Heartless (12 page)

The sound of Marlin's name sent a wave of fury shooting through him, smothering his desire. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Marlin will help you? That is what you believe? Marlin will bed you without the slightest qualm, then cast you out into the street.”

Her chin angled up, casting a shadow on the tiny cleft in the middle. “Phillip cares about me!”

“Marlin cares about no one but himself.”

“He has been kind to me. He has been my friend.”

“He wants you in his bed. He'll do whatever it takes to get you there.”

Her slender hands clenched into pale, shaking fists. “If that is the case, the two of you are exactly the same. You want to make me your mistress. If that is what he wants as well, what is the difference?”

Unconsciously he stepped toward her. Ariel took a step away. “I won't abandon you, Ariel. Once our relationship comes to its natural conclusion, I'll set you up in a small house in town—or the country, if you prefer. I'll settle a sum of money on you, enough to provide for your needs over the years. Marlin would never do that.”

The idea hadn't occurred to him, but now that he had said it aloud, it seemed the logical solution. “Your choices are limited, Ariel. Surely you can see that. You could have stayed on the farm, married some nice young peasant boy, but you didn't want that.”

“I wanted to be a lady.”

“You wanted to wear expensive clothes and lavish jewels, drive around in a fancy carriage. I can give you those things and more.”

Ariel said nothing, but her pretty blue eyes filled with tears. “I'll find another way,” she whispered. “I'll repay my debt somehow.”

The anger returned, deadening the hurt he didn't want to feel. It changed into something cold and bleak that penetrated his insides. She wanted Marlin, a man who would use her, then treat her with contempt. She would choose Marlin over him, just as Margaret had done.

The cold increased, chilling him to the bone. He pinned her with an icy glare. “You liked kissing me, Ariel. You liked it when I touched you.” A flush rose into her cheeks. “Your body says yes, sweeting. Even if your mind says no.”

“You're a devil, Justin Ross. A devil in the guise of a man.”

The words stung. He was amazed that he could feel it. He had thought even that small flicker of emotion long dead. He blocked the sensation with a frigid calm, the protective armor he wore like a shield. “Perhaps you're right,” he agreed. “It really doesn't matter. Sooner or later, I'll have you. You may count on it, my dear.”

Ariel pressed her lips together. He noticed that they trembled. Whirling away from him, her back ramrod straight, she marched to the door, yanked it open, and stepped out into the hall. Cursing, Justin followed, remaining in the opening until he was certain she was safely inside her bedchamber.

Bloody hell! Striding back into his room, he slammed the door behind him. He hadn't mean to say those things, hadn't really meant for any of this to happen. What was there about her? How could she so easily make him lose control?

He had only meant to kiss her, nothing more. But the moment he had pulled her into his arms, he was lost.

Not that he hadn't enjoyed their passionate encounter. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the softness of her lips, hear her faint sigh of pleasure when he had cupped her breast.

“You're a devil, Justin Ross.”
His eyes squeezed shut, the cruel words surprisingly painful, perhaps because they'd come from her. They dredged up hurtful memories that he had thought long dead. Memories of his father, of a seven-year-old boy who had looked up to him as if he were a god.

“You're the devil's own spawn,” his father had said. “Isobel should have drowned you in the river like the unwanted pup you are.” Earlier, his mother and father had been fighting, his mother pleading with the earl to give her more money. Isobel always wanted more money.

Justin had stared at his father, seen the loathing he felt for his son that he made no effort to hide, and had simply turned and run, his small heart breaking in two. He'd said nothing then, and over the years he had learned to rein in his emotions until he didn't feel them at all. It was easier without them. Easier and safer. After a while, he couldn't even remember what it had been like to have them.

Justin sighed into the silence. It wasn't like him to lose his temper. Years of practice usually kept him in careful control. He didn't like the notion that Ariel had somehow broken through the protective wall he had built so solidly around him.

