Arabella wrinkled her nose. “Oh, stop pretending to be shocked.”
There was a small silence. “Actually, I was going to say I fell out of that tree once and broke my wrist.”
Arabella didn’t see the shadow that flickered across his face. “Well, I was never so clumsy,” she went on breezily. “There was a tree much like that one at Uncle Joseph’s estate near Yorkshire. I’ll never forget the day my mother walked outside to find me hanging upside down, my skirts swirling about my head.”
“I daresay that’s probably not a feat every mother wishes to see her daughter engage in.”
Arabella stole a glance at him. She was relieved to note some of the harshness had left his face. “Yes. My mother was quite horrified. And my father…I vow he’s the gentlest soul on this earth. As I recall, that’s the only time I ever heard him raise his voice to me. Though I certainly gave them both enough provocation,” she added thoughtfully.
“Do they know you’re the darling of the ton?”
Arabella lifted her gaze heavenward. “Well, I haven’t mentioned it in my letters,” she said dryly, “though I’m sure Aunt Grace has.”
They walked on a bit farther, past a high stone wall. The air was filled with the scent of roses. Justin paused, a wide stone bench behind him. The drawing room was nearby, casting out hazy fingerlings of light that etched his profile in silver.
When he released her hand, she felt curiously bereft. But they stood close, so near his scent eclipsed that of the roses. Man. Musk. Heat. All combined to send a tremor through her. Oh, Lord, he was so handsome he made her ache inside.
The merest hint of a smile curled his lips.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“I was thinking about the night I came here from London once. Sebastian and Devon were here. And I think — no, I am almost certain they were out here kissing when I arrived.”
“Why is that so unusual? They do, after all, have two children.”
His smile widened ever so slightly. “They weren’t married then.”
“Oh.” Arabella felt her cheeks pinken.
Justin gave a husky laugh. “Don’t look so shocked, Miss Vicar. Remind me sometime to tell you the tale of how those two ended up together. It’s quite a story.”
“Really? They’re such a perfect couple. It’s obvious they’re very much in love.”
“That they are,” he agreed.
Her eyes widened. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
“Why?”
“Well, I — I just assumed you didn’t believe in love.”
Justin made no comment.
“My parents are like that,” she confided, her voice very low. “They look at each other and — and it’s like no one else in the world exists, save the two of them. And yet, the truth is…my parents are so much in love that I — sometimes I almost feel like an outsider.”
“I’m sure they love you very much, Arabella.”
“Oh, they do. I know they do! But…I suppose I’m not making much sense.”
She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“You told Walter you would only marry for love,” Justin said suddenly. “Is that why?”
She lifted her hands, then let them fall to her sides. “Yes. I can’t imagine marrying someone I don’t love. Can you?”
He merely raised his brows.
Arabella bit her lip. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re hardly the person to ask. Men like you spend much of your adult life seeking to avoid marriage.”
Justin crossed his arms across his chest. “Ah, Miss Vicar is getting testy now. Let us consider the requisites of a wife, then.”
“Obviously she would be a diamond of the first water.”
“Without question.”
“Ah, then. So you would require a beautiful, docile, biddable maid.”
“Beautiful, docile, and biddable, perhaps. But a maid?”
“Oh, so you prefer used goods?” She shot back an arch retort.
He gave her a wry smile. “Not used. That sounds so sordid. Let us say…experienced.”
Well, at least she had succeeded in raising a smile. “Ah, yes, so you could engage in your licentious activities. But I would venture to say you would make a horrible groom.”
“My brother said much the same thing once.”
Arabella went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “However, I do believe you would make an excellent father.”
“What! Can it be true?” He feigned astonishment. “Why, Miss Vicar has just flattered me!”
“Oh, stop,” she commanded. “You’re very protective. You’re good with children. It was very clear today with Geoffrey and Sophie.”
“On to you, then.” His tone was grave, but his eyes were alight. “What sort of man would you prefer to husband?”
