Love couldn't hurt like this. It shouldn't hurt like this. Love was supposed to be goodand sweet and pure*

Like Arabella.

And in loving Arabella*well, it was not an admission that Justin made either easily or gracefully. He had fought it for much of his life.

But he could fight it no longer.

Yet the knowledge did not make his heartache easier to bear.

Indeed, it only made it all the harder.

Twenty-three.

"Madame," Ames announced, "a caller for you."

From her seat on the settee, Arabella glanced up. "For me?"

Her pulse was suddenly wild and erratic. Was it Justin? A dozen feelings rushed at her from all sides.

Hope*fear*everything in between. Her heart lurched as a tall figure strode into the drawing room.

It wasn't Justin, but Sebastian.

She could have wept. Two days had gone by since the awful scene here in this very room. As soon as Justin departed that night, Arabella had excused herself and gone upstairs. She had been too numb to feel anything but her own pain. Certainly not his.

But upstairs, in the bed where she'd spent so many nights before, sleep eluded her. It felt* wrong somehow. The bed felt*empty. In the morning, she wavered between indignation and misery, hurt and yearning.

But now*Her gaze flitted to the tea service on the tray at her knees. "Would you like tea?"

Sebastian declined.

Arabella bit her lip. "You've seen Justin, haven't you?" The question spilled out before she could stop it.

"Yesterday," he affirmed.

Her hands fluttered back to her lap. "Did he ask you to come here?" Before he could say a word, she came to her own conclusion. "No, of course not. He's too stubborn. Too proud."

Sebastian smiled slightly. "I see you know him well."

"How is he?" The question almost burned her tongue. She didn't want to know, she told herself wildly. But she had to.

Sebastian hiked a black brow. "Must you ask?"

"Oh," she said weakly. "Foxed, I take it."

"If it's any comfort, I don't think it's helping." He watched her for a moment. "He doesn't know I'm here, Arabella. And I haven't come to plead his case, if that's what you're thinking. I'm not here to try to convince you to return to him."

"Then why are you?"

"I don't really know," he answered honestly. "But now that I am, I should like to tell you something. So please, Arabella, hear me out, if you will." He paused. "It's strange," he said musingly, "but all morning, my mind has been consumed with an incident that occurred long, long ago. I can't get it out of my mind and*well, frankly, that's why I'm here, I suppose."

Arabella regarded him curiously. "What is it?"

"We were at Thurston Hall," he went on. "Justin was perhaps eight or nine, no more, if memory serves me correctly. One afternoon, Justin failed to return to the schoolroom. Soon everyone was searching for him, frantic as the hours pa.s.sed. But no one could find him, until at last my father spied him sitting in the branches of a tree in the orchard, watching as everyone dashed madly about for hours. He shouted for him to come down. And I'm not sure that Justin would have, but then he fell. His wrist was c.o.c.ked at an odd angle - I knew it was broken. I ran over, for my father was in a rage such as I'd never seen before."

Arabella had gone very quiet inside. She suddenly recalled how Justin had pointed out that very tree*

"My father*he was not a gentle man, Arabella. He had no compa.s.sion for Justin's pain. The physician was summoned. I could tell it hurt like the very blazes - and Justin but a boy! But he didn't make a sound when the physician set the break. I recall telling him it was all right to cry. But Justin merely gazed at my father and vowed most insistently that he would not cry, that he would never cry. Oh, and my father wanted him to, I could see it in his eyes! But Justin never did," Sebastian finished. "Not then. Not ever."

He looked at her then. "That's odd, don't you think? For a child to never, ever cry?"

Arabella's throat constricted. Etched in her mind was a vision of Justin as a child, lying helpless and hurt while his father raged*And to think she had laughingly chided him about his clumsiness that day!

Her mind whirling, she went very still inside. For she was remembering something else, too, a memory that suddenly battered her. She cringed inside, recalling how Justin had stood in this very room a scant two days earlier, a telltale rustiness in his voice, an unfamiliar sheen in his eyes*She cringed inside. What was it she'd told him?

Don't say any more. And don't look at me like that!

She gave a tiny shake of her head and looked at Sebastian. "How do you know he didn't?"

