November moved toward an end. Barbara had been surprisingly congenial on discovering Justin’s plans to remain at Greville Hall for the upcoming holidays.
“The gossip will resume as soon as we return to the city,” he told his sister. “I refuse to subject my wife to the vicious wagging tongues. In a month or two, with Clay reminding them of Horwick’s sordid reputation and Kassandra hinting at a love match, the entire affair will eventually be forgotten.”
Ariel knew their friends would do just that—make every effort to ease the way for their return to society. They were true and loyal friends. She hoped the day would come when each would learn the value of the other.
In the meantime, life with Justin was becoming more and more strained. It was impossible to mistake the desire he no longer tried to hide; it appeared, white-hot, every time he looked at her. And yet he did not come to her bed.
It was a curse.
And a reprieve.
Just a little more time, she told herself. She needed to understand him, needed to be sure she could trust him. She would protect herself as long as she possibly could.
The days wore on. The holidays were fast approaching, and Ariel set to work on the gift she had in mind for his grandmother. When he returned that night from a ride into the village, he found her with paper and scissors, waiting for him in the library.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said wearily, stripping off his riding jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “I hope you didn’t put off supper.”
“Actually, I thought we might sup in here … after we are finished.”
A black brow slanted up. “And what is it we are finishing?”
She gave him an encouraging smile. “We’re completing the silhouette you promised I could fashion. It will make the perfect gift for your grandmother.”
An odd look appeared on his face. She could have sworn it was embarrassment.
“Come on now,” she teased when he still seemed hesitant. “I promise it won’t hurt. You agreed to let me do a profile miniature and I am holding you to your word.”
He glanced over, saw the candle she had readied, the easel and paper, and gave up a sigh of resignation. “And I imagine I shall have to await any sustenance until after your artistic fervor has been satisfied.”
She laughed. “I imagine it would be all right if we dined first, since you seem to be so ravenous.”
His eyes turned a little darker gray. “I’m ravenous, Ariel,” he said softly. “But not necessarily for food.”
Ariel didn’t reply, but a little whisper of warmth filtered into her stomach. She pretended to straighten her supplies, infusing a light note into her voice. “Supper or the, profile, my lord?”
Neither, his dark look said, but he strode resignedly toward the chair she had set beside the candle and seated himself with such a put-upon expression she fought not to smile.
“We might as well have done with it,” he grumbled. “’Tis obvious you are determined to have your way in this.”
“Exactly so, my lord.”
Lighting the candle, she set to work, using the shadow it cast to outline his profile. Tomorrow she would cut out his image, creating a master. Then she could transfer it onto a piece of plaster, add gold-painted highlights and a bit of sparkle. There was a craftsman in the village who did a lovely job of framing.
Ariel set to work, ignoring the rustle of his clothes as Justin shifted restlessly in the chair, careful to keep her mind on her work. When she had finished, she studied the picture she had drawn, admiring the strong, masculine profile, tracing the lines with the tips of her fingers, wishing she had the courage to touch those same hard contours on his face.
She shook her head against the image and forced her attention back to her work, certain his grandmother would be pleased.
Ariel fervently hoped the elderly woman would rejoice in her long-overdue reunion with her grandson. Secretly she prayed the lady would approve of the wife he had chosen as well.
* * *
November was nearly at an end. Justin had been married for less than ten days when the letter from Clay arrived. A financial problem had arisen in regard to the mining endeavor they had undertaken together. In the note Justin read while sitting in his study, Clay apologized for disturbing him so soon after his wedding, but his presence was needed in London if their mining venture was to go forward as they had planned.
Justin cursed. He didn’t want to leave, not yet. Though the nights without Ariel had been pure hell and even the days often strained, he believed he was making some progress. There were times she actually looked at him without the uncertain, guarded expression she so frequently wore.