“Well, a woman wants a man with more than good looks.” It was her turn to needle him. “A man of fervent and not idle ambition.”
“What, is that where poor Walter fell short?”
“No,” Arabella muttered, “that was Phillip Wadsworth.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She clenched her teeth. “Short. He was shorter than me, Justin. Must you make me say it? He only came to here.” She gestured in the vicinity of her chin.
Justin laughed.
Her eyes flashed. “Must you make light of it?” She flounced away, so she didn’t have to witness his mocking smile.
Silence drifted between them, as thick and heavy as the night.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to be cruel.” When she said nothing, he edged closer. “You’re not crying again, are you?”
Mutely she shook her head.
“Then look at me. Please, sweetheart, look at me.”
Sweetheart again, and spoken in a husky, tender note that made her tremble. Her eyes climbed slowly to his. His smile had evaporated.
His hands were on her waist, devastatingly large and warm, drawing her near.
Arabella’s heart lurched. Her eyes widened. His were dark and heated.
“Justin,” she gulped. “What are you doing?”
“You’re shivering. Don’t be afraid, Arabella.”
The trembling was spreading through her, to her limbs, to her very toes. In sweet confusion, she looked up at him. She remembered telling him that if he ever chanced to make her shiver from head to toe, it would be in disgust. But that was the furthest thing from her mind right now.
His head was lowering. As if…as if…
“I must be mad,” he muttered.
“Why?” she asked wildly.
“Because I think I’m going to kiss you again.”
His eyes seemed to burn clear through her.
“Oh, my,” she said faintly.
“Why do you say that?” he demanded fiercely. “Why do you look like that?”
There was havoc on her skin, there where his hands rested. But most of all, there was havoc in her heart…
“Because I — I think I want you to.”
Thirteen
His searing gaze trapped hers. “You shouldn’t. I’m a rake. A scoundrel. Every one of those things you said I was.”
Her fingertips crept to the front of his jacket. “I don’t care, Justin. I don’t care.”
God, he never should have brought her out here. She was such a contradiction — all prim, proper innocence combined with lush, earthy sensuality. And vulnerable…so very vulnerable. He’d forgotten how sensitive she was about her hair and her height. Indeed, she had cried about it last night. The memory stabbed at his heart. Proud, stubborn Arabella…didn’t she know how lovely she was?
Her eyes were like sapphires, shining with moon dust. A red, silken curl tumbled over her shoulder. He longed to drag it around his fist and pull her close. And her mouth…the color of crushed roses, moist and dewy.
He burned inside. These past few days had been nigh unbearable. It was harder and harder to be near her and no
t touch. Not yearn for her. And now, here in the dark, in the moonlight, he knew he hadn’t a prayer of stopping himself. The devil might take his soul, but nothing would stop him.
With a groan he dragged her close. His mouth came down on hers.
With a breathy little sigh, she yielded, parting her lips beneath the fiery urgency of his. He felt himself swept back to that magical moment when he’d kissed her before. But this was so much better than what he remembered. He wasn’t foxed and she wasn’t shocked. Instead, she was sweet, almost unbearably sweet.
He braved a glance at her face. Her eyes were closed, her lashes, long and thick, dark crescents lying on her cheeks. But he knew if they were open, they’d be shining blue and heavenly and…God, she tasted like heaven and felt like the most tempting, delicious of sins. He could feel himself hurtling into a realm of pleasure — mind, body, soul.
He couldn’t be slow and easy. His blood had begun to boil, hot and primitive, and he hadn’t a prayer of stopping it. But Arabella didn’t seem to care.
If it had been any other woman, he would have taken her right there on the bench. Ripped open his breeches to bare his hardness, and brought her down astride his thick, rigid erection, again and again until they both cried out in ecstasy. The erotic image shook him to the core.
But some brief remnant of sanity remained. This was Arabella, young and sweetly naive. His conscience was screaming at him, but he didn’t care.
