and jesting. Aunt Grace was the last to step forward. She was smiling, but her eyes were glistening. In her hand was a dainty handkerchief.

At the sight of her aunt's tears, a hot ache filled her chest. Blindly Arabella reached out. She buried her face against Aunt Grace's cap. "Aunt Grace," she whispered on a watery half-sob, "I'm so sorry you didn't get to plan a proper wedding."

Grace hugged her fiercely. "It's all right, dear," she whispered back, the words meant for Arabella's ears alone. "You can make up for it by allowing me to plan the christening of your firstborn."

Justin had fallen back several steps to speak with Sebastian. He chose that exact moment to glance over at her. Over her aunt's shoulder, their eyes met. His were bland, but Arabella was quite certain hers were huge. She swallowed and averted her gaze, her mouth dry as bone. She had hardly dared to think beyond the wedding, let alone to children. Would Justin even want children? Her mind skidded forward to the night ahead. For that matter, would he claim his husbandly rights?

Her breath wavered. The kiss they'd shared earlier blazed high in her mind. Her entire body went hot. Justin was an extremely healthy, virile man who was known for his s.e.xual appet.i.tes. Unless she was mistaken, she decided cautiously, she was fairly certain he would*

The subject was still very much on her mind when the carriage rolled up before a brick-fronted home on Berkeley Square a short time later.

Justin turned to her. "I thought we'd spend the night here," he said in a casual, offhand manner. "Given the speedy nature of our wedding, I'm afraid there simply wasn't time to plan a lengthy wedding trip. But if you like, I thought we might leave in the morning for a week or so in Bath. I hope that meets with your agreement."

"Oh, I adore Bath," Arabella said brightly. "It's particularly lovely this time of year."

No, Justin thought vaguely. What was particularly lovely was her*

A footman opened the carriage door.

He tore his gaze from her lips. "Come. Let me show you my -" He stopped short. "Your new home."

An odd little thrill went through Arabella. Some of her apprehension fled.

Her fingers on his elbow, Justin introduced her to the staff, then led her through the house. It was utterly charming, roomier than she expected without being ostentatious, the furnishings comfortably elegant without being pretentious. She exclaimed her pleasure, and though Justin said nothing, she could tell he was pleased.

They ended in what he explained was his bedchamber, a large, masculine room done up in maroon and browns, dominated by an immense four-poster bed.

She tried not to stare at it, but she couldn't stop herself, either.

"Are you hungry?"

She actually jumped. "Oh, no." Her voice was high-pitched and strained. "I couldn't eat a bite after that huge dinner." Somehow she dragged her eyes from the bed.

She was nervous, Justin knew. He sensed it. He could hear it in her voice, see it in the way her gaze grazed his, only to flit immediately away. He wanted to laugh, but wasn't quite sure he dared. Wedding night jitters were to be expected. He'd married a gently bred maid, after all, despite her claim that she knew very well how the act of procreation was done. Indeed, he wondered if that had been sneer bravado.

"Well, then, I expect you'd like some privacy. I'll send Annie in."

Arabella blinked. "Annie? Annie is here?"

He nodded. "I managed to persuade your aunt to allow her to enter my employment instead."

"Thank you, Justin." She paused, oddly touched by the gesture. "That was very kind of you."

He inclined his head. "It was my pleasure."

He left, and Annie came in to help her from her wedding gown. A small trunk containing some of her things had apparently been transferred earlier in the day. It was from there that Annie removed the nightgown and wrapper she would wear tonight. Her presence was comforting, but after brushing her hair, Annie promptly withdrew.

Alone, Arabella rose from the dressing table and began to pace, only to catch sight of herself in the cheval mirror sitting in the corner. Her jaw literally dropped open. She regarded herself in dismay. A stranger stared back at her, a stranger with burnished red waves tumbling about her shoulders and down her back. The nightgown she wore was but a wisp of sheer lace - and hardly worth the exorbitant price she knew Aunt Grace had paid. There were tiny little ties at the shoulders and at the waist. Her entire body was clearly visible, from the ivory sheen of her skin, the rouge of her nipples, to the downy triangle of reddish gold curls between her thighs.

