Heartless (26 page)

Ariel sighed and headed off down the hall, her mind still shouting angry epithets at Horwick. She worked the rest of that day and late into the evening. The following day Lady Horwick arrived.

Ariel was more than grateful. At least for a while, she'd be safe from the woman's lecherous husband. Unfortunately, with the festivities her ladyship had planned, Ariel's work load nearly doubled.

She was exhausted by the time the house was ready for Lady Horwick's first affair, a small soiree for an intimate group of her husband's friends and business acquaintances. Even after the grueling day she'd put in, the woman expected her to help serve the refreshments. Ariel stuffed a strand of loose hair up beneath her mobcap and gave up a weary sigh. She could hear the strains of a small string orchestra playing in the music room. Guests were still arriving. By the time the entertainment—one of old Horwick's relatives performing on the pianoforte—was over, the late buffet was supposed to be on the table in the adjoining salon.

Carrying a silver platter heavy with assorted cold meats, Ariel started out of kitchen and headed down the hall. She had almost reached the door to the salon when she heard the butler's voice and realized another of Lord Horwick's guests had arrived.

“If I may please have your hat and coat, my lord, I shall be happy to announce your arrival.”

“Of course. Thank you.” With those few words, Ariel froze midway down the hall, her head snapping toward the sound of the familiar deep voice. She saw the tall, imposing figure dressed mostly in black, and a weight crushed down on her heart. She wanted to flee, but her feet wouldn't move. She wanted to disappear, wanted to vanish like a puff of smoke, never to be seen again in her simple black skirt and white cotton blouse, the silly little mobcap that sat askew on her head.

By sheer force of will, she summoned the wit to flee. She started back down the hall, nearly ran into a footman hurrying in the opposite direction, pressed the tray into his hands, and kept on going. She had almost reached the safety of the kitchen when she heard the sound of a man's heavy footfalls behind her.

“Ariel! Ariel, is that you?”

She kept on going, past the kitchen and out the back door, into the moonlit night, hoping to escape him completely. She heard the door slam open behind her, heard his shoes crunching on gravel, felt his long fingers closing around her arm, stopping her mad flight and forcing her to face him. When she did, one of his slashing black brows arched up as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

“So it is you,” he said darkly. “What are you doing here?” His eyes ran over her from top to bottom, taking in her simple clothes. Then he frowned. “And why are you dressed in the garments of a servant?”

She wanted to laugh in his face. She wanted to weep. Instead she simply lifted her chin and forced herself to look at him. “I'm here because this is where I work. I'm dressed in the clothing of a servant because that is exactly what I am.”

His frown grew deeper. “What about Marlin? I assumed—”

“You assumed what?” She couldn't keep the anger from her voice. She didn't even try. “Pray tell, your lordship. I should like very much to know what you assumed.”

“Let's not play games, Ariel, shall we? I saw you and Marlin together. The night you met him in the stable. I was watching from an upstairs window.”

For a moment, it was hard to make sense of what he was saying. She had buried thoughts of him so very deep it took a moment to recall the scene. Then she realized that he believed she had gone there to tryst with Marlin and her throat tightened. A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to erupt, but she fought it down. The anger she was feeling turned white hot.

“You saw us that night? Did you, really? You mean you saw both of us going into the stable—isn't that what you mean? Too bad you couldn't have seen through the walls of the stable as well. Too bad you couldn't have seen what went on inside. If you had, you might have seen me telling him I wanted him to leave me alone. You might also have seen how angry that made him. Mad enough to try to tear off my clothes. Mad enough to try to”—she swallowed past the hard lump building in her throat—“to force himself on me. If it hadn't been for Mr. McCullough, your groom, he might very well have succeeded. Now—if you will excuse me—I have to return to the house. I have work to do.”

She tried to walk past, but Justin stepped in front of her. “You're lying.”