A strong hand curled around the nape of her neck, tilting her face up to his more fully. He kissed her again, with hungry ferocity. With the other hand, a brazen fingertip traced the cream-laced edge of her low-cut bodice. Sweet Jesus, he could feel the tantalizing curve of her breasts.
A whimper escaped her lips, echoing in the back of his throat. His tongue circled hers, then traced the ridge of her teeth. She arched and the movement thrust her breasts against his chest more fully. Round and full. Soft yet firm. The contradiction was thrilling. Desire exploded in his veins. He ached with the need to taste her, touch her… feel her.
He whispered her name, the sound low and pleading and hoarse. “Let me touch you, Arabella. Let me see you.”
His hand plunged into her bodice, cupping her breast. He squeezed that delicious fullness, aware of the way her nipple thrust against his palm, hard and peaked. He made a choked sound deep in his chest. She was trembling all over, he thought vaguely.
His mouth was on the side of her throat. “Arabella,” he muttered raggedly, “you make me forget myself. Make me stop.”
She moaned. “Why?”
He nipped the lobe of her ear. “You’re an innocent.”
“Yes…”
“And if we continue much longer, you won’t be.”
“Then perhaps we should stop,” she said weakly.
But he didn’t. She didn’t.
His mouth returned to hers. She swayed against him. No longer content to merely feel, he slid her bodice down over her shoulder to bare her naked flesh. He wanted to touch her. Suckle her until she cried out her pleasure.
Near the terrace a door creaked open. Footsteps tapped on the flagstone. “Arabella?” sang out a gay, feminine voice. “Are you out here? We’re being soundly trounced and we are in dire need of you —”
Arabella froze in his arms. Her eyes flicked open. They stared directly into his. “Georgiana!” she gasped. She jerked away, dragging her bodice up over her shoulder.
It was too late. Georgiana stood not three feet behind them, staring at them in wide-eyed horror, her dainty little mouth opened in shock.
But alas, that wasn’t the worst of it.
Right beside her was Grace.
Throughout the many scrapes in which she had found herself embroiled over the years, there was none to compare with the way Arabella felt in that moment.
Aunt Grace spun around without a word. Round-eyed and speechless, clearly in a quandary, Georgiana ducked her head and hastened after her, back into the drawing room.
“Aunt Grace!” She started to charge forward. Justin caught her elbow and held her back.
“Wait,” he warned. “Wait here.”
Within seconds Aunt Grace reappeared. Uncle Joseph was at her side, his expression black as a thundercloud.
“Arabella! Christ, girl, have you no sense? Must you always make a spectacle of yourself?”
It wasn’t his way to bluster and rage — his rare outburst made her shatter inside.
She was vaguely aware of Justin stiffening beside her. “If anyone is making a spectacle, my lord, I daresay it is you. May I suggest you lower your voice?”
Joseph’s face turned purple. “And may I suggest you remove your hand from my niece?”
“Certainly.” Justin’s hand fell away from her arm.
“Now. Have the two of you anything to say for yourselves?”
Justin’s mouth twisted. “What, are explanations truly necessary?”
“Spare me your sarcasm, boy!” Joseph snapped.
Justin’s eyes flickered. “Nothing happened,” he said curtly.
“Really? It is my understanding you had your hand on my niece’s —”
“Uncle Joseph!” Arabella cried.
She was mortified. She wanted to die. She wanted to sink through the ground, never to be seen or heard from again, lost in the middle of the earth. Lost anywhere, anywhere but here. A feeling of utter shame consumed her. And Aunt Grace looked ready to faint.
By then Sebastian had appeared as well. “Is there a problem?” he asked, glancing from Joseph to Justin.
“A regrettable incident,” Justin stated smoothly.
Joseph growled in his throat. His hands fisted. He looked ready to explode.
Sebastian stepped between them. “I suspect no one here wishes to cause a scene,” he stated calmly, “so perhaps the four of you would like to adjourn to my study for further discussion.”
“Not now.” This came from Grace, her voice low and thick with tears. “Joseph, I cannot do this now. Perhaps in the morning.”
