Sterling Family - A Perfect Groom Part 11

"No doubt a masterly achievement in your eyes." Arabella hitched her chin high. His

aplomb unraveled her temper. "You, my Lord Vice -"

"Lord Vice? Oh, that is rich, coming from you, Miss Vicar!" He directed his gaze heavenward. "Are you finished?"

Her eyes were snapping. "I am not!"

"Well, then, pray continue."

"You are despicable."

That brow remained c.o.c.ked high. "Surely you can do better than that."

Arabella took a deep breath. "You are despicable -"

"You repeat yourself, my dear.""Despicable and odious. I find you utterly detestable. Thoroughly unlikable -""Odd," he cut in. "It seems I only have this problem with you."Arabella made a shrill sound. "You are vile. Uncouth -""Never in front of a lady.""Clearly you find this a great source of amus.e.m.e.nt. But I'll have you know, unlike the rest of the w.i.l.l.y-nilly females who giggle behind their fans whene'er they spy you, I see you through unclouded eyes. No decent woman will ever have you. Why, I doubt the woman exists who could penetrate your -" She gestured wildly at his chest.

"Heart?" he supplied.

"What! You have a heart?"

"Is that all?" he asked coolly. "You detest me because I've a fondness for

beautiful women?"

"Your reputation is thoroughly reprehensible and you know it."

"I avail myself of what pleasures may come my way, though I admit my reputation is one

I've probably cultivated."

"You are a womanizer and a wastrel, Justin Sterling. Furthermore, I don't like you very much! So let's just leave it at that, shall we?" She tried to step around him.

He didn't allow it. A long arm snaked out and stopped her cold.

"Unhand me," she said clearly.

"I think not."

Arabella turned her head. A chill went through her. Only then did she note his smile was wiped clean. His

eyes had gone utterly cold.

Sharply she spoke. "What the devil are you doing?"

An unpleasant smile rimmed his lips. "I should think it would be obvious, my dear."

She had no chance to reply. Before she could move, before she could say a word, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the

mantilla from her hair.

Her hand went to her head. "Justin! Why did you do that?"

"Let us call it a token of your affection, shall we?"

He twisted so that they stood face-to-face. With his free arm, he crushed her against him.

Arabella's breath left her lungs in a rush. She stared directly into his dark features. His intense regard was unnerving. Too late she recognized her rashness; too late she regretted it! She had challenged him, and a man like him wouldn't take such a thing lightly. Truthful or not, she had been unwise to taunt him so.

A blistering heat resided in his eyes, along with something she didn't fully understand. Anger? Most a.s.suredly. Desire? No, she thought. Surely not desire. And yet*

"Give it back," she said levelly.

"You're in no position to make demands, Arabella."

Indeed, she thought frantically, she was in no position she'd ever thought to find herself in! His nearness was overwhelming. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He was rock-hard and broad. Once again she was acutely conscious of the way he made her feel small and feminine.

"Let me be." She strived for disdain. Somehow she feared she only managed to sound desperate. "I know what you're trying to do, Justin."

"Tell me," came his silken invitation.

Nervously she wet her lips, summoning a bravado she was far from feeling. "You're trying to frighten me."

He smiled nastily. "Am I succeeding?"

"No!" she lied.

And he knew it. She knew it by the way his smile slowly ripened and his green eyes glittered emerald fire in the night!

"Perhaps you should be frightened," he said in a tone all the more lethal for its velvet softness. "Ah, yes, perhaps you should be."

His gaze slid over her, dwelling long and hard on the outline of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Arabella's heart lurched. Her stomach dropped to the ground.

"Don't," she said haltingly. "You use women, Justin. Discard them like old shoes, with nary a thought. But I won't let you do that with me."

"My dear, you couldn't stop me."

"Don't say that!"

"Must I remind you of your own words? I'm a scoundrel. A cad. So don't play with fire. Don't play with me! Whose reputation would suffer if our names were linked together, if it was known that you were here with me in the dark - here in Lovers' Walk - here in my arms? Certainly not mine! Yours, however*" He let the sentence dangle.

Oh, G.o.d. What had she done? She had unleashed something in him, something wild and primitive, something far beyond her experience*far beyond her ability to control. He was like an animal on the hunt, she thought frantically.

"You wouldn't," she whispered.

