Heartless (7 page)

“I figured I'd find you here,” Clay said, “poring over the books. Do you never do anything but work, old man?” He was nearly as tall as Justin, slightly heavier in the chest and shoulders, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Where Justin was remote and too often brooding, Clay was outgoing, casually arrogant, and, when it came to women, a completely conscienceless rogue.

“Actually, I haven't got much of anything done—not for the past few days, at least.” Justin rose from his desk, strode toward Clay, and the two of them shook hands.

“I suppose I should be grateful you're such a dedicated sod, considering the money you've made me over the years.” In the days since they'd finished their schooling, Clay had wisely entrusted Justin with the management of the small inheritance he had received from his mother, as well as any monies the duke doled out and whatever he managed to scrape together himself. As Clay had hoped, Justin's knack for investing had turned the sum into a tidy little fortune that no one but the two of them knew about.

“So … shall I guess what is keeping you from your labors?” Clay asked. “She
has
arrived, hasn't she?”

His friend knew about Ariel, her letters, and the bargain she had made with his father. “She's here. As we speak, she is fast asleep upstairs.”

“Not in your bed, I take it.”

His mouth curved faintly. He would hardly be down here if she were. “Unfortunately, no.”

“Is that a note of regret I hear in your voice? I thought you said you had no interest in making the girl your mistress.”

Justin didn't answer. Perhaps he hadn't, not at first. Now he had every intention of doing just that. Unfortunately, after their last conversation and the forthright way she had spoken, some of his original beliefs about her had begun to surface again. He wanted Ariel more than ever. But he wanted her willingly in his bed.

“There is no point in lying. I want her, Clay. I have since the moment I met her.” He told his friend everything that had happened since her arrival, including Ariel's involvement with Phillip Marlin.

“Marlin—how did that bastard manage to get his hooks into her so quickly?”

“By chance, I gather. She claims she hasn't slept with him. There is no way to know for sure.”

“Oh, there's a way. Once you bed her, you'll discover whether or not she's the innocent she claims.”

His jaw tightened at the thought. “Yes, I suppose I will.”

Clay threw himself down on the brown leather sofa and lounged back against the arm. “So … how do you plan to seduce her? Forcing a woman isn't your usual approach.”

“You're the expert on women. What would you suggest?”

Clay uncurled his big body and sat up straighter. “I'd probably buy her something—flowers, candy, some pretty little trinkets. I might try taking her out, showing her around the city.”

“She is living in my house. Should the fact be known, she would be considered a fallen woman, whether I am bedding her or not. I could hardly take her out among the
ton.
”

Clay pondered that. “True enough, but hardly a problem. I could make a list for you, places I take Teresa.” Clay's current mistress. “There's a little out-of-the-way theater called the Harmony in Covent Gardens. Or perhaps she'd enjoy gaming at one of the Jermyn Street hells. In truth, there are far more interesting places to take a whore than there are to take a lady.”

Justin frowned at the use of the word. He didn't like to think of Ariel in that way. “Unfortunately, I don't have time. Day after the morrow, I leave for Birmingham to check on the progress of my new factory. After that—”

“Take her with you. Women are hardly immune to you, Justin—even if the ones you usually bed are far less naive. Give her a chance to get to know you—the real you, I mean. Not the man you show the rest of the world.”

Justin's glance strayed upward as if he could see through the plaster ceiling into her room. “I'll give it some thought. Aside from my problems, there must have been some reason for your late-night call. What is it?”

Clay grinned. “Actually, I saw your lamp through the window. I knew you'd be working. I thought maybe I could convince you to join me at Madame Charbonnet's.”

It was an idea Justin had considered himself, in light of his current situation and the ache he suffered every time he thought of the girl upstairs. “All right. Give me a minute to get my coat and I'll be right with you.”

“Saints be praised! How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Justin grumbled. “Too damned bloody long.”

