Heartless (36 page)

Ariel glanced away. “Perhaps you're right. Christmastide approaches. I need to finish the gifts I am making.”

“See me out?”

Ariel nodded and accepted his arm, walking with him down the hall to the entry, waiting as he climbed the stairs and went into their suite. When he returned a few minutes later, satchel in hand, she reappeared, his cloak draped over her arm. She held it out for him, settled it around his shoulders, tied it at the base of his throat.

He circled her waist with his hands and drew her closer. “I'm going to miss you.”

“Will you?”

Bending his head, he brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “I'll be back as quickly as I can.” Turning away, he headed for the door and his waiting horse. Wondering, perhaps for the first time in his existence, if putting business ahead of everything else was really the way he wanted to live.

*   *   *

Ariel sat in the study, her head bent over the paperwork on the gleaming mahogany desk. During the days since their arrival, Justin had commandeered the study as his own personal domain. Not that it mattered. Barbara had little use for the dark, wood-paneled, overly masculine room. She was hardly interested in matters of business.

But Ariel was, and with Justin gone these past few days, she'd grown restless. Stacks of business reports, investment proposals, and ledgers that needed reviewing formed a rising pile on his desk. Ariel had worked with him enough to know what needed to be done with most of them and, lonesome in his absence, had wandered into the study and wound up sitting down to work.

As always, she was quickly immersed, challenged by the columns of numbers, playing mathematical games in her head, rapidly performing tasks that would have taken her husband hours to complete.

Her husband.
She was only beginning to think of him that way. And yet she liked the notion. Since their marriage, Justin had been strong and supportive, the kind of husband a woman dreamed of marrying.

If things continued in that vein, perhaps, as Kitt had said, in time it would all work out.

Ariel started on another column of numbers, heard the rustle of silk, and glanced at the door. Barbara Townsend floated toward her in that graceful way of hers, a smug smile on her face.

“Well, apparently he has discovered a use for you after all.”

Jabbing the quill pen back in its silver holder, Ariel came to her feet. “And exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

Barbara's smile stretched wider. “Why, dearest sister-in-law, you've been wed for less than two weeks and already your groom hies off to London. It would appear your talents lie in directions other than the bedchamber.”

Heat rushed into Ariel's cheeks. “My husband was forced to return to the city on a matter of urgent business. He'll be back in a couple of days.”

“Will he?” A sleek black brow arched knowingly. She shrugged her shoulders. “Then again, perhaps he will. A day or two of carousing with Clayton Harcourt should provide him ample opportunity to satisfy his penchant for variety, at least for another few weeks.”

The color in Ariel's face drained away. “I don't believe you. You only want to cause trouble for Justin. Why do you hate him so much? What has he ever done to you?”

“What has he done? He was born, that is what he has done. The man is a bastard, the son of my lecherous father and one of his numerous whores. Justin's mere existence is an insult to my mother and to me. On top of that, he has stolen my son's birthright. It is Thomas who should now be Earl of Greville.”

“Perhaps one day he will be.”

“Are you telling me you do not carry my half brother's child?”

“Not yet. Though I hope one day I will.”

Barbara's vicious smile remained firmly in place. “It could happen, I suppose … if he doesn't squander his precious seed all over London.”

“He is there on business.”

Barbara laughed. “Surely you are not that naive. Justin could never be content with only one woman. He has always been the sort to move from bed to bed, taking his pleasure wherever he chooses. Oh, he isn't like Clayton Harcourt. Harcourt would need a dozen different women to satisfy his lusty appetite. My brother prefers them one at a time. Of course, now that he's married, I suppose he's attempting to be a bit more discreet.”

“It isn't true.”

“You might as well get used to it, my girl. They are all the same. That is simply the way it is.”

