Free A Perfect Groom by Samantha James Page B

finesse, but it’s not as if he’s the only man with such…skill.”
    The man they were discussing was Justin. Oh, but she should have known!
    “Well,” the first voice said cattily, “we certainly know who his next mistress won’t be, don’t we?”
    “Ah, yes, The Unattainable.”
    “The very one.”
    “God, yes! Did you see her at the Bennington affair last night, lumbering about like a…a horse? I’m sure he only danced with her out of pity, though I can’t imagine why.”
    The second exclaimed with snobbish delight, “I quite agree. God knows what the gentlemen see in her. Why, I do believe it’s all a vast joke, that they’re all secretly laughing at her!”
    Oh, God. In but a heartbeat, Arabella’s pleasure in the evening fled. Her happiness shattered, like a piece of fine china dashed to the floor. She cringed, sick to the dregs of her soul. She couldn’t help but remember what Aunt Grace had said only this afternoon about the ton being fickle.
    The toast of the Season indeed. Sweet Lord, she might well end up the laughingstock of the year.
    She couldn’t bear one more second. Only half-aware, she arose. Blindly she walked, her steps quickening. Then suddenly she was almost running, tearing along the path, twisting and turning.
    When at last she stopped, her heart was pounding. The lights of the square were far behind her; her flight had taken her into a deeply wooded area. She glanced about in dismay, and no little amount of fear. She had strayed far from the rest of the party. She’d heard tales of thieves lying in wait for unwary females, and had no doubt they were true. Oh, why had she come so far!
    Footsteps crunched on the gravel nearby. Her eyes darted into the shadows. She clutched her skirts and prepared to flee. All at once strong fingers whirled her about. A dark, featureless shadow loomed before her. Frightened almost beyond her wits, she opened her mouth.
    “For pity’s sake,” a voice intoned irritably, “don’t scream. It’s only me.”
    The man restraining her stripped off his mask. Her breath caught on a gasp. Arabella looked up. Set between sharp green eyes was a long, elegant nose.
    “Perhaps the very reason I should!”
    His eyes flickered over her. “What are you doing out here? There are thieves and footpads —”
    “And rakes and scoundrels?” she queried archly.
    He made no response, but his lips thinned.
    “You’re following me, aren’t you? How the devil did you recognize me?”
    “My dear Arabella,” he drawled, “masquerade or no, there is nothing about you that does not remain” — his gaze flickered over her, lingering on her hair — “distinctive.”
    Arabella was stung. She knew what he meant. Her height. Her hair. Justin Sterling, with his perfect, impeccable looks, had no idea what she had endured her entire life! He couldn’t possibly know how it hurt to be jeered at, laughed at, sneered at.
    She felt like a freak in a circus sideshow — and never more so than now.
    Her mantilla had slipped to her shoulders. She dragged it up over the froth of curls pinned at her crown. Angry, bitter hurt crowded her throat. “Must you insult me?” she cried.
    “God’s blood, I meant no insult.”
    “Oh, but you did! I — I don’t need to be reminded of my shortcomings. I know my hair is quite unattractive, but there’s nothing I can —”
    “Unattractive! Why, quite the contrary.” Indeed, it was a startling admission…or was it? Justin wasn’t quite sure. He knew only that he had come here tonight hoping to encounter her. She had grown into a woman of wit and intelligence — a woman fully capable of a wicked repartee that rivaled his own. Indeed, their first meeting, as well as the second, had inspired a rather reluctant admiration. Was it any wonder he looked forward to the next?
    “It’s…well, it’s what makes you... you .” Lord, but he sounded lame. He, the master of seduction, the man who had wooed and won his way into the boudoirs