Walter.”

  Slender brows met in a frown. “How can I be sure I can trust you?” she asked suspiciously. “I probably shouldn’t, you know. One should never trust a rogue.”

  “You’re right, Arabella. You probably shouldn’t. But I swear, I’ll keep your secrets.”

  That appeared to satisfy her. She leaned back on the pillows. He took her hand, idly toying with her fingertips. Soon her eyes began to close, but suddenly they popped open.

  “You asked me why,” she said suddenly.

  “Why… what?”

  “The night of the masquerade. You asked me why I disliked you.”

  Justin went very still inside. “Why do you dislike me?” God, it almost hurt to say it aloud.

  “It was Emmaline Winslow.”

  “Emmaline Winslow?” He was stymied. Who the devil was Emmaline Winslow?

  Her head bobbed up and down. “That day at the Dowager Duchess of Carrington’s country estate…when I crawled under your chair and stabbed you with my pin. I — I heard the two of you in the house. You told her there were other women just as fetching as she. Indeed, you said, she was but one pearl among many and you intended to sample them all! You made her cry, Justin. You were so callous! You walked away and — and left her crying.”

  Comprehension dawned in a flash. For one paralyzing instant, Justin couldn’t move. His mind hurtled back. He suddenly understood so very much.

  “But I don’t dislike you anymore,” she confided earnestly. Her gaze scoured his face. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No,” he said hoarsely. For the life of him, it was all he could say.

  “Good. Will you stay until I sleep?”

  He nodded, watching as she weaved her fingers through his, closed her eyes, and brought their joined hands to rest on her belly.

  He stared until his eyes grew dry and the moon was high in the sky. And all the while, a hundred different feelings crashed around in his chest.

  Something was changing between them. Everything was changing. He didn’t know what it was. And he didn’t like not knowing, not one damn bit.

  But he couldn’t stop it.

  And that terrified him. It terrified him, as nothing or no one else had ever frightened him before.

  Eleven

  It was late when Arabella woke the next morning. Sunlight poured through the draperies. With a groan she heaved to her side, seeking to evade the light. Even through her closed eyelids, it seemed to burn. Her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with muslin. Her throat was dry as the sands of the Sahara. Her head was pounding as if a blacksmith had taken up permanent residence in her brain. She wanted to drag her pillow over her head and go back to sleep. But something naggingly insistent wouldn’t allow it.

  Snatches of memory sifted back. McElroy. Justin’s appearance in the study. The rest was vague. She recalled sitting at the window, a finely cut crystal glass in her hand…

  Oh, Lord, that’s why she felt so horrid. Never again, Arabella vowed, would she indulge in spirits so strong. Indeed, never again would she indulge in any kind of spirits.

  Just then there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in.” The words came out a hoarse croak.

  It was Aunt Grace, bright-eyed and chirpy. “Good morning, Arabella,” she sang out. “I brought a pot of chocolate and some pastries for breakfast.” Grace deposited a tray on the bedside table, then sat on the bed. “How are you this morning?”

  Arabella rolled over and pushed herself up, dredging up a wan smile. “Fine,” she murmured.

  “You don’t look fine. You look quite dreadful.” Grace handed her a delicate china cup. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so poorly, love. Perhaps it was something you ate.”

  Oh, if she only knew…

  “Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one to take sick. Patrick McElroy had to depart quite suddenly, too. Perhaps it was the same malady.”

  McElroy! Just the thought of him made her sizzle again. Aloud she said, “I’m sorry to have missed the festivities.”

  Aunt Grace patted her hand. “Well, the important thing is for you to get better. Just rest, dear, and perhaps by this evening you’ll be well enough to join us for dinner.”

  Arabella smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Aunt. Will you make my apologies to the marquess and his wife? I do hope I haven’t spoiled any of their plans.”

  “Not at all, dear. Why, I spoke to Devon just now, and she asked me to pass on her concern.”

  “That’s very kind of her,” Arabella murmured. “Would you mind closing the draperies just a bit on your way out? I confess, the light is quite glaring.”