He intended for those occasions to grow. He meant to win her trust, no matter what it took. But the mining project was important. Now that he and Clay were the owners, they were responsible for the safety of the men who worked there. Justin had made a thorough inspection of the site before the purchase was completed and returned with a list of improvements necessary to keep the miners safe. The work had been started. Justin wanted the task completed in all haste.
A safer mine meant less chance of a very costly cave-in. In the long run, the profits would be higher. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that dozens, even hundreds of men’s lives could be lost if the mines were not kept in careful repair. It was simply a matter of money, Justin told himself, just like every other decision he made.
Sensing the urgency in Clay’s message, he instructed a footman to have a horse saddled and ready, then headed down the hall to find Ariel. He discovered her in the conservatory, working over the portrait miniature she had fashioned, carefully highlighting his plaster image with faint strokes of gleaming gold paint. He paused in the doorway to watch her, enjoying the look of concentration that pulled her fine, winged brows together, the way she held the tip of her tongue in the corner of her mouth as she worked. Her lips were parted, as pink and moist as her tongue.
His groin tightened. Justin clamped his jaw against the unwanted arousal.
Ariel glanced up just then and gave him an enchanting smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He shifted, came away from the door, found himself smiling in return. “You were working. It looks as if you’re almost finished.”
“Almost. I still need to have it framed.”
He nodded, his thoughts shifting to the trip he would have to make, already wishing he didn’t have to go. “Something’s come up. I have to return to London for a couple of days.”
“Business?” She set her paintbrush aside and wiped her hands on the apron tied over her gray wool dress.
“The mining project Clay and I are involved in. A banking matter, money we need for improvements.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Not long. A couple of days. I’m leaving as soon as I can pack a valise.”
Her expression changed, became more uncertain. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
He reached out to her, ran a finger along her jaw. “So do I.” But he did have to go, and the sooner he left, the sooner he could return.
“I don’t suppose I could go with you?”
He’d thought about taking her along, but wanting her as he constantly did left him edgy and out of sorts, and the roads were muddy, the skies overcast and grim. “I can travel faster if I go alone. Besides, the weather may turn even more unpleasant. I’d rather you stayed here.”
Ariel glanced away. “Perhaps you’re right. Christmastide approaches. I need to finish the gifts I am making.”
“See me out?”
Ariel nodded and accepted his arm, walking with him down the hall to the entry, waiting as he climbed the stairs and went into their suite. When he returned a few minutes later, satchel in hand, she reappeared, his cloak draped over her arm. She held it out for him, settled it around his shoulders, tied it at the base of his throat.
He circled her waist with his hands and drew her closer. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Will you?”
Bending his head, he brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” Turning away, he headed for the door and his waiting horse. Wondering, perhaps for the first time in his existence, if putting business ahead of everything else was really the way he wanted to live.
* * *
Ariel sat in the study, her head bent over the paperwork on the gleaming mahogany desk. During the days since their arrival, Justin had commandeered the study as his own personal domain. Not that it mattered. Barbara had little use for the dark, wood-paneled, overly masculine room. She was hardly interested in matters of business.
But Ariel was, and with Justin gone these past few days, she’d grown restless. Stacks of business reports, investment proposals, and ledgers that needed reviewing formed a rising pile on his desk. Ariel had worked with him enough to know what needed to be done with most of them and, lonesome in his absence, had wandered into the study and wound up sitting down to work.
As always, she was quickly immersed, challenged by the columns of numbers, playing mathematical games in her head, rapidly performing tasks that would have taken her husband hours to complete.
Her husband. She was only beginning to think of him that way. And yet she liked the notion. Since their marriage, Justin had been strong and supportive, the kind of husband a woman dreamed of marrying.
If things continued in that vein, perhaps, as Kitt had said, in time it would all work out.
Ariel started on another column of numbers, heard the rustle of silk, and glanced at the door. Barbara Townsend floated toward her in that graceful way of hers, a smug smile on her face.
“Well, apparently he has discovered a use for you after all.”
