Heartless (8 page)

“May I be of help, my lord?” She was gray-haired and slightly wrinkled, her cheeks heavily rouged. She had large, pendulous breasts, the cleavage modestly hidden beneath a lace fichu at the neck of her fashionably cut silk gown.

“I would like to purchase some evening gowns for the lady.”

She smiled. “You're Greville, are you not?”

He wasn't surprised that she knew him. Though it galled him to admit it, he knew how much he looked like his father. He made a slight inclination of his head. “I'm Greville.”

“The late earl, your father, was a very good customer. You look remarkably like him.” She turned her attention to Ariel. “And you, my dear, must be a … friend … of his lordship's.”

Color washed into Ariel's face. Her head barely moved in a nod.

“Come now; there's no reason to be shy. In the past, I dealt with a number of the late earl's … friends. I'll have you properly fitted out in no time.”

Justin watched the two women leave and found himself frowning. He didn't like the smug way Madame Dupree had smiled at Ariel or the wash of humiliation that had tinged her pale cheeks.

Justin silently cursed, wishing he had never brought her to the shop. He had always loathed his father's constant need for fresh, innocent young women. Justin looked very much like him. Was he more like his father than he cared to admit?

He shuddered to think of it, then blocked the painful notion as he had taught himself to do, shutting it completely out of his head. He didn't want a string of young women. He wanted Ariel Summers, and in time, he vowed, he would make her want him.

The women returned. Madame Dupree placed Ariel atop a low, round dais in front of a brocaded sofa and began to swathe her in bolt after bolt of fabric. At first she was reticent and he knew she was pondering the reason he was buying the dresses. He had made no secret of his intentions. He wanted her in his bed and he would do whatever it took to make that happen.

She stood stiffly on the dais, embarrassed to be wearing little more than a shift, and he suppressed a sudden, violent urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her away from the woman's sly looks and knowing glances. Ariel said nothing at all and only replied to questions that were directly asked.

Still, she had been born into poverty, and eventually the beautiful fabrics—the lush velvets in ruby and sapphire, the sumptuous satins in cream and rose, the shimmering silks in emerald and gold—had her smiling.

It pleased him, that smile, warmed him in some way. He helped her choose the fabric and style for five new gowns, two more than he had intended, just to see the glow of pleasure on her face. They agreed on each one, both surprised to discover their tastes were so much the same.

Though the dresses were cut far lower than any she had worn before, the daring style was the height of fashion, and seeing her in them would help ease his conscience. Ariel was a woman, not a girl. A beautiful, desirable woman—one entirely capable of fulfilling the bargain she had made. Exposing so much of her lovely breasts would prove it.

They left the store loaded down with boxes and, after a stop at the shoemaker's shop around the corner to order matching slippers for each of the gowns, headed back to his waiting carriage.

They had almost reached it when he spotted a tall blond figure stepping out of the haberdasher's shop up ahead. Phillip Marlin strode along the paving stones, carrying an armload of boxes. He didn't see them and simply kept on walking away, but the moment Ariel saw who it was, she stopped dead in her tracks.

As Justin caught her reaction, a spark of anger burned through him. He clenched his jaw to tamp the feeling down. Ariel's gaze followed Phillip's progress across the street to where his carriage waited. She frowned as she noticed the small black child, perhaps six years old, who hurried to open the door.

“Is the child … is the little boy a servant?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on the child who was decked out garishly in full-legged purple satin trousers banded at the ankles and a matching purple vest. He wore a rhinestone-encrusted gold-and-purple turban on his small, dark head, making him look top-heavy, like a flower wilting from too much time in the sun. Little gold slippers curled into points on the toes.

“The child is a blackamoor,” Justin told her. “One of Marlin's more recent acquisitions. He keeps the boy around as a conversation piece … rather a pet of sorts. It amuses him to watch people's reaction to the color of the boy's skin and the way he is clothed.”

