The Heir - Catherine Coulter [99]
The sharp pain brought him to his senses faster than a bucket of ice water. He jumped back, rubbing his shin. She’d kicked him hard. She was backing away from him, breathing hard. Then she yelled at him, “Damn you, that miserable man was never my lover. You’re the blind one.” It nearly burst from her mouth that it was Elsbeth who was his lover, but she held it back in time. No, she couldn’t take the chance of telling him. The pain he could cause Elsbeth was incalculable. “Hear me, damn you! I did not betray you!”
She turned on her heel and ran to Lucifer. She clumsily climbed onto his broad back.
“Arabella, wait. Wait. Why are you still lying to me? Why? There’s no reason. I want to forgive you. I’m ready to forgive you.”
“You idiot, you wretched blind fool!” It was then that she realized that Lucifer was lame. She just sat there for a long moment, staring into nothing, then she slipped off his back. She walked directly back to Justin, drew back her arm, and sent her fist into his jaw. She caught him off balance. He flailed the air, but lost, and fell backward into a shallow ditch.
She took his own horse and was off. He was left with Lucifer. Just as well, he thought, as he dusted himself off. Both of them were lame, he in his head and the damned horse in his hoof.
Damn, but that was a good shot she’d given him. He rubbed his jaw. A very good hit.
Why wouldn’t she just tell him the truth?
24
The earl stood at the breakfast parlor window, sipping his second cup of coffee, staring out toward the colorful parterre. Arabella came into view, walking beside her mother. He felt something move deep inside him at the sight of her. He could still feel himself hardening as he had kissed her, wanting her more and more each instant, and then he’d asked for her to tell him the truth, just admit to him that she’d lied, that she’d taken the comte for her lover. He even told her he would forgive her, that they would begin again. She’d kicked him but good. And she’d withdrawn from him. Completely.
What else could he offer her? She had betrayed him, not the other way around. Had he betrayed her would she have offered to forgive him? He doubted it very much. She was more strong-willed than his commanding officer in Portugal, and in his eyes, in his soul, she was the perfect mate for him. Except for the comte. Surely the English authorities wouldn’t toss him in gaol if he simply killed the little French bastard.
He watched as Arabella shortened her longer stride to match her mother’s step. He prayed then, prayed hard, that Arabella was apologizing to Lady Ann. Though he couldn’t hear a word, he fancied he saw Arabella smile. God, he wished he could make her smile at him like that. He shook his head as he turned from the window. He was mad, utterly mad. She had betrayed him. He would ask her again tonight. He would proceed more smoothly, no, he would kiss her again, go very slowly, but make her want him, then ask her. Yes, that was what he would do.
He still wanted very much to kill that bloody comte.
“Good morning, my lord,” Crupper said as he sailed soundlessly into the breakfast parlor.
The earl nodded, then said as he passed the butler, “I shall be in the library. Ah, Crupper, if anyone cares to disturb me, they’re welcome to.”
He had not gotten beyond a second column of numbers for spring market prices when Crupper most obligingly entered the library.
“Lady Talgarth and Miss Suzanne are here to visit, my lord. There is also a gentleman accompanying them—a Lord Graybourn.”
The spotty viscount, the earl thought, grinning, the spring market prices forgotten.
“They are in the Velvet Room, Crupper?” He rose and shook out the fine lawn ruffles at his sleeves.
“Yes, my lord. The family are there also.” He sniffed, his left eyebrow twitching. “I might add, my lord, that the young French comte is still here. He appears to be everywhere. It is disconcerting. I cannot like it. Indeed, I would wish profoundly that