Arabella poured cream into her cup. "Thank you," she murmured.

"I daresay this has something to do with your new husband?"

Arabella blushed. Grace beamed. "He's treating you well, then."

Arabella laid down her spoon. "Aunt Grace, may I tell you something?"

"Of course, dear."

"I'm happier than I've ever been in my whole life," Arabella confided. It

was just as she'd written Mama. "Happier than I ever dreamed I could be."

Grace laughed delightedly. "Can you believe it? Six weeks ago you were trying to convince me

you were not suited for marriage!"

"It isn't being married that's made the difference, but marriage to the right man." The observation emerged unthinkingly.

"It pleases me to no end to hear you say that, too. I don't think I could bear it if you were unhappy." Grace lightly squeezed her fingers. She took a sip of tea, then lowered her cup to the saucer. Arabella took note of her aunt's expression. She was looking very much like the cat who'd swallowed the cream.

"Aunt," she said dryly, "I can see you're dying to say something. What, pray, is it?"

"Oh, nothing much," her aunt stated breezily. "I was simply thinking perhaps I'd best begin plans for that christening now."

Arabella gasped. "Aunt Grace!"

Grace laughed delightedly. Her eyes were still twinkling when they made their way to the door a short time later. Arabella started to bid her good-bye, then stopped.

"I nearly forgot," she exclaimed. "Have there been any letters from Mama and Papa?"

Grace shook her head. "I'm afraid not, dear."

Arabella frowned. She was anxious to discover her parents' reaction to the news that she had wed, and her mother usually wrote at least weekly. Odd that there had been no word*

It was Aunt Grace who pointed out what should have been clear in the first place. "Do not fret, dear. The post is not always reliable, particularly when coming all the way from Africa."

Arabella relaxed. "You're right," she murmured. She put aside her disappointment and smiled.

"But that reminds me, dear. I should like for you and Justin to join us for dinner the Wednesday after next - a family dinner, just the four of us."

Wednesday was nearly a week off. "I shall have to check with Justin," Arabella said automatically. "But I'll send a note around if we cannot make it."

As it happened, the drive home took her past the Larwood townhouse. Georgiana was just alighting from her own carriage, and waved madly when she saw her. She stopped, Georgiana invited her inside, and before she knew it, it was nearing eight o'clock*

Justin was just coming down the stairs when she arrived home. He stopped on the last step, the merest hint of censure in his expression. Perfectly arched black brows rose high as he glanced from her to the clock, which had just begun to chime the hour, and back again.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, handing her umbrella and reticule to one of the downstairs maids. He looked particularly dashing tonight, dressed in splendid evening clothes, his cravat very white against the bronze of his neck. As always, the sight of him made her pulse beat faster.

"Are we expected somewhere this evening?" She hurried toward him. "Just give me a minute to change. I won't be long, I promise."

One side of his mouth quirked up. "I began to fear you'd forgotten the way home," he said mildly. "Tell me, my love, have I cause to be jealous?"

"Hardly." Arabella laughed, hurrying toward him. "I'm sorry I'm late, but Aunt Grace invited me to take tea with her, and then I chanced to see Georgiana on the way home."

"Ah," he said gravely. "Now, if you said you were with Walter, it would be quite another matter."

She blinked. "Never say you are still jealous of Walter."

"And if I said that I was?"

His possessiveness thrilled her to the bone. "Then I shall simply have to see what I can do to remedy the situation."

There was a decided gleam in his eye. "Excellent idea," he approved. "Shall we begin now?" He extended a hand.

Breathlessly Arabella laid her fingers in his. She smiled up at him as he escorted her up the stairs to their room. He opened the door wide.

"After you, my dear."

Arabella stepped inside, only to stop short, catching her breath in amazement. Ma.s.ses and ma.s.ses of brilliant red roses were everywhere. The room was lit only by dozens and dozens of candles. They were everywhere, upon the bureau, the mantel, the bedside tables. The effect was stunning. A small table before the fireplace had been spread with delicate crystal and china.

"Justin." Wonderingly she spoke his name. "How incredibly lovely!"

He closed the door and leaned against it, watching the play of expression across her features. "I quite agree," he said, but his eyes were on her lips, still parted in astonishment. He gestured to the table. "Shall we dine while the food is still warm?"