Jabbing the quill pen back in its silver holder, Ariel came to her feet. “And exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
Barbara’s smile stretched wider. “Why, dearest sister-in-law, you’ve been wed for less than two weeks and already your groom hies off to London. It would appear your talents lie in directions other than the bedchamber.”
Heat rushed into Ariel’s cheeks. “My husband was forced to return to the city on a matter of urgent business. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“Will he?” A sleek black brow arched knowingly. She shrugged her shoulders. “Then again, perhaps he will. A day or two of carousing with Clayton Harcourt should provide him ample opportunity to satisfy his penchant for variety, at least for another few weeks.”
The color in Ariel’s face drained away. “I don’t believe you. You only want to cause trouble for Justin. Why do you hate him so much? What has he ever done to you?”
“What has he done? He was born, that is what he has done. The man is a bastard, the son of my lecherous father and one of his numerous whores. Justin’s mere existence is an insult to my mother and to me. On top of that, he has stolen my son’s birthright. It is Thomas who should now be Earl of Greville.”
“Perhaps one day he will be.”
“Are you telling me you do not carry my half brother’s child?”
“Not yet. Though I hope one day I will.”
Barbara’s vicious smile remained firmly in place. “It could happen, I suppose … if he doesn’t squander his precious seed all over London.”
“He is there on business.”
Barbara laughed. “Surely you are not that naive. Justin could never be content with only one woman. He has always been the sort to move from bed to bed, taking his pleasure wherever he chooses. Oh, he isn’t like Clayton Harcourt. Harcourt would need a dozen different women to satisfy his lusty appetite. My brother prefers them one at a time. Of course, now that he’s married, I suppose he’s attempting to be a bit more discreet.”
“It isn’t true.”
“You might as well get used to it, my girl. They are all the same. That is simply the way it is.”
Ariel made no reply. Her hands were shaking. Her face felt bloodless and numb. Barbara was lying. She only wanted to stir up trouble. But when Ariel looked into those hard Greville gray eyes, she saw that Barbara Townsend believed every word she had spoken. She was convinced that Justin was being unfaithful, and if his sister believed it so strongly, dear God, it might just be true.
A wave of nausea rolled over her. Ariel sank back down in her chair.
“You look as though you could use a cup of tea,” Barbara said sweetly. “I shall have Perkins fetch you a good strong cup.” With that she departed the study, hips swaying as she moved out the door.
Ariel stared after her, feeling sick to her stomach. She wanted to believe in Justin as she once had, but dear God, it was so hard to do. He had come to her bed only once since their marriage. He seemed to want her, and yet he had left her and gone off to London. She had never forgotten the cruel words he had spoken that morning in his study.
“Last night Clayton and I … stumbled across some rather entertaining companions.”
“You aren’t talking about … about women?”
“I’m sorry, my dear, but you knew sooner or later it would happen. You were quite good, really … but a man’s tastes change.”
Ariel shivered. “A man’s tastes change.” It was true, she knew. The late earl was proof enough of that.
And two days later, when Justin had still not returned and she’d had no word from him, she thought that Barbara must be correct.
She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t work. Her appetite disappeared completely—along with her hopes and dreams.
When Justin arrived at Greville Hall the following night in a driving rain, his clothes damp and clinging, his cloak dripping water and plastered against his long, booted legs, instead of greeting him in the entry as she had intended, she remained upstairs in her room. She didn’t want to see him. She was afraid of what she would read in his face.
She was afraid she had been an even bigger fool than before, and if it were true, this time her heart would not mend.
* * *
Justin drew the cloak from his shoulders and handed it to Perkins, who held it away from him, bushy gray eyebrows raised as he carried it dripping down the hall. Hoping Ariel would be waiting, Justin glanced around the entry, but instead of the wife he so eagerly wanted to see, little Thomas came running.
“Uncle Justin!”