"Because I know my brother," Sebastian replied. He seemed to hesitate. "Arabella, our childhood was not particularly pleasant -"

"I know," she said quickly. "Justin told me." She didn't tell him about the night their father had died, how Justin blamed himself. Justin had revealed it in confidence, and she would not betray that confidence.

But Sebastian was speaking again. "Julianna has no memory of our mother. She was too young when she left. That's a blessing, I believe. But Justin*" He shook his head. "I've always thought it was hardest on Justin. He needed a mother, and she wasn't there. It changed him, I think. And he's spent his life believing what he thought everyone else believed, that he was wild and rebellious and defiant. And the world believes it, too, that he is a man without scruples, without morals. But Julianna and I have always been aware that's not what he is, not really. I think you know, too, that he's not what he pretends to be."

Arabella did. G.o.d, how she did!

"He's been walking in shadow his whole life, wandering, searching for something he didn't even know he wanted. But I think he found it in you, Arabella. He's different with you. It's like he's stepped into a ray of sunlight." He gave a tiny shake of his head.

"Don't send him back into the shadows, Arabella. Please don't. I know I said I wouldn't interfere. But you and Justin belong together. Devon knew it even before I did. But this rift between you and Justin*it's beyond my power to repair, or I would."

He paused. "Please," he said softly, "just go see him. Before you decide anything, just - just go see him. I believe you'll find him in Kent. He told me he had some unfinished business at the house there."

She peered at him blankly. "What house?""The country house in Kent. He bought it just a few days ago."Stunned, Arabella merely gazed at him."You didn't know, did you?"Arabella took a breath. "He never said a word -" She broke off. Was that the news he'd wanted to tell her? Guilt washed through her. Oh, merciful Lord. Gideon had arrived, and then - then she hadn't even given him the chance.

Through a haze she saw Sebastian rise to his feet. "I must be off. Devon is expecting me." Arabella saw him to the door, then returned to the drawing room. Her tea sat before her, cold and untouched.

There was a painful catch in the region of her heart. Sebastian's visit was a stark reminder of all Justin had endured as a child - his mother's abandonment, his father's censure. Arabella had the awful sensation it was surely far worse than Justin had let on, than Sebastian even knew. The night Justin had told her of his nightmare, she had guessed that Justin loved his father, loved him despite all the hurt his father had inflicted upon him. She had no trouble envisioning Justin as the proud, stubborn little boy Sebastian spoke of, for he was just such a man. If he was hurt, he wouldn't show it.

Yet he had begged her to return home with him. He'd begged her, with tears in his eyes*Tears from the boy who never cried.And she had turned her back on him.Suddenly she was crying, too, silent tears that slid unheeded down her cheeks.It was then she realized*the walls he'd built around himself were not meant to keep others out - to keep her out! - but to defend his heart, to shield himself against further pain.She had failed him, failed him most cruelly!Why had he wed her? she wondered achingly. If he'd wanted to coldly seduce her, he could have. If he'd persisted, she wouldn't nave resisted.

Instead he had married her, this man who defied duty. And she wanted desperately to believe that what

they had shared in those few precious weeks of marriage was more than pa.s.sion. More than desire*

In was in the midst of that thought that she glanced up to find her parents, aunt, and uncle had filed into

the room. Hurriedly she wiped the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Mama wasted no time expressing her concern. "We saw the Marquess of Thurston leave. I hope his visit didn't distress you, Arabella. Are you - all right?"

"I'm fine, Mama," she said, and smiled.

"Oh, Arabella, it's grand to see you smile again! Why, we were anxious to cheer you, so Grace and I asked Cook to prepare your favorite -"

"I won't be staying for dinner, Mama." She stood, only to find the change in position made her head spin. Her father stepped to her side and steadied her.

She blinked. "Oh, my," she said. "How strange. That's the second time that's happened the last few days."

An odd look pa.s.sed between her mother and Aunt Grace. Arabella looked from one to the other. "What is it?" she started to ask.

Her jaw sagged as the significance sank in. "Oh. Oh!" This last was almost a squeal.

"It's strain, surely," her mother said quickly.

Arabella put a hand on her belly. A faint wonder crept inside her. "Perhaps not," she said softly.

Her mother inhaled. "Arabella, no. No! Never say you're breeding by that man!"