  “Consider it done, my dear.” At the window, Grace tugged at the drapes, glancing back. “It rained dreadfully last night. Did you hear it?”

  “No, I’m afraid I didn’t hear much of anything.” Mercy, but wasn’t that the truth?

  “You’d never know, looking outside now.” Her aunt was practically chirping. “It’s gloriously warm and sunny.” Grace stopped at the bedside and dropped a kiss on her brow. “I hope you feel better soon, dear.” Suddenly Aunt Grace frowned. “Did Annie forget to pack your nightdress?”

  Arabella glanced down, then froze. Not until then did she realize she was clad in her shift. Memories assailed her anew. Memories of lean, male hands skidding down the bare skin of her back… Justin’s hands. She recalled the brisk efficiency with which he’d dispatched her gown. Which made perfect sense, of course — obviously he’d undressed many a woman in his lifetime.

  But Aunt Grace was still waiting for a reply. “Oh, no, Aunt. It’s just that…I fear I didn’t feel up to bothering with it.” She winced. What a lame excuse!

  But Aunt Grace merely nodded and left. Alone, Arabella sank back into the covers, mortified beyond measure. This time she did drag the pillow over her head. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Justin had put her to bed. Justin. Would there ever come a day she didn’t dread seeing him again?

  She was patently convinced there would not.

  She had no intention of lying in bed all day, though. Despite Aunt Grace’s reassurance otherwise, she considered it dreadfully rude, particularly in light of the fact that she was a guest in someone else’s home. Yet, miraculously, before she knew it, she was dozing.

  When she woke, it was early afternoon. Cautiously she lifted her head from the pillow. The throbbing in her head was gone, thank heaven. After eating the pastries Aunt Grace had left, she felt much better than she had earlier. Washing quickly, she brushed her hair and dressed in a blue-sprigged muslin gown.

  The house seemed empty. Quizzing a passing maid, she discovered most of the others were out riding. Tea, she was informed, was to be served outdoors near the rose gardens.

  A bit of exploring was in order, Arabella decided quickly. The thought of negotiating all those steps again was tiresome, but if Aunt Grace saw her without a bonnet and gloves, she’d never hear the end of it. Retracing her steps, she retrieved a bonnet f
rom her trunk, disdained the gloves, and ventured outside.

  Aunt Grace was right. It was a lovely day, far warmer than it had been for quite some time. The grounds around Thurston Hall were lovelier still. She wandered at will, letting her steps take her where they would, up the side of a hill and down the other. The sun beat down. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so hot. Trudging down the hillside, she came to a place where a small brook dashed madly through the trees before disappearing around the bend.

  Hazy spears of sunlight twirled through the treetops, spinning a golden web all around. Arabella paused. Tiny beads of sweat collected on her forehead, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

  Biting her lip, she cast a hasty glance around. She was quite some distance away from the house. There was no one about. Temptation beckoned — the lure was irresistible. With nary a second thought, she dragged her bonnet from her head and dropped it on the grass. Her slippers, stockings, and garters came next. Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of her skirt and tucked it into her bodice, baring her legs to just above her knees.

  Without hesitation she waded into the stream. The water was cold, but deliciously so. She stopped, watching in almost riveted fascination as the water rushed around the middle of her calves. Ah, but she was supposed to be a proper young Society miss. No doubt it was decidedly improper to be traipsing through a stream in such a fashion…

  The thought kindled another. A mischievous smile rimmed her lips. She recalled one of the summers she’d spent in Africa with Mama and Papa. She’d been perhaps fifteen or so at the time, and the heat had been unbearable. One night she’d crept from their hut to the shores of the river. And with no one to see, no one to care, she had shed her clothing…

  And swam naked.

  What would Society think if they knew that she, Arabella Templeton, the vicar’s daughter, had splashed and swam naked to her heart’s content…and that but the first of many times? Poor Aunt Grace, she was certain, would have been most scandalized. Why, Aunt Grace would be scandalized if she saw her now, baring her legs! Throwing back her head, she laughed aloud, a ringing, robust sound she couldn’t withhold.