Heartless (16 page)

“The days are slipping past. It is time we discussed our bargain.”

Her stomach clenched. Dear God, she was afraid of this. Ariel moistened her lips, remembering his sister's words.
“If he hasn't already had you, he must be quite determined to do so.”
“What … What about it?”

He straightened a bit, fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall above her head, studying it as if it were the most interesting object in the room. “It is obvious I was mistaken in believing that, in time, you might return the … affection … I feel for you. Since the notion of becoming my mistress is so repugnant—”

“That's not so!” she broke in, appalled at the words he had chosen. “You mustn't think it is you, my lord.”

“No? What is it, then?”

Ariel searched for the words, knowing how important this was. “It isn't you,” she repeated. “Well, perhaps it was in the beginning. I didn't know you then, and in truth, you can be quite intimidating.”

His mouth edged up, a rather fine mouth, she thought, remembering how much softer it felt than it looked.

“Yes … I'm certain I can be.”

“Now that I know you, I find you … Well, I think you are a very attractive man and any woman who wished to become your mistress would undoubtedly be pleased to be chosen.”

“But you are not that woman,” he said dryly.

“No. That is, I don't wish to become any man's mistress.”

“Not even Phillip Marlin's?”

She flushed. Did he really think she would prefer Phillip to him? Because suddenly and very clearly she realized, if she were forced to choose, she would far rather be involved with the earl.

“What I am trying to say is that becoming a man's mistress is something far different than I first understood. And in truth, when I made my bargain, I never really believed I would have to go through with it. I always thought … when the time actually came … I'd find another way to repay the money. Now that I'm older, I realize the sort of future a woman like that has. And I … Well, I despise the notion of selling my body like the lowliest strumpet.”

A muscle bunched in the earl's lean cheek. “I never would have thought of you that way,” he said softly. When Ariel made no reply, he released a long, weary breath and came to his feet. “Whatever the case, it is no longer important. I told you once I wouldn't force you into my bed. The other night I realized that by holding the cost of your education over your head, that is exactly what I was doing. As of this moment, Ariel Summers, your debt is completely and fully repaid.”

Her heart jerked. Surely she hadn't heard him correctly. But her pulse was racing even faster and her mind was saying it was true.
It's over! I'm free!
shouted a little voice inside her. As she had hoped from the beginning, the earl had released her from their bargain. She sat there shaking, heady with relief, wondering why she wasn't smiling. Why she wasn't laughing with joyous abandon.

“I'll find a place for you to live,” he was saying. “Arrange for a monthly stipend to be paid—”

“No.” The word came out of its own accord, but once it was said, she recognized the rightness of it.

The earl's head came up. “What?”

“I said no. I won't accept any more of your charity.”

One of those slashing black brows arched up. “You won't accept my charity? You have no family, no money, no one else to turn to. What in God's name are you talking about?”

“I'm telling you I won't take another farthing of your money—I've already taken more than enough. And I still wish to repay you.” She glanced at the stack of paperwork that habitually sat on his desk, ledgers and portfolios, some of them dog-eared from hours of use, all of them filled with endless pages of numbers. “I wish to work for you as I did before.”

For a moment he stood there utterly speechless. “That's impossible,” he finally said.

“Why is it impossible? Between your duties as earl and keeping up with your investments, you work from dusk till dawn. You said yourself you hated doing the numbers. Let me do them for you.”

“Respectable women don't do that sort of work.”

“Respectable women don't make the sort of bargain I made.”

He sank heavily down in his chair. “Where would you live?”

“Here, of course. There is plenty of room and I can pay my debt off faster if I don't have to worry about spending money for rent and food. You have dozens of servants in the house. I could live on the third floor with them.”

Justin raked a hand through his hair, dislodging a few of the thick black strands. “This is insane.”

At last she felt like smiling. “You've given me innumerable gifts—my education, my speech, even the clothes I am wearing. I intend to repay you with the gift of my labor. What is insane about that?”