Ariel made no reply. Her hands were shaking. Her face felt bloodless and numb. Barbara was lying. She only wanted to stir up trouble. But when Ariel looked into those hard Greville gray eyes, she saw that Barbara Townsend believed every word she had spoken. She was convinced that Justin was being unfaithful, and if his sister believed it so strongly, dear God, it might just be true.

A wave of nausea rolled over her. Ariel sank back down in her chair.

“You look as though you could use a cup of tea,” Barbara said sweetly. “I shall have Perkins fetch you a good strong cup.” With that she departed the study, hips swaying as she moved out the door.

Ariel stared after her, feeling sick to her stomach. She wanted to believe in Justin as she once had, but dear God, it was so hard to do. He had come to her bed only once since their marriage. He seemed to want her, and yet he had left her and gone off to London. She had never forgotten the cruel words he had spoken that morning in his study.

“Last night Clayton and I … stumbled across some rather entertaining companions.”

“You aren't talking about … about women?”

“I'm sorry, my dear, but you knew sooner or later it would happen. You were quite good, really … but a man's tastes change.”

Ariel shivered.
“A man's tastes change.”
It was true, she knew. The late earl was proof enough of that.

And two days later, when Justin had still not returned and she'd had no word from him, she thought that Barbara must be correct.

She couldn't sleep. She couldn't work. Her appetite disappeared completely—along with her hopes and dreams.

When Justin arrived at Greville Hall the following night in a driving rain, his clothes damp and clinging, his cloak dripping water and plastered against his long, booted legs, instead of greeting him in the entry as she had intended, she remained upstairs in her room. She didn't want to see him. She was afraid of what she would read in his face.

She was afraid she had been an even bigger fool than before, and if it were true, this time her heart would not mend.

*   *   *

Justin drew the cloak from his shoulders and handed it to Perkins, who held it away from him, bushy gray eyebrows raised as he carried it dripping down the hall. Hoping Ariel would be waiting, Justin glanced around the entry, but instead of the wife he so eagerly wanted to see, little Thomas came running.

“Uncle Justin!”

The child leaped into the air and Justin caught him, lifted him up, and held him at arm's length. “Good God, you've grown a full stone heavier since I've been away.”

Thomas laughed delightedly as Justin set his small feet firmly back down on the floor.

“Did you bring me a present?”

He arched a brow. “Were you a good boy while I was gone?”

The little boy's smile slid away. “Mama said I was bad. She made me go to bed without my supper.” He grinned, exposing the hole where his teeth should have been. “Aunt Ariel sneaked me a mutton pasty and an apple tart, but don't tell Mama.”

Justin squeezed the boy's shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small wooden ship he had brought the child from London. It was fashioned of fine Oriental teak, with miniature white canvas sails and black-painted string to serve as rigging.

“It's beautiful,” Thomas said, touching the ship with awe.

“Not an it, a she. Ships are all thought of as women. This one's the
Mirabelle.
See? Her name's painted in gold on the stern.”

“The
Mirabelle.
” He traced the name with his finger. “That's a really pretty name.” Clutching the little ship to his chest, he grinned. “Thank you, Uncle Justin.”

“You're welcome.” Justin glanced around again, searching for Ariel. “Where's your aunt? Have you seen her?”

“She's upstairs in her room. I don't think she is feeling very well.”

Justin frowned. He ruffled the boy's dark hair and turned toward the stairs, climbing them hurriedly, then striding down the hall. He knocked briefly, opened the door, and went in.

Ariel was sitting in front of the fire, her fingers moving over a piece of stitchery. She turned at his approach.

“Ariel … love, are you all right? Thomas said you weren't feeling well.” He strode toward her, would have pulled her up off the sofa and into his arms, but something in her eyes held him back.

Ariel carefully laid her stitchery aside. He thought that her face looked pale. “I'm fine. I didn't … I didn't hear you come in.”

Why did he wonder if that was really true? And if it wasn't, why not?

