Her breath sucked in.

Somehow he'd always known that beneath her prim, proper exterior was the body of a temptress. She was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Greedy now, he closed his hands around her luscious b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His palms filled with her jutting flesh so that her nipples were offered up to him in wanton invitation.

He kissed first one, then the other. With the last, he curled his tongue around and around the rouged center in a slow, lazy circle, leaving it wet and shiny and quiveringly erect.

She gasped aloud.

"More?" he asked silkily.

Her lips parted. Her mouth formed the word yes, but not the sound.

He obliged.

It excited Justin beyond bearing, knowing that she watched in dazed fascination as his mouth closed around the dark, straining peak, licking. Tugging.

Her hand slid up to cup his nape; he felt her fingers tighten, as if to trap him and hold him in place.

Arabella couldn't speak. She couldn't even breathe. It was bliss. Sheer bliss. She was drowning in sheer sensation. It was as if lightning flashed, there at the peaks of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Heat showered through her. And now there was an unfamiliar questing deep in her belly. Her legs shifted restlessly. There was something missing, something more*She didn't quite know what it was*

But Justin did. His blood thundering, his rod pulsing, he caught her against him. His mouth captured hers again, a scalding, demanding kiss that sent blistering flames through every part of him. But when lean fingers traced a shattering path across the hollow of her belly, she tore her mouth away. Her hand clamped down on his.

"Wait," she said wildly. "Wait!"

His head came up. Her stricken little cry very nearly failed to penetrate the crimson haze of desire surrounding him.

He closed his eyes, willing away the pulse of desire clamoring in his veins. "This is going too fast for you, isn't it?"

"A little," she admitted. She was fl.u.s.tered, embarra.s.sed, suddenly uncertain. She had liked what he was doing, but*"I'm afraid, Justin. I'm afraid."

The clamor in his head began to ease. He brushed a stray curl from her flushed cheek. Suddenly he was the one who hesitated. "I cannot promise there will be no pain. But it's my understanding that -"

"No. It's not that." She was adamant.

"What, then?" Puzzled, he searched her features.

You make women fall in love with you, she nearly blurted. You're making me fall in love with you. "I know you've been with many women. I - I know that and I accept it." An elusive hurt speared her heart, but she ruthlessly swept it aside. "From your own lips, you said that you prefer a woman of experience. And I have none. I've never even kissed anyone but you. I feel inadequate. Inept, to be perfectly honest. What if I'm not the pa.s.sionate sort? I don't want you to be disappointed. I don't want you to be displeased."

There. It was out. She held her breath and waited.

Justin was suddenly furious with himself. Christ, was there anything he hadn't said or done that wouldn't come back to haunt him?

He looked at her, at her quivering lips, the way her beautiful blue eyes were half-pleading, half-hurt. A swell of some powerful, possessive emotion rose like a tide inside him, even as a sizzle of outrage shot through him at the thought of Arabella kissing another man. He'd never felt possessive of a woman before - had never imagined he would - and it came as something of a shock, just as his jealousy had. Did all new husbands feel like this? And yet*he discovered he liked feeling possessive of her. He liked knowing she belonged to him.

He ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. "You worry for nothing, Arabella."

"Do I? I - I liked what you were doing, Justin. Truly I did. But I want to please you, too."

His finger against the center of her mouth stemmed her speech.

"You will. You do."

"But how can you be certain?"

For a moment, a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "Because I can feel you here, sweetheart." Catching her hand, deliberately he guided cool fingers around his rigid arousal, keeping them there with the pressure of his for the span of a heartbeat. Her eyes widened, along with his smile.

All at once, his smile faded. His glance sheared into hers. "But most of all," he said in a voice that made her tremble all over again, "I can feel you here." Kissing her fingertips, he guided her other hand directly over his heart. "And I must be honest, sweetheart. That's never happened with any woman but you."

Tears misted her vision. "Justin," she said, her voice catching breathlessly. "Oh, Justin." Slender arms wound around his neck. She kissed him with all the tremulous feelings held deep in her soul.

When at last she drew back, he smoothed her hair. An odd, half-smile curled his lips.

"I have a confession to make, as well."

"What?"

"I'm afraid, too."

"You?" She gave a lopsided grin. "I don't believe that."

"Oh, but I am," he a.s.sured her gravely. "You see, I've never lain with a virgin before. I want this night to be unforgettable. For both of us."

Arabella gazed at him, mesmerized by his expression, stunned by the tenderness in his tone. She felt as if he'd reached clear into her heart and laid it bare.

"Justin," she said shakily, some painfully sweet emotion catching in her breast. "You make me feel so special."

"You are special. Unique, and - and I've never known a woman quite like you, my darling Arabella."

My darling Arabella. She loved the low, melting way he said her name.

"I like knowing you've never kissed another man," he went on, a low rough timbre in his tone that thrilled her to the tip of her toes. "I like knowing you've never seen another man naked. I like knowing I'm the first man to lay with you." There was a shattering pause. "And now, I do believe it's time we took up where we left off before. Does that meet with your approval, my dear wife?"