He glanced up, pinned her with his steady gaze. It occurred to her that tired or not, angry or not, he was still one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

“There is still the problem of the lust I feel for you,” he said. “I want you, Ariel. That isn't going to lessen as long as you remain here.”

Some little demon inside her reared its ugly head. “You can always go back to the woman you stayed with while you were away.”

“I wasn't with a woman.”

“Of course it's really none of my concern, but—”

“If you must know, I got reeling drunk and stayed that way for two straight days. I was drunk when I came home. Believe me, I paid for my folly.”

She had the good grace to flush. “I'm sorry. As I said, it is none of my concern.” But the demon was gleefully grinning, and Ariel was far more pleased than she should have been.

Justin rounded the desk and walked toward her, and Ariel stood up, too.

He stopped right in front of her. “All right … we'll do it your way—on three conditions.”

She eyed him with a hint of suspicion. “What are they?”

“First, you remain in the bedchamber you currently occupy. We've both invested a great deal in turning you into a lady. I intend to see that you continue being treated as one.”

“I can hardly protest living well. What are the other two conditions?”

“While you're here, we decide what to do about your future.”

“And?”

“And you stay away from Phillip Marlin.”

She couldn't see Phillip for as long as she remained with the earl. Funny, giving him up wasn't nearly so hard this time.

Ariel slowly smiled, feeling free for the first time in years. Free and in charge of her life. Whatever happened now, whatever future was in store for her, would be of her own choosing. “Agreed,” she said firmly. Then she grinned. “When do we start?”

*   *   *

In the smoking room of Brook's Club, St. James's, Clay Harcourt lounged in a comfortable brown leather chair across from his friend Justin Ross. In the past, Justin rarely came to the club. For the past two weeks, he had been there nearly every evening.

Clay took a slow draw on his cigar, tilted his head back, and allowed the smoke to float upward in lazy blue rings. “So … how're things going with your newest employee?”

Justin glanced toward him, seemed to drag himself out of a fog. “I'm sorry. What did you say? My mind must have wandered.”

“So I see. I don't suppose you were thinking about a woman? Perhaps a saucy little baggage with the smile of a saint and face of a silver-haired angel?”

Justin made a sound of disgust in his throat. “Unfortunately, she rarely leaves my thoughts these days. I almost wish my sister was still in residence. Barbara was a thorn in all of our sides, but at least she served as a sort of buffer. Without her and Thomas to intercede, it's been bloody hell.”

Clay chuckled softly. Justin was often brooding and distant, but Clay had never seen him quite like this, not even in the days when he thought he was in love with Margaret Simmons. “Take heart, my friend. Her debt will be repaid in what … maybe another ten years?”

Justin cast a dark look his way. “I'm paying her a king's ransom for the work she is doing, and I find your attempt at humor in light of the situation more than a little annoying.”

Clay bit back a smile. “Sorry,” he said, though he wasn't the least bit repentant. Justin needed his usually unflappable demeanor ruffled once in a while. And Clay was happy to be the man to do it.

He swirled the brandy in his snifter, inhaled the vaguely sweet scent. “Ariel was living in the house with you before your sister's arrival. Why is it so much more difficult now?”

“Because ever since I told her she was free of her debt, she is different. Before she was always wary, afraid of what I might do. Now that I've released her from her pledge, she seems to feel differently about me.”

“Perhaps she trusts you. You could have demanded she fulfill the promise she made, but you didn't. You did what you thought was right. That would surely inspire a certain amount of trust.”

“I suppose it would … if that had been the case. In truth, I was acting selfishly, merely salving my conscience. It was hardly a noble thing to do.”

Clay said nothing to that. Justin always rationalized his behavior in the harshest, most unpleasant terms, casting himself in the worst possible light. Clay knew exactly why his friend had done what he did—because he cared for the girl, because he admired and respected her—and there wasn't a damned thing selfish about it.

Justin sighed. “The worst part is, the more she trusts me, the more open and guileless she is, the more I want her. My noble image is wearing extremely thin, I can tell you. Every time she smiles at me, I want to tear off her clothes, drag her down on the carpet, and ravish her sweet little body. I don't know how much longer I can stand it.”

Clay took a sip of his brandy. “If you want her so badly, you could always marry her.”

Beneath his dark skin, Justin actually blanched. “Marry her?”

“Why not? You're a bachelor. Ariel's of an age to wed. Of course there is always the chance, much as I hate to suggest it, that she has been scheming to leg-shackle you from the start.”

“That's ridiculous. I'm hardly in the marriage mart. Ariel is aware of that.”

“Well, you did say how clever she was. Your father was scarcely an easy mark, yet he managed to succumb to her wiles.” He grinned. “And she was only fourteen years old.”

Justin merely grunted. “Marriage is not a possibility.”

“Why not?”

“Because that kind of commitment ought to involve at least some measure of emotional attachment. All I feel for Ariel is a healthy dose of lust.”

Clay took a draw on his cigar, let the smoke drift up. He wasn't about to argue, since it wouldn't do a shilling's worth of good. As far as Clay was concerned, his friend felt a good deal more than lust for Ariel Summers. Justin would never admit it, of course—not even to himself.

“Perhaps another trip to Madame Charbonnet's,” Clay suggested, merely to test his theory. “The women there are beautiful and we both know how talented they are.”

Justin looked mildly repulsed. “I don't think so. At least not at present.”

He didn't want another woman. He wanted the willowy blonde. That he denied his feelings for Ariel came as no surprise to Clay. Between his father's lack of attention, his mother's abandonment, and Margaret Simmons's betrayal, Justin had buried his feelings so deep even he couldn't find them. On the rare occasion they surfaced, he convinced himself it was something different, something far more pragmatic than simple human emotion.

Clay took a sip of his brandy, not sure whether to feel sorry for his friend or amused. “Give it some time,” he said. “Things usually have a way of working out.”

Justin didn't answer. Clay wondered how much longer his friend could go on like this before he snapped. It was only a matter of time, he guessed, before Justin's sweet, trusting little angel found herself flat on her back in the Earl of Greville's feather bed.

Then again, as Clay had said, perhaps that was exactly what the little schemer wanted.

*   *   *

October had arrived. Fall had descended, but Ariel scarcely noticed. This morning she hummed as she walked down the hall to the study, returning one of the ledgers she had carried up to her room last night. She was working hard every day and sometimes well into the evening, but she was amazed to discover she was actually enjoying herself.

It felt good to be doing something productive, using the knowledge she had studied so hard to gain. She wondered why other women hadn't yet figured out that working didn't have to be the drudgery men made it seem. If you were doing something you liked, it could actually be fun.

She came to the door of the study, turned the silver knob, and walked in without knocking. She shared the office with the earl now, he at his big desk, Ariel at a smaller desk on the opposite side of the room. Work came first for both of them; they were long past the formal stage.

Greville glanced up, muttered something to himself, then bent his dark head and went back to studying the portfolio that lay open in front of him.

Ariel paused for a moment just to look at him. He was dressed in a white lawn shirt and dark gray breeches, his burgundy tailcoat draped over the back of a nearby chair. His sleeves were rolled up above nicely muscled forearms darkened by a sprinkle of coarse black hair.

It was overcast outside, the weather damp and chilly, a thick layer of clouds blocking most of the sun. A lamp burned on his desk, casting shadows across his face, shading the hollows beneath his high cheekbones. His black hair, usually perfectly trimmed, had grown a little longer, curled against his snowy stock.

She wondered if it was as soft and silky as it looked, wondered if his neck was as muscular as his forearms, and a funny little flutter whirred in the pit of her stomach. Aghast at her train of thought, she tightened her hold on the heavy ledger and walked to the shelf behind his desk to put it away, careful to keep her eyes straight ahead and her thoughts on the work ahead.