A Perfect Groom (10 page)

She turned. “Gentlemen,” she said pointedly, “I do not want wine, or lemonade, or a bite to eat. What I crave right now is a moment to myself.”

She left them standing across the room. What they thought, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. In truth, she couldn’t quite say what came over her. All she could think of was Justin. Why hadn’t he acknowledged her? A voice inside chided her. It wasn’t wise to follow him, for he was surely the devil-at-large. Yet she could no more have stayed either her will or her steps than she could have stopped the earth from turning.

The terrace was deserted. Behind her, the musicians had struck up a waltz. Guided by the glittering lights of the ballroom, she followed a meandering path through the garden, enclosed on three sides by a high stone wall. There, in the far corner, at last she spied him. He stood before a gurgling fountain, staring at the sky as if spellbound.

Spellbound. That was exactly how she felt. What madness possessed her that she had followed him out here? The sight of him made her insides quiver and her knees quaver.

Yet somehow she managed to sound almost calm. “Hello, Justin.”

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Vicar.”

Miss Vicar
. Arabella flushed.

Deliberately he turned his back on her. Arabella remained where she was, tentative and uncertain. It seemed he was determined to ignore her. She couldn’t blame him, but still, it hurt.

“What! Not gone yet?” He glanced over his shoulder.

Her mouth felt suddenly parched. She was suddenly floundering. “I…it’s just that…I haven’t seen you for several days. Have you been ill?”

“No.”

He turned back to face her.

It took every ounce of courage she possessed to remain where she was. “I saw you inside,” she finally blurted. “Were you going to leave without saying anything?”

“Yes.”

Well, he was certainly direct.

“Look here, Justin. 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.”

“I quite agree. So if you’ve come to gloat — don’t. And if you’ve come to deliver another diatribe, do not bother. Consider me duly chastised.”

His manner was guarded, his tone cool. A gnawing guilt nagged at her. He couldn’t know how she regretted her outburst the other night.

“Justin,” she said, her voice low, “the other night…I spoke out of turn —”

“You spoke what was on your mind.”

“But I didn’t mean to —”

“Yes, you did,” he cut in. “We both know it.”

She peered at him. His shoulders were stiff and square. Why, she could almost believe…

“Never say that you’ve come to grief over my —” She broke off, staring at him. What was wrong with him? He sounded odd. There was something strange about his eyes, and he wasn’t entirely steady…Merciful heavens, he was foxed!

And, it seemed, he wasn’t finished.

“Does that surprise you, Arabella? Startle you? I see it does. Scoundrel that I am, I do have feelings. And contrary to your opinion, I
do
have a heart.”

Arabella was too stunned to say a word.

“I believe I deserve an explanation. There must be some reason you dislike me so. From the beginning you’ve disliked me. Why, as a child you disliked me! But I’ve never done anything to you.”

“No, not to me, but —”

She stopped short. This was not a discussion she cared to pursue, particularly in light of his sodden state.

“Justin,” she said helplessly, “it’s not that I dislike you —”

“Then why did you say such things?” His tone was almost accusing.

He stepped close. The heavy aroma of wine and spirits assaulted her. Dear Lord, it was a miracle
she
wasn’t sotted as well!

“What if I told you I like you?” he went on. “What if I told you I’m fond of you?”

“You’re fond of all women!”

“Not true. It’s well known I have extremely fastidious tastes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have danced with you that first night.
Or
the second. God, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Arabella stared at him dumbly. She couldn’t help it. She was unaccountably flustered. What was she supposed to say to
that
? Dear Lord, how was she to interpret such a statement? She had come out here to apologize to him. She’d prepared herself for his mockery. His acid barbs. His arrogance. Anything but this…

A dozen different emotions rushed at her from all sides. Dismay. Alarm. She was charmed when she didn’t want to be charmed. Flattered when she should
not
have been flattered. Was this how he managed to gain so many conquests? By catching them off guard and vulnerable? Oh, stupid question, that! A man with his looks had no need to coerce and cajole a woman into his bed.

“What if I said I want to kiss you?”

Things were progressing from bad to worse.

Her heart seemed to stumble, along with her breath. Perhaps he had no idea what he was saying. “Justin,” she asked, “how much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Too much.” He responded as if she’d asked the time of day. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

“I have no intention of answering it!”

“Why not? Don’t you want to kiss me?”

“No. You’re foxed.” Why men relished spirits so, she couldn’t imagine.

“But I’m the handsomest man in all
England
.”

She feigned distaste. “Right now you’re the most disgusting man in all
England
.” As if that could ever be true.

“Oh, come. It’s said that I —”

“Pray do not boast, Justin! I know very well what’s said about you! You think you have only to enter a room and all eyes are upon you vying for your attention.” Granted, they usually were, but he needed no encouragement!

“And what about you, Arabella?”

“What about me?”

“Are you drawn to me?”

Arabella blanched. He was inching closer. Her insides were fluttering. “Other women —” she began.

“I don’t care about other women. I care about you. What you think. What you think of me.”

She stepped back, only to discover she’d trapped herself in the corner. Justin stood before her. Tall. Strong. Powerful. Escape was impossible.

Their eyes caught. He smiled, then raised a hand. In shock she felt the tips of his fingers trace a slow path from her wrists to her elbow. In its wake a trail of fire smoldered.

Her nails dug into her palms. Even drunk, he was rakishly appealing. “Stop that,” she said unsteadily.

He didn’t. His gaze was roving over her face now. Foxed or not, it appeared he was well aware of her attraction to him! She knew it for certain when he asked silkily, “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be kissed by me?”

I’ve wondered what it would be like to be kissed by any man
, she nearly blurted.

“What makes you think I would let you kiss me?” she heard herself say. Was it a plea? A provocation? Heaven help her, she didn’t know!

“What makes you think I wouldn’t anyway?”

Dash it all, he had an answer for everything! “You’re a man of…unseemly appetite.”

“And you’re a woman of untarnished reputation.” A finger beneath her chin tipped her face to his. Arabella swallowed. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the sculpted beauty of his mouth. He bent his head so that their lips almost touched. Almost, but not quite.

Every nerve in her body was screaming. Her heart hammered wildly. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to; the shocking truth was that she didn’t!

His gaze had fallen to her lips. “The truth now, Arabella. You’ve never been kissed, have you?”

Mutely she shook her head.

His eyes darkened. “Then perhaps it’s time you were,” he whispered.

There was no time to think. No time to reason. For his mouth closed over hers, hot and slow, a kiss of leisurely exploration. Her muscles turned to wax, and she was quite certain that if his arms hadn’t circled her waist, she would have melted on the spot.

For the kiss was like nothing she expected…yet everything she wanted. Everything she hadn’t even
known
she wanted. She felt herself slipping. Falling into a realm where nothing existed save the exquisite pleasure of feeling her mouth trapped beneath his. His kiss was heady and potent, and she suddenly felt as if
she
were the one who had imbibed too freely.

He muttered something unintelligible. A tremor went through her when his tongue curled around hers. She didn’t pull away, didn’t want to. She felt…oh, heaven help her. Fascination, perhaps. Whatever it was, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was as if a spark had been lit in her veins, even there at the tips of her breasts…
especially
there.

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 he 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!”