Her eyes were shining. "Yes, my lord. Oh, yes."

The words acted like a floodgate flung wide. Twining his fingers in her hair, he turned her mouth up to his, bringing fiery red curls tangling about the both of them. He took her lips in a soul-blistering kiss that tasted of unmistakable male hunger and unleashed her own hunger. His breath filled her mouth*as he would fill her body.

He toyed with the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, wringing a cry from deep in her chest. A lean hand coursed over the hollow of her belly, tangling in the soft fleece above her thighs, initiating a daring rhythm that left her utterly weak. She gasped but did not fight it. It felt too good. He felt too good. Instead, her thighs parted helplessly.

There was more. So much more. Daring fingers traced the cleft of her womanhood, again and again. Flames shot through her as his thumb joined the evocative play, circling a tiny nub of flesh that seemed to swell and grow and weep. It was acutely, achingly sensitive. She shivered both inside and out, her mind a tangle of pure sensation. Showering currents raced through her, centered there, in the place he now claimed with blatant possessiveness, taunting, circling, pressing.

She gasped as a finger slid deep inside her, a tauntingly wicked parody of the act to follow. She began to pant, writhing and twisting, searching for something*what it was she didn't know, only that she was close. When it came, that burst of pleasure, tiny, whimpering cries tore from her throat.

Her eyes opened, smoky and dazed. Justin's face filled her vision, her world. Imprisoned in the searing web of his gaze, riveted by the blistering hunger on his face, her heart knocked wildly as he spread her thighs with his knees and knelt before her. One hand on his rod, he leaned forward, rubbing himself against her fiery red curls. Arabella couldn't tear her gaze from his organ. He was rigidly, stiffly erect. Even as the thought vaulted through her mind, he was inside her. Within her.

She gasped.

At the sound, Justin froze. He could feel her maidenhead now, the fragile membrane that sealed her virginity, b.u.t.ted up against the most sensitive part of his body, the part that needed her most. He nearly groaned, for it was tearing him apart, the need to thrust deep and hard, to lose himself in her clinging wet heat. But this was the test, the moment he dreaded. He didn't know how to be slow and easy, he didn't know if he could.

Though it nearly killed him, he gritted his teeth and withdrew. A shaky laugh emerged at the sight of his innocent little wife. She looked half-terrified, half-mesmerized. Justin glanced down as well and nearly groaned. The rounded spear of his s.e.x was sleek and damp, slick with her liquid heat. Pa.s.sion soared.

Bracing himself on his elbows, he kissed her lips. "Tell me if I hurt you," he muttered, a touch of ragged harshness to his voice. He eased forward again, little by little, until he was resting again against her maidenhead. G.o.d, it felt good*too good, the walls of her cavern clinging tight to his swollen erection.

"I will," she promised, a wisp of a smile on her lips. "Please, Justin, just take me now. Make me your wife*make me yours."

He moaned. There was no help for it now. There was such trust in her gaze, such naked desire in her heated, shattering plea that he could hold back no longer. Blinded by pa.s.sion, he thrust forward until at last he lay embedded full and tight within her.

"Oh, G.o.d," she whispered.

Justin's breath sc.r.a.ped harsh and ragged. "Do not swear."

Yet in those words lay a world of frustration*a world of pa.s.sion*a world of feeling. Burying his head against her shoulder, he calmed his racing heart and allowed her body to adjust to the feel of him embedded deep inside her heat. So acutely sensitized was he that he was just a hair away from spilling his seed.

"I cannot help it." She gave a tiny shake of her head. "Justin, this feels so - so*"

He kissed the arch of her throat, then raised his head. His eyes found hers. "I do not hurt you?" That he could speak was a miracle.

Her smile was blindingly sweet. "No," she breathed. "G.o.d, no*"

Her smile faded. She guided his mouth down to hers, twining her tongue around his and driving him half-wild.

Slowly he began to move. His hands slid beneath her b.u.t.tocks, bringing her closer still. Unable to stop himself, he drove in to the hilt, loving the way she clutched at him, the way her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. Her hips were churning, seeking his again and again. Faster and faster he plunged, torrid and intense, loving the way she wrapped her arms and legs around him and clung.

He cast back his head, the cords in his neck taut. She scorched him, both inside and out. "Arabella," he said thickly. And then again, "Arabella!"

In some faraway corner, he remembered that night at Vauxhall Gardens when he'd first kissed her*He'd told himself that what he felt was l.u.s.t. Pa.s.sion. That she was the one woman who denied him, thus, she was the one woman he wanted, the one woman he must have.

But nothing had prepared him for this moment. For this night. Nothing had prepared him for her. For it was impossibly sweet*she was impossibly sweet. The world was blazing, and stars were shattering, falling down all around. The night exploded*and so did he.

Seventeen.

One week later they returned to London from Bath.

