Heartless (17 page)

Propping the book on the top shelf where it belonged, she tried to shove it into place, but as tall as she was, she couldn't quite reach it. She heard his chair scraping back, felt him come to his feet right behind her.

“Here, let me help you.” He stood so close her back brushed his chest. She could feel the muscles bunching beneath his shirt as he slid the heavy volume back in place. The task was completed, but neither of them moved. A warm thread of heat spun through her. The clock on the mantel ticked steadily, matching the heavy thudding of her heart.

Slowly, as if he feared she might bolt, he lowered his hands and his long, elegant fingers settled lightly on her shoulders. He smelled faintly of ink and some subtle male scent that belonged solely to him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, feel his warm breath on her cheek, moving tendrils of her hair.

“Ariel…” he whispered, his voice low and rough. The sound was a plea that went straight to her heart. She didn't question what she should do, simply turned and looked up at him, the answer to his plea in her eyes.

He lightly touched her cheek. His thumb moved across her bottom lip and little shivers raced over her skin.

“Justin…” she whispered, just for the pleasure of saying his name.

His eyes held hers, penetrating eyes, eyes that held a thousand unspoken thoughts. “Ariel … sweet God, what you do to me.” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, framed her face between his hands. With a groan of defeat, he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was soft and deep. A saturating, alluring, penetrating kiss. A moist, drugging kiss that made her senses reel and seemed to have no end.

“I've tried,” he whispered softly, kissing the corners of her mouth, then brushing her lips again. “You'll never know how hard I've tried.” Turning her head, he kissed her one way and then another, pressing deeper and deeper into her mouth, tasting her bottom lip, coaxing her to open for him. His tongue slid in like hot, wet silk, taking her deeply, claiming her in some way.

Ariel moaned and clung to him, her arms sliding up around his neck, her body swaying toward him. Liquid heat slid into her stomach. Her legs felt rubbery and numb. He had never made her feel like this—never. But she had been afraid of him before. She wasn't afraid of him now.

Justin kissed her again. He shifted a little, and she felt his hands on the underside of her breasts, making the nipples grow hard. Over the fabric of her gown, those long, dark fingers curled around the fullness, gently cupping her, and a low sound came from his throat.

“Ariel…” he whispered, kneading the softness, teasing her nipples, sending little tongues of fire shooting out through her limbs. Ariel clung to him, warm shivers running across her flesh, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. She knew she had to stop him, but dear God, the pleasure was so sweet, the sensations so wondrous, her traitorous body refused to listen.

Instead, she found herself pressing closer against his chest, leaning into the thick, unmistakable ridge of his manhood. Justin kissed the side of her neck, took her mouth again, and Ariel whimpered. She was trembling now, her heart pounding raggedly. She felt him reach for the buttons at the back of her gown, pop the first one open, reach for the second.

“Justin…?” She barely whispered his name, yet the desperation was clear in her voice. If she didn't stop him now, she would no longer want to.

A heavy shudder passed through him. For several long seconds, he stood immobile, his beautiful hands dormant as he fought to regain control. For an instant, she wished that she had kept silent, let him work his magic, seen how brightly the fires could burn. Ariel knew beyond doubt that disaster lay along that course.

He dragged in a shaky breath of air, his posture straightening, becoming almost rigid. Turning her gently, he fastened the buttons at the back of her gown.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn't mean for that to happen.”

An apology was hardly needed. She had wanted him to kiss her. She had wanted far more than that. But she could hardly say that to him.

“It wasn't your fault. It just sort of … happened.”

Those intense gray eyes, usually so unreadable, flashed with some turbulent emotion. Then his mask fell back into place. “Considering what the consequences might have been, it had better not happen again. In fact, it would be wiser if we didn't see each other for a while.” He moved away from her, carefully rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, and buttoned the cuffs. “In that regard, I have some business to attend to out of town. I'll be gone for several weeks.”

Her heart slammed. “Several weeks?” She tried not to think how dismal the big, empty house would be without him. How badly she would miss him. “But you never said anything about leaving the city.”

Justin looked uncomfortable and she realized he had only just made the decision. He was leaving because of her, because of what had happened between them, a happenstance that was her fault perhaps more than his.

“I need to check on the progress they're making on the textile mill. I'll leave a list of things you can do while I'm away. I imagine you'll get a good deal of work done with no one around to bother you.”

“Yes … I imagine I will.” But he was hardly a bother. In fact, she looked forward to their lively discussions. She enjoyed working with him, she had discovered, enjoyed learning things about business, about what made a good investment and what made a poor one, about which banks paid the highest interest and what sort of person made a good candidate for a loan.

She liked talking to him, liked just knowing he was somewhere in the house.

He strode over and snatched his coat up off the back of the chair, shrugged it onto his wide shoulders. “I'm going out for a while. I won't be home until late.”

Ariel said nothing, just watched his long, graceful strides carry him out of the room. Lately he'd made a point of staying out late most evenings. He was trying to protect her, and perhaps himself, trying to keep her safe from the desire he felt for her.

For the first time since her arrival at his Brook Street mansion, Ariel realized that being protected from the earl was no longer what she wanted.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Clayton Harcourt rapped on the door to Justin's house, then waited impatiently for the butler to let him in.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Harcourt.” Knowles dragged open the heavy wooden door with his usual lack of enthusiasm. “I'm terribly sorry. I'm afraid Lord Greville isn't in at the moment. You may leave him a message if you like.”

Clay frowned. He had business to discuss and he didn't have all that much time. “Yes, I'd appreciate that. I have some paperwork I'd like him to look at. I'll leave it in his study, if I may.” He stepped into the entry, which was dark and always a little dreary, his flat leather satchel tucked under one arm. He removed his kidskin gloves, tossed them into his beaver hat, and handed them to the butler, who led him down the hall to Justin's study.

