Justin gave a shake of his head. "Good G.o.d, Bentley's drunk. Someone should get him out of here before he goes back to the hazard table and loses the very clothes on his back."

"Who is in?" There was a flash of hands, five in all - McElroy, Brentwood, Lester Drummond, William Hardaway - a lad barely out of the schoolroom! - and Gregory Fitzroy.

" 'Tis done," came the shout. "Three thousand pounds to any man among the five of us who claims The Unattainable!"

There was a raucous cheer, a flash of banknotes, and a footman was sent scurrying for the betting book. Justin was hardly shocked by the subject of the wager, for when it came to the matter of wagers, nothing was sacred here at White's - or any of the gentlemen's clubs, for that matter. They were rakes one and all, he decided with more than a hint of self-derision, and he and Gideon perhaps the worst of the lot.

Yet almost in spite of himself, Justin found himself pondering what it was about The Unattainable that everyone found so captivating.

His gaze returned to Gideon. It was disconcerting to discover Gideon's eyes already locked on his face. Justin wasn't certain he liked the flare of amus.e.m.e.nt in Gideon's gaze.

He knew it for certain when Gideon tipped his head to the side.

"Intrigued, are we, Justin?"

Justin shrugged.

Gideon's laughter rang out. "Admit it. We've known each other too long. You are, if not by the fact that the sum is a significant one, then because of the fact that my interest was once piqued by The Unattainable."

An elegant black brow arose. "She must be a veritable ice maiden to resist the likes of you."

Gideon neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead his eyes glinted. "If that is indeed the case, no doubt you think you can thaw her."

"I am not inclined to try," Justin said baldly.

"I confess, you disappoint me." Gideon affected shock. "You, the man with innumerable conquests. By G.o.d, you've gone and gotten almost*dare I say it? Almost respectable. You," came his drawling complaint, "are growing into a dullard."

Now, that was laughable.

He was a devil inside, and everyone knew it*everyone except, perhaps, his brother Sebastian, who liked to remind him of his occasional lapses into respectability. The way he'd ventured into several business dealings and profited quite fortuitously, for one. Too, he'd left the family townhouse two years earlier and leased his own just prior to Sebastian's marriage. Those were, he supposed, the trappings of respectability.

A pleasant haze had begun to surround him, for he was well into his third gla.s.s of port. Nonetheless, his smile was rather tight. "Don't bother baiting me, Gideon," he said amicably.

Gideon gestured toward the group still gathered around the betting book. "Then why aren't you leading the way?"

Justin was abruptly irritated. "She sounds positively ghastly, for one. For another, no doubt she's a paragon of virtue -"

"Ah, without question! Did I not mention she's the daughter of a vicar?"

Justin's mind stirred. A vicar's daughter*hair the color of flame. Once again, it put him in mind of*But no. He dismissed the notion immediately. That could never be.

"I am many things, but I am not a ravisher of innocent females." He leveled on Gideon his most condescending stare, the one that had set many a man to quailing in his boots.

On Gideon, it had no such effect. Instead he erupted into laughter. "Forgive me, but I know in truth you are a ravisher of all things female."

"I detest redheads," Justin p.r.o.nounced flatly. "And I have a distinct aversion to virgins."

"What, do you mean to say you've never had a virgin?"

"I don't believe I have," Justin countered smoothly. "You know my tastes run to sophisticates - in particular, pale, delicate blondes."

"Do you doubt your abilities? A woman such as The Unattainable shall require a gentle wooing. Just think, a virgin, to make and mold as you please." Gideon gave an exaggerated sigh. "Or perhaps, old man, you are afraid your much-touted charm is waning?"

Justin merely offered a faint smile. They both knew otherwise.

Gideon leaned forward. "I can see you require more persuasion. No doubt to you Bentley's three thousand is a paltry sum. So what say we make this more interesting?"

Justin's eyes narrowed. "What do you have in mind?"

Gideon's gaze never left his. "I propose we double the stakes, a wager between the two of us. A private wager between friends, if you will." He smiled. "I've often wondered*what woman can resist the man touted as the handsomest in all England? Does she exist? Six thousand pounds says she does. Six thousand pounds says that woman is The Unattainable."

Justin said nothing. To cold-bloodedly seduce a virgin, to callously make her fall in love with him so that

he could*

G.o.d. That he could even consider it spoke to his character - or lack thereof. Indeed, it only proved what he'd always known*

He was beyond redemption.

He was wicked, and despite Sebastian's protestations otherwise, he knew he'd never change.

"Six thousand pounds," Gideon added very deliberately. "And worth every penny,

I'll warrant. But there's one condition."

"And what is that?"

"She must be yours within the month."

A smile dallied about Justin's lips. "And what proof shall you require?"

Gideon chuckled. "Oh, I daresay I shall know when and if the chit falls for you."

He was drunk, Justin decided hazily, perhaps as drunk as that fool Bentley, or he wouldn't even

give the idea a second thought.

But he was a man who could resist neither a dare nor a challenge - and Gideon knew it.

There had been many women in his life, Justin reflