Heartless (37 page)

Music drifting in from the gallery mingled with voices in the drawing room, and Ariel's nervousness returned. With the scandal Horwick had created and the Earl of Greville's hasty marriage to a woman of scarlet reputation, she knew the kind of reception they would face. As they moved farther into the drawing room, Ariel's fingers trembled against the sleeve of Justin's coat. She could hear the whispered words and see the measuring glances.

Beside her, Justin's features looked bland, but a muscle throbbed in his cheek. Ariel frantically searched the room for a friendly face, wishing Kassandra had come, but her father, worried about his daughter's penchant for trouble, had forbidden her to make an appearance. For once Kitt had obeyed.

Instead, the first to approach them was Clayton Harcourt, who smiled and made an elaborate bow over her hand.

“You're looking radiant tonight, my lady,” he said with a charming smile.

“Thank you, Clay. I'm so very glad you could come.” That was the truth. It was good to have at least one friend in a room full of enemies.

Clay must have read her thoughts, for he leaned a bit closer. “Your husband thought you might need a little moral support, so I brought along a friend.” He turned his attention to the handsome gray-haired man beside him, a man who was as tall as Clay, with the same warm golden brown eyes. “Your Grace, may I present to you the Countess of Greville. My lady, the Duke of Rathmore.”

She sank into a curtsy, her heart thundering wildly. Clayton's father. It never occurred to her that Rathmore might stand behind them. “I'm honored, Your Grace.”

He gave her a smile of obvious approval. “The pleasure is mine, my lady, I assure you. Your husband and I are well acquainted, of course. I'm pleased to see the rogue has finally had the good sense to wed—and a woman of rare beauty, I might add.”

She flushed a bit. “Thank you.”

“I shall expect you to save me a dance, young woman. I haven't traveled these damnable muddy roads only to discover your dance card is already filled.”

She laughed, the duke's droll humor putting her immediately at ease. “I should never do such a thing. I would be honored to dance with you, Your Grace—anytime you wish.”

He grinned and a dimple appeared in his cheek. Clay had one in almost exactly that spot, she recalled. They chatted pleasantly for a while; then an old acquaintance of the duke's appeared and persuaded him away.

Still, Clay's machinations had worked. With the duke's stamp of approval on the earl and his bride, the atmosphere in the room swiftly changed. Several other guests—Lord Foxmoor, whom Ariel had met briefly in Tunbridge Wells, Lord and Lady Oxnard, and half a dozen others—came over to pay their respects. Even Lady Foxmoor seemed to forgive Ariel her former transgressions. Ariel thought it had a great deal to do with the partnership Lord Foxmoor was involved in with Justin and the substantial profits it continued to earn.

The evening went on, endlessly it seemed to Ariel, but so far nothing had really gone amiss. The dancing continued, and when the orchestra struck up a waltz, Justin led her out to the long gallery and onto the makeshift dance floor.

When he settled a hand at her waist and swept her into a graceful turn, Ariel sighed in sheer pleasure.

“I've dreamt of waltzing with you,” Justin said softly, his long, graceful strides carrying them around the dance floor as if they were floating.

“Have you?” She could feel the brush of his thigh, the strength of his hand at her back, and a soft curl of heat sifted into her stomach.

“On more than one occasion.” His eyes moved over her face. “Do you know what I usually dream?”

She couldn't look away from those hard, dark features. “What do you usually dream?”

“I dream of our wedding night. Of how sweet you tasted, how your body responded to mine, of what it felt like to be inside you. I dream of being inside you again.”

Her stomach contracted. She fought down a fierce rush of longing. For an instant, she lost track of the dance and he pulled her closer, guiding her easily, finding the rhythm of the waltz once more. His eyes were a clear dark gray and his gaze intense. He hadn't missed the way his words had affected her.

How could they not? She remembered that night every bit as clearly as he.

The music stopped before she wanted it to. With a faint bow of his head, he stepped away, his look enigmatic once more.