He began to pace the floor, his long-legged strides carrying him from one end of the carpet to the other. Tomorrow they would arrive in London. They would return to his dark, dreary house in Brook Street and the separate lives they led. He had hoped this trip would help to breach the distance between them, yet his goal seemed even further away.

Patience, he told himself. The patience he had shown thus far had won him a very great deal. Tonight he had destroyed some of the progress he had made, but what he'd said was the truth—Ariel
had
enjoyed his kiss, his touch. Her body responded to him, whether she wished it or not, and he meant for that to continue.

Time was all he needed.

When the prize was worth it, Justin could be a very patient man.

*   *   *

Ariel struggled to awareness, the early-morning light shining in through the windows, rousing her from a troubled sleep. For a moment, she simply lay there, remembering the night before, wishing she could forget. With a groan, she struggled to her feet.

It didn't take long to make ready. Ariel bucked up her courage and prepared to face the earl, determined to pretend nothing had happened between them. To pretend he hadn't kissed her, hadn't caressed her breasts. That she hadn't melted against him, hadn't returned those heated kisses with astonishing abandon.

The truth was, all of those things had happened and more. She had responded to him like the harlot he intended to make her. Justin Ross had made her feel things she hadn't known a man could make a woman feel. She'd been out of her depths, angry at herself, and guilty for betraying Phillip. It was a humiliating experience, and perhaps the reason she had lashed out at him so cruelly.

A shadowy memory arose of warm male lips and deep, drugging kisses. It was overridden by the sound of her own voice taunting him with Phillip's name. She had known he would be angry, known it would end the encounter, exactly as she had wanted. What she hadn't expected was the brief flash of pain she had seen on his face.

She had hurt him, she knew, though it was nearly impossible to believe. It made her wonder if the man he appeared to be was the man he really was. Was he truly the cold, heartless man he seemed or perhaps something … something altogether different.

The thought intrigued her, made her want to know more about him, to discover what thoughts might lie behind the cool gray of his eyes.

Ariel took a fortifying breath, steeled herself, and made her way to the door, prepared to face the same angry man she had encountered the night before. Instead, when she lifted the latch, the man who stood in the hall wore a cool, emotionless mask that was far more disturbing than his rage.

“Before we begin our journey, there is something I wish to say.”

Her heart began thudding, knocking uncomfortably against her ribs. How could he do that so easily? “Yes, my lord?”

“I owe you an apology.”

The unexpected words struck with so much force an odd swell of emotion rose inside her. The arrogant Earl of Greville was apologizing to her? It was impossible and yet it appeared to be true.

“Last night I took advantage of your generous offer of assistance. I didn't set out to. It simply happened, and I am sorry.”

Ariel stared at him as if he were a stranger. She had always been good at reading people. Until she'd met Greville. More and more he intrigued her. “Perhaps we should both apologize. I said a number of things I didn't mean. I was angry, perhaps more at myself than at you. I'm sorry I said what I did.”

Something shifted in his features. He made a slight inclination of his head. “Then last night is behind us.”

“Yes.…” But it wasn't, not really, not when a single twist of those sensuous lips made her remember the heat of them moving over hers. Not when she knew her dark attraction to the earl could lead to her ruination.

And there was Phillip to consider. She might be intrigued by the earl, but Phillip was the man who held her heart. Or was he? She shoved aside the image of the small black boy Phillip dressed up to amuse his friends and treated like a pet. He was helping the boy, she told herself again, giving the child a home when he would otherwise have been orphaned. Phillip simply didn't realize how that kind of treatment must make the boy feel.

Phillip was kind and caring. He was a gentleman. He was nothing at all like the cold, brooding earl. And unlike Greville, his intentions were honorable. Ariel was certain of it, no matter what Lord Greville said.

She needed to speak to Phillip, tell him about the terrible bargain she had made and ask for his help. She would send him a note as soon as she dared, asking him to meet her. That she had promised the earl she wouldn't see him no longer mattered. Not when her happiness, her entire future, was at stake.