Knowles swung open the door, then came up short. “Excuse me, Miss Summers. I didn't realize you were still in here working. Mr. Harcourt has some papers for Lord Greville. He wishes to pen him a message.”

“Of course. Please come in.” She stood up behind the desk, a vision in navy blue and white, her pale blond hair swept up as she usually wore it. Smiling, she turned the crystal pen-and-ink set on the top of the desk in his direction.

“Thank you. I won't be a minute.” She was even prettier than he remembered, so blond and fair, all lightness and sunshine to Justin's brooding darkness. Clay could see in an instant why his friend was so drawn to her.

And yet it worried him. He trusted very few women. He had known too many who would cut off a man's cods just to watch him squirm.

Knowles returned to his duties and Clay turned his attention to Ariel. Perhaps a word with her would set his mind to rest.

“I was hoping Lord Greville would be home,” he said, easing into the conversation. “I stumbled upon a business proposition I thought he might find interesting. I rarely involve myself in financial matters, but this little deal looked so sweet, I couldn't resist.”

“I'm afraid he won't be home until late. And on the morrow he plans to leave for Cadamon. Apparently, he'll be gone for several weeks.” A fact she didn't look the least bit happy about.

“As I understand it, you accompanied him the last time he went.”

“That was different.”

“How so?”

Her chin inched up. “He intended to make me his mistress, as I believe you are aware.”

He smothered a hint of amusement. “I gather that's changed.”

“Yes.” But she didn't look completely pleased about that, either.

He opened his satchel and pulled out the business proposal he had brought, set the papers on top of a stack on the corner of the desk.

“He would have treated you well, you know. Justin is nothing at all like his father. He doesn't make a habit of keeping women. In fact, he has never taken a mistress before—which is not to say he has been living the life of a monk.”

“I'm sure he hasn't. In fact, I imagine there are any number of women who would gratefully accept the position he has offered.”

“If he wanted them, yes. What I'm telling you is that you mean more to him than simply a casual affair.”

Ariel made no reply. She wasn't making this easy.

“I don't know how well you've come to know him. Perhaps by now you realize he isn't the coldhearted man he appears.”

Interest flickered in the delicate lines of her face. “Will you tell me about him?”

Clay smiled. “What exactly would you like to know?”

“He seems so terribly remote. Has there never been anyone he was close to, anyone who cared about him? I know his mother abandoned him and his father was never around. It's obvious his sister cares only about herself. He mentioned a grandmother once, but he never seems to see her, and young Thomas stays mostly in the country.”

“I care about him,” Clay said softly.

Ariel's blue eyes swung to his face, beautiful eyes, guileless eyes … or at least so they appeared. “So do I,” she said.

Clay mulled that over, wondering if she were sincere, wondering if she were wise enough to see through Justin's hard, cynical exterior to the man he was inside. “From what I understand, you don't have anyone who cares about you, either. I suppose that gives the two of you something in common.”

Her mouth curved into a soft, wistful smile. “In a way. But unlike Justin, I was loved very dearly as a child. I had the most wonderful mother a daughter could ever have and two very dear grandparents. It was only after they died and I was left in the care of my father that I suffered any sort of mistreatment. I understand how important love is. I don't think Justin has even the faintest idea.”

“Perhaps you could teach him.”

“Teach him?”

“I should think a person would have to know how it feels to
be
loved before he could give love in return. But surely that is something a man could learn.”

“Perhaps it is. Perhaps if I were brave enough, I might try. Unfortunately, the risk is simply too great. As soon as my debt is repaid, I'm leaving. Lord Greville is paying me a ridiculously high wage, but I can hardly argue with that.” She smiled impishly. “Besides, I am probably worth it.”

Clay laughed, liking her confidence, the sense of self-worth that was so opposite Justin's own dark opinion of himself.

“Once I've completed my obligation, Justin has agreed to secure some sort of position for me. I trust his judgment in that regard, and I believe I'll be happy in whatever job he finds me.”

“I imagine you will be … at least for a while.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged, hoping he looked nonchalant. “You're young and extremely attractive. It's only natural that someday you'll wish to marry.”

“I'm a woman, Mr. Harcourt, no different from the rest. Someday I'd like very much to have a family of my own.”

Clay just nodded. On the surface, she seemed everything that Justin had said she was—forthright and determined, sweetly sincere. “I wish you well, then, Miss Summers. Ask Justin to take a look at the proposal I left on his desk, will you? Tell him I'd like him to stop by my place before he leaves the city. We'll need to act swiftly if we're going to sew up this deal.”

“I'll write him a note,” Ariel said. “In case he leaves before I see him in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Clay made polite farewells, retrieved his hat and gloves, then left the house, his mind on the conversation he'd just had. When he'd spoken to Justin about Ariel at the club, he'd been more than half-convinced she was the conniving little saucebox she was at fourteen.

After their conversation, he was beginning to think he might be mistaken. If he was and Justin wanted her as badly as it appeared he did, perhaps marriage wasn't such a bad solution.

Clay tucked his hat beneath his arm and pulled on his kidskin gloves. Surely being married wouldn't be all that bad. A lot of people did it. In truth, he wouldn't mind having a wife and children of his own someday. Of course, he was hardly a one-woman man, but that was scarcely important—neither were most of his friends. It would probably be good for Justin—a couple of kids running around the house, a wife who could give him the affection he never had as a boy. Maybe she could help him dissolve that blasted irritating calm he wore like a heavy iron cloak.

Then again, perhaps the girl was nothing at all the innocent she appeared. Perhaps she was now simply far more sophisticated at achieving her goals than she had been at fourteen. He hoped Justin was wise enough to discern the truth.

And damned glad he wasn't in his friend's position.