"Actually, I heard Mama and Papa mention her name on the way here, when they thought I was napping," Georgiana admitted, lowering her voice. "Papa said it was a shame what happened to her. Mama declared it had quite scarred her forever."

Something flashed in Arabella's mind. The night of the Bennington gala, Justin had laughed and said something about his family name being synonymous with scandal - yes, that was it! But what - She was suddenly thoroughly disgusted with herself. "Would you look at us!" she exclaimed. "We both abhor gossip, yet here we are!"

"You're right, of course," Georgiana said immediately. " 'Tis our behavior that is atrocious."

The conversation turned to other things, and while they talked, Arabella scanned the room.

The gathering wasn't particularly large; she guessed there were perhaps thirty people milling about. She'd met most of them at some time or other in London. Across the room, a tall, powerfully built fair-haired man gave a brief salute. She frowned. She knew him, she thought vaguely. Ah, Patrick McElroy, the man who had asked her to dance at the Bennington gala. She inclined her head briefly in acknowledgment, then turned back to Georgiana.

And then she saw him. Justin.

And if there were a hundred b.u.t.terflies residing in her belly before, there surely numbered a thousand now.

He stood near his brother. They were of equal height, the Sterling brothers. But Justin's build was leaner, his hair a shade lighter than Sebastian's, but still so very dark. Dastardly though he was, he was as elegantly handsome as always. He was clad in black evening clothes, the cut of his jacket so close and tight it outlined every taut, spare line of his back and shoulders. He laughed, a flash of white against his bronzed skin, and glanced idly away.

Their eyes caught*oh, but for the merest moment!

Arabella swallowed. His gaze was subtle. Yet the sense of awareness that swept over her was keen. Everything inside betrayed her. Her heart pounded, her pulse skittered, then began to clamor wildly. Oh, what foolishness was this? He would surely think she had been deliberately looking for him, the cad!

Silly girl, chided a voice inside. You were.

Justin said something to Sebastian, then began to saunter his way across the room.

And then he was standing next to her. "Miss Larwood, how nice to see you again. And Miss Templeton, you are ravishing as always."

Was that meant to be a slur? Knowing him, it surely was. Praying none of the turmoil she felt showed, she lifted her face. She was even smiling. Just what she would have said, she never knew, because the dinner bell sounded.

"Miss Templeton, please do me the honor of allowing me to escort you in to dinner."

Before she could say a word, her hand was whisked into the crook of his elbow, her fingers trapped beneath his.

Arabella was speechless. He did not ask. He simply a.s.sumed that she would accept. If she could have refused, she would have. But it wouldn't do to make a scene.

Fuming, she had no choice but to accompany him into the dining room.

Nine.

In all honesty, Justin didn't know until the last minute that he would be seated next to Arabella during dinner. While the others were still streaming in from the drawing room, she let him know in no uncertain terms she thought otherwise.

She tipped her head and said under her breath, "You arranged this, didn't you? To spite me, I suspect. Well, you've evened the score, Lord Vice, several times over, I believe."

"My dear Miss Vicar, I suspect we have my sister-in-law Devon to thank for the seating arrangements. She has this insanely romantic notion that a wife will tame my wild, wicked ways."

"No respectable woman will have you!"

She detested him. Could it be any more obvious? He could almost hear her gnashing her teeth.

With an effort he leashed his temper. "Yes," he replied pleasantly, "I do believe

you've made your opinion of that quite clear."

But inside he was smarting. Her disdain seared his soul. And now the gauntlet had been thrown, the die cast. She offered no quarter and he would give none.

He was at his most outrageous, roguish behavior. Within reason, of course, considering they were at the dinner table. While the conversation around them flitted from the theater, to the weather, to the appalling condition of the roads between here and London, he allowed the length of his thigh to ride against hers. Repeatedly. He reveled in the way she went rigid. When she requested wine, he poured for her, waiting for her to take it from his hand. When she did, he deliberately trailed a fingertip along her knuckles.

From the corner of his eye, he noted a flush had risen on her cheekbones. Most enchanting, he decided distractedly, and one which nearly matched the color of her gown. That, too, he had admittedly admired when he saw her come into the room with Julianna; it clung to her high, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s and swirled gently around her form.