It was a gown meant to entice. To tempt. To* Lord, but her mind almost refused to form the word*to t.i.tillate. She felt quite*oh, sweet mercy, quite scandalous! Fast on the heels of that thought came another.

Would Justin like it? She wanted him to, she realized with a pang. She wanted him to be entranced. Enthralled. She longed for it with an intensity that made her ache inside.

It was in the midst of that very thought that the door opened and closed.

Arabella turned. The urge to clamp her arms over herself was almost more than she could stand. Yet she didn't shirk from Justin's gaze. It slid over her from head to toe, leaving no part of her untouched. Holding her breath, she stood her ground, the hopes of a hundred prayers and dreams lifting her heart and the corners other lips.

Sixteen.

Justin didn't move. He couldn't. He couldn't even breathe. She looked like an angel in white, her eyes brilliant and blue and shining like heaven itself. The air of utter purity that surrounded her stabbed at him like the p.r.i.c.k of a knife.

Oh, Christ. What had he done? She was his wife. His wife. And she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve a blackguard like him. Pain ripped through him like the slash of a blade. He was weak-kneed*weak-hearted. It was all he could do not to spin around and run, for he despised himself in that instant. He was black inside, as black as she was sweet and innocent. And though she might not see it tonight, she would someday. She would hate him if she knew what he was, what he'd done. Hate him, and he couldn't stand the thought.

Through sheer dint of will, he dragged his gaze from the vision before him.

Arabella didn't know what was wrong, only that something was. But she saw the way his eyes darkened, like a cloud across the sun, the way the muscles of his face seemed to freeze. Her smile wilted*along with her heart.

What folly had seized hold of her? Her new husband was the handsomest man in all England. And what was she but a graceless, awkward clod of a woman whom he would never have wed if Aunt Grace and Georgiana hadn't caught them kissing? How could she have possibly deluded herself into believing he wanted her?

She felt as if a sick coil of dread were slowly strangling her. Clasping her hands in a white-knuckled grip before her, she spoke. "I'm sorry," she said wildly. "I just a.s.sumed that since it was our wedding night*But no one need know if you prefer that we are not*not*intimate."

"Arabella -"

"I know a marriage is supposed to be consummated in order for it to be valid, but really, it's no one else's business but ours -"

Justin had gone very still. "Arabella, what the h.e.l.l are you babbling about?"

There was a stark, empty hole where her heart should have been. Her throat ached with the effort it took to hold back tears. She wouldn't cry, she told herself. She absolutely would not.

She plunged on. "I understand. Truly I do. I know that I'm not beautiful like your other women. I'm quite aware I cannot hope to compare with -"

His expression underwent a lightning transformation. "d.a.m.nation!" he swore.

"What nonsense is this?"

"I saw you, Justin. I saw! You looked at me as if you could not stand the sight of me!"

He made a sound low in his throat. "Come here," he demanded.

"I will not." Through some miracle, she managed to hold on to a shred of dignity. "Just*just tell me what to do. Where I should sleep*"

He crossed to her. Her hands were clenched like fists; he had to nearly pry them apart. Her skin was ice-cold, but he took her fingers firmly within his. Her expression was still painfully half-defiant, half-wounded.

This was all his fault, he realized tautly. How could he explain? He wasn't sure he could find the right words. It wasn't the thought of being with one woman that frightened him - it was fear of failing her. Arabella. He didn't know how or when it had happened, but somehow she had become very precious to him. He was terrified that he would do something to drive her away.

If he was wise, he would let her go this instant. But he was who he was. A greedy, selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And he knew, beyond anything, that there was no way he would allow her to leave this room.

He took a deep, unsteady breath, caught in the grip of some vast, powerful emotion he could not deny. He knew then. He knew why he had married her: This was what he wanted. What he'd wanted all along. This night. This moment. This woman.

