“Lady Eastgate.” Justin bowed stiffly over the slender fingers encased in long white gloves, his eyes hard on her face. Roselyn Beresford, widow of the Marquess of Eastgate, half-English daughter of a Spanish count, was beautiful and desirable, and for a very short time the lady had shared his bed. But Roselyn’s heart was nearly as empty as his own, he had discovered, and his desire for her had rapidly waned.
“It’s good to see you, Justin.” She smiled behind the sweep of her hand-painted fan. “I’ve missed you these past few months.”
“Have you?” Well, he certainly hadn’t missed her, and it was obvious that his loss of affection—if one could call it that—hadn’t set well with her. “No one treats the Marchioness of Eastgate as if she were some cast-off piece of garbage!” she had screeched at him the night he had ended the affair. She had threatened retribution—which was exactly the reason she was there.
“Congratulations,” she said with a thin, brittle smile. “Your sister relayed the news of your recent nuptials. I wanted to extend my felicitations personally.”
“How kind of you,” he said dryly.
Her eyebrows lifted as she scanned the room. “Where is the blushing bride?”
Justin looked around but saw no sign of his wife. Ariel had been dancing with Rathmore when Roselyn walked in. Where was she now? “Perhaps she has gone for some refreshment. Since she appears to be missing at present, I shall be happy to convey your best wishes for you.”
“Oh, but I do so want to meet this paragon you have wed. As I remember it, you said you had no desire to marry. You were quite adamant about it at the time.”
Justin smiled coldly. “I hadn’t met Ariel at the time.”
Roselyn’s smile turned snide. “I see.”
“I hope you do indeed.” He stepped closer, spoke so that only she could hear. “My wife means a great deal to me, Roselyn. I warn you, should you do anything to distress her in any way, I shall take it very personally. Since I know a substantial amount about your late husband’s business affairs—or lack of success in that regard—I’ll be happy to let those facts become known in places you might find embarrassing. Do you understand me … your ladyship?”
Her demeanor turned icy, her dark eyes narrowing into black-lashed slits. “I understand completely.”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He gave her the faintest semblance of a smile. “Have a good evening.”
Roselyn said nothing, but her lush mouth flattened to a tight little line. Ignoring the hostile glare that followed him across the room, he went in search of Ariel, damning his sister all the way. Barbara had invited Roselyn simply to cause him trouble. He was very afraid she had succeeded.
He checked the gallery, the gaming room, and the main salon but found no sign of his wife. Spotting Clay in conversation with Lord and Lady Oxnard, he paused to ask if perhaps one of them might have seen her.
“She was dancing with my … with Rathmore the last I noticed,” Clay said, casting him a speculative glance.
“I believe I caught a glimpse of her slipping outside for a breath of fresh air.” Lady Oxnard lifted her lorgnette to peer through the terrace doors. “It’s terribly chilly out there. I’m sure she must have returned inside by now.”
Surely she had, but Ariel was rarely put off by the cold, and he knew how difficult this night had been for her. He stepped out onto the terrace into a fine, drizzling mist. The flagstones were slick beneath his shoes, the chill in the air quickly seeping into his clothes. He saw no sign of Ariel and started back toward the house, but a trace of movement in the garden caught his eye. He strode in that direction, down the steps and along the gravel path to the gazebo. The bushes moved again, and the housekeeper’s yellow tabby jumped out of the shrubbery onto a low stone bench. Cursing, his worry increasing, Justin headed back inside the house.
Still no sign of Ariel. Certain now that something was wrong, he climbed the sweeping staircase to the room adjoining his and rapped on the door. He hadn’t thought she would retire with so many guests in the house. Now, his jaw set grimly, he stepped inside without waiting for permission and spotted her silhouette in the moonlight streaming in through the window.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said softly, moving toward her. “I didn’t think to find you here. You aren’t feeling unwell, are you?”
“No, I…” She glanced down and he saw that she still held her dance card in one hand. He noticed that it trembled. In the wispy light, her face looked pale, her pretty blue eyes clouded with some painful emotion.
He caught her chin and gently lifted it, forcing her eyes to his face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She shook her head, tried for a smile, and faltered. “Nothing is wrong,” she said, but her eyes filled with tears.
He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, but his clothes were damp with mist, and he forced himself to remain where he was. “We’re married now. I’m your husband. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She turned away from him, walked over to the window, stared down at the winter-barren garden. “I saw you with the woman. She was your lover, wasn’t she?”
Silently he cursed. “It was months ago, before we ever met.”
She turned to face him, her eyes luminous with tears. “I told myself that I would keep silent … that I wouldn’t ask. But I can’t pretend any longer. I have to know the truth.”
He stiffened, bracing himself for the worst, something he had done that he wasn’t even aware of. “Go on.”
“When you went to London … your business … was it just an excuse to leave? Did you go there to be with another woman?”
For an instant, his heart seemed to stop. “That is what you believe?”
