A Perfect Groom (27 page)

Impatient fingers dragged her nightgown down, baring her breasts. Propping himself up, he caught a nipple in his mouth and sucked, first one and then the other. With one hand she braced herself on his chest, her neck arching as a long cry of pleasure broke from her throat. Panting, writhing, driving them both half-mad. The light from the fire glistened on the dampened pout of her nipples, wet from his tongue. With her gown hiked up to her waist, her breasts free and full, it was a sight more erotic than if she’d been naked.

He touched her then, there where her feminine nest cradled the head of his shaft. He touched her heated core. Touched velvet, pink flesh weeping with desire. And when she jerked against his fingers, pressing, seeking, Justin knew he could stand no more.

His hands slid around to cup her buttocks. “Take me,” he directed, his voice strained. His hands on her hips, he guided himself into her silken sheath. And he filled her, thick and hard and strong. Arabella looked down at herself, impaled on his swollen hardness. Justin wanted to laugh at her expression, but instead it turned into a ragged groan.

And then he was surging, driving. Her hair fell around them, a shining mantle of fiery red. She melted into each thrust, arched into each plunge. He made love to her with a desperation he didn’t understand, knowing only that he needed her.

Yet still it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He rolled, bringing her beneath him. He needed her, needed her as he’d never needed anyone or anything before, and for an instant he almost faltered. He felt…frightened somehow. Almost panicked.

Beneath him, Arabella moaned. She clutched at his shoulders. Her eyes opened, her pupils dilated with passion. “Justin. I want…”

“I know, sweet.” He kissed her lips. Her throat.

His thrusts quickened. He redoubled his efforts to please her. Her hands slipped to ride the frantic plunge of his hips.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”

A primitive tempo pounded through his body. A purely male satisfaction rolled over him.
Yes
, his mind echoed.
Oh, yes
. What he needed was now. What he needed was this. What he needed was
her
…

And that was his very last thought before wave after wave of dark, sweet ecstasy broke over him.

Nineteen

Beyond that first day back in
London
, the next few weeks passed with no further incidents. They were settling into marital life quite nicely, Arabella decided cautiously. Some nights they spent at home alone, just the two of them. On those occasions when they went out as husband and wife, to Arabella’s utter delight, Justin scarcely strayed from her side. He was attentive and caring, considerate and thoughtful, both in public and in private.

He was, Arabella decided rather dreamily, a perfect groom.

“I must say, dear,” Aunt Grace had commented when Arabella stopped by for tea one afternoon, “that you look positively radiant.”

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. Masses and masses 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 encompassed 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 glass 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 god, 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 assistance.” She turned, giving him access to the myriad buttons 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 buttocks. Sweeping aside her hair, he pressed his mouth against her nape.

“God, you taste so good,” he muttered. “So damn 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 hoarse, thready with need. “Just like that…”