"Certainly." Arabella allowed him to take her hand and seat her. He served her himself, though precisely what it was they ate, she was never quite sure. She really didn't know or care. All she could think was how Justin had arranged this incredibly romantic setting, and it thrilled her to the bottom of her soul.

When they'd finished, she took a sip of wine. Their eyes met over the gold-filigreed rim. "That was delicious." Her gaze encompa.s.sed the room once again. "But you've yet to tell me the reason for all this."

He shrugged. "I thought it would be nice to spend an enjoyable night alone with my wife in our room."

The heat in his eyes made her quiver inside. "Odd," she heard herself say, "but I thought we were alone practically every night."

"What! Are you complaining already?"

"I have no cause to complain," she responded. "As of yet anyway." There was an impish slant to her smile.

His eyes never leaving hers, he removed her wine gla.s.s from her hand and set it aside. Rising, he rounded the table and drew her up before him. "That sounds like a challenge."

"Does it?" Arabella was secretly startled at her daring. "I rather thought of it as an invitation."

His low, husky laugh turned her heart upside down. She liked making him laugh, for it wasn't often that he did so. When he did, she treasured it like nothing in this world. It struck her then, she'd never seen him quite so at ease as he was tonight.

All at once she remembered what he'd said their wedding night as she stood before him in her nightgown. Deliberately she slid two fingers under the lapel of his jacket. "I do believe I think we can do without this*extraneous apparel."

For one delicious instant, his eyes seemed to blaze. Arabella went hot all over.

He shrugged from his jacket and waistcoat. "Anything to oblige." His shirt met the same swift end.

When at last he stepped from his trousers, Arabella's mouth had gone dry. He possessed not only the face of a G.o.d, but the form of one. The candle-light threw his body into stark, golden relief. He was all muscle and shadow, all heat and sinew and man.

As if to lend credence to that very fact, his staff quickened before her eyes, boldly erect between the corded strength of his thighs.

Her breath caught high in her throat. That she could do this to him - that he wanted her so - was still a source of utter amazement.

Seeing where her eyes resided, Justin smiled lazily. "My dear Arabella, it's most disconcerting to be standing here naked" - his smile widened - "when you are not."

Arabella felt her cheeks heat. So he, too, was thinking of their wedding night*

She pursed her mouth prettily. "Then perhaps you will lend your a.s.sistance." She turned, giving him access to the myriad b.u.t.tons at the back of her gown.

"But of course." He stepped near her. Before she knew it, her clothing was puddled around her feet. His fingers were in her hair, pulling the pins from the knot at her crown and sending it spilling around his hands.

A steely arm caught her close, dragging her back against him. The rigid stiffness of his staff prodded between the soft flesh of her b.u.t.tocks. Sweeping aside her hair, he pressed his mouth against her nape.

"G.o.d, you taste so good," he muttered. "So d.a.m.n good."

With a cry Arabella turned in his arms, lifting her mouth to his. Their lips met again and again; they were both ravenous, as if starved for each other.

"Touch me, sweet," he said against her lips. "Touch me here." His voice went low and guttural. "Touch me now."

Strong fingers clamped around her wrist, dragging her hand down*down. Her knuckles skimmed that taut plane of his belly. The tip of his rod, like a brand of fire, seemed to jump into her palm.

His sudden movement wrung a gasp from her, but there was no more hesitation. To pleasure him was her only desire, her only care. Without thought, her fingertips tripped along the length of his shaft, circling the root of his swollen flesh, scaling the shape of him, clear to the arching tip and back again. His size made her heart clamor madly. He was hotter than fire. And hard, so very hard, like marble, yet beneath the ridges of his skin she could feel him pulsing, a throb that echoed the rhythm of her heart.

"Like this?" she whispered.

She could hear the jagged intake of his breath. Emboldened by the fiery hold of his eyes, filled with a heady sense of power, her cool fingers daintily stretched to encircle him. Guided by instinct, by the flex of approval in his jaw, she stroked with first one hand, then the other.

His gaze seared hotly into hers, his eyelids half-lowered. He smoldered, both inside and out. "Like that*" The words were hoa.r.s.e, thready with need. "Just like that*"

He shifted his position, catlike, sliding even more of himself inside her grasp. With her thumb, she explored the very helm of his member, sheathed as if in silk, so utterly smooth.

