Free Heartless by Kat Martin

nod.
    â€œCome now; there’s no reason to be shy. In the past, I dealt with a number of the late earl’s … friends. I’ll have you properly fitted out in no time.”
    Justin watched the two women leave and found himself frowning. He didn’t like the smug way Madame Dupree had smiled at Ariel or the wash of humiliation that had tinged her pale cheeks.
    Justin silently cursed, wishing he had never brought her to the shop. He had always loathed his father’s constant need for fresh, innocent young women. Justin looked very much like him. Was he more like his father than he cared to admit?
    He shuddered to think of it, then blocked the painful notion as he had taught himself to do, shutting it completely out of his head. He didn’t want a string of young women. He wanted Ariel Summers, and in time, he vowed, he would make her want him.
    The women returned. Madame Dupree placed Ariel atop a low, round dais in front of a brocaded sofa and began to swathe her in bolt after bolt of fabric. At first she was reticent and he knew she was pondering the reason he was buying the dresses. He had made no secret of his intentions. He wanted her in his bed and he would do whatever it took to make that happen.
    She stood stiffly on the dais, embarrassed to be wearing little more than a shift, and he suppressed a sudden, violent urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her away from the woman’s sly looks and knowing glances. Ariel said nothing at all and only replied to questions that were directly asked.
    Still, she had been born into poverty, and eventually the beautiful fabrics—the lush velvets in ruby and sapphire, the sumptuous satins in cream and rose, the shimmering silks in emerald and gold—had her smiling.
    It pleased him, that smile, warmed him in some way. He helped her choose the fabric and style for five new gowns, two more than he had intended, just to see the glow of pleasure on her face. They agreed on each one, both surprised to discover their tastes were so much the same.
    Though the dresses were cut far lower than any she had worn before, the daring style was the height of fashion, and seeing her in them would help ease his conscience. Ariel was a woman, not a girl. A beautiful, desirable woman—one entirely capable of fulfilling the bargain she had made. Exposing so much of her lovely breasts would prove it.
    They left the store loaded down with boxes and, after a stop at the shoemaker’s shop around the corner to order matching slippers for each of the gowns, headed back to his waiting carriage.
    They had almost reached it when he spotted a tall blond figure stepping out of the haberdasher’s shop up ahead. Phillip Marlin strode along the paving stones, carrying an armload of boxes. He didn’t see them and simply kept on walking away, but the moment Ariel saw who it was, she stopped dead in her tracks.
    As Justin caught her reaction, a spark of anger burned through him. He clenched his jaw to tamp the feeling down. Ariel’s gaze followed Phillip’s progress across the street to where his carriage waited. She frowned as she noticed the small black child, perhaps six years old, who hurried to open the door.
    â€œIs the child … is the little boy a servant?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on the child who was decked out garishly in full-legged purple satin trousers banded at the ankles and a matching purple vest. He wore a rhinestone-encrusted gold-and-purple turban on his small, dark head, making him look top-heavy, like a flower wilting from too much time in the sun. Little gold slippers curled into points on the toes.
    â€œThe child is a blackamoor,” Justin told her. “One of Marlin’s more recent acquisitions. He keeps the boy around as a conversation piece … rather a pet of sorts. It amuses him to watch people’s reaction to the color of the boy’s skin and the way he is clothed.”
    Ariel