James sat at the opposite end of the vast dining table. A brassy woman, gossip insisted was his latest mistress, sat on his left. She was so close, her bountiful breasts overflowed her skimpy bodice and were almost propped up on James' forearm. His thick blond hair glinted gold in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows of their country house. To his right, another woman gazed at him adoringly. Arabella bit her lip as she remembered how it felt to have him look at her that way. Not that he had looked her way at all since their wedding day two years previously. Had it all been an elaborate ploy to force her into marriage, enjoy her fortune and get back to his dissolute life? It certainly seemed that way. She stared out of the window and tried to ignore the high pitched giggle of possible mistress number one. When had it all gone wrong? Their wedding night had been a disaster. He'd been drunk and she was terrified, having come to his bed a virgin expecting nothing. And, in truth, he'd given her nothing.