“I rode like blazes to get here. I hoped to be home sooner, but a meeting came up I had to attend. On top of that, the papers at the bank weren't ready for me to sign. I could have gone back later, but I didn't want to make another trip.”

She came up from the sofa and gave him a smile, but it wasn't the sort he had imagined. It was filled with uncertainty, her eyes faintly shadowed.

“Are you sure you're feeling all right?”

“I'm just a little tired is all. I'm afraid I have the headache. I thought I would go to bed early … that is, if you don't mind.”

He minded. He had hoped, insanely, that while he was gone she might have missed him. That when he returned, she might welcome him—without uncertainty, without hesitation—back into her bed. But it wasn't going to happen, and if she were truly ill, she needed to rest and take care of herself.

He managed to summon a smile. “Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning.”

But she didn't seem her usual self even then, and his worry began to grow. She avoided him most of the day, and that evening at supper she seemed so distant he left her and retired to his study.

He couldn't help wondering what had happened in the days he had been away, what could have made her withdraw from him even more than she had already.

Give her a little more time,
he told himself. But deep inside he began to worry that what little she had ever felt for him had finally faded and completely disappeared.

*   *   *

December brought chilling winds and icy rain. Though the weather was inclement, Ariel saw little of her husband. Ever since his trip into the city, she had avoided him. Sadly, he seemed not to care. She was terrified Barbara was right and that he had gone to London to be with another woman. The trust she had earlier begun to rebuild had all but drained away.

Still, there were occasions when they were thrown together. Like the evening Barbara announced she was giving a party—a Christmas soiree, she called it—to celebrate the official beginning of the season. Nothing extravagant, Barbara promised, just a few of her closest friends.

At first Justin protested, but Barbara was insistent.

“The invitations were sent out weeks ago. It never occurred to me you might disapprove. We hold a Christmas party at Greville Hall every year. It's practically a family tradition.” She smiled thinly. “But then you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

Justin clenched his jaw but made no reply.

“Perhaps it's just as well,” he told Ariel, once Barbara was gone. “We shall be forced to reenter society sooner or later. Perhaps a smaller affair here at the house is a good way to begin.”

With the way things stood between them, she was scarcely ready to entertain, but as he had said, the time would have to come, sooner or later. “Perhaps you're right. At any rate, the party is only a few days away. If the invitations have been already been sent, I don't see we have much choice.”

“And I shall add a few names of my own to the guest list, people we can count on for support.”

The soiree would go forward, it seemed, but it mattered very little to Ariel. Justin still hadn't come to her bed. If he wasn't sleeping with someone else surely he would have sought her out by now.

The night of the ball arrived and the tension between them seemed almost palpable.

Dressing with care, Ariel chose a high-waisted gold silk brocade gown. It was a magnificent creation, with sparkling white brilliants across the front of a low-cut bodice that exposed the tops of her breasts. It was a seductive gown, chosen to help bolster her flagging spirits.

The party was already in progress when she made her way downstairs, her nerves thrumming, a tight knot in the pit of her stomach. She was surprised to find her husband waiting. When he looked up at her, surveyed the gown and her upswept pale blond hair, one of his rare, charming smiles appeared, and the knot in her stomach loosened a little. She descended the stairs with a bit less trepidation and actually managed to smile.

“You look beautiful,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I'll be the envy of every man here.”

A flush rose into her cheeks, though she was certain it was she who would be envied. Tall and elegantly garbed in dark gray and burgundy, the diamond stickpin sparkling in his cravat, he looked dark and forbidding, and unbelievably handsome.

Justin smiled and offered his arm, and they moved across the entry, down the hall, and through the wide double doors of the drawing room.

Barbara's notion of a small soiree turned out to be a sterling affair: an orchestra playing in the long gallery, the furniture removed for dancing, a drawing room set aside for gaming, and a sumptuous late-night buffet. The house was decorated elaborately in cream and silver, with evergreen garlands draped over the mantels and white blooming hellebores scenting the air from silver urns.