From the achingly tender moment Justin made her his, Arabella harbored no regrets, no doubts. Marrying Justin had been the right choice - not that there had been much choice in the matter. But in truth, that was of little consequence. There would never be another man for her, never in this world. She'd promised herself she would marry only for love*

And she had.

She knew, deep within the depths of her soul, that Justin Sterling was the only man she would ever love.

But it was a secret tucked close within her breast, a secret that would remain undisclosed for now. There existed between them an easy camaraderie that she suspected had come as a pleasant surprise to both of them. Arabella was loath to do anything to upset the balance. She didn't know if Justin wanted her love; she didn't know if he could ever return her love.

But he desired her - she had learned that much in nearly two weeks of marriage. Not a single night had pa.s.sed that he did not make love to her. Beneath his tutelage Arabella discovered there were many sides of lovemaking - playful, hot, tender. She experienced them all at the hands of her new husband, and Justin appeared quite delighted at her response. Some nights he claimed her with a burning intensity, an almost wild, possessive frenzy that thrilled her beyond reason. At others he was almost painfully slow, so meltingly sweet and tender she wanted to cry. But always*always he made her feel as if she were the only woman on earth. Arabella could hold nothing back, nor did she wish to.

From that very first night came the yearning hope that from such a beginning, the seeds of love might grow. And she would continue to nurse the hope that her love could tame the wildness in him.

Indeed, there was every reason to believe it already had. Upon their return from Bath, Arabella was rather startled to find her things had been moved into Justin's bedchamber. There was an adjoining one, and she had somehow convinced herself that was the one she would occupy. Arabella knew it was the norm for Society husbands and wives to occupy different chambers, though her own parents slept in the same bed and always had, as did Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph. Perhaps it was her way of staving off disappointment, for she didn't want to hope for too much*too soon.

She turned to find him watching her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I hope you don't mind," he said with a supremely arrogant arch of his brow, "but I find I dislike the idea of separate bedchambers for husband and wife." Despite his formal tone, there was a faint light simmering in his eyes.

Hers were suddenly sparkling mischievously. She bowed her head, her tone in perfect accord. "Sir, I am in complete agreement."

They returned downstairs, where a brief repast had been prepared for the noonday meal. They had just finished when Arthur, Justin's butler, appeared with a silver tray. He set it before his master with a flourish.

"You were missed, my lord."

Justin began to sift through the stack of invitations. "Apparently word of our wedding has spread quickly," he commented. "Our presence is much in demand." He studied the gilt-edged invitation in his hand. "The Farthingales are having a fete tonight. I daresay it shall be quite the crush. Shall we make our debut as husband and wife there?"

The Farthingales' was where they had met again. Did he recall? Arabella wasn't certain, for he sounded rather blase. Disappointment shot through her, quickly masked. "Must we?" she murmured.

Justin glanced at her inquiringly.

Arabella pulled a face. "You just said it will be quite the crush."

"Ah, yes. Lady Farthingale spares no half-measures when it comes to her parties. Everyone who is anyone will be there."

"Wonderful. And everyone who is anyone will be talking about us. Lord, but I detest gossip!"

"And I submit there is only one way to squelch gossip. Besides, why delay the inevitable? The sooner everyone sees us together and discovers we are happily wed, the sooner we can quiet those wagging tongues."

Did he mock her? Arabella looked at him sharply, but his demeanor was one of utter calm.

"What if there are questions?"

He chuckled. "I'm sure there will be, given the precipitous nature of our wedding. But who says we must answer them?"

Arabella released a breath. "I suppose you're right. And there is one thing that shall give me a great deal of pleasure." She smiled with sudden brilliance.

"And what is that?"

"I shall never be called The Unattainable again!"

"True enough." He leaned over and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. "I regret that I've some business at the bank I must attend to this afternoon. I fear it won't wait. Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a while?"

She smiled. "I hardly need a keeper, my lord."

"Good. If you need anything, just ring for Arthur."

Arabella nodded. Once he was gone, she rose and wandered about the house rather aimlessly. She considered a nap but quickly discarded the idea; in truth, the notion came to her out of boredom, certainly not because she was tired. It occurred to her then that she and Justin had been in each other's company almost constantly since their wedding day. And now that he was gone, she was - oh, but she couldn't deny it! - rather lonely. She missed him, she realized, then immediately wondered if he missed her*

Oh, but what foolishness was this? She chided herself sternly and retraced her path down the stairs. At the door to Justin's study, she paused. Would he mind if she used his desk? She owed Mama and Papa a letter, she realized guiltily. She'd never been the type of correspondent to write daily when her parents were away, but there had never been a lapse of more than a week, either. Feeling a bit of an interloper, she made her way into the room and sat in the leather chair. Opening the drawer, she found a few sheets of vellum. Dipping a quill into a small pot of ink, she began to write.

Dear Mama and Papa, I hope this letter finds you well. Justin and I have just returned from Bath. The weather was surely delightful.