Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

“Yes.”

“Well, actually, it is very likely that I could also be wanting you, very much, right at this very moment. You say less than ten minutes?” She dropped the towel, looked at him and said, “Justin. The thought of ten minutes or less with you makes me shake. A full night would make me shake harder, but I shan’t quibble. One takes what one can get when one can get it.”

“I love your brain. Yes, let’s do—”

There was a knock on the bedchamber door. “My lady?” It was Grace.

Arabella grabbed the towel from at her feet. “Damn,” she said. “Oh damn.

It’s Grace.” She wagged her finger at her husband. “You will come back very soon and tell me what you found this afternoon in the comte’s room.” He gave her a small salute, his voice filled with a wealth of sorrow. “I would rather you dropped that towel for me again.” He sighed deeply and laid his palm over his heart. He turned on his heel and disappeared through the adjoining door.

She was seated in front of her dressing table, Grace behind her arranging a dark blue ribbon through her black hair, when the earl reappeared, a black jewelry box in his hand.

“Ah,” he said, “you haven’t yet selected a necklace for that gown.” The gown in question was a pale silvery gray, quite flattering, and Arabella hated it for what it represented. At least it wasn’t black.

“No,” she said, eyeing him in the mirror, “I haven’t picked anything.” She looked at that jewelry box in his hand. Slowly, very slowly, teasing her, he opened it, but held it away from her. “Your father told me to give this to you after we were married. He said it belonged to his grandmother, that he had never given it to either of his wives. He said that it was to be yours.” The earl held it out to her.

Arabella sucked in her breath. It was a three-strand necklace of perfectly matched pale pink pearls. There were earrings and a bracelet to match. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. She fingered the pearls, pressing them into her palm. They felt warm to the touch.

“Ah, Justin, put them on me.”

He leaned down, kissed the nape of her neck, ignoring Grace who was quite interested in this connubial behavior, and fastened the pearls around her neck. Arabella looked at herself in the mirror. “I had hated the gray gown until just this moment,” she said.

“And now?”

“The pearls—they make it seem to glisten. It’s amazing. The pearls are nearly as beautiful as you, my lord. Thank you.” She heard Grace sigh, and added, “Naturally, the earrings are far more intriguing than you could ever be, but nonetheless, there is still the bracelet. Regardless of where you fall in the spectrum, you are still adequate.”

She was laughing as she turned around. “Grace, thank you for your help.

Please excuse his lordship and me. We are newly wedded and thus are quite silly. His lordship has convinced me it is a requirement of persons not married longer than twenty years.”

“I believe I said forty years.”

Grace didn’t want to leave, that was obvious, but as Arabella just kept looking at her, she was forced to curtsy and quit the bedchamber, her footfall heavy.

The earl laughed, leaned down, and kissed Arabella’s neck again. “Are you certain they are as beautiful as I am?” he whispered, then lightly bit her neck.

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,