A Perfect Groom (9 page)
“And what if they did?”
Arabella pressed her lips together. As if there were any need to ask! He was baiting her, she knew. But if he wanted to hear her say it, then so be it.
“Because I’ve no wish for my name to be bandied about with yours.”
His eyes grew frosty. “Indeed?”
“Indeed.”
“Why, Arabella?”
“Simply because you are who you are! You are
what
you are!”
“You refer to my reputation.”
Later she would wonder what possessed her, that she dared to challenge him so. “Yes. I despise men like you.”
“Arabella, I do believe you cast aspersions on my character.”
“Character?” She cast him a withering look. “You have none!”
“Oh, come. Am I not a man of eminent distinction?”
Now he mocked not only her, but himself. “Perchance a man of eminent delusion,” she muttered.
He tipped his head to the side. “My, but this grows interesting. Truly, what do you think of me?”
“I think you would rather not know.”
“Oh, come. Out with it.”
Arabella glared. “You are a rake.”
The merest lift of his brows. “What? That’s all? That’s why you dislike me?”
Another glare, more heated than the first.
“That’s what I thought. Please, pray continue.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you are, Justin Sterling.”
“You profess to know a very great deal about me. What, precisely, do you know?”
“All I need to know!”
“Such as?”
“You are a profligate,” she said.
“And?”
“A cad. A Corinthian.”
A slow smile edged across his lips. “Come, surely you can do better than that.”
“Do you think I haven’t heard tales of your escapades with your lady friends?”
“Clearly that distresses you.”
Oh, but he was outrageous! Totally unrepentant. Arabella was reminded of poor Emmaline Winslow sobbing her heart out. How could he be so callous? “You are a rogue. A bounder.”
He quirked a well-shaped brow. “I’ve never given my attention to any woman who did not want it.”
“No doubt a masterly achievement in your eyes.” Arabella hitched her chin high. His aplomb unraveled her temper. “You, my Lord Vice —”
“Lord Vice? Oh, that is rich, coming from you, Miss Vicar!” He directed his gaze heavenward. “Are you finished?”
Her eyes were snapping. “I am not!”
“Well, then, pray continue.”
“You are despicable.”
That brow remained cocked high. “Surely you can do better than that.”
Arabella took a deep breath. “You are despicable —”
“You repeat yourself, my dear.”
“Despicable and odious. I find you utterly detestable. Thoroughly unlikable —”
“Odd,” he cut in. “It seems I only have this problem with you.”
Arabella made a shrill sound. “You are vile. Uncouth —”
“Never in front of a lady.”
“Clearly you find this a great source of amusement. But I’ll have you know, unlike the rest of the willy-nilly females who giggle behind their fans whene’er they spy you, I see you through unclouded eyes. No decent woman will ever have you. Why, I doubt the woman exists who could penetrate your —” She gestured wildly at his chest.
“Heart?” he supplied.
“What! You have a heart?”
“Is that all?” he asked coolly. “You detest me because I’ve a fondness for beautiful women?”
“Your reputation is thoroughly reprehensible and you know it.”
“I avail myself of what pleasures may come my way, though I admit my reputation is one I’ve probably cultivated.”
“You are a womanizer and a wastrel, Justin Sterling. Furthermore, I don’t like you very much! So let’s just leave it at that, shall we?” She tried to step around him.
He didn’t allow it. A long arm snaked out and stopped her cold.
“Unhand me,” she said clearly.
“I think not.”
Arabella turned her head. A chill went through her. Only then did she note his smile was wiped clean. His eyes had gone utterly cold.
Sharply she spoke. “What the devil are you doing?”
An unpleasant smile rimmed his lips. “I should think it would be obvious, my dear.”
She had no chance to reply. Before she could move, before she could say a word, he snatched the mantilla from her hair.
Her hand went to her head. “Justin! Why did you do that?”
“Let us call it a token of your affection, shall we?”
He twisted so that they stood face-to-face. With his free arm, he crushed her against him. Arabella’s breath left her lungs in a rush. She stared directly into his dark features. His intense regard was unnerving. Too late she recognized her rashness; too late she regretted it! She had challenged him, and a man like him wouldn’t take such a thing lightly. Truthful or not, she had been unwise to taunt him so.
