Heartless (32 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

A storm set in. The tall cypress in the garden leaned toward the earth, bending to the bitter north wind that howled down through the valley. Rain pelted the ground and spattered against the windowpanes. Eerie branches of lightning lit the murky landscape, and thunder cracked over the hills.

It was nearly dark. The vicar had been late in arriving, but Justin had refused to wait another day. Inside a small but elegant salon done in pale blue and gold, the wedding ceremony was about to begin.

Only a few guests were attending: Barbara and Thomas; Clayton Harcourt, who had, at Justin's request, arrived from London late that morning; Ariel's little maid, Silvie; the housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson; and the butler, Harold Perkins—the last three, being servants, standing a little away from the rest. The vicar, a man named Richard Woods, waited to begin the ceremony, his plump wife, Emily, already teary-eyed, standing next to Clay.

The wedding commenced exactly on time. In a few short minutes Ariel Summers, born a peasant, daughter of an impoverished and illiterate tenant farmer, would become Ariel Ross, Fifth Countess of Greville.

In a high-waisted gown of pale blue velvet trimmed with bands of ecru lace, she stood next to Justin, her hands faintly trembling, her face cold and numb. As the vicar began the service, Justin stared straight ahead, his jaw rigid, his gaze shuttered against whatever he might be thinking.

Ariel tried to keep her own unsettling thoughts at bay and concentrate on the vicar's words.

“Christ said, ‘As the father hath loved me, so hath I loved you. This is my commandment—from this time forth—that you love one another.'”

“… that you love one another.”
It was God's commandment and Ariel knew in her heart that she kept it. She loved Justin Ross. But she wanted him to love her in return. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Clay Harcourt smiling at her, looking as if he read her thoughts. He had challenged her once, instilling the notion that she could actually teach Justin to love. Perhaps if they had never had that conversation, she wouldn't be standing here now.

“Join your right hands,” the vicar instructed. She felt Justin's grip, solid and strong. Her own hand trembled. “Do you, Justin Ross, Earl of Greville, take this woman, Ariel Summers, to be your wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish till death do you part?”

“I do,” he said firmly.

The vicar turned to her, repeated the vow, asked for her answer. “I do,” she answered softly.

“May I have the ring?”

Justin pulled it from the pocket of his silver brocade waistcoat and handed it over. Beneath the blazing candles, elegant sapphires flashed with blue fire; diamonds sparkled like pure, clear ice. Ariel stared at the ring in surprise, thinking she had never seen anything more stunning.

“This ring is given in token that you will keep this covenant and perform these vows. My lord, do you so promise?”

Again Justin answered, “I do.”

“You may place the ring on her finger.” The vicar returned it to Justin, and he slid it onto her left hand. It felt cool and slightly heavy, but not unpleasantly so. It was simple yet so exquisitely beautiful a lump of tears rose in her throat.

Where had it come from? Justin hadn't had time to purchase it. Clay must have brought it from London. It was amazing he could choose a ring so perfectly suited to her.

The vicar's voice rang out: “As you, Justin Ross, and you, Ariel Summers, have consented together in wedlock and have pledged your troth to each other in the sight of God and in the presence of this company, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I now pronounce that you are man and wife. Whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” He smiled. “You may kiss your bride, my lord.”

But Justin was already leaning forward, pressing his mouth to hers. His kiss was softly erotic and amazingly tender, yet it burned with an underlying heat that sent little shivers into her stomach. For weeks, she had blocked the memory of his sensuous kisses, of his lean, muscular body, of his graceful long-fingered hands as they moved so skillfully over her sensitive skin. Now the memories came rushing back with the impact of the storm raging outside the windows.

Uncertainty surfaced, worry about the future, of what might lie ahead. Ariel shoved them away. Instead, she glanced at the clock on the marble-manteled hearth, remembered the pleasure she had once known in his arms, and thought how interminable the hours would be before they retired upstairs and he would make love to her again.