“I don’t know; I … Your sister said you could never be content with only one woman. She said that was the reason you left, that you needed variety. Tonight … when I saw you with Lady Eastgate … I knew she had been your lover. I thought that perhaps she was the woman you went to see.”
He covered the distance between them in two long strides and dragged her into his arms. He was soaking her gown, but he no longer cared. He wanted her to know the truth, wanted her to believe in him again. He had to make that happen.
“My sister is a vicious little liar,” he said against her hair. “You know that as well as I do. There was no other woman. I don’t want any other woman. I haven’t since the day I met you.” He felt her shiver, cursed himself, and stepped away.
“You must believe that, Ariel. If our marriage is to have the slightest chance of success you must believe I am telling you the truth.”
“I want to,” she whispered. “I want to believe you more than anything in the world.”
His gaze remained steady on her face. “I lied to you once in the past. I won’t do it again. Not ever. I went to the city on business. I didn’t take you with me because I wanted you here, where you’d be warm and safe.” His hand trembled as he cupped her cheek. “Say you believe me.”
Long, silent moments passed. Then her eyes slid closed and she stepped back into his arms. “I believe you.”
His hold tightened fiercely around her. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Trust me, Ariel,” he whispered. “I won’t fail you again.” God, it felt so good just to hold her, to smell the scent of lilac that drifted up from her hair.
“You’re shivering,” he said. “I’ve dampened your clothes.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her arms slid up around his neck. “Nothing matters except that it’s me you want and not someone else.”
Justin crushed her against him. “I want you,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll always want you.” And then he was tilting her head back, taking her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss, claiming her as he had wanted to do for so long. When she opened to him, welcoming the sweep of his tongue, the darkness inside him seemed to fade and slowly disappear.
“Justin…” she whispered, clinging to him as if she’d never let him go. He kissed her again, softly, deeply, wanting her, certain now that she wanted him, too. His hands shook as he began to unbutton her beautiful golden gown. He would make her his, banish her chill with the heat of his body. The gown fell open and he slid it off her shoulders. It pooled on the floor as he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.” Another hungry kiss, Ariel kissing him as fiercely as he was kissing her.
They made love urgently, wildly, making up for the time they had lost.
Afterward, he curled her against his side and simply held her, his fingers stroking gently over her hair. She was exhausted from the tension of the evening. Eventually her eyes slowly closed and she drifted off to sleep. In slumber, the worry was gone from her face, the uncertainty that had haunted her for so long. He wanted to see it banished forever and vowed he would do whatever it took to make that happen.
He thought of his sister’s cruelty, the doubt she had worked so hard to instill, and his jaw hardened. If Barbara persisted in causing trouble, he would see her removed from Greville Hall. If it weren’t for Thomas, he would do so now, this very night. But he didn’t have the heart to uproot the child and send him away.
He knew only too well what it felt like to be shuffled from one place to the next, with no real family, no place to call home.
Still, Barbara’s hostile attitude was going to change. If it didn’t and that meant sending her away, so be it. One way or another, his sister’s cruelty was coming to an end. Barbara would soon learn the consequences should she ever make trouble for either of them again.
He owed it to Ariel. And, he suddenly realized, he owed it to himself.
* * *
In the sitting room of the sumptuous master suite the following day, Barbara stood rigid, waiting for the door to close behind her brother’s retreating figure. The moment he disappeared out of sight, her hands balled into fists.
“How dare he!” Anger bubbled like acid in her throat. How dare he! She whirled toward the writing desk in the corner and marched in that direction. It took a moment to calm herself enough to remove the quill pen and dip it into the inkwell. Even then, tiny drops trailed across the top of the sheet of paper.
“Dearest Phillip,” she began, then frowned and hastily scratched through the words. Wadding up the paper, she tossed it away and drew out a second clean sheet. “My darling Phillip…” In the body of the letter, she described her encounter with her brother, how Justin had railed at her, threatened to toss her out of the house—a house that rightfully belonged to her son!—spilling out all of the bile she carried inside, knowing he was the single person in the world who would sympathize.
Telling him it was time to go forward with their plan.
She signed it: “With all my love, Barbara,” sealed it with wax, and rang for a footman to see it delivered. Her hands no longer trembled. The anger simmered now, just below the surface. Justin might think he had won, and for the present she would let him believe it. But not for long. Oh, no, not for long.
The stakes were high, the risks great, but the game would soon be over.
Barbara hadn’t the slightest doubt that ultimately she would be the winner.
* * *
The weather cleared. The first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, the crisp, chill air turning his breath to frosty plumes as Justin made his way to the stable. A young groom named Michael O’Flaharty emerged from the shadows, having quickly adapted to his master’s early-morning routine.
Each day at sunup, Justin left the house and set off over the rolling hills of the estate he had only just begun to think of as truly belonging to him. Until his recent arrival with Ariel, shadows of an unpleasant past had kept him away. Greville Hall had been his father’s pride and joy, a monument to his money and fine sense of taste. The earl had made it a showplace. With his daughter in residence, the earl had spent most of his time there.