The duke appeared in the gallery a few minutes later to claim the dance she had promised, sweeping her once more onto the dance floor. Justin's protective gaze followed. He'd been solicitous all evening, careful to keep her away from Barbara's transparent innuendos and the false, condescending smiles of her friends.

Perhaps she'd been wrong, Ariel thought with yearning. Perhaps Barbara had been wrong.

Then a party of late arrivals made their way through the gallery doors, and Ariel's attention swung to them. One of the group stood out from the others, a tall, olive-skinned woman with prominent cheekbones and high, full breasts. She was beautiful in the extreme, overshadowing the short, gray-haired man who appeared to be her escort. She was lovely and exotic, and the moment she turned her thick-lashed black eyes on Justin, Ariel knew without doubt the woman had once been his lover.

Her chest constricted so hard for a moment it was difficult to breathe. She stumbled and would have fallen if the duke hadn't had a firm grip on her waist.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes … yes, I'm fine. Just a bit tired is all.”

His eyes followed hers and he frowned. “Lady Eastgate. She's a close friend of your sister-in-law's, but I'm surprised that she is here.”

Don't say it,
she thought, but couldn't resist. “Because she and my husband were … involved?”

The duke's assessing gaze swung to hers. “Your husband is a man, my dear, not a saint. Lady Eastgate is a beautiful woman and a widow. And their … involvement … was over long before he met you.”

She pasted on a smile and prayed it was true. Then, with obvious determination, the woman made her way to Justin's side, and Ariel thought with a knife-sharp pain that the duke might very well be mistaken.

Was Lady Eastgate the woman Justin had gone to see in London? She was elegant and sophisticated, the sort who might not care that he was now a married man. When the dance ended, Ariel excused herself and quietly made her way out onto the terrace. She could slip around the house to the rear, climb the servants' stairs to her room, and no one would be the wiser.

All the way there, she thought of Justin and the beautiful, exotic woman. By the time she reached the sanctity of her bedchamber, it was all she could do to not weep.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

“Lady Eastgate.” Justin bowed stiffly over the slender fingers encased in long white gloves, his eyes hard on her face. Roselyn Beresford, widow of the Marquess of Eastgate, half-English daughter of a Spanish count, was beautiful and desirable, and for a very short time the lady had shared his bed. But Roselyn's heart was nearly as empty as his own, he had discovered, and his desire for her had rapidly waned.

“It's good to see you, Justin.” She smiled behind the sweep of her hand-painted fan. “I've missed you these past few months.”

“Have you?” Well, he certainly hadn't missed her, and it was obvious that his loss of affection—if one could call it that—hadn't set well with her.
“No one treats the Marchioness of Eastgate as if she were some cast-off piece of garbage!”
she had screeched at him the night he had ended the affair. She had threatened retribution—which was exactly the reason she was there.

“Congratulations,” she said with a thin, brittle smile. “Your sister relayed the news of your recent nuptials. I wanted to extend my felicitations personally.”

“How kind of you,” he said dryly.

Her eyebrows lifted as she scanned the room. “Where is the blushing bride?”

Justin looked around but saw no sign of his wife. Ariel had been dancing with Rathmore when Roselyn walked in. Where was she now? “Perhaps she has gone for some refreshment. Since she appears to be missing at present, I shall be happy to convey your best wishes for you.”

“Oh, but I do so want to meet this paragon you have wed. As I remember it, you said you had no desire to marry. You were quite adamant about it at the time.”

Justin smiled coldly. “I hadn't met Ariel at the time.”

Roselyn's smile turned snide. “I see.”

“I hope you do indeed.” He stepped closer, spoke so that only she could hear. “My wife means a great deal to me, Roselyn. I warn you, should you do anything to distress her in any way, I shall take it very personally. Since I know a substantial amount about your late husband's business affairs—or lack of success in that regard—I'll be happy to let those facts become known in places you might find embarrassing. Do you understand me … your ladyship?”

Her demeanor turned icy, her dark eyes narrowing into black-lashed slits. “I understand completely.”

“Good. Now if you'll excuse me…” He gave her the faintest semblance of a smile. “Have a good evening.”

