Part 32 (1/2)
”What, another outspoken woman? I begin to see you've gained your tendencies from
your mother's side.”
His warm teasing forestalled her anxiety. ”Yes, well, I fear I must tell you that with our hasty wedding, well, she's anxious to begin planning the christening of our - our firstborn.”
”Is she, now?” His smile was almost lazy.
Arabella held her breath. He hardly looked displeased at the prospect. She regarded him cautiously.
”How do you feel about children, Justin?”
He shrugged. ”I must be honest,” he said dryly. ”Prior to the last few weeks, I've given little thought to the idea of marriage, let alone children.”
Arabella took a breath. ”If we ever have children,” she said solemnly, ”I hope they
resemble you.”
Justin froze. Did she know what she was saying? A child who looked like him*He blanched inside.
For an instant, he couldn't breathe. He thought he might choke.
”I saw the portrait of your mother at Thurston Hall.” Arabella sighed dreamily.
”You are the very picture of her, you know. I confess, I like the idea of a daughter with your striking coloring. Or a son with your exquisite features.” Still smiling, she touched his cheek.
Justin couldn't help it. He recoiled.
”Good G.o.d. Do not say that. Do not even think it.”
His sudden harshness stilled her smile.
She sat up, drawing the sheet over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”Is the idea of children so abhorrent to you?” she asked carefully. ”Or is it that you fear they will look like me?”
He made a sound in his throat. ”For pity's sake, Arabella, I refuse to dignify such a ridiculous statement. If I were afraid of how our children would turn out, I wouldn't have married you, now, would I?”
Timidly she asked, ”So you wouldn't mind a daughter with flaming red curls?”
”No,” he stated flatly.
It was hardly the rea.s.surance she craved. Seeking some measure of encouragement, she stretched out a
hand toward his face.
He stopped her cold, winding his fingers around her wrist and thrusting her hand back in her lap.
He might as well have slapped her in the face. A treacherous little pain knotted her heart, yet somehow
she found the courage to lift her chin. ”You did that on our wedding night. You did it again now. Twice,” she pointed out quietly. ”Justin, why won't you let me touch your face?”
He flung the sheets aside and rose, patently ignoring her as if she hadn't spoken.
Arabella had gone very still inside. Numbly she stared at the rigid lines of his back as he reached for his
dressing gown. ”Justin?” she whispered.
Almost savagely he jerked the ties of his robe closed. ”This whole discussion of children is
premature.” He didn't look at her as he spoke. In fact, he was already striding toward the door.
Arabella slid from the bed. She grabbed her own dressing gown from the hook on the wall. She was still
trying to shove her arms in the sleeves when the door slammed shut.
She was undeterred - and not three steps behind him when he entered his study.
He went straight to the table near the window and reached for a crystal decanter. Her lips compressed
when he poured a generous splash, for she knew he was well aware of her presence. But he chose not to