For Justin, the lovely stone mansion nestled in the verdant Surrey countryside had embodied all that his father cherished, all that his son was denied.
Justin’s mother, the daughter of a squire named William Bedford, had lived, for a time, in a cottage not far away. As a boy, Justin had spent hours prowling the fields around the house, watching, with an aching sense of loss, the comings and goings of the father who refused to claim him.
Though the house now belonged to him and had for several years, the memories it held had simply been too painful.
He discovered that was no longer true.
Justin filled his lungs with the crisp morning air and set his heels lightly to the sleek bay hunter Michael had saddled for him. The animal was lean and well muscled, and keenly perceptive of his commands. The earl had been a good judge of horses and it showed in the finely bred stock in his stable.
My stable, Justin corrected. The beautiful bay hunter belonged to him now. It shouldn’t be so difficult a thing to remember.
He nudged the bay into a canter and rode off down the hill. A small copse of trees marked the path in the distance. He rode the same way almost every morning, traveling through the forest, then fanning out on the opposite side in different directions, learning the land that belonged to him. Chiding himself for not doing so long before this, admitting that if Barbara hadn’t been in residence he would have.
But Barbara’s bitterness could no longer hurt him, and little by little the shadows were slipping away, the hurtful memories fading, replaced by new, sweet memories he was only just beginning to create. Memories of his time with Ariel.
In the months since she had come into his life, the shroud of darkness that engulfed him had begun to fade, letting in the light of a promising future.
Just thinking about her made a yearning rise in his chest that was almost painful. It was amazing how important she had become to him, how he looked forward to returning to the house to find her waiting, how sweet it was to simply share a meal with her. A single night of lovemaking with Ariel was more pleasurable than all of the hours combined he had spent in the arms of other women.
It frightened him a little, these feelings she stirred, when he had been so certain no feeling at all existed in the icy cavern he called a heart. He wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with them, or even precisely what to call them, and since he remained uncertain, he decided to simply enjoy them for as long as they lasted.
Justin reined the bay down into the trees, the naked branches casting long, thin fingers of shadow across his face. Up ahead, the brambles grew thicker, blocking the watery sunlight and shrouding the trail in darkness, a narrow winding path in search of the light on the opposite side. He ducked beneath the branches of a yew tree, the needles white with frost and rustling against his cloak as he passed.
The trail dropped into a slight depression, and the horse’s ears perked up. The muscles in the animal’s legs went stiff, and the animal shied a bit off the trail.
“Easy, boy.” Justin patted the horse’s neck and urged him forward, but the bay sidestepped and began to dance. “What is it, boy?” The gelding blew nervously, and Justin searched the underbrush, looking for the source of the animal’s distress.
He spotted the three rough-looking men in the dense growth of foliage the same instant a shot rang out and a sharp, burning pain slammed into his shoulder.
Footpads—bloody hell! Whirling the horse, he leaned over the gelding’s neck, and the animal leaped forward, eyes wild, nostrils flaring at the smell of Justin’s blood.
“Get ’im!” one of the men shouted, breaking out of the brush and rushing toward him. “Don’t let the blighter get away!” Another took off through the woods, trying to cut off his trail. Justin spotted him through the heavy growth of vines and shrubs, caught the glint of metal as the man aimed his pistol. Justin reined the horse hard to the left, into the cover of the trees. The pistol roared, the ball whizzing by so close he could feel the whoosh of the wind past his cheek.
His shoulder throbbed. His shirt and riding coat were soaked with blood. He set his teeth against the pain and urged the horse left again, made a sharp right around a tree, ducked beneath the branches, and cut left again, racing toward the sunlight and the distant hilly fields. The third man appeared out of nowhere, stepping into his path, grabbing the horse’s bridle, sending the frightened animal up on its hind legs and nearly unseating him.
Justin cursed. The horse whinnied in fear, his front legs pawing the air, the hooves dangerously sharp and only inches from the brigand’s face. He hurled himself out of the way and swung the pistol upward. Justin lashed out with his boot, slammed it into the man’s thick wrist, and heard a yelp of pain. The gun fired harmlessly into the air and careened into the trees. Another hard kick sent his assailant flying, landing with a grunt in the dirt, and Justin rode hard for the edge of the forest.
Bright sunlight broke through the branches up ahead. The gelding stumbled and nearly went down, righted himself, and kept on going. They reached the opening to the sound of another gunshot, and Justin urged the horse into a flat-out run. In seconds they had reached the crest of the hill and disappeared out of range down the opposite side.
It was a damned good thing. He had lost so much blood he was beginning to feel dizzy, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay conscious. Clamping his jaw, he locked his arms around the gelding’s neck, loosened the rein, and gave the horse his head.
The thunder of hooves and the bone-jarring pain in his shoulder were the last things he remembered until he heard Ariel’s scream.
She was crying, he saw when he summoned the strength to pry open his eyes, and among his muzzy thoughts came the painful notion that he had somehow hurt her again.