Ariel couldn't seem to stop staring. She continued to watch as Marlin thrust the stack of boxes into the boy's small, pink-palmed hands, then climbed inside the carriage and slammed the door. The child struggled with the boxes for a moment, handed them to a footman, then fought to climb up beside the driver, teetering near the top so precariously Justin heard Ariel gasp in a worried breath. Eventually, the little boy made it, and Phillip ordered the coachy to make way.

“I can't believe he would treat a child that way,” Ariel said softly.

“There are a number of things about Phillip Marlin you couldn't begin to imagine,” Justin said dryly, knowing she wouldn't believe him if he told her. Taking a firm grip on her arm, wishing Marlin to perdition, he led her on down the street.

*   *   *

No matter how she tried to will it not to, the next day arrived and with it their departure for Birmingham. Ariel had spent a restless night thinking of the earl and Phillip Marlin, remembering the concern for her, the unexpected sympathy, she had seen in Lord Greville's eyes at the dressmaker's shop. He had sensed her embarrassment, her utter humiliation. There was a moment she thought he might sweep her up and whisk her out of there, so dark was the look on his face.

And then there was Phillip. Surely Greville was wrong about Phillip's association with the boy. Perhaps he was helping the child in some way. Perhaps the lad was an orphan. Still, it bothered her the way he had treated the boy, like some sort of prize to be displayed. She tried to imagine Lord Greville treating a small child that way, but the image refused to surface.

The coach was waiting out in front when Ariel descended the stairs. She was packed and ready well before time to depart, her little maid, Silvie, standing nervously beside her, a small traveling valise clutched in the girl's pudgy hand.

Lord Greville appeared in the entry a few minutes later, sweeping in with the power of a storm.

Ariel forced herself to smile. “We're ready, my lord.”

He gave her a cursory glance and frowned. “I thought you understood. I've a good deal of work to do. I'll need my privacy. As we are taking only one carriage, your maid will not be coming along.”

Ariel blinked in surprise. “But you must let her come. It is unseemly for a lady—” She caught his scowl, started over again. “How could I possibly manage without her? Who would help me undress?”

“You managed for a good many years without a servant; I imagine you can survive for a few days more.”

It was highly unseemly, yet Ariel didn't argue, knowing it would do not the least amount of good. Instead she stood rigidly aside as her little maid climbed back up the stairs. Greville took her arm and guided her out the door and down the front steps of the old stone mansion. He helped her climb into the carriage, then took a seat across from her. His shoulders looked even wider in such close quarters, and though his clothes were simply cut, he wore them with an air of authority. In truth, it was hard to imagine him ever being anything other than an earl.

They spoke little on the way out of the city, and eventually she lapsed into enjoying the sights. Unfamiliar with London, she had stayed fairly close to the house, and Phillip had driven her mostly in the park. Even the earl's recent shopping excursion hadn't carried her all that far away.

Now, as they headed into the burgeoning traffic, she watched with growing fascination the hordes of people who filled the narrow streets to overflowing: inksellers, ballad singers, a man selling secondhand clothes.

A ragged little boy with a grimy face and small fingers poking through the ends of his gloves sold apples on a corner. Conveyances of every size and shape converged in the bustling cobbled lanes, creating a cacophony of shouting drivers and neighing horses.

The incredible sights and sounds enthralled her, making her forget her nebulous circumstances, at least for a while.

Then the earl's deep voice broke into her thoughts, a jarring reminder that she was alone with him and about to leave the somewhat questionable protection of the city.

“I've a stop to make before we leave town. It shouldn't take all that long.”

They rounded a corner a few minutes later and the carriage pulled up in front of a three-story brick building in Threadneedle Street. “I need to speak to my solicitor. You may come in if you like.”

She was surprised by the offer. She started to decline, then thought,
Why not?
She was traveling with the man, though certainly not by choice. Any information she might garner could prove useful. “Thank you. I believe I shall.”

He caught her hand to help her descend the iron steps, and they made their way inside the building. A young clerk with sandy brown hair and a studious expression greeted the earl, then led them down the hall into a well-appointed wood-paneled office.