She lifted her chin. Angry tears burned her eyes. “Am I? You're the liar, Justin. Everything you ever did, everything you ever said, was a lie. I'm glad you threw me out of your house when you did. God only knows how many more of your lies I would have believed.” Turning away from him, blinking against the wetness that blinded her vision, Ariel raced back into the house and up the servants' stairs.

Halfway to the top, she paused, listening for the sound of the closing door that would tell her Greville had returned to the soiree. She never heard the sound. She thought that the earl must have left without ever seeing Lord Horwick, but she didn't check to be sure.

She didn't want to think of him. Not now, not ever again.

She didn't want to remember the sight of him standing there in the moonlight, so tall and unbearably handsome. She didn't want to remember the pale cast to his usually swarthy skin when she had told him what had happened that night in the stable.

*   *   *

The coach thundered up the alley behind the house in a swirl of dust and dead leaves, and Justin leaped out before it had come to a shuddering halt. Though the hour was late, he headed straight for the stable.

“Where's McCullough?” Rousing one of the young grooms from his bunk, Justin waited impatiently as the youth named Mickey began a nervous stutter the moment he saw the black look on his employer's face.

“He's … he's…” Mickey swallowed. “I think he's upstairs in his room.” Justin had started in that direction when he heard the Scotsman's voice.

“I'm right here, milord.” The brawny man strolled toward him from a lantern-lit stall, wiping his hands on a rag he'd plucked off the saddle he had been oiling. “Ye wished to see me?”

Justin glanced around, saw several of the stable lads peeking out from the door to their quarters. “I need a word with you … in private.”

The Scotsman jerked his head toward the stairs. “We can go up to my room.”

Justin nodded. “Fine.” They made their way in that direction, and as soon as the door to McCullough's room was closed, Justin turned to face him. “I want to know what happened the night Miss Summers was out here with Phillip Marlin.”

The Scotsman looked suddenly wary. “I'd rather the lassie be the one to say.”

“Miss Summers is no longer here, as perhaps you may have heard. Now I'm asking you to tell me what went on.”

McCullough scratched the growth of red stubble on his jaw, then gave up a sigh of resignation. “'Twas late. I was havin' a bit o' trouble fallin' asleep. I heard noises below stairs. I thought 'twould be wise if I had a look.”

“And what exactly did you see?”

“I saw the two of 'em, the blond mon—Phillip, she called him—and the lassie, Miss Summers. She was talking to him real nice, tellin' him that she was sorry, tryin' ta make it clear she dinna have feelin's for him, no the sort he was wantin' her to have. She told him it would be best if he left, that you wouldna like it if you found out he had come here.”

“What else?”

“She told 'im … She said she loved ye.”

Justin's mind spun. It was impossible. It couldn't have happened. But one look in the Scotsman's eyes said it was the truth. His heart seemed to stop beating. For a moment, he thought he might be sick. “You're certain that's what she said.”

“Aye, sir. ‘I love 'im.' That's what the lassie said.”

He was sweating. It was cold in the stable and his shirt was wet with sweat. “What happened then?”

“I started to go back upstairs. It weren't my business, ya ken? And I dinna want to eavesdrop on the lassie's conversation. Then I heard the mon say he was gonna have her—whether she wished it or no.” He shook his head. “I'm no' a mon who caters to another mon takin' what a lassie's no' willin' to give.”

Justin closed his eyes, pain cutting into his chest like shards of glass.

“I pulled him off her,” the Scotsman went on. “I hit him and he went down. I sent the lassie back to the house.” He grinned. “Then I hit him again.”

If he could have, Justin would have smiled. He was certain he would never smile again. “Thank you, Mr. McCullough, for telling me the truth … and for taking care of her.” He started for the door, stopped, and turned. “One last question.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Why didn't you tell anyone?”

“The mon were the son o' an earl. He threatened to have me tossed into gaol for hittin' him. The lassie, she told him he had better no' say a word or she'd tell you what he'd done. She said none o' us was to speak o' it again. 'Tis exactly what I meant to do till ye came here tonight.”