“Grace, that’s an excellent idea.” Sebastian was every bit the gracious arbiter. “A good night’s sleep may improve everyone’s disposition. Say…seven o’clock sharp? The other guests won’t be break-fasting until half-past eight. That should assure your privacy.”
“I suppose that will do,” Joseph said coldly.
Grace clutched at her husband’s arm. “Joseph, please, take me to our room.”
Joseph covered his wife’s hand. “Of course, love.” Raising his head, he gazed straight at Justin. “I trust you’ll be present to settle this, young man.”
“Oh, you need not worry, my lord.” Justin’s tone was pure frost. “I shall be there.”
Arabella bit her lip. Aunt Grace had yet to meet her gaze, and it appeared she had no intention of doing so. Hesitating, Arabella glanced back at Justin. His features were set in implacable lines. He remained where he was.
“Arabella!” Her uncle rapped out her name.
Feeling crushed inside, Arabella had no choice but to follow.
Inside the drawing room, the game of charades was in full swing. At their entrance, however, the game came to a halt. Every eye in the room rested on them. Joseph cleared his throat.
“I fear the day has been a tiring one for my wife and my niece. We shall be retiring early.”
Did anyone believe it? Arabella was afraid to look. As they left, she was aware of more than a few speculative gazes following them. Someone whispered; she couldn’t tell who. As for Georgiana, there was no sign of her friend.
Her stomach was churning as they mounted the stairs. Her reputation was ruined. She was ruined. Her aunt returning inside to fetch Uncle Joseph, and their subsequent exit to the terrace would not have gone unnoticed…their abrupt departure from the party. There were bound to be questions. Rumors…An almost hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat as Arabella collapsed in her room.
Oh, my, she thought, but I should be glad. The Unattainable has just been dethroned…<
br />
She was barely inside when someone tapped on the door. Gingerly Arabella opened it.
It was Georgiana.
“Arabella! Are you all right? What happened?” Georgiana grabbed her hand and pulled her across to the bed. “I saw your aunt whisper to your uncle and the two of them go out to the terrace. I was so rattled I didn’t wait to see more.”
Arabella’s throat clogged tight. “Uncle Joseph was furious,” she admitted. “Then Sebastian must have realized something was wrong, because he came out as well…We’re to meet before breakfast.” She shook her head, anguished. “I’m such a fool! I didn’t even think…I should never have gone out to the terrace with Justin. Aunt Grace was utterly distraught. She wouldn’t even look at me. Neither of them said a word to me after we left the terrace. I’m so ashamed,” she admitted. “And so embarrassed. Everyone knows something is amiss…Oh, Georgiana, I fear I’ve disgraced the family.”
Georgiana squeezed her hand. “It’s all my fault. I should never have charged out the way I did. If I’d known that…that…”
Arabella smiled slightly. “That I was kissing Justin?”
Georgiana’s cheeks pinkened. “Well, yes…if I’d known, Arabella, I’d have left well enough alone. I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault.”
“Of course it isn’t.” Arabella made the reply automatically. Dear God, what had she been thinking? To allow Justin to kiss her in that hot, consuming way that made her feel as if she were melting? Not only that, but to allow him to bare her breast. Her flesh had seemed to swell and burn; she’d wanted to feel his fingers, there on the very tip…
“Arabella?”
It was clear from Georgiana’s expression it wasn’t her first attempt to snare her attention.
Georgiana searched her face. “I asked what it was like.”
“What?” Arabella said faintly.
“You know,” Georgiana blurted. “Being kissed!”
Being kissed? Or being kissed by Justin Sterling? For Arabella had the very distinct sensation that being kissed by any other man would not have been at all the same as being kissed by Justin. For Justin’s kiss had been wonder and magic. Bliss and…
Georgiana clapped her hands to her cheeks in horror. “Oh. Oh!” she cried. “I cannot believe I asked you that! Oh, do forgive me, Arabella!”
Perfect 2 - A Perfect Groom Page 15