C
HAPTER
S
IX

The days slid past. Ariel dreamed again that night, and in her dream she was kissing her handsome, golden-haired prince, Phillip Marlin. Her arms slid around his neck and he lightly pulled her against him. It was a sweet, tender kiss, little more than a faint brushing of lips, a gentle show of affection.

Then the dream began to fade, to blur and dim at the edges, to thicken into a bleak, dense fog that shrouded the recesses of her mind, and her handsome prince disappeared. In his place stood the fierce, dark earl, holding her imprisoned in his unforgiving arms, pressing her indecently against his long, lean body.

“No…” she whispered, beginning to struggle, trying to break free. The earl held her easily, drawing her even more firmly against him. Bending his head, he took her mouth with such savage force her legs nearly buckled beneath her. The kiss went on, hot, harsh, demanding, penetrating her senses until she felt consumed by him, absorbed by his powerful presence, unable to tear herself free.

And no longer certain that she wanted to.

She awakened shivering all over, trembling with fear and uncertainty, her skin hot and clammy, tingling in that unfamiliar way it had before.

Silvie arrived moments later, bearing a summons from the very man who haunted her, even in sleep. She was to join the earl in the breakfast room overlooking the garden at the rear of the house.

Ariel's heartbeat kicked up, anxiety making her legs a little unsteady. Crossing to her rosewood armoire, she chose a simple tunic dress fashioned of soft mauve silk embroidered with dark pink roses. Dressing hurriedly, she fidgeted while Silvie finished pinning up her hair, then left the room and headed downstairs, her mind alternating between the violent dream she'd had and the earl's softly spoken denial that he would have forced her into his bed.

He had never beaten the tavern maid, Molly McCarthy, he'd said. In fact, he had accused Phillip Marlin of the crime.

Surely it was the earl who lied. Phillip was a gentleman. He was her handsome prince. He would never invent such a tale.

But something gnawed at her. Something in the earl's voice, or perhaps it was the horror in his expression when she had accused him of the deed. Whatever it was, it made her wonder.…

He was waiting when she walked through the door. He stood at her approach and pulled out the ornately carved high-backed chair on one side of him. Dressed in a dove gray tailcoat and snug black breeches, he seemed a little less formidable today. Even his eyes seemed different, less fierce, more assessing.

Ariel studied him more closely, appraising him as she hadn't really done before. Now that he was no longer angry, he looked even more handsome than he had before, lines of his harshly beautiful face as if sculpted in marble. With his straight nose, high, carved cheekbones, and slashing black brows, he had the look of the predator he had seemed, yet those hard, bold features were compelling in a way she had refused to acknowledge until now.

He settled himself in a chair at the head of the table and unconsciously her thoughts returned to the savage kiss she had suffered in her dream, or perhaps it was the one he had claimed upstairs in his bedchamber. Whatever it was, she forced the memory away and hoped he wouldn't notice the faint edge of color that crept into her cheeks.

“You look fetching this morning, Miss Summers. I trust you slept well.”

Except for her disturbing dreams. Her cheeks grew noticeably warmer. “Well enough, my lord.”

“I've been thinking about our conversation—more particularly the suggestion you made.”

Her heart took a leap. The suggestion that they become friends before becoming lovers? She prayed for the reprieve it would mean. “Yes, my lord?”

“Inasmuch as I know, through your letters, a great deal about you, but you have but recently met me, it seems only fair that we do as you suggest and spend a little time getting to know each other.”

Ariel's pulse took another jump. Spending time in company with the earl was a highly disturbing thought, never mind that it was her idea and the answer to her prayers.

“Since my schedule demands a brief trip out of the city, I thought that perhaps you would join me.”

“Out of the city?” It came out with a noticeable squeak.

“The small town of Cadamon, some thirty miles southeast of Birmingham, to be precise. I recently purchased a textile factory there.”

A dozen thoughts passed through Ariel's head. At the forefront was the knowledge that she would be a number of nights with the earl. “Birmingham is a goodly distance away.”