A blistering heat resided in his eyes, along with something she didn’t fully understand. Anger? Most assuredly. Desire? No, she thought. Surely not desire. And yet…
“Give it back,” she said levelly.
“You’re in no position to make demands, Arabella.”
Indeed, she thought frantically, she was in no position she’d ever thought to find herself in! His nearness was overwhelming. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. He was rock-hard and broad. Once again she was acutely conscious of the way he made her feel small and feminine.
“Let me be.” She strived for disdain. Somehow she feared she only managed to sound desperate. “I know what you’re trying to do, Justin.”
“Tell me,” came his silken invitation.
Nervously she wet her lips, summoning a bravado she was far from feeling. “You’re trying to frighten me.”
He smiled nastily. “Am I succeeding?”
“No!” she lied.
And he knew it. She knew it by the way his smile slowly ripened and his green eyes glittered emerald fire in the night!
“Perhaps you should be frightened,” he said in a tone all the more lethal for its velvet softness. “Ah, yes, perhaps you should be.”
His gaze slid over her, dwelling long and hard on the outline of her breasts. Arabella’s heart lurched. Her stomach dropped to the ground.
“Don’t,” she said haltingly. “You use women, Justin. Discard them like old shoes, with nary a thought. But I won’t let you do that with me.”
“My dear, you couldn’t stop me.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Must I remind you of your own words? I’m a scoundrel. A cad. So don’t play with fire. Don’t play with
me!
Whose reputation would suffer if our names were linked together, if it was known that you were here with me in the dark — here in Lovers’ Walk — here in my arms? Certainly not mine! Yours, however…” He let the sentence dangle.
Oh, God. What had she done? She had unleashed something in him, something wild and primitive, something far beyond her experience…far beyond her ability to control. He was like an animal on the hunt, she thought frantically.
“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.
“Wouldn’t I?” The slant of his smile was almost cruel. “Oh, yes, Arabella, I see you take my meaning. I could see to it that your prospects for marriage end this very night. You say no decent woman will ever have me. You’re right. I do not deny it. But, by God, no decent man would ever have
you
. Not even poor, besotted Walter.”
Their eyes collided. A simmering tension hung between them. His features were an ominous mask, his expression forbidding, each word a pelting blow.
For, God help her, it was true. She would be forever shamed. Forever shunned.
She had erred badly, she realized. Somehow she’d always known that Justin was dangerous. What she hadn’t known was how much — or that he might prove dangerous to
her
.
A tremor went through her. She gave a tiny shake of her head. Her gaze grazed his, then skidded away. “Don’t!” she said on a strangled breath. “Please, don’t ruin me.”
He wanted to, he realized. The ugliness inside him wanted to show her. He wanted to hurt her. To lash out and punish her for saying that no decent woman would have him.
His father had said that, too. The night he’d died. The night he, Justin, had
killed
him.
Damn her! he thought fiercely. Damn her feistiness. Damn her prim, prudish ways! For being such a spitfire, for being so defiantly strong-willed and impetuous. And damn her scornful, reckless tongue!
His arm around her back tightened. She was stiff in his embrace, but she didn’t resist him. He wanted to give in to the wickedness inside him, the thunderous need that made his head roar and scalded both his blood and his temper. An elemental heat reared up in him. She had fired his lust, stirred his anger, and the wickedness inside him clamored for him to lower her to the ground, to taste and explore the hot, silken interior of her mouth as he would and say to hell with her innocence. To hell with his conscience. He wanted to drive between her thighs again and again until the world exploded in a crimson haze of pleasure.
Christ, but he was vile!
“Look at me,” he demanded.
Slowly she raised her head. She didn’t avert her face, though he sensed she wanted to. He saw her convulsive swallow, glimpsed the shimmer of wetness in her wide-set eyes, felt her struggle to control her emotions in the deep, tremulous breath she drew.
Something inside told him how much it cost her, to stand before him on the verge of tears. And somehow, that very sense told him he was the
last
person on earth she would want to bear witness to her tears…yet what had he done?
“Please,” she whispered, so low he could barely hear. “Please, do not disgrace me. I…it would kill my Aunt Grace.”
He cursed her in that instant, just as he cursed himself. He’d wanted her cowed. Beaten.