The child leaped into the air and Justin caught him, lifted him up, and held him at arm’s length. “Good God, you’ve grown a full stone heavier since I’ve been away.”
Thomas laughed delightedly as Justin set his small feet firmly back down on the floor.
“Did you bring me a present?”
He arched a brow. “Were you a good boy while I was gone?”
The little boy’s smile slid away. “Mama said I was bad. She made me go to bed without my supper.” He grinned, exposing the hole where his teeth should have been. “Aunt Ariel sneaked me a mutton pasty and an apple tart, but don’t tell Mama.”
Justin squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small wooden ship he had brought the child from London. It was fashioned of fine Oriental teak, with miniature white canvas sails and black-painted string to serve as rigging.
“It’s beautiful,” Thomas said, touching the ship with awe.
“Not an it, a she. Ships are all thought of as women. This one’s the Mirabelle. See? Her name’s painted in gold on the stern.”
“The Mirabelle.” He traced the name with his finger. “That’s a really pretty name.” Clutching the little ship to his chest, he grinned. “Thank you, Uncle Justin.”
“You’re welcome.” Justin glanced around again, searching for Ariel. “Where’s your aunt? Have you seen her?”
“She’s upstairs in her room. I don’t think she is feeling very well.”
Justin frowned. He ruffled the boy’s dark hair and turned toward the stairs, climbing them hurriedly, then striding down the hall. He knocked briefly, opened the door, and went in.
Ariel was sitting in front of the fire, her fingers moving over a piece of stitchery. She turned at his approach.
“Ariel … love, are you all right? Thomas said you weren’t feeling well.” He strode toward her, would have pulled her up off the sofa and into his arms, but something in her eyes held him back.
Ariel carefully laid her stitchery aside. He thought that her face looked pale. “I’m fine. I didn’t … I didn’t hear you come in.”
Why did he wonder if that was really true? And if it wasn’t, why not?
“I rode like blazes to get here. I hoped to be home sooner, but a meeting came up I had to attend. On top of that, the papers at the bank weren’t ready for me to sign. I could have gone back later, but I didn’t want to make another trip.”
She came up from the sofa and gave him a smile, but it wasn’t the sort he had imagined. It was filled with uncertainty, her eyes faintly shadowed.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m just a little tired is all. I’m afraid I have the headache. I thought I would go to bed early … that is, if you don’t mind.”
He minded. He had hoped, insanely, that while he was gone she might have missed him. That when he returned, she might welcome him—without uncertainty, without hesitation—back into her bed. But it wasn’t going to happen, and if she were truly ill, she needed to rest and take care of herself.
He managed to summon a smile. “Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
But she didn’t seem her usual self even then, and his worry began to grow. She avoided him most of the day, and that evening at supper she seemed so distant he left her and retired to his study.
He couldn’t help wondering what had happened in the days he had been away, what could have made her withdraw from him even more than she had already.
Give her a little more time, he told himself. But deep inside he began to worry that what little she had ever felt for him had finally faded and completely disappeared.
* * *
December brought chilling winds and icy rain. Though the weather was inclement, Ariel saw little of her husband. Ever since his trip into the city, she had avoided him. Sadly, he seemed not to care. She was terrified Barbara was right and that he had gone to London to be with another woman. The trust she had earlier begun to rebuild had all but drained away.
Still, there were occasions when they were thrown together. Like the evening Barbara announced she was giving a party—a Christmas soiree, she called it—to celebrate the official beginning of the season. Nothing extravagant, Barbara promised, just a few of her closest friends.
At first Justin protested, but Barbara was insistent.
“The invitations were sent out weeks ago. It never occurred to me you might disapprove. We hold a Christmas party at Greville Hall every year. It’s practically a family tradition.” She smiled thinly. “But then you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Justin clenched his jaw but made no reply.
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” he told Ariel, once Barbara was gone. “We shall be forced to reenter society sooner or later. Perhaps a smaller affair here at the house is a good way to begin.”
