Heartless (35 page)

He hesitated so long she was sure he was going to refuse. “All right,” he finally conceded. “If that is your wish, then we'll go.”

Her smile came more easily, warmed by his effort to please her. He saw it and his eyes swung to hers, darker now, filled with some indefinable emotion.

“I've always loved your smile,” he said softly. “It warms me like a fire in winter.”

Ariel stared in surprise, amazed he would say such a thing, equally drawn to his harsh, winter-dark beauty, wanting him to kiss her, touch her, knowing it would be a mistake.

As if he read her thoughts, his features closed up, his mask falling back into place. A knock at the door saved them from an uncomfortable moment.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, my lord,” the butler said. “But your solicitor, Mr. Whipple, has arrived.”

Justin simply nodded. “Show him into the study. Tell him I shall join him there shortly.”

“Yes, my lord.” Perkins scuttled off to do the earl's bidding, and Justin returned his attention to her, his features once more bland.

“I look forward to seeing you at supper,” he said, making her a brief, formal bow. Ariel watched him go, a warmth in the pit of her stomach. Hope was rising again, beckoning her as it always did. She was trusting him more, risking herself more.

She prayed with everything she held dear that she wasn't making a terrible mistake.

*   *   *

Phillip Marlin paced impatiently in front of the fire in a small private bedchamber above the stable at the rear of the Cock's Crow Tavern. It sat on a crossroads not far from the village of Ewhurst, an easy ride from Greville Hall and conveniently located to London. Barbara had chosen the inn for its location but also the discretion of the tavern's owner, a man named Harley Reed.

Phillip had arrived two hours early and now grew impatient. He had traveled with all haste, responding to the urgency in Barbara's message. He was anxious to discuss the plans they had only begun to formulate.

And oddly enough, he was eager to see her.

Light footfalls on the stairs warned him of her arrival. He strode to the door and jerked it open. Barbara slipped past him into the room, shoving back the hood of her fur-lined cloak.

Stunning gray eyes moved over his face, hitting him with the impact of a blow. When she smiled, he remembered the crush of those soft red lips, the taste of her milky skin, and heat speared into his groin.

“Barbara…” The word hung suspended as she tugged the cord holding her cloak in place and tossed it over a nearby chair. Then she was in his arms, pressing those full lips to his, consuming him in a way he had never experienced with another woman. “I've missed you,” he said, greedily returning the kiss.

“Phillip, my darling.” Her mouth clung to his once more. He wanted to tear off her clothes, to drag her beneath him on the narrow bed in the corner and ruthlessly plunge himself inside her. He wanted to feel her nails digging into his flesh, her teeth sinking into the muscles across his shoulder, giving him a little stab of pleasure/pain.

“We need to talk,” she whispered, running her tongue along the rim of an ear, tugging on his earlobe, then kissing him again. “I need to know how our plans progress.”

But Phillip was already beyond listening. Instead, he urged her backward until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she went down. He came down on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows, shoving up the skirt of her ruby velvet gown and cupping her mound, hearing her sharp intake of breath. Before he could plunge his fingers inside her, Barbara caught his hand.

“Not yet, darling,” she purred. “I've got what you want, but you'll have to wait. It will be better that way.… You know it will.”

Heat flooded into his groin. He had always been the one in control, taking what he wanted, ruthlessly if he chose. Barbara wouldn't allow it. Instead, she took from him, refused to meekly submit. She was beautiful and exotic, and nearly as ruthless as he.

She was more exciting than any other woman he had ever known, and he would do anything to please her.

“Have you made the arrangements?” she asked, coming up off the bed, surveying him down the length of her fine, aristocratic nose.

“I've made inquiries, started things rolling. Once it's done, we'll have everything we want—and the rest of our lives together.”

“Yes.…” She moved toward him, laced her fingers in his thick gold hair, drew his mouth down to hers in a lingering kiss. “Help me with my clothes,” she whispered against his lips.

He obeyed instantly, moving in front of her, kneeling to remove her soft kid slippers. Her feet were high-arched and graceful, pale in the moonlight streaming in through the window. He stroked the inside of an arch, ran his hand up her calf, over the delicate white silk that ended just below her knee.

“Now the garters and stockings.”

His groin tightened. He willingly complied, rolling down the creamy silk, nearly prostrating himself as he bent to kiss her toes. Slowly, torturing him with glimpses of her perfect white flesh, Barbara removed each article of her clothing, taking her time, seducing him with her body.

“Why don't you join me?” she said once she was naked, making his arousal throb. He did so hurriedly, removing his shirt and breeches, his smallclothes. He felt those hard gray eyes, moving up and down, assessing the thick ridge quivering against his belly. Then she crossed the room to the bed.

“Come to me, my darling.” Barbara smiled as she spread her thighs, and a shudder of anticipation rippled through him. Phillip hurried to join her, desperate to be inside her.

“You're certain you can arrange it,” she whispered against his ear as she pulled him down on top of her.

“Trust me, I won't fail you.” He pressed his lips to her collarbone, began to kiss his way down her body. “I won't fail either of us.”

He felt her fingers, stroking through his hair. “I know you won't, my darling.” A hand on his head urged him lower, silently commanding him to please her. Phillip bent to the task, his shaft aching painfully, taking pleasure from the duty even as he prayed she would soon end his suffering.

Thinking of her words and their plans for Greville, Phillip hardened even more, anticipating his enemy's demise.

Wanting it even more than he savored the raging climax he would soon find with Barbara.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

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.”