And she was.
Abruptly, he released her.
“Go,” he said harshly. “Go before I change my mind.”
She needed no further encouragement. Grabbing her skirts, she bolted past him toward the square.
Not once did she look back.
Seven
Back at his townhouse, Justin downed the contents of an entire bottle of brandy. Bleary-eyed and barely aware, he fumbled his way up the stairs to his chamber. Fully clothed, he passed out face-down on the bed.
In the morning he woke to a dozen hammers clanging in his brain…and the softness of Arabella’s mantilla still clutched in his palm.
He rolled over with a groan, a sick feeling twisting his gut. God, but he was a bastard. He staggered from his bed and reached for the bottle yet again. Maybe someday, he thought bitterly, he would learn that drink wouldn’t change what he was…and what he had done.
As for Arabella, well, The Unattainable had done the unthinkable.
She’d dealt a blow to his pride. Somehow, the chit had gotten under his skin! Never before had he regretted what he was, or what he’d done. He harbored no illusions about being the world’s worst scoundrel. He’d made it a rule to never look back. But Arabella had succeeded in filling him with self-loathing, something even Sebastian had been able to manage but rarely.
And he didn’t thank her for it. Over the course of the next few days, he strived to dismiss the incident — and her! — from his mind.
An impossible task.
Irritated with himself, tired of his own company, he called for his carriage and headed to White’s one evening. There he went straight to the hazard table.
It wasn’t long before Gideon sauntered over and stepped up beside him. Justin grunted in greeting.
“Well, well. Feeling out of sorts with the world, are we?”
His mood as black as his soul, Justin glared at him. “What does it matter to you?”
Gideon nodded at the dice. “I should hate to see you lose your fortune. I am after all, looking forward to seeing that a goodly portion comes my way.”
Justin stared at him blankly. He’d been in a drunken stupor for two days — or was it three? — and it was an effort to slog through the muddle in his brain. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Gideon shrugged. “Indeed, it works to my advantage that you are here and not dancing attendance on a certain young lady whom I just chanced to see at the
Barrington
gala. I take it you’re aware that, in your absence, your competitors are moving in on the lady in question? Rumor has it that she had a steady stream of callers both today and yesterday.”
Scowling, Justin grabbed Gideon’s elbow and steered him to the corner. He was not a pleasant drunk. He never had been and never would be. “Our wager is off,” he advised tightly. “I should never have made it.”
Gideon didn’t back down. “It’s too late for that now, my friend. You won’t get off so easily.”
Justin expelled a breath. “Dammit, Gideon —”
“Need I remind you a wager is a wager? I won’t let you renege.”
“And I have no intention of dishonoring it,” Justin responded curtly. “I’ll see that a draft is sent to you in the morning.”
Gideon, it appeared, had other intentions. “Those were not our terms,” Gideon reminded him bluntly. “Yours within the month, I believe it was. I’m a sporting man,” he said with a shrug. “My only regret is that I’m off to
Paris
for the next month or so and so will be unable to watch your progress — or lack thereof, as it were.”
Justin locked his jaw hard. He purposely maintained his silence, aware of Gideon’s curious gaze.
“What! Losing ground already, eh? Is the lady so staunchly opposed to your suit, then? Ah, but I fear you are losing that golden touch…”
Gideon’s smile did not set well. Arabella would hate him forever. He’d made certain of that last night. But he wasn’t about to divulge such a thing to Gideon. “That’s none of your affair,” he said sharply.
At least the man knew when to back down. Gideon inclined his head. “Adieu, then. I shall look forward to seeing you upon my return.”
Justin stalked back to the hazard table, where he lost a considerable sum. He told himself he didn’t give a damn what nitwit Arabella chose to associate with, when she did it, or why. It was none of his business.
Yet a scant hour later, he was standing on the fringes of the
Barrington
ballroom, greeting Lord Barrington.
And there
she
was…
She sat not far from the refreshment table. She was dressed in green, a low, square-necked gown that revealed the rounded tops of her breasts. Her hair was caught up and away, coiled loosely at her crown. He approved the style, for it flattered to perfection the long, slim column of her neck. He pondered what it would be like to sweep aside the errant curls at her nape and plant his mouth
there
, in the vulnerable hollow that divided her nape. Her skin would be warm and soft, velvety smooth.