“Congratulations,” Clayton Harcourt said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I wish you both every happiness.”

“Thank you.”

He slapped Justin on the back. “So you were smart enough to marry her after all. I had begun to wonder.”

“I believe it would be more aptly put, the lady was foolish enough to agree.”

Clay chuckled softly. It was obvious he was happy for his friend and that he approved of the woman Justin had chosen. It pleased her to think her husband's dearest friend had accepted her so completely.

Little Thomas came racing toward them just then, grinning from ear to ear, a gaping hole where another small tooth should have been. “Are you married now, Uncle Justin?”

He smiled and hoisted the boy up, propping him against his chest. “It would certainly appear that way. Ariel and I are married, which means she is now Lady Greville. She is also your new aunt.”

“My aunt?”

“That's right. From now on you must call her Aunt Ariel.”

The child looked over at her shyly, peeping from beneath thick black lashes so like Justin's. “Aunt Ariel?”

She smiled, charmed as always by his sweetness. “I've never had a nephew before. I believe I am going to like being an aunt very much.”

Thomas laughed joyfully, one small arm clinging to Justin's neck. “Me, too, Aunt Ariel.”

Liking the notion more and more, she watched as Justin set the boy back on his feet.

“Why don't you go into the room next door and get yourself something to eat?” he said. “I believe I saw some apple tarts that looked particularly good.” Through the door to the adjoining room, a linen-draped table groaned beneath the weight of endless silver trays laden with food: scallops of succulent goose, roast quarter lamb, lobster curry, pheasant pie, an array of steaming vegetables, and decadent desserts: a scrumptious chocolate cream, a delicate almond pudding, custards, fruit compotes, and of course the apple tarts.

Tall white beeswax candles burned in a beautiful silver centerpiece, and a stack of silver-rimmed porcelain plates had been set out to feed hungry guests.

The little boy dashed away, and from the corner of her eye, she caught an image of someone moving toward them. Her warm smile faltered and slid away, her mouth going dry at the sight of Barbara Townsend bearing down on them. Carrying a glass of champagne, her elegant silk skirts flying out behind her like the wake of an approaching ship, Barbara stopped directly in front of them.

Her lips curled into one of her feline smiles. “I suppose I should congratulate the happy couple. I must admit, I never expected to see the day. I wonder what Father would say if he knew his son had married a—”

“I would watch what I said, if I were you,” Justin warned, no longer willing, it seemed, to play his sister's ruthless games. Unconsciously Ariel moved closer, and his arm went protectively around her.

“I was merely considering what Father would think of the daughter of one of his tenants becoming the Countess of Greville.” How she knew that particular bit of information Ariel wasn't sure, but Barbara was ever full of surprises.

“Considering how badly he wished his bloodline to continue, I imagine he would have been more concerned with my getting an heir than whether or not the lady I married came up to his daughter's social standards.”

Barbara sipped her champagne, eyeing them darkly. “Perhaps you're right. Father was always more interested in youth and beauty than good breeding.”

Ariel blanched. Justin ignored the remark, but a muscle ticked in his cheek. A servant appeared in front of them, carrying a silver tray filled with crystal goblets, and Barbara slipped away, off in search of more interesting quarry, leaving them apart from the rest of the guests.

“Would you care for a glass of champagne?” Justin asked. “I imagine we could both use something to relax our nerves.”

Ariel simply nodded. She could indeed use something to ease the tension thrumming through her. “Thank you.” She accepted the glass and took a sip, felt the fizz of bubbles on her tongue and his beautiful gray eyes on her, but they carefully shuttered his thoughts.

“It's obvious you're unsettled,” he said. “If you are worried about tonight, don't be.”

Her stomach instantly knotted. “Tonight?”

“I realize in the past few weeks your feelings toward me have changed considerably. We are married. As your husband, there are certain … demands I shall be making upon you. But I don't intend to press you before you're ready.”

The glass of champagne trembled in her hand, several drops spilling over the rim. “But I thought…” Her heart seemed to slow its beat. “I thought you wanted me, Justin.”