With the way things stood between them, she was scarcely ready to entertain, but as he had said, the time would have to come, sooner or later. “Perhaps you’re right. At any rate, the party is only a few days away. If the invitations have been already been sent, I don’t see we have much choice.”
“And I shall add a few names of my own to the guest list, people we can count on for support.”
The soiree would go forward, it seemed, but it mattered very little to Ariel. Justin still hadn’t come to her bed. If he wasn’t sleeping with someone else surely he would have sought her out by now.
The night of the ball arrived and the tension between them seemed almost palpable.
Dressing with care, Ariel chose a high-waisted gold silk brocade gown. It was a magnificent creation, with sparkling white brilliants across the front of a low-cut bodice that exposed the tops of her breasts. It was a seductive gown, chosen to help bolster her flagging spirits.
The party was already in progress when she made her way downstairs, her nerves thrumming, a tight knot in the pit of her stomach. She was surprised to find her husband waiting. When he looked up at her, surveyed the gown and her upswept pale blond hair, one of his rare, charming smiles appeared, and the knot in her stomach loosened a little. She descended the stairs with a bit less trepidation and actually managed to smile.
“You look beautiful,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’ll be the envy of every man here.”
A flush rose into her cheeks, though she was certain it was she who would be envied. Tall and elegantly garbed in dark gray and burgundy, the diamond stickpin sparkling in his cravat, he looked dark and forbidding, and unbelievably handsome.
Justin smiled and offered his arm, and they moved across the entry, down the hall, and through the wide double doors of the drawing room.
Barbara’s notion of a small soiree turned out to be a sterling affair: an orchestra playing in the long gallery, the furniture removed for dancing, a drawing room set aside for gaming, and a sumptuous late-night buffet. The house was decorated elaborately in cream and silver, with evergreen garlands draped over the mantels and white blooming hellebores scenting the air from silver urns.
Music drifting in from the gallery mingled with voices in the drawing room, and Ariel’s nervousness returned. With the scandal Horwick had created and the Earl of Greville’s hasty marriage to a woman of scarlet reputation, she knew the kind of reception they would face. As they moved farther into the drawing room, Ariel’s fingers trembled against the sleeve of Justin’s coat. She could hear the whispered words and see the measuring glances.
Beside her, Justin’s features looked bland, but a muscle throbbed in his cheek. Ariel frantically searched the room for a friendly face, wishing Kassandra had come, but her father, worried about his daughter’s penchant for trouble, had forbidden her to make an appearance. For once Kitt had obeyed.
Instead, the first to approach them was Clayton Harcourt, who smiled and made an elaborate bow over her hand.
“You’re looking radiant tonight, my lady,” he said with a charming smile.
“Thank you, Clay. I’m so very glad you could come.” That was the truth. It was good to have at least one friend in a room full of enemies.
Clay must have read her thoughts, for he leaned a bit closer. “Your husband thought you might need a little moral support, so I brought along a friend.” He turned his attention to the handsome gray-haired man beside him, a man who was as tall as Clay, with the same warm golden brown eyes. “Your Grace, may I present to you the Countess of Greville. My lady, the Duke of Rathmore.”
She sank into a curtsy, her heart thundering wildly. Clayton’s father. It never occurred to her that Rathmore might stand behind them. “I’m honored, Your Grace.”
He gave her a smile of obvious approval. “The pleasure is mine, my lady, I assure you. Your husband and I are well acquainted, of course. I’m pleased to see the rogue has finally had the good sense to wed—and a woman of rare beauty, I might add.”
She flushed a bit. “Thank you.”
“I shall expect you to save me a dance, young woman. I haven’t traveled these damnable muddy roads only to discover your dance card is already filled.”
She laughed, the duke’s droll humor putting her immediately at ease. “I should never do such a thing. I would be honored to dance with you, Your Grace—anytime you wish.”