His sharp inhalation was her reward. "Arabella." Her name was half-laugh, half-groan. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Her pulse thundered wildly in her ears. She did, she thought hazily. She could feel a glistening, satiny pearl drop rise from the center of his shaft; molten pa.s.sion, she decided vaguely. For indeed, he looked as if he were steaming. Unbidden, she glanced down at all her hands encompa.s.sed. Mesmerized by the sight, she couldn't look away. The tip of her tongue came out to moisten her lips.

"Sweet Jesus, don't do that!"

He jerked away. The next thing she knew, strong arms clamped around her waist. She felt herself crushed against him, borne high aloft, and then the softness of the mattress beneath her back.

His body followed her down. But he did not kiss her lips, nor toy with the bounty of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as she expected. Instead, his mouth brushed the span of her belly. "I think you deserve a little torment of your own, don't you, sweet witch?"

With the sleek width of his shoulders, he spread wide her thighs. With his tongue he traced a taunting, scorching pattern from the inside of her knee. Up*ever upward.

Arabella's mind teetered. As she gleaned his intention, her hands fell back alongside her head where it rested on the pillow. Every time he made love to her, it brought new wonders. She'd been convinced he'd taught her much about pa.s.sion in the past two weeks. Clearly, she decided hazily, she had much more to learn.

"Justin." She could scarcely breathe, let alone talk. Antic.i.p.ation raked along every nerve in her body, but especially there, where his breath warmed her skin. "The night we wed*when you said there was a great deal more to kissing, is this what you meant?"

She took his low growl to be a reply in the affirmative.

The sight of his dark head poised there, in stark contrast with her white pale flesh, sent a hundred shivers racing along her spine.

"Oh, my," she said faintly. "And does what you're doing*come under the nature of lascivious?"

With his thumbs he parted red-gold fleece, baring damp, pink flesh. His head began to lower. "What do you think?" he muttered.

But he allowed no time for either thought or speech, no time for anything at all. His mouth was shockingly, brazenly intimate, his tongue a divinely erotic torment, a torrid, evocative rhythm that lashed and swirled and licked, until she thought she could bear no more.

Slowly he raised his head to look at her, his eyes fever-bright and burning. "Tell me, sweetheart. Do you like this?"

Her fists were clutched in his hair, but not to push him away. "Yes," she gasped. "Oh, yes."

And when he touched her again, blistering flames licked through her. She was writhing. Hurtling toward the edge of bliss. When it came, dimly she heard herself cry out, again and again.

His breath left his lungs in a rush, for Justin could bear no more. He levered himself above her, his features tense and strained, rigid with need. He locked his fingers with hers. His mouth took hers with almost frantic urgency.

"Arabella." Her name was a hoa.r.s.e, rasping sound. "Oh, Christ." His belly skimmed hers. He lunged deep and hard, pumping and churning, unable to stop himself, perilously close to the edge. Her body clamped tight around hot, engorged flesh, seeking his in a frenzy that matched his own. He gritted his teeth against his climax, determined to hold back, to pleasure her again. But, G.o.d help him, it had never been so good. So right. She was melting him, from the inside out, melting his heart, his soul.

He caught her hips in his hands. Each driving thrust brought him closer to bliss. Her whimper of pleasure obliterated all hope of control. Casting his head back, he groaned aloud. His release erupted, scalding and hot and honeyed.

They collapsed together, a wanton tangle of limbs. Long moments pa.s.sed before either of them was able to move. Satiated, utterly drained, Justin rolled to his side and cradled her against him.

She was smiling, he saw. He traced her lips with his fingertips.

"What is this for?" he murmured.

"I was just thinking of Aunt Grace," she murmured.

"Aunt Grace again. How flattering."

"We've been invited to dinner the Wednesday after next, by the way. Is that all right?"

He nuzzled the wispy hairs on her temple. "My love, my only wish is to please you."

Arabella rested her head against the hollow in his shoulder, gazing up at him.

A dark brow climbed high. "Aunt Grace again?" he guessed.

Arabella nodded. "Yes," she confided a trifle breathlessly. "Justin, my aunt loves

nothing more than planning parties and such. So I must warn you, so you aren't surprised at anything she might chance to say*"