"It wasn't you," he said quietly. "It isn't you. It's me. I walked in, and there you were, looking so much like an angel that*well, you know my past. You know my reputation. I'm a devil. Everyone knows it. You know it. And I know it wasn't the wedding you dreamed of. I know I'm not the husband you dreamed of. But I would not - I will not - dishonor you."

The pitch of his voice had gone very low. "We can't undo it, any of it. Not now. It's too late. We're married. You're my wife, Arabella. And strange as it sounds, in a way, I think we've been heading toward this night almost from the moment I walked into the Farthingale ball and saw you again."

As he spoke, his palm slid against hers, square and strong and warm. Arabella glanced down, her every sense keenly attuned to the way his fingers caught at hers, lean and strong and dark. She swallowed, aware of everything inside going painfully weak.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Arabella's heart squeezed. She lifted tremulous eyes to his.

Her throat closed. The unexpected tenderness she glimpsed on his face caught her squarely in the chest. Oh, G.o.d, he was going to make her cry after all*

"Justin," she said unevenly. "Oh, Justin -"

"Listen, sweet. Please listen. You are*I know of no other word to describe you except*exquisite. Don't you know that?" His fingers weaved through hers.

"Oh, but I'm not -"

"Oh, yes, you are. You are. And when I lay with you tonight it will not be out of duty, or because our marriage must be consummated, or any other such silly reason. It will be because I want you. You, my darling Arabella. Because I desire you with every fiber of my soul. Is that understood?"

Her eyes clung to his. "Yes." It was but a breath of sound.

Her uncertainty was like an arrow to the heart. He decided then and there that perhaps he could show her much better.

He rested his forehead against hers. "Ah," he said huskily, "but you don't sound terribly certain that your husband has every intention of being intimate with his wife." A pause. "Perhaps we are doing far too much talking and not enough* doing."

Bemused, Arabella stared straight into green eyes alight with the merest glimmer of amus.e.m.e.nt. "What?"

His hands were already on the ties of her wrapper. Before she could stop him, the garment puddled around her feet. In the span of a heartbeat, his frank, unhurried appraisal made her flush self-consciously. It was most disconcerting standing here almost naked when he was still fully clothed.

"A most delightful gown," he remarked almost conversationally, "that I suspect is not your usual nighttime attire. Is it new?"

She felt herself nod. "Aunt Grace picked it out," she said faintly.

He smiled slowly. "Remind me to thank Aunt Grace for her impeccable taste." Strong hands descending to her shoulders, he continued in the same lazy vein. "For now, I think we can do without this*extraneous apparel."

Before the statement was finished, she was naked. Her gasp of shock at finding herself so was swallowed by hard male lips warm upon hers, a long, devouring kiss that made her tremble inside. She was scarcely aware when he lifted her and carried her to the bed. The world and everything in it slipped away whenever he kissed her. Twining her arms around his neck, she pressed herself against him, but a sharp b.u.t.ton digging into the soft flesh of her breast made her draw back.

Justin lifted his mouth reluctantly, only to be confronted by a disgruntled frown. "What?" he said.

"It's most disconcerting to be lying here naked," she pointed out almost grudgingly, "when you are not."

Justin chuckled. G.o.d, but she said the most outrageous things! It had been in his mind to go slow and easy, to take his time and not rush her, though G.o.d knew, the sight of her in that gown tested his control sorely. The taste of her mouth was intoxicating, the scent of her dizzying. And holding her lithe, naked form against him, it was all he could do to stop his hands and mouth from running wild, to keep himself from ripping his trousers apart, baring his shaft, and bringing her down upon him hard and fast standing right in the middle of his chamber.

Hardly the way to take an innocent, much less his wife.

"A discontented bride," he teased. "How remiss of me."

Sitting up, he quickly shed his jacket, shirt, and boots. Standing with his back to the bed, he stripped off his trousers, straightened, and turned*

Which put his member at the exact level of his wife's unabashedly curious regard.

Or at least it had been until that moment. Her eyes widened. Her gaze on his rigid erection made him swell even more. Her mouth parted in a shocked little O. Her tongue came out to dampen her lips. Oh, sweet Christ, now, there was a tortuous sight.