“My solicitor, Jonathan Whipple.” The earl tipped his head, indicating the gray-haired man who rose from behind his desk and started toward them. A slender man in his fifties, he wore wire-rimmed spectacles that perched on a long, crooked nose. “Jonathan … may I present Miss Ariel Summers. She is newly arrived in the city.”

“A pleasure, Miss Summers.” He smiled, made a politely formal bow, then returned his attention to the earl. “I have those figures you requested, my lord. I was just in the process of making the final additions before you arrived.” The two men moved toward the desk, leaving Ariel to survey Mr. Whipple's domain.

It was cozy and warm, with a fire blazing in a small oak-manteled hearth and bookshelves along one wall. A pile of aging newspapers sat beside a brown leather chair, but aside from that the room was rather Spartan and scrupulously clean. It occurred to her that the earl was much the same, neatly ordered and pristine. It appeared he also demanded those qualities in the people who worked for him.

Ariel wandered along the bookshelf, drifting closer to the big mahogany desk in the center of the room, perusing the numerous leather-bound volumes, most of which were financial in nature. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the earl, seated in the chair behind the desk, his dark head bent over a stack of open ledgers.

Arithmetic had been her best subject in school. Watching as he studied the numbers on the page in front of him, she began to add the columns in her head, as she had learned to do.

Ariel frowned. “Excuse me, my lord, but there is an error in the column on the right.”

He cocked a brow in her direction. “It comforts me to know that among your newly acquired talents you are also an expert in accounting.”

She flushed at the sarcasm in his voice but refused to back down. “I know little of accounting. I do know those numbers do not add up. The total should be two thousand, six hundred, and seventy-six, not three thousand, one hundred, and forty-eight.”

Greville frowned. The gray-haired man beside him looked suddenly worried and quickly set to work, adding once more the numbers on the page.

“Oh, dear. I'm afraid Miss Summers is correct, my lord. I can't imagine how I could have made such an error.” He sighed. “Now I shall have to refigure all of the other columns based on the adjusted figure. It will take a bit of time.”

“I can do it for you,” Ariel offered. “It turns out I have rather a knack for numbers.” She glanced down and silently set to work. “The total in the first column should be forty-two hundred fourteen. The second column is … thirty-three hundred eighty-seven, and the third should be—” She stopped, glanced over at Jonathan Whipple. “You didn't write that down,” she said to him, but he simply continued his furious addition, trying to come up with an answer of his own.

“Forty-two hundred fourteen pounds,” he confirmed, glancing at the earl over the rims of his glasses. “The lady is quite correct.”

Greville's astonished gaze swung to her face. “How the devil did you do that so quickly?”

Ariel smiled, more pleased than she should have been that she had impressed him. “It's a trick I learned. You simply group the numbers in combinations of ten whenever you can, or add them slightly out of sequence, or see two or three numbers as a single larger number—eight, twelve, and ten equal thirty, for example.”

“Very impressive.”

“I had an excellent mathematics teacher, thanks to you, my lord. I can also do rapid multiplication and division—if you should ever find the need.”

The edge of his mouth quirked up. “I shall keep that in mind.”

The earl finished his meeting and the two of them returned to the carriage. He said little as the conveyance rolled off toward the outskirts of the city, though she thought that perhaps he studied her from beneath his lowered lids. His lashes, she noticed were even blacker than his hair and thicker than any man's she had ever seen.

An hour passed. The sun broke through the clouds and slanted in through the isinglass windows, casting shadows beneath Greville's high cheekbones.

The rumble of his voice broke into the quiet: “I suppose, after spending time in London, the country will seem dull and boring.”

She looked out at the rolling green hills, the small flock of black-faced sheep grazing on the knoll, a sky that was a clear, crystalline blue, as it never was in the city.

“On the contrary, my lord. I've no desire to return to the dirt-floored hovel where I was born, but I shall always be partial to the sweet clean air and green grasses of the country. London teems with all sorts of life, but in a different way, so does it here. There are colorful insects, an endless array of beautiful birds, and interesting four-legged creatures, both wild and domestic. As a child, I yearned to leave it. Now I see that it was the poverty and ignorance I wanted to leave, not the land itself.”