Heartless (15 page)

She wanted to live up to the image of the person she had worked so hard to become.

And yet when she thought of the earl …

As the carriage rolled toward the house, her gaze returned to the window. She tried to ignore the worry for him that throbbed like a splinter in her heart.

*   *   *

Justin sat in the smoky taproom of the tavern—was it the Hare and Garter or the Garter and Hare? Perhaps it was the Hairy Garter—he didn't know and he didn't really care. Whatever the place was, it was cold, or at least Justin felt a noticeable chill, a creeping, icy numbness that made his joints stiff and his blood pump sluggishly. But a fire blazed in the hearth and no one else in the room seemed aware of the chill.

He had a strange suspicion the cold was coming from inside him.

He glanced around the tavern, a low-ceilinged establishment with heavy wooden beams and wide-planked floors, a place he had once been in with Clay. Fortunately, it wasn't far from the gaming hell and not in too seedy a part of town.

He swayed a little on the scarred wooden bench he sat on, leaned against the rough wall behind him, and shot back the last of another tankard of ale.

He rarely drank. He was already drunker than seven lords, but he didn't give a damn about that, either. He wanted to deaden his mind, blot out the scene with Ariel in the carriage. He glanced at the dwindling stack of money on the table he had been slowly drinking up—Ariel's meager winnings, money she had given him as payment on her debt.

Justin swore softly, foully. Did she really think he cared about the damnable money? He had more than he could spend in a lifetime, and his investment earnings mushroomed every day.

He didn't want her money. He wanted her. Wanted her in his bed. Wanted to be inside her. Wanted to absorb the sunny warmth that seemed to emanate from her like heat from a fire. He wanted to brighten, if only for a while, his otherwise dreary world.

It was the letters, he knew. The letters that had endeared her to him in a way that nothing else could have. He had come to admire her determination, the iron will it had taken to escape her life of poverty and make something of herself. He even admired the means she had employed, the courage and shrewdness of a fourteen-year-old girl to come up with a bargain that would appeal to a man like his father.

He admired Ariel Summers, though he still wasn't sure he could trust her, and he had come to loathe himself for the conscienceless way he had treated her. God's blood, he had never meant to make her go through with his father's lecherous bargain. Before he had met her, he had planned to help her get started in the new life she had earned by grit and perseverance.

Then he'd walked in and seen her with his most hated enemy, Phillip Marlin. The old animosity had slammed into him with the force of a hammer, driving him to lengths he hadn't believed himself capable of.

In an instant he'd been back in time, seeing Margaret's face instead of Ariel's, remembering her lying naked in Phillip Marlin's arms. Margaret Simmons, the daughter of a viscount, was beautiful and fiery. Justin had been drawn to her from the moment he had met her, at a party at her father's country estate not far from Oxford, where he was attending school. Clay had introduced them, and for months they met in secret, Margaret unwilling to tell her father she was seeing the Earl of Greville's bastard son.

With the education he was receiving, Justin believed he could comfortably take care of her. He was insane enough to think she would actually marry him.

Then one morning, he had received an anonymous note.

Come to the Cock's Crow at 3 o'clock tomorrow. Your beloved will be waiting.

It wasn't Margaret's delicately feminine scroll, yet there was something in the words that drew him. He arrived at the small, out-of-the-way inn promptly at three, and the innkeeper, obviously in someone's pay, led him to an upstairs room. He opened the door to see the feather bed rumpled, the sheets carelessly tumbled onto the floor—Margaret and Phillip lying naked in each other's arms.

Cold rage set in.

Margaret screamed, but Phillip merely laughed.

Justin wanted to kill them.

Instead, he made a slight bow of his head. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said. “I can see the two of you are busy.” Margaret trembled, a terrified light in her eyes. Justin ignored her. “You'll find the lady quite talented,” he said to Marlin. “A little overzealous on occasion, but gifted just the same.” To Margaret he said, “I believe, my dear, you have found your perfect mate.” Turning, he walked out of the room, his heart irreparably broken.