He nodded. “More than a day's journey each way. We'll be five or six days gone, I should imagine.”

Ariel blanched. Five or six days! Dear Lord, who would protect her from him for nearly a week? She nervously moistened her lips. “Perhaps it would be better if we began our acquaintance upon your return.”

Those straight black brows slammed together and his mouth flattened into the thin, disapproving line that she had seen before. “I'm afraid that isn't an option. We leave first thing in the morning. I'll expect to depart no later than nine o'clock.”

She forced herself to nod. “As you wish, my lord.”

“In the meantime, I think today would be well spent doing a bit of shopping.”

“Shopping, my lord?”

“I wish to purchase a few new gowns for you to wear and whatever you might need to go with them.”

Ariel shook her head. “You have already paid for a number of very lovely gowns. I have scarcely worn them. I hardly need more.” More of a debt she would owe him. More she would have to repay. Inwardly, she groaned.

“For the occasions I have in mind, I would like to see you in something a bit less … conservative. Your gowns are fine for day wear, but for evening, they make you look as though you are fresh from the schoolroom.”

Ariel glanced down at the cup of cocoa a footman had just set in front of her. “That is exactly what I am,” she said softly.

The muscles tightened across his shoulders. “You're no longer a child, Ariel. I don't intend to treat you as one.”

Ariel said nothing more. She knew he was thinking of the kiss they had shared and the debt he intended to collect. Turning toward the footman who stood near the door, he signaled for the man to serve the balance of the light morning meal, then leaned back and took a sip of his coffee, those cool gray eyes once more on her face.

Beneath the table, Ariel clenched her white linen napkin into a knot that matched the one in her stomach. The footman set a delicate, sugary cake on the plate in front of her along with a spoonful of ripe red berries, but Ariel was no longer hungry.

*   *   *

They finished their breakfast in silence. As soon as the plates were removed, Justin rose and approached where Ariel sat shoving the food around on her plate. He said nothing as he led her to his waiting carriage, just motioned to the driver, who climbed into his seat on top. A soft slap of reins against the rumps of the four matched grays, and they were off, the iron wheels rolling over the cobblestone streets.

The sights of the city moved by outside the window, taverns and coffeehouses, butcher shops and rug merchants. Ariel's gaze slowly turned in that direction, and he couldn't miss the glow of fascination that slowly brightened her face. It didn't take long to reach St. James's, an area of elegant shops and stores that catered to wealthy members of the
ton.
Justin ordered his coachman to stop in front of a narrow establishment wedged between a dealer in spiritous liquors and a chairmaker's shop. There was only a single window and a small, obscure wooden sign that read: “MADAME DUPREE, Couture.”

“Shall we?” He offered his arm and Ariel took it, letting him lead her inside.

In the small, well-appointed room, several women worked over bolts of colorful fabric, busily applying needle and thread to complete the garments they fashioned. One of them, a wide-hipped, beefy woman, rose at Ariel and Justin's approach and scuttled toward the rear of the shop, disappearing behind a velvet curtain in search of the proprietor.

“How did you know about…?” Ariel looked up at him, the question trailing away. He knew she was thinking that he must have been there before, buying gowns for other of his mistresses.

“How did I know about the shop?” he finished for her.

“I suppose I am not the first woman you've brought here,” she said a bit tartly, staring at him down her small, straight nose.

Amusement lifted the corner of his mouth. “Actually, you are the first. I know about the place because my father made a number of purchases here. I paid the bills after he died. Since I could never fault his taste, I figured it would accomplish our purpose.”

She cocked a blond eyebrow. “And what, exactly, might that purpose be?”

“You said you wished to see the city, perhaps attend a play or an opera. You will need the sort of gowns Madame Dupree can provide you.”

She said nothing to that. How could she? It was her idea, after all. He settled a hand at her waist, noticing how incredibly small it was, guiding her farther inside. The curtain rustled. The owner stepped into the salon with a smile and began walking toward them.