Greville took her arm as they descended the stairs, and a trickle of heat radiated into her stomach. When those long, dark fingers settled at her waist to guide her toward the door, a melting sensation curled out through her limbs.

“There is one more thing,” he said, returning her attention to his face. “A favor I would ask.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Do you think, at least when we are alone, perhaps you might call me Justin?”

She swallowed, unable to tear her gaze away. “Justin…” she repeated, thinking it didn't come out sounding harsh or cold, as she had imagined it would, noticing the way his features softened when she said it.

They settled themselves inside the carriage and those intense gray eyes moved over her, the long black lashes sweeping slowly downward. She could feel the power of that sensual, heavy-lidded gaze almost as if he touched her.

Ariel's pulse kicked up. A soft, buttery sensation sank low in her belly.

Sweet God, she would be glad when they got home.

*   *   *

“Welcome back, my lord.” That from Knowles, who stood in the entry of Justin's dreary stone mansion in Brook Street, greeting them on their return. “I hope your journey was a pleasant one.” The butler's gaze sliced toward Ariel, but only for an instant.

“Yes, thank you, quite pleasant,” Justin said, “though I am grateful to be home.”

“Yes, well, perhaps that will change when you learn that you have guests.”

“Guests? What guests?”

“Your sister, my lord. Lady Haywood and her son, Thomas, arrived at the house the day before yesterday.”

Justin swore softly. “Where is she?”

“In the Red Room, my lord. She is expecting the arrival of friends.”

Friends?
Was that what she called them? Her bevy of admirers, the cloying milksops who hung on her every word?

For the first time he remembered that Ariel still stood beside him. “My sister is here,” he said flatly. “She doesn't come often to the city, but apparently we're to have the pleasure of her company for a while.”

Ariel merely nodded. He noticed that her face had turned a little bit pale. There was something in her features, a look of uncertainty, of vulnerability, perhaps, that he had never seen before. It reminded him that she was a lady, not by birth, but only out of sheer determination. On the surface, she looked as polished as any other woman of the
ton.
She was a lady, but she hadn't been born one. A fact she obviously knew far better than he.

“If you are worried about my sister, don't be. Her opinion matters not in the least.”

“It matters to me,” she said softly.

“Nevertheless, you will have to meet her sooner or later. It might as well be now.” Justin offered his arm, and Ariel took it, letting him guide her down the hall and into the Red Room, where Barbara sat on a nest of cushions like a queen preparing to hold court.

“Well, if it isn't my beloved brother.”

“I would say welcome to my humble abode, but I see you have already made yourself at home.” With her glossy black hair, pale gray eyes, and faultless complexion, she was beautiful—he couldn't deny the fact. Why she had ever married a man as old as Nigel Townsend when she could have had her pick of the
ton
he couldn't imagine. Then again, Barbara had always valued her independence. Except for losing control of her husband's fortune, perhaps things had turned out exactly as she had planned.

She arched a fine black brow at Ariel, who still clung to his arm. When she realized what she was doing, her cheeks grew flushed. She eased her hold and took a step away.

“Lady Haywood, may I present to you Miss Ariel Summers.” He graced his sister with a mocking half-smile. “Ariel was our late dear father's … ward.”

“Father had a ward?” She laughed, a deep, throaty sound. “I thought the only young women he was interested in were his whores.”

Ariel's color deepened.

“Miss Summers is currently in residence here at the house. I trust you will make her feel welcome.”

Barbara's keen gray eyes swung to Ariel's face, taking in the pure lines and delicate curves, the glorious crown of flaxen hair. “You're staying here?”

“That's right,” Justin answered before Ariel had the chance.

“But how can she? Who is acting as her chaperone?”

He gave her a malicious smile. “If you are concerned about propriety, you may play the part yourself while you are in residence.”

Barbara came to her feet, her eyes narrowed in sudden understanding, a cold smile curving over her features. “She was with you in Cadamon, wasn't she? The girl isn't Father's ward and never was. You bring your mistress into the house and have the nerve to ask me to play the part of chaperone?”