The Heir - Catherine Coulter [126]
She leaned back against him. “I don’t wear so many clothes. It would be simple, but—”
He eased his hands down her bodice. Her flesh was warm and soft and he thought he’d never survive the assault. “No,” he said. “No, there isn’t time. Actually two minutes would be enough, but then you would disdain me because I was a pig.” Slowly, he lifted his hands out of her gown. His palms tingled. He managed to draw away from her, but it was difficult. It was late and he knew it, dammit. “Put on the bracelet and earrings. We must go downstairs, curse the lateness and the heavens.”
She giggled, a perfectly delightful sound to her husband. He closed his eyes a moment, breathing in her particular woman scent, listening to that giggle. They were so much alike—two stubborn mules—and yet so wonderfully different from each other. Thank God.
It wasn’t until they were all seated in the Deverill carriage that Arabella realized she didn’t know if Justin had found anything of significance in Gervaise’s bedchamber. Nor did she know if he had made any plans this evening.
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let the comte out of her sight this evening. Her eyes were slits as she gazed across the narrow space at him, seated next to Lady Ann, Elsbeth on her other side. It was well done of her mother to keep them separated. Obviously, Arabella thought, her mother now knew the lay of the land. She well imagined that her mother was as filled with questions as she was.
Talgarth Hall was a low, rambling mansion in the Georgian style, erected by the father of the present Lord Talgarth. A mere upstart mushroom, Arabella’s father had once remarked as he gazed upon his own awesome mansion, Evesham Abbey. Still, to be fair, it was a lovely house, rendered more so on this moonlit night by the bright candlelight shining through its myriad sparkling windows, lighting the carriages of the local gentry in attendance. Roaring flambeaux were held by a score of footmen, most of which had been hired in for the occasion, Suzanne had told Arabella that afternoon behind her hand, giggling. “Mama,” she had told Arabella, “had to instruct them first what flambeaux were—most of them thought it was some sort of dish to eat—and then what they were to do with them.”
With a flourishing bow, the earl opened their carriage door and solicitously assisted each lady to alight. Arabella was the last, and as Justin took her hand, her fingers tightened about his.
“Come, love,” he said quietly, “all will be well, you will see. Just stay close to your mother and Dr. Branyon. I will take care of everything.”
She searched his face. There was no expression there save for the stark danger she read in his eyes. “The devil you will,” she said just as quietly. “You cannot put me in a closet to keep me safe. I am part of this, Justin. If you forget again, I will have to do something perfectly outrageous.” He felt her hand moving down the front of his britches. He grabbed her hand and drew it up to his mouth, kissing her palm.
“I won’t forget,” he said. “But heed me, I am your husband and I will take care of the comte. You will do exactly as I tell you. I will take no more chances with your safety. I mean it. Obey me, Arabella.”
Her chin went into the air. She pulled her hand away from his and marched up the stairs of the Talgarth mansion, Lady Ann and Elsbeth following after her. As for the comte, he already awaited all of them at the top of the stairs.
Lady Talgarth swooped down upon them before the butler could announce them formally, her overly bright, toothy smile embracing them all, except possibly, Lady Ann. “Ah, my dears, how very delightful. My dear Ann, how very exquisite you are this evening. The gray is so much less black than it should be, don’t you agree? Of course, I should never be seen wearing a color that did not show proper respect, but all of us are different, are we not?”
“Very different, thank the good Lord,” Arabella said. “Come, Mother, let us mingle.” She grabbed