"Wouldn't I?" The slant of his smile was almost cruel. "Oh, yes, Arabella, I see you take my meaning. I could see to it that your prospects for marriage end this very night. You say no decent woman will ever have me. You're right. I do not deny it. But, by G.o.d, no decent man would ever have you. Not even poor, besotted Walter."

Their eyes collided. A simmering tension hung between them. His features were an ominous mask, his expression forbidding, each word a pelting blow.

For, G.o.d help her, it was true. She would be forever shamed. Forever shunned.She had erred badly, she realized. Somehow she'd always known that Justin was dangerous.What she hadn't known was how much - or that he might prove dangerous to her.

A tremor went through her. She gave a tiny shake of her head. Her gaze grazed his, then skidded away.

"Don't!" she said on a strangled breath. "Please, don't ruin me."

He wanted to, he realized. The ugliness inside him wanted to show her. He wanted to hurt her. To lash out and punish her for saying that no decent woman would have him.

His father had said that, too. The night he'd died. The night he, Justin, had killed him.d.a.m.n her! he thought fiercely. d.a.m.n her feistiness. d.a.m.n her prim, prudish ways! For being such aspitfire, for being so defiantly strong-willed and impetuous. And d.a.m.n her scornful, reckless tongue!

His arm around her back tightened. She was stiff in his embrace, but she didn't resist him. He wanted to give in to the wickedness inside him, the thunderous need that made his head roar and scalded both his blood and his temper. An elemental heat reared up in him. She had fired his l.u.s.t, stirred his anger, and the wickedness inside him clamored for him to lower her to the ground, to taste and explore the hot, silken interior of her mouth as he would and say to h.e.l.l with her innocence. To h.e.l.l with his conscience. He wanted to drive between her thighs again and again until the world exploded in a crimson haze of pleasure.

Christ, but he was vile!

"Look at me," he demanded.

Slowly she raised her head. She didn't avert her face, though he sensed she wanted to. He saw

her convulsive swallow, glimpsed the s.h.i.+mmer of wetness in her wide-set eyes, felt her struggle to control

her emotions in the deep, tremulous breath she drew.Something inside told him how much it cost her, to stand before him on the verge of tears. Andsomehow, that very sense told him he was the last person on earth she would want to bear witness toher tears*yet what had he done?

"Please," she whispered, so low he could barely hear. "Please, do not disgrace me. I*it would kill my Aunt Grace."

He cursed her in that instant, just as he cursed himself. He'd wanted her cowed. Beaten.

And she was.

Abruptly, he released her.

"Go," he said harshly. "Go before I change my mind."

She needed no further encouragement. Grabbing her skirts, she bolted past him toward the square.

Not once did she look back.

Seven.

Back at his townhouse, Justin downed the contents of an entire bottle of brandy. Bleary-eyed and barely aware, he fumbled his way up the stairs to his chamber. Fully clothed, he pa.s.sed out face-down on the bed.

In the morning he woke to a dozen hammers clanging in his brain*and the softness of Arabella's mantilla still clutched in his palm.

He rolled over with a groan, a sick feeling twisting his gut. G.o.d, but he was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He staggered from his bed and reached for the bottle yet again. Maybe someday, he thought bitterly, he would learn that drink wouldn't change what he was*and what he had done.

As for Arabella, well, The Unattainable had done the unthinkable.

She'd dealt a blow to his pride. Somehow, the chit had gotten under his skin! Never before had he regretted what he was, or what he'd done. He harbored no illusions about being the world's worst scoundrel. He'd made it a rule to never look back. But Arabella had succeeded in filling him with self-loathing, something even Sebastian had been able to manage but rarely.

And he didn't thank her for it. Over the course of the next few days, he strived to dismiss the incident - and her! - from his mind.

An impossible task.

Irritated with himself, tired of his own company, he called for his carriage and headed to White's one evening. There he went straight to the hazard table.

It wasn't long before Gideon sauntered over and stepped up beside him. Justin grunted in greeting.

"Well, well. Feeling out of sorts with the world, are we?"

His mood as black as his soul, Justin glared at him. "What does it matter to you?"

Gideon nodded at the dice. "I should hate to see you lose your fortune. I am after all, looking forward to seeing that a goodly portion comes my way."

Justin stared at him blankly. He'd been in a drunken stupor for two days - or was it three? - and it was an effort to slog through the muddle in his brain. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"