He wasn't the only one who had noticed. A surge of possessiveness shot through him when he saw Patrick McElroy's eyes alight on her form as she'd entered the drawing room. Now McElroy sat some distance down the table from he and Arabella, on the same side; McElroy couldn't see them, and they couldn't see him, which was fine with Justin.

He began seething when he saw McElroy alight from his carriage earlier in the day. He'd wasted no time confronting Sebastian. It seemed Sebastian had originally issued the invitation to McElroy's father, the earl; they were in the midst of negotiating a business transaction and he'd hoped to finalize matters. The earl had written back stating that he had other plans for the week, requesting that his son Patrick attend in his stead. Sebastian had agreed, for his only experience with Patrick McElroy was the front McElroy put on in Polite Society.

Indeed, McElroy might fool others with his affable manners and pleasant countenance, but there was another side of him that Justin had never liked. His tongue could be coa.r.s.e and vulgar. He had a mean streak a mile wide. Justin had witnessed it firsthand at a boxing match some months ago. McElroy had nearly taken his opponent's head off, and even with the other man battered and bleeding and down, he'd had to be restrained from battering the man even further.

But McElroy was far, far away at the other end of the table, and Justin would much rather concentrate on the beauty at his side.

In between the third course and the fourth, she dropped her napkin. He rescued it for her, allowing his hand to linger in her lap. Was she becoming fl.u.s.tered? He hoped so.

He knew for certain when he bent his head to hers, as if to confide some intimate secret in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

Her head swiveled. She leveled on him an icy stare. "If you are attempting to make advances toward me -"

He gave her a mundane smile. His lips hovered but a breath from the dainty sh.e.l.l of her ear.

"My dear," he whispered, "if I were making advances, you would know it."

He both saw and heard the breath she sucked in.

He lowered his head still further, so that his mouth brushed the skin of her temple. "Or do I misinterpret? Perhaps you are the one attempting to flirt with me."

"Certainly not!" Her chin jutted out. "Have you ever heard of scruples, sir?"

"Certainly not." He borrowed her phrase of the moment before.

"I thought not." Eyes sizzling, she turned back to her plate.

Their fiery exchange unexpectedly made his blood sing. His mood suddenly lightened. G.o.d, but he'd been dreading this house party. Thurston Hall was Sebastian's pride and joy, while it was Justin's bane. He hated it here. He presented himself here only when the requisite family affair demanded it and departed as soon as he could. The Hall reminded him of*far too many things he would rather not ponder. It roused anger and resentment and a host of other emotions that were better left buried. But with Arabella here, at least he wouldn't be bored. h.e.l.l, it might even be bearable.

He was a brute to torment her so. He'd frightened her the night of the masquerade, and then he was the one who had been afraid. But clearly Arabella was not one to wallow in defeat. She spoke what was on her mind, and there was usually plenty on her mind, he decided with wry amus.e.m.e.nt. Truth be told, he admired her resilience, her pluck.

And G.o.d above, the very sight of her stole his breath away. When she entered the drawing room, fire sparked within him. She was brightness and warmth, all color and light compared to the pale simpering misses of the ton. Behind her prim, proper exterior was an earthy, sensual creature, with a wildness to match his own. He'd tasted just a hint of it the other night.

The meal concluded, Sebastian rose and announced there would be entertainment in the music room. "Rest a.s.sured," he said with a warm gaze at his wife, "my wife will not be singing."

Devon wrinkled her nose prettily.

Beside him, Arabella rose. "I think I'll fetch my shawl," she stated coolly. "There is a decided chill in here."

She wasted no time heading toward the door. Justin remained where he was for a moment, surveying her as she crossed the room. She didn't glide, like a proper lady would have. No, he decided wryly, there wasn't a dainty bone in her body. She strode with her head held high and her shoulders back, her carriage straight and proud. He silently applauded. She couldn't hide her height and so she used it to advantage.

She paused to speak to her aunt. The lamplight burned on the fluted wall behind her. Oh, if she knew the picture she presented! The gauzy material of her gown was almost paper-thin, affording a view of long, well-shaped legs. He imagined those irresistibly long legs locked high and tight about his waist. Oh, but she would fit him perfectly*

Christ, what madness was this, that he was fantasizing about Arabella!

