A Perfect Groom (26 page)

Arabella’s throat constricted. When he gazed at her the way he did just now, it made her stomach plummet clear to her feet and her pulse race as if she’d run a very great distance. He made her feel as if she were the only woman on this earth. Was that his secret? Was this how he captivated so many women?

“Indeed,” he murmured, “I do believe it’s time to take our leave.”

Arabella did not argue. The night was almost over, and she was suddenly anxious to be home — in Justin’s arms.

In the foyer, they waited for the carriage to be brought around. Behind them, someone coughed. Both she and Justin turned at the same time.

“Walter!” gasped Arabella.

“Hello, Arabella.” Walter’s gaze encompassed Justin as well. “My congratulations to the two of you. Do you mind if I give your bride a congratulatory kiss?”

Justin inclined his head. “Not at all.”

Arabella was allowed no chance to either agree or object. Reaching out, Walter grasped her elbows and kissed her lightly on the lips. Drawing back, he studied her, and she sensed there was something more he wanted to say. Yet all she could think was that she would die of mortification if he made a scene…

Walter glanced at Justin, then held out his hand. “You’re a lucky man, old chap. You’ll take care of her the way she deserves, won’t you?”

For the span of a heartbeat, Justin simply stared at Walter’s extended hand. Arabella held her breath uncertainly, for his expression was rather strange. But then he shook Walter’s hand. Briefly he inclined his head. “I shall,” he said smoothly.

“Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve engaged Miss Larwood for this next waltz.”

Justin said nothing as he escorted Arabella into the carriage. He was polite but distant on the ride home; Arabella’s heart plummeted. The closeness that had sprung up between them had shattered, as surely as if it had never been. But one thought thundered through her, and try though she did with all her might, it refused to be vanquished.

Their first day back in
London
as husband and wife…and it was a disaster.

Eighteen

In bed that night they lay near to each other, but without touching. For the first time since they had wed, Justin did not take her in his arms, and Arabella felt the loss in every corner of her soul.

The minutes slipped by. The room lay smothered in darkness. Half an hour surely passed, perhaps another. But while her body was still, her mind was not. Wide awake, not wanting to move for fear of waking Justin but feeling she would surely scream if she laid still an instant longer, she eased to one side, then the other.

Still sleep eluded her. She half-rose, peering over at Justin. He lay unmoving, one sinewed arm propped beneath his head, his face turned away from her toward the window. Licking her lips, she rolled over.

“Is it your intention to squirm the night through?”

Arabella froze. She experienced the prick of his tone as surely as she felt the prick of his gaze digging into her back.

Biting her lip, she said nothing.

“Is something wrong?” he queried flatly.

Her fingers curled and uncurled around the blanket she clutched to her chin. “No,” she stated wildly, then clearly thought better of it. “I mean yes. Or rather…I — I don’t know.”

“I do so love a woman who knows her own mind.”

Sarcasm or wit? she wondered. She was never sure. In either case, it only made her more miserable.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He sighed. “You didn’t. I can’t sleep, either.”

She heard him fumbling in the dark, then candlelight melted the darkness. Arabella eased to her back, staring up at the plasterwork on the ceiling. Beside her, Justin pushed himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard.

“Why can’t you sleep, Arabella?”

“My mind will not be still,” she confided. “I cannot stop thinking!”

“About what?”

“Everything,” she blurted.

“Ah,” he said dryly, “that clarifies things quite nicely. Now, I shall ask again. What is on your mind? And pray do not tell me it’s nothing.”

She turned her head, trying to glean his mood from his expression. Encountering only the naked expanse of his chest, she balked but managed to cover her discomfiture.

She compressed her lips. “Why can’t
you
sleep?” she countered. “And pray do not tell me it’s nothing.”

There was a small silence. “Point taken,” he said at last. “Since you insist, I shall —”

But Arabella was shaking her head. His words were just the impetus she needed to summon her pride.

“Wait. I — I shall go first.” Bravely she sidled up to her elbows, then swallowed. “Is it true you and Lady Agatha were lovers?”

There was a long, drawn-out silence. Arabella braved a look at him, then wondered no longer as to his mood. His features were grim.

“Where did you hear that?”

“The night of the masquerade at Vauxhall,” she admitted. “I heard two women talking —”

“Oh, yes. The women who claimed I was a lover of superb finesse. That is correct, is it not?”

He sounded most annoyed.

“Yes.” Arabella’s tongue stabbed the inside of her cheek. “But is it true?”

“That I’m a lover of superb finesse?” He shot her a look. “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t be asking.”

The fierceness of a blush heated her cheeks. “Not that,” she said quickly. “I mean about Lady Ag —”

“Yes.” His voice cut across hers. Abruptly, he seemed to hesitate. Strong hands closing around her shoulders, he pulled her around to face him. “Why do you ask, Arabella?”

“Because I saw you with Lady Agatha tonight and…well, dare I say it? You looked quite spectacular together.” All at once she was babbling, her insides a mass of fury and confusion. “And I hated it, Justin. I hated being in the same room with her, knowing the two of you were lovers. I hate the idea of coming face to face with such a woman! I realize it can hardly be avoided, given your experience. But I wanted to slap her when she dared to touch you. I wanted to march across the ballroom and strangle her pretty little neck —”

His lips quirked. “Oh, dear. It appears I have acquired a jealous wife.”

His amusement was the last straw.

“I am glad you find this so entertaining!” Alas, what was meant to be defiant was anything but. Her lips quivered along with her voice. She tried to wrench away before he glimpsed her weakness.

Too late. With his thumb and forefinger he caught her chin and brought her eyes to his.

“Arabella! I’m sorry, sweet, I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. I
do
not mean to hurt you. Arabella —” This time he was the one who floundered. “I am not a saint. But neither have I been with the legions of women that you seem to think. What happened with Lady Agatha was years ago. It meant nothing to me then. She means nothing to me now. Yet should you chance to come face-to-face with her, or any other woman with whom I’ve been intimate —”

“It almost happened tonight,” Arabella said wildly.

“And I repeat, should it ever happen, I want you to remember one thing.”

“What?” she said miserably.

“That no matter how many others are in the room, the only one who matters to me is you. The only woman I see is you. There is only one woman in my life now. That woman is you. To me there is no one more beautiful than you, Arabella.”

Her lips parted. “Truly?”

“Truly.” His gaze captured hers, dark and searing. “The vows we took on our wedding day…I do not forget them, Arabella. I
will
not forget them. I do not know if I can be the husband you want, the husband you need, the husband you’ve dreamed of. But God help me, I will try.”

Arabella searched his features, stunned at his intensity, the fierceness of his declaration. It washed through her like warm spiced wine. Everything inside her was churning. She was afraid to read too much into all he revealed, and just as afraid not to.

“Now. Do we understand each other?”

She nodded, all at once absurdly happy. But then her eyes darkened.

Justin frowned. “What is it?”

She laid her fingertips on his forearms. “This afternoon in your study…Are you still angry?”

Something that might have been pain crossed his features. “I was never angry, Arabella.”

But she could feel his sudden tension in the way his muscles bunched beneath her fingertips. “I should like to explain. I — I don’t know quite what I was feeling, Justin. I don’t know quite why I was crying…but suddenly I was, and…and then you walked in.” Her words came out in a rush. “It’s not you. Everything has happened so fast. There’s scarcely been a moment to think. Perhaps it’s just the strangeness of it all. But suddenly I found myself missing Mama and Papa…and realizing how I wish they had been here.” Her voice began to quaver all over again.

Justin caught her against him with a groan. “You’re right. It has been a whirlwind, hasn’t it? Perhaps I shouldn’t have left you alone this afternoon. Perhaps we shouldn’t have gone out tonight.”

Arabella clung to him as he pulled her against him. Sliding down into the covers, he simply held her. At length, he drew back. With his palm he cradled her cheek.

“All right now?”

She smiled through her tears. “Yes. It’s been an odd day, hasn’t it?”

“That it has,” he agreed. The merest hint of a smile crossed his lips. “But I fear I must tell you something.”

“And what is that?”

“I, too, was jealous when Walter kissed you.
Insanely
jealous.”

“Oh, my,” she breathed. She snuggled back into his arms, then suddenly a peal of laughter rang out.

Justin cocked his head to the side. “What was that for?”

“I fear I must tell
you
something, my lord,” she teased.

Her smile faded. She took a deep breath. “The dowager duchess was right, you know. Walter could never make me feel the way you do, Justin.” She laid a hand on the center of his chest, her fingertips splayed wide.

He arched a lazy brow. “Are you making advances toward me, wife?”

“I am,” came her shy, swift reply. “Will you oblige me, sir?”

A low, deep laugh erupted. “Lady, need you ask?”

He started to reach for her. She stopped him with a tiny shake of her head, the pressure of her hand pushing him back to the pillow. Leaning over, she kissed him, at first gently, and then with an ever-mounting passion, parting her mouth, angling her head first one way and then the other. Justin allowed her the freedom to explore as she would, fighting to keep his hands at his sides, loving the way she kissed him with wild abandon.

His breath sucked in as she ran her tongue along the plane of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the feel of her palm on his skin, tracing the span of his shoulders, the curve of his bicep. A sense of awe swept over him. This was Arabella, his mind chanted. Arabella touching him. Arabella wanting him…

Each gliding caress resonated through him, penetrating his skin, through muscle and bone…as if she touched his very heart. Her hand coursed over his chest, twining in the thick fur. He could feel her trembling, as if she thought he would stop her.

He could not. He
would
not.

“Sweet Lord.” The words were nearly lost in a ragged rush of air, for now her fingertips plied across the grid of his belly, across the jutting ridge of his hip, grazing the tip of his rod. Sweat broke out on his brow. Her innocent touch made his blood roar. A tempest of sensation roiled through him, settling in his groin. His shaft swelled and leaped, and he felt her sudden inhalation. A dark, piercing ache shot through his loins. Christ, he thought vaguely, if she kept this up, he would surely burst his skin.

Her mouth returned to his, and he caught her head in both hands, kissing her with greedy hunger, their tongues tangling in wanton intimacy. She shifted, bringing one slim leg to bear around his; her mound rocked against his thigh, a taunting, evocative rhythm that matched the curl of her tongue around his. He could feel her shadow-cleft, sleek and hot and damp…

It was beyond bearing. Beyond reason. Desire burned inside him, out of control. He could bear it no longer. With strong hands, he caught at her, bringing her above him, settling slim thighs down beside his own.