The Heir - Catherine Coulter [49]
“You’re certain there’s nothing I can tell you?” Lady Ann wanted to faint. But instead she had to act normally, she had to continue the deception. God, she had hated him, hated him to her bones, to her very soul. Arabella truly believed that her father had loved her mother? Had given her pleasure in bed? Dear God, what a travesty their marriage had been. She’d hated being a victim.
“No, Mama. You’re looking quite white. At least you’re not blushing anymore. Don’t worry yourself any more about it. You know, I do love you dearly for your concern.” Again, as Arabella scooped her mother into her arms and gave her a fond, reassuring hug, Lady Ann had the inescapable feeling that she should have been the daughter.
Later that evening, as Lady Ann tied the ribbons on Arabella’s lovely white satin nightgown, she felt nearly overwhelmed by her daughter’s excitement, her anticipation, the lust she knew she saw in her daughter’s eyes. Her eyes sparkled. There was no fear in them. It was lust, there was no other way to describe it.
She forced Arabella to sit down and began to brush her hair. “No more, please, Mama,” Arabella said, jumping up. “Will he come soon? Oh, Mama, I don’t want you to be here when he comes to me.”
“Very well.” Lady Ann stepped back and placed the hairbrush on the dresser.
“Justin will be delighted. You look beautiful. I don’t believe he has ever seen you with your hair loose down your back. Oh yes, he has, I remember. That night the both of you agreed to marry. Ah, Arabella, do leave the buttons on your nightgown alone.”
“I know,” Arabella said, doing a small dance around her bedchamber. “I must keep the silly thing on for just a while longer.”
Lady Ann gulped. “Justin will be here soon. I will leave you now.” She turned, then whipped about to hug her daughter. “Be happy, Arabella. Be happy. If something goes wrong, well, I don’t know that it will, but . . . no, don’t worry.” Oh God, what could she say? How could she warn her? What if Justin was like her husband had been?
Arabella said very quietly, gently, “In matters regarding me, Mama, Father never erred in his judgment. Never.”
At her daughter’s words, Lady Ann looked up quickly. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she detected a fleeting sad awareness in her daughter’s voice. No, that wasn’t possible. She gave her head a tiny shake and turned abruptly away. “I hope you are right, Arabella. Good night, my love. I hope to see a smile on your face tomorrow.”
“A very big smile, Mama.”
After her mother had left her, Arabella paced the bedroom with the eagerness of pleasurable anticipation. She delighted in discoveries, and tonight, well, tonight—She hugged herself with excited impatience. She chanced to look at The Dance of Death panel, stuck out her tongue at it, for she hated uncertainty, fear of the unknown, and let her eyes rove to the large bed. She was beginning to wonder, an impish smile on her mouth, if her mother hadn’t trapped Justin and was telling him out to go along, when the door opened suddenly and her husband appeared. How magnificent he looked in the dark blue brocade dressing gown. Her heart quickened at the sight of him. His feet were bare. She doubted very much that he was wearing anything beneath that dressing gown. She hoped not. She couldn’t wait to set that dressing gown off him. She wanted, finally, to see him naked. He was hers.
The earl closed the door, fastened his fingers over the key, and clicked it into place.
“I’m glad you did not leave me waiting too long, Justin. Do you know that I have never before spent the night in this bedchamber? I would not like to if