A Perfect Groom (14 page)

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.

“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, Justin.”

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?”