"Mama!" Arabella's voice rapped out sharply. "Watch what you say! That man is my husband. Do you hear? My husband. And his name is Justin. It would please me if you would begin using it."

Mama appeared utterly stricken. "Arabella," she whispered, "what are you saying?"

Arabella stepped forward, taking her mother's hand. "Mama, I'm not a child anymore. I haven't been for a long time. You and Papa have been gone so much that I think you still see me as a child. But I'm a woman now, a woman who knows what she wants." She smiled faintly. "When you and Papa left for Africa, I didn't. Why, even when the Season began, I didn't. I felt out of step somehow. But now I know what's wrong - or rather, I know what's right."

"I agree you're not a child. But Arabella -"

"Mama," came Arabella's reminder, "you flaunted convention when you married Papa."

"Yes, but -"

A finger on her lips, she stemmed her mother's protest. "You and Papa followed your hearts. So did Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph. And that's what I'm doing." Her gaze slid to her father. "Papa, there will be no annulment."

The lines had begun to ease from her mother's face. Her father was watching her as well. "Arabella, are you certain this is what you want?"

"It is, Papa." Her eyes were clear and shining. "I'm going home to my husband. I should never have let him leave without me. And it would please me if you welcome him into the family with open arms."

Daniel gave a tiny smile. He put an arm around his wife. "It's difficult to watch your child hurt, Arabella. We simply wanted you to be happy."

Mama gave a rather watery smile. "Of course, dear. That's all that really matters."

Arabella could have burst inside with all she felt in that moment. She'd never loved them more than she did right now. She kissed each of them.

Uncle Joseph had already left the room to call for the carriage, and Aunt Grace was at the door, calling for a maid to pack Arabella's belongings.

"Well, Aunt Grace, I can see you're eager to be rid of me again."

Grace started to t.i.tter, then clapped a hand over her mouth so Catherine wouldn't see. "My dear," she whispered, "I simply marvel that it took you so long to see what I saw long ago."

"And when was that?" Arabella teased.

"Why, that very first night at the Farthingale ball when you waltzed with your husband-to-be. You were quite dazzled. He was quite smitten. Oh, but I had such high hopes that night!"

"Aunt Grace!" Arabella gasped in amazement. "Even then?"

"Even then."

Arabella hugged her fiercely. "You know you always were my favorite aunt."

"Child, I am your only aunt!" Grace's eyes were sparkling with mirth. She clapped her hands together. "Oh, happy day!" she sang out. "I shall begin planning that christening this very night!"

Arabella chuckled shakily. "It may be a trifle soon," she cautioned, "but I should imagine it won't be long."

Twenty-four hours later, Arabella was inside a carriage that hurtled through the countryside of Kent. The hour had been late when she'd finally departed London, and the carriage had no sooner left when the road had been blocked by a carriage that over-turned. Reluctantly she'd spent the night at a roadside inn.

Though it wasn't so very far from London, the city seemed a world apart. On each side of the road, lush green gra.s.s ascended the rolling fields on either side. She sat on the edge of the seat, peering out the window, chafing inside.

Sebastian had told her of several landmarks, such as the village with an ancient Celtic cross in the town square. She searched for them eagerly. It wouldn't be long now. Only a few more miles.

As the carriage rounded a curve, a small manor house came into view. Arabella leaned forward as the building grew larger and larger. She caught her breath, entranced by the stone towers that rose on the front corners. It was lovely beyond words. Beyond wishes. Exactly the kind of house she'd always dreamed she might live in*

When the carriage rolled to a halt, the driver leaped down, then scurried to help her alight.

Arabella stepped outside. The scent of some sweet, unknown flower lingered on the breeze. Her gaze swept around, then stopped on the low-hanging branches of a cherry tree that stood in the front of the house. A wistful yearning bloomed in her breast. Oh, but she could imagine waking here, every day for the rest of her life.

Mounting the wide stone steps, she reached for the bra.s.s knocker. The door was wrenched open before she laid a finger on it.

She squinted upward. A spare masculine form filled the doorway. He was dressed in boots, tight fawn breeches, and a white shirt that revealed a slice of dark, hair-roughened chest.

Her heart lurched. "h.e.l.lo, Justin," she said breathlessly. A streak of longing shot through her. Had it only been a few days since he'd touched her? Kissed her?