Christ! he thought disgustedly. What the hell had ever possessed him to come here? Why was he chasing after her like some foolish, lovesick schoolboy? He was a man about town, a man who confined his relationships to women of experience, women who knew the stakes and expected no more of him than he expected of them — an association uncluttered by nothing more complicated than a mutual lust. That was why he’d always avoided virgins like the plague!
Two men stood before her. Gideon had been right, he acknowledged grimly. He recognized both of them from that night at White’s, Drummond and Gregory Fitzroy. The wolves had begun to circle indeed…Something savage welled in his breast. God rot it! It wasn’t her they wanted, it was that damn bet! They would use her, discard her as carelessly as…as he would have, if it had been any woman but her.
He should warn her. Oh, but that should go over well, a voice inside chided snidely. She would see it as another insult.
A passing footman offered wine. He took it, draining it in one gulp.
When his gaze returned, yet another man had posted himself near her right shoulder — Charles Brentwood. Justin slammed his glass down on the table next to him.
Brentwood
was standing, and availing himself of the view from above. He was peering quite lasciviously into the generous swell of cleavage offered by a gown that Justin decided then and there was far too revealing. Granted, it was a tactic many a man employed, but it suddenly made him madder than blazes. Also granted, the gown was entirely the fashion, but what did that matter?
He wanted nothing more than to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off
Brentwood
’s countenance.
It was then that Justin felt the bite of something utterly foreign. It brewed inside him like a fiery poison, seeping through him until he saw the world through a mist of crimson. A dull roar pounded in his ears. He wanted to stalk across the ballroom and tear apart every last man who surrounded her. At first he thought it was the wine; he’d had far too much to drink today. But this was a feeling so completely alien to him that it took a while before he realized what it was.
The stinging bite of jealousy.
Oh, but this was rich! he decided in some muddled, fog-laden corner of his mind.
He
was jealous. He, Justin Sterling, the most notorious rake in the city, who could have his pick of the most exquisite women in the land! Indeed, he felt almost
insanely
jealous.
How the hell had it happened? And why Arabella? How could she, a completely respectable innocent, have captivated him so? How was it possible that this flame-haired
hellion
had managed what no one else had managed to do? The most lush, beautiful women in
Europe
had tried to make him jealous. None had succeeded. None…save Arabella.
He wanted her. He wanted her almost violently. The way he’d wanted her that night at
If it had been any other woman, he would have taken what he wanted. He would have laid siege to her defenses with single-minded intent until he had her exactly where he wanted her, swooning and half-mad with yearning. Denying his desire for a woman wasn’t something Justin was used to. It wasn’t something he had done
ever
. It wasn’t greed or arrogance that assured his success. It simply
was
.
But this was Arabella.
Arabella
.
And she couldn’t stand the sight of him.
An acrid darkness stole through him. He’d been a fool to come here. If he left now, she would never even know he’d been here. But he knew he wouldn’t leave. Not yet. Perhaps this was his own particular brand of punishment — God knew he deserved it! — to bear witness as she lavished her attentions on her devotees, scum though they were! But his temples were throbbing. That last glass of wine had done him in…The air in the ballroom was suddenly stifling.
Without a word, he spun around and directed his steps toward the terrace.
Arabella knew the exact moment Justin entered the ballroom. It was most peculiar, the way it happened. First her heart picked up its beat. Then a strange tickle prickled on her nape, almost as if someone had touched her there…
And she
knew…she knew
Justin was here.
And God above, there he was, talking with Lord Barrington. Tall, lean, clad in evening dress, a froth of snowy white lace at his wrists. No man had a right to look that virile, and she found the thought irksome.
She dragged her gaze away. One of the gentlemen asked a question. She heard herself respond, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall either her reply or the question! The faces before her were just a blur. There was George…or was it Gregory? asking to fetch her another glass of wine. Lord, she couldn’t even remember their names!
When she dared to glance Justin’s way again, his back was toward her. He was walking toward the terrace, with that fluid, unstudied grace so much a part of him.
She almost hurtled upright. “Please excuse me.”
“Miss Templeton!”
“I say, wherever are you —”