In an instant, the shuttered look was gone. Eyes the gray of the sky outside held a hunger that seemed to burn across her skin. “I want you, Ariel. Every time I close my eyes, I remember how beautiful you looked lying naked beside me, what it felt like to kiss your lovely breasts, how hot and tight you were when I was inside you. I want you the way a dying man wants to live. But I won't ask for something that you're not ready to give.”

Ariel simply stood there, feeling the fire sparked by his words, the air thick and hot and swirling with a force that was almost tangible.

“You're my husband,” she heard herself saying. “Tonight is our wedding night. I'm prepared to fulfill my wifely duties.”

The heat in his eyes seemed to dim and slowly fade and they brimmed instead with sadness. “Perhaps in time, you'll be ready to do more than fulfill your duties. Perhaps you will remember the way it was between us in the past. Perhaps the time will come when you want me again.”

He turned then and walked away, and Ariel felt suddenly empty. She had lied to him—a lie of omission. She already remembered, already wanted him. Whatever he felt for her, whatever problems lay ahead, her desire for him remained. Just watching him standing across the room in conversation with Clayton Harcourt made her heart beat faster, made the heat tug low in her belly.

Wearing dove gray breeches that clung to his hard-muscled thighs, a dark blue tailcoat stretched over his broad shoulders, he looked powerful and male, and impossibly attractive. He was lean and hard and virile. He was her husband and though he didn't love her, he wanted her.

Ariel wanted him, too.

Tonight was her wedding night. As a child, she had dreamed of it. As a woman, she knew, if the man were the right one, what pleasure the night could bring. She had married Justin, taken the risk of loving him again. Now she longed for him to come to her, to make love to her. Her mind warned her to beware, but her body wanted him as it always did.

Ariel shoved her doubts away. Justin was her husband. She would set aside her pride and tell him the truth. She watched him a moment more, debating, trying to convince herself.
Do it now,
a little voice urged,
before you lose your nerve.

In the light of the candles, the diamond stickpin in his cravat seemed to wink at her, summoning her forward. Taking a fortifying sip of her champagne, she set the glass down on a nearby table and crossed to where he stood. He turned at her approach, and for an instant she glimpsed the same burning hunger that she had seen before. He banished it as quickly as it appeared.

“Excuse me,” Clay said with a discerning smile. “I believe I have suddenly developed an appetite.” He winked at her and purposely stepped away, giving them a moment alone.

Ariel took a steadying breath and fixed her attention on her husband. “There is something I wish to say. Something I was embarrassed to say before. I would like to say it now, before I lose my courage.”

His slashing black brows drew down. He set aside his barely touched glass of champagne, a wary look setting in. “Then I suppose you had better get on with it.”

She moistened her lips, the words more difficult than she had expected. “Earlier … when we discussed our wedding night … I spoke to you of duty. I was embarrassed, afraid to admit the truth. I should have been speaking of need, not duty. I haven't forgotten the nights we shared. I never will. I've missed you, Justin, these last terrible weeks, and I want you to make love to me. Tonight I would have a true wedding night … if that is your wish, too.”

Something burned in his eyes, blazed with the same white-hot fire as the lightning outside the window. They turned dark with purpose. Ariel gasped as he set his jaw, bent, and scooped her up in his arms.

“What … what are you doing?”

“I'm taking my wife to bed.” Long, determined strides carried him toward the door, servants scattering like mice out of his way. “By her own admission, that is where she wishes to be. God knows it is where I wish to be.” Ariel clutched his neck and peered over his shoulder, her face turning crimson as he strode out of the drawing room and she caught the knowing smiles of a pair of young blond footmen. Behind them she heard Clay Harcourt's husky laughter, saw Barbara Townsend's face turn an angry mottled red.

Justin simply ignored them.

“What about the vicar and his wife?” Ariel asked in amazement as he strode down the hall toward the stairs in the entry. “And your friend Mr. Harcourt?”