He grinned and a dimple appeared in his cheek. Clay had one in almost exactly that spot, she recalled. They chatted pleasantly for a while; then an old acquaintance of the duke’s appeared and persuaded him away.
Still, Clay’s machinations had worked. With the duke’s stamp of approval on the earl and his bride, the atmosphere in the room swiftly changed. Several other guests—Lord Foxmoor, whom Ariel had met briefly in Tunbridge Wells, Lord and Lady Oxnard, and half a dozen others—came over to pay their respects. Even Lady Foxmoor seemed to forgive Ariel her former transgressions. Ariel thought it had a great deal to do with the partnership Lord Foxmoor was involved in with Justin and the substantial profits it continued to earn.
The evening went on, endlessly it seemed to Ariel, but so far nothing had really gone amiss. The dancing continued, and when the orchestra struck up a waltz, Justin led her out to the long gallery and onto the makeshift dance floor.
When he settled a hand at her waist and swept her into a graceful turn, Ariel sighed in sheer pleasure.
“I’ve dreamt of waltzing with you,” Justin said softly, his long, graceful strides carrying them around the dance floor as if they were floating.
“Have you?” She could feel the brush of his thigh, the strength of his hand at her back, and a soft curl of heat sifted into her stomach.
“On more than one occasion.” His eyes moved over her face. “Do you know what I usually dream?”
She couldn’t look away from those hard, dark features. “What do you usually dream?”
“I dream of our wedding night. Of how sweet you tasted, how your body responded to mine, of what it felt like to be inside you. I dream of being inside you again.”
Her stomach contracted. She fought down a fierce rush of longing. For an instant, she lost track of the dance and he pulled her closer, guiding her easily, finding the rhythm of the waltz once more. His eyes were a clear dark gray and his gaze intense. He hadn’t missed the way his words had affected her.
How could they not? She remembered that night every bit as clearly as he.
The music stopped before she wanted it to. With a faint bow of his head, he stepped away, his look enigmatic once more.
The duke appeared in the gallery a few minutes later to claim the dance she had promised, sweeping her once more onto the dance floor. Justin’s protective gaze followed. He’d been solicitous all evening, careful to keep her away from Barbara’s transparent innuendos and the false, condescending smiles of her friends.
Perhaps she’d been wrong, Ariel thought with yearning. Perhaps Barbara had been wrong.
Then a party of late arrivals made their way through the gallery doors, and Ariel’s attention swung to them. One of the group stood out from the others, a tall, olive-skinned woman with prominent cheekbones and high, full breasts. She was beautiful in the extreme, overshadowing the short, gray-haired man who appeared to be her escort. She was lovely and exotic, and the moment she turned her thick-lashed black eyes on Justin, Ariel knew without doubt the woman had once been his lover.
Her chest constricted so hard for a moment it was difficult to breathe. She stumbled and would have fallen if the duke hadn’t had a firm grip on her waist.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes … yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all.”
His eyes followed hers and he frowned. “Lady Eastgate. She’s a close friend of your sister-in-law’s, but I’m surprised that she is here.”
Don’t say it, she thought, but couldn’t resist. “Because she and my husband were … involved?”
The duke’s assessing gaze swung to hers. “Your husband is a man, my dear, not a saint. Lady Eastgate is a beautiful woman and a widow. And their … involvement … was over long before he met you.”
She pasted on a smile and prayed it was true. Then, with obvious determination, the woman made her way to Justin’s side, and Ariel thought with a knife-sharp pain that the duke might very well be mistaken.
Was Lady Eastgate the woman Justin had gone to see in London? She was elegant and sophisticated, the sort who might not care that he was now a married man. When the dance ended, Ariel excused herself and quietly made her way out onto the terrace. She could slip around the house to the rear, climb the servants’ stairs to her room, and no one would be the wiser.
All the way there, she thought of Justin and the beautiful, exotic woman. By the time she reached the sanctity of her bedchamber, it was all she could do to not weep.