Roselyn said nothing, but her lush mouth flattened to a tight little line. Ignoring the hostile glare that followed him across the room, he went in search of Ariel, damning his sister all the way. Barbara had invited Roselyn simply to cause him trouble. He was very afraid she had succeeded.

He checked the gallery, the gaming room, and the main salon but found no sign of his wife. Spotting Clay in conversation with Lord and Lady Oxnard, he paused to ask if perhaps one of them might have seen her.

“She was dancing with my … with Rathmore the last I noticed,” Clay said, casting him a speculative glance.

“I believe I caught a glimpse of her slipping outside for a breath of fresh air.” Lady Oxnard lifted her lorgnette to peer through the terrace doors. “It's terribly chilly out there. I'm sure she must have returned inside by now.”

Surely she had, but Ariel was rarely put off by the cold, and he knew how difficult this night had been for her. He stepped out onto the terrace into a fine, drizzling mist. The flagstones were slick beneath his shoes, the chill in the air quickly seeping into his clothes. He saw no sign of Ariel and started back toward the house, but a trace of movement in the garden caught his eye. He strode in that direction, down the steps and along the gravel path to the gazebo. The bushes moved again, and the housekeeper's yellow tabby jumped out of the shrubbery onto a low stone bench. Cursing, his worry increasing, Justin headed back inside the house.

Still no sign of Ariel. Certain now that something was wrong, he climbed the sweeping staircase to the room adjoining his and rapped on the door. He hadn't thought she would retire with so many guests in the house. Now, his jaw set grimly, he stepped inside without waiting for permission and spotted her silhouette in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

“I've been looking for you,” he said softly, moving toward her. “I didn't think to find you here. You aren't feeling unwell, are you?”

“No, I…” She glanced down and he saw that she still held her dance card in one hand. He noticed that it trembled. In the wispy light, her face looked pale, her pretty blue eyes clouded with some painful emotion.

He caught her chin and gently lifted it, forcing her eyes to his face. “Tell me what's wrong.”

She shook her head, tried for a smile, and faltered. “Nothing is wrong,” she said, but her eyes filled with tears.

He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, but his clothes were damp with mist, and he forced himself to remain where he was. “We're married now. I'm your husband. Tell me what's wrong.”

She turned away from him, walked over to the window, stared down at the winter-barren garden. “I saw you with the woman. She was your lover, wasn't she?”

Silently he cursed. “It was months ago, before we ever met.”

She turned to face him, her eyes luminous with tears. “I told myself that I would keep silent … that I wouldn't ask. But I can't pretend any longer. I have to know the truth.”

He stiffened, bracing himself for the worst, something he had done that he wasn't even aware of. “Go on.”

“When you went to London … your business … was it just an excuse to leave? Did you go there to be with another woman?”

For an instant, his heart seemed to stop. “That is what you believe?”

“I don't know; I … Your sister said you could never be content with only one woman. She said that was the reason you left, that you needed variety. Tonight … when I saw you with Lady Eastgate … I knew she had been your lover. I thought that perhaps she was the woman you went to see.”

He covered the distance between them in two long strides and dragged her into his arms. He was soaking her gown, but he no longer cared. He wanted her to know the truth, wanted her to believe in him again. He had to make that happen.

“My sister is a vicious little liar,” he said against her hair. “You know that as well as I do. There was no other woman. I don't want any other woman. I haven't since the day I met you.” He felt her shiver, cursed himself, and stepped away.

“You must believe that, Ariel. If our marriage is to have the slightest chance of success you must believe I am telling you the truth.”

“I want to,” she whispered. “I want to believe you more than anything in the world.”

His gaze remained steady on her face. “I lied to you once in the past. I won't do it again. Not ever. I went to the city on business. I didn't take you with me because I wanted you here, where you'd be warm and safe.” His hand trembled as he cupped her cheek. “Say you believe me.”

Long, silent moments passed. Then her eyes slid closed and she stepped back into his arms. “I believe you.”