Justin scoffed to remember it. Those were the days when he actually believed he had a heart.

He took another slug of his ale, wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of a hand. He glanced toward the fire, thought of moving closer. Even the tips of his fingers felt numb.

The tavern maid walked up just then, a short, big-breasted redhead in a low-cut blouse that displayed magnificent cleavage. “Ye want another, 'andsome?”

His head was spinning. The liquor had dulled his senses until it was hard to think, which was exactly what he wanted. “I'll be needing a room. Do you have one available?”

“We got a couple a nice ones right up there.” She pointed toward the wooden stairs at the end of the taproom.

Justin shoved the rest of the money on the table in her direction, more than enough to pay for the lodging and plenty more ale. “That ought to cover it, as well as the drinks I'll be wanting.”

She swept up the money, saw it was more than enough, and flashed him a seductive smile. “For that much blunt, ye can 'ave a little bonus, if ye like.” She cupped a weighty breast and squeezed it meaningfully, making the nipple peak under her blouse.

Justin shook his head. “Some other time, perhaps.”

The redhead merely shrugged. “Suit yerself.” She returned with another pewter tankard and set it in front of him. Justin quaffed a mouthful of the bitter brew and leaned back against the wall, letting the liquor seep into him, wondering if it would lessen the chill, wishing he were drunk enough to sleep without dreaming of Ariel, certain he was not.

It was lust, he knew, that had driven him to such extravagant measures. Any other sort of emotion had long since been exorcized from his being. He did, however have a conscience, and when it came to Ariel, it pricked him sorely.

His conscience vying with his lust.

Justin took a sip of his ale and wondered, in the long run, which of them would win.

*   *   *

Two days passed.

Another autumn night settled in, windy and cold, shrouding the house in the gray mist of solitude. Alone in her room, Ariel tossed and turned but couldn't fall asleep. In the eerie silence of the house, she strained to hear some sound in the darkness, some indication that the earl had returned. As yet there was no sign of him.

Barbara was out for the evening. She rarely came in before dawn. Young Thomas was safely tucked in bed, having convinced Ariel to read him a bedtime story. But Justin had still not come home.

No one else seemed concerned. “He is the earl,” the butler simply said. “He will return when he is ready.” But what if something had happened? It was late at night when he'd left the carriage, and he was alone. The London streets were dangerous. What if he had been injured? What if he needed help? Was there no one at all who cared for the Earl of Greville?

It occurred to her, with Justin away, she could have gone to Phillip. It was the chance she had been seeking. But after their last few encounters, she no longer trusted Phillip, and even if she had, knowing the way the earl felt about him, it would have been a betrayal of the very worst sort.

A noise pricked her ears. Ariel's senses went on alert. Unsteady footfalls thundered in the entry. Something crashed to the floor and she heard a softly muttered curse. She listened as footsteps thudded up the stairs, wandered down the hall in an odd, unsteady manner, then disappeared inside the room at the end of the hall.

Justin's room.

At last he was home.

A feeling of relief washed over her, so strong her body went limp. Ariel's head fell back against the pillow. She released a pent-up breath and said a tiny prayer of thanks that at last he was safely returned. Grogginess set in. Her eyelids slowly closed over tired, burning eyes. For the first time in three long nights, she drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep and didn't wake up until late the following morning.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

Ariel didn't see Justin all of that day or the next. She knew he was avoiding her, but after what had last transpired between them, she was afraid to seek him out. Time and again, she wondered where he had been during the days he had been gone, and an image of the two garish women kept creeping into her mind.

“A man has needs,” Phillip had said. If that were so, the earl must have needs as well. Ariel remembered the night they had worked together in his room at the King's Way Inn. A tremor ran through her at the memory of his kiss, a mixture of hunger and longing that had drawn her to him and frightened her at the same time.