Justin just nodded. Ariel had come out here to tell Marlin she was in love with another man. Knowing her as he did, he knew that she would have felt she owed Philip that. For her honesty she had nearly been raped, and instead of protecting her, instead of asking her why she had gone to see Marlin, he had assumed she had betrayed him and tossed her out in the street.

But Ariel had never betrayed him. Not in the beginning. Not that night with Marlin.

It was he, Justin Bedford Ross, who had been the betrayer. It was he who had taken her innocence, who had used her viciously that morning in his study, who had crushed her like a newly opened flower beneath the heel of his boot.

Justin paused on the path leading up to the house. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead and his stomach churned with nausea. Turning, he took several long strides off the path, bent his head, and violently retched beneath the branches of a rosebush in the garden.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Ariel mopped perspiration from her forehead and continued scrubbing the bedchamber floor. Lady Horwick had decided to open several more moldy, musty-smelling rooms that hadn't been used in years, and the brunt of the work had fallen to her. As soon as she finished, there was a cupboard full of tarnished silver that needed to be polished, the rugs in the dining room had to be beaten, then there was laundry to fold and put away. After that she would have to—

“I'm sorry to interrupt, my dear, but there's a gentleman downstairs to see ya.” Mrs. O'Grady smiled. “One of Lord Horwick's business acquaintances. He's waitin' for ya in the White Drawin' Room. Hurry now, if ya please. Ya don't want to be keepin' him waitin'.”

A knot formed in Ariel's stomach. A gentleman? It couldn't be. Surely not. But last night Greville had stumbled upon her and it seemed an impossible coincidence. Her pulse began a dull, thready drumbeat. The earl wouldn't come; he had sent her away. He no longer desired her. He cared nothing for her in the least. But who else could it be? And if it were he, why was he here?

Her hands shook as she set the mop aside and started for the door, shoving stray tendrils of hair back from her cheeks, tucking them up under her mobcap. She made her way down the newly repaired servants' stairs and along the hall to the White Drawing Room. Like most of the downstairs rooms, it was elegantly appointed and showed none of the wear evident in the rest of the house.

Ariel paused outside the ornate white-and-gilt door leading into the salon, took a deep breath, and walked in. Greville turned the moment he heard her, and she sucked in a breath at the sight of him. Instead of the handsome, calmly controlled aristocrat who had appeared in the entry the night before, the man who stood in front of her had a pale cast to his usually dark complexion and smudges beneath eyes that looked hollow and sunken in.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I was afraid you would refuse to see me.”

“I work here. I do as I'm told. Since you are a friend of Lord Horwick's, I had no choice but to come.”

He nodded, glanced away. “I've something to say to you. I have no idea what you will think, or if there is the slightest chance that you will believe me.”

“Say it then. I have work to do.”

“This is difficult for me.” He glanced down, then up, nervous in a way she'd never seen him. “Words of this sort do not come easily for a man like me.” Ariel said nothing. There was something in his eyes, something so turbulent her heart picked up its pace. “I'm sorry for what I've done to you—more than you will ever know.” He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. “You see, I knew you were lying the night I was supposed to meet Clay at the club. I wanted to know why. I never really left the house that night; I merely pretended to.”

She wasn't surprised, not now that she knew the extent of his deceit.

“I saw Marlin go into the stable,” he continued. “I saw you follow him in. When you came out with your clothes mussed and your hair unbound, I … I assumed the worst.” He looked away, his expression bleak. “I was wrong.”

The words came out hoarse and a little bit gruff. Ariel ignored the way they made her feel.

“I wanted to hurt you,” he went on. “I wanted to pay you back for what I believed you had done.”

For the first time, everything that had happened began to make sense. Until this very moment, she had refused to think about it, refused to let him into her thoughts again, even for a moment. Her legs started shaking. She was afraid they wouldn't hold her up. Slowly she sank down on the edge of a nearby chair.

“When I sent you away, I believed you would go to Marlin. I knew he wanted you. It never occurred to me that you would have no place to go, no one to look after you.”