Stretching out beside her, he forced a light tone. "My eager bride is suddenly not so eager. You've never seen a naked man before, have you, sweetheart? Let alone one who is clearly anxious to acquaint himself with the intimacy of bedding his wife for the first time?"

Arabella buried her head in the springy dark hair on his chest, muttering something unintelligible. He hadn't known a blush could encompa.s.s the whole of someone's body, but he did now.

Justin took a breath. He was chafing inside, for holding back his desires was an entirely new experience for him. Fiery curls spilled over her shoulders and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Peeping between the silken strands, pale, pink-tipped flesh rose and fell with every tremulous breath, a sight that tempted him almost past bearing.

"I saw you with your hair down at Thurston Hall, the night McElroy accosted you. I thought I'd never seen anything quite so lovely then," he said softly. Lifting a ribbon of reddish hair around his fist, he brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply of the scent of roses and lavender, then carefully arranged it over one silken shoulder. "It's glorious," he murmured.

"Thank you." Her voice was very small. She had to will herself not to jump when he anch.o.r.ed a hand on her hip, but he did nothing but trace an idle pattern over her skin. It was true the sight of Justin naked made the bottom drop out of her belly. But his body was*extraordinary. As extraordinarily perfect as his features. The contours of his shoulders were sculpted and hard, his skin gleaming and smooth, the muscles of his arms lean and taut. A wiry thicket of dense, dark hair covered his chest and belly.

Her gaze moved slowly up the corded column of his neck to his face. Her breath slowed to a trickle. Unbidden, her eyes traced the chiseled beauty of his features, one by one. "You're very handsome, too," she whispered. A tremulous smile touched her lips. "Aunt Grace even thinks so."

His brows shot high. "Aunt Grace?" he echoed.

"Oh, yes," she a.s.sured him. "She said she might be getting on in years, but her eyesight had yet to fail her."

He laughed huskily, a sound that made her heart turn over. Emboldened, Arabella stretched out a hand to touch his face.

Strong fingers closed about her wrist, thwarting her in mid-reach. Arabella had the oddest sensation she'd done something wrong, but he pressed a kiss to her palm, then settled it in the center of his chest. Her hand looked very small and white and dainty amid the dense, dark fur. The sight sent a thrill all through her. Justin's hand, meanwhile, settled on the curve of her waist, drawing her close. The other slipped beneath the fall of her hair and brought her mouth to his.

He fed on her mouth endlessly, long, languorous kisses that made her spine turn to water. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders. Beneath her fingertips, his flesh was firm and hard, warm like the sun. She sighed when he ran his tongue behind the sh.e.l.l of her ear. "I love it when you kiss me," she confided breathlessly. "You kiss very well. But then, I expect you know that."

His mouth returned to hers. "Thank you," he said against her lips. "I don't believe anyone has ever told me that." She could feel him smiling. "But there's a great deal more to kissing than just here" - he kissed each corner of her mouth - "and here*and here." He sucked in the center of her lip.

Arabella felt suddenly reckless. "Perhaps you should show me."

"An excellent idea." His head ducked low. He pressed his open mouth against the slender grace of her throat, allowing his tongue to gauge the dancing rhythm of her pulse.

"Mmmm. That's very nice, Justin."

Nice? Justin thought in amazement. He wanted much more than...nice.

Leaning back, he allowed his gaze to wander the entire sweet length of her, lingering on the fleece between her thighs, the pale, unblemished flesh of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, round and delectably full, hidden beneath a screen of reddish curls. With a wicked smile, he brushed aside her hair. Those pink, peeping nipples were an enticement he could no longer ignore. Arabella blushed furiously but she didn't retreat from either his touch or his scrutiny.

Still smiling, he bowed his head low. He loved the way her eyes widened when his mouth traced the pouting thrust of one breast. Her breathing hastened when he paused at the jutting peak.

He grazed it with his mouth, the merest caress.