She closed her eyes against a vision of Justin lying next to the brassy blonde. She tried to imagine him kissing the toothy redhead and knew instinctively that whatever woman the earl took to his bed would be unlike either one of those women. Whoever it was would be beautiful and desirable, and certain it was so, nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't want to think of the earl with another woman. She didn't want to imagine him kissing her, making love to her. And being the forthright person she was, she had to ask herself why.

She tried to tell herself it was simply a matter of pride. He had told her that she was the woman he wanted, as if no other woman would do. If he truly meant what he'd said—

If he truly meant what he'd said, would it mean that he cared for her in some way? Would it mean that she was special, different from the other women he had known?

And even if that was so, what did it matter?

But deep in her heart where she didn't want to look, she knew that it did matter. It mattered very much.

Ariel sighed as she finished dressing, then fled Silvie's morning chatter and started down the stairs, heading for the breakfast parlor. She wasn't really hungry, but she knew she should eat. She had barely touched food since the night she had last seen the earl.

Halfway down the wide stone staircase, she paused. Barbara Townsend waited at the bottom, wearing her usual condescending expression. Ariel's stomach rolled and any thought of food instantly fled. She forced herself to continue, then stopped at the foot of the stairs.

“Lady Haywood.” Sinking into a very proper curtsy, she lowered her lashes to cover her turbulent thoughts.

“It appears my brother wishes to see you. I told him I would give you the message.”

Ariel hesitantly lifted her gaze. “D-do you know what he wants?” The minute the words left her mouth, she wished she hadn't said them. It was a stupid question. Justin never told his sister anything, and he certainly wouldn't discuss anything pertaining to her.

Barbara flashed a vicious smile. “If my brother is anything like our dear departed father, he has probably grown tired of your somewhat dubious charms by now.” The ruby lips curled. “Never fear, however. I'm sure he'll be generous in his settlement. It isn't in the Greville tradition to leave a city full of disgruntled whores.”

“I told you—I'm not his whore.”

Barbara arched a perfect black eyebrow. “No? Well, then perhaps that is what he wishes to discuss. If he hasn't already had you, he must be quite determined to do so. Whatever it is, you will find him in his study.” Barbara left with a swish of her aqua silk skirts, continuing her journey down the hall.

Ariel drew in a shaky breath, preparing herself to face the man who had, little by little, become so much a part of her life. She didn't know exactly how or when it had happened, didn't realize it actually had until the night he didn't come home. She hadn't been able to sleep, hadn't been able to eat. Worry for him had been a gnawing ache in her heart.

Ariel shivered as she moved down the hall. He'd been angry when he left the carriage. Was he mad enough to demand she fulfill her bargain? Part of her dreaded the upcoming encounter, yet another, secret part of her longed to see him, no matter what he wanted.

She knocked briefly on the door, and he gave her permission to enter. She walked into the study to find him standing behind his desk facing away from her, his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the rows of books but not really seeing them. He turned at her approach, and her heart squeezed hard at the weariness in his face.

He looked drawn and tired, and defeated in a way she had never seen him. Ariel started forward, a painful ache throbbing in her chest.

“Thank you for coming,” he said formally, indicating that she should take a seat in the chair across from him. She did so slowly, purposefully arranging her skirts around her, using the time to compose herself. As the seconds slipped past, she studied his expression, searching in vain for a clue to his thoughts.

Searching for something to say.

“I was … We were all of us concerned for you. I'm glad you got home safely.”

He looked up at her, those penetrating gray eyes dark and intense, the skin beneath them faintly smudged from lack of sleep. “Are you?”

“I…” She looked him straight in the face. “Yes. Very glad.”

He said nothing to that, but a flicker of some indefinable emotion appeared for an instant in his gaze. He seated himself behind the desk and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the top. “I imagine you can guess why it is I wished to see you.”

She smoothed a fold of her skirt. “Actually, I'm not completely certain.”