Yet the illicit vision remained high and bright in his mind's eye, starkly vivid, her curls spread out in wanton disarray on the pillow, those eyes like heaven half-closed in sultry promise, her arms reaching for him*

Arabella*reaching for him? Now, there was a fantasy. His lips twisting in self-derision, he rose and headed toward the music room.

Through some miracle, Arabella managed to find her room through the maze of hallways. There, she paused for a moment, pressing her hands against the flush of her cheeks. She wasn't cold. She hadn't wanted her shawl. She just needed a moment to gather her composure. Oh, but Justin was incorrigible, totally brazen! She'd glanced back at him as she left the drawing room. His gaze swept the length of her, and she had the most ridiculous notion he could see right through her gown. And how dare he insinuate that she was flirting with him? Why, the notion was totally preposterous!

As if she had a chance of capturing such a rogue*

As if she even wanted such a rogue!

Never mind the niggling little voice inside that reminded her he was the most devastatingly divine-looking man to ever walk the face of this earth.

For one perilous instant, when he had bent his head to hers, it tumbled through her mind that he was going to kiss her. She'd totally forgotten where they were, that they were surrounded by more than a score of guests. She totally forgot everything. That he was a scoundrel. A profligate. She forgot all but the moist heat of his mouth poised so near to hers. A part of her whispered that she had only to move her head ever so slightly*Thankfully, anger came to her rescue.

She paced the length of the chamber, trying to calm herself. When he was near, she knew not what to do, or say, or think. What was it about him that distracted her so? But she could never let him know it. Never. Somehow, she must learn to ignore him. He delighted in torturing her, she was certain of it. And she always managed to play right into his hand!

Picking up a lacy shawl, she set her lips firmly together. The next time, she vowed, would be different. She wouldn't allow him to faze her, no matter the provocation.

On that note, she left her room and retraced her steps.

The drawing room was empty. She'd tarried too long, she realized, and she'd neglected to ask where the music room was. Stepping out into the hall, she glanced first one way and then the other. The faint sound of laughter reached her ears, but with the vastness of the entrance hall, it seemed to echo all about her.

"Looking for something?" inquired a male voice from behind her.

Arabella whirled. "My lord. Heavens, you startled me."

He spread his hands. "My apologies, then."

She pasted a bright smile on her features. "Do you know where the music room is? Or are you as lost as I?"

He stepped forward, his hand on her elbow. "Allow me," he said smoothly. He ushered her down the hall and took the corridor to the right, where he opened a door.

"After you," he murmured politely.

Arabella stepped inside. Her gaze swept around a vast, dark, empty chamber. "I fear you're mistaken. This isn't the -"

Behind her, the door clicked shut.

Arabella turned. Patrick McElroy stood leaning against a wide mahogany door, arms crossed over his chest.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

An easy smile curled his lips. "It's deuced hard to be alone with you," he said mildly, "but I doubt we'll be missed."

He stepped forward.

Arabella stepped back. A p.r.i.c.kle went down her spine. Too late she remembered what Justin had said

that night at the Benningtons*.

Where the welfare of innocent young maids is concerned, he's dangerous.

He didn't look dangerous. But she disliked the glint in his eye. In fact, she disliked him, period."My dear Arabella, I only brought you here to declare myself-""Declare yourself what? Mad? Because that's what you are!""Come, aren't you the least bit attracted to me?""Attracted to you -" Why, the lout was even more conceited than Justin. Her pulse leaped. She should have been wary, for the cad had surely led her away from the others. Fool that she was, she'd fallen for his ploy.

She eyed the door. It wasn't locked. Moving quickly, she tried to shoulder her way past him.

He snared her arm in an iron grip. "No need to be hasty, love. A kiss is all I ask." He gave a grating laugh. "Well, a kiss and perhaps a bit more."

Arabella gasped and struggled to free herself. "Let me go, you oaf!"

"Is that any way to talk to one of your most ardent admirers?" With the heel of his hands, he slammed her up against the wall next to the door. Arabella struggled. Panic raced through her. She

was strong for a woman, but no match for a man. She couldn't displace either him or herself. For the first time, she was truly alarmed.

"Let me go!" She tried to bring her hands up, but he caught them in his and jerked them

behind her back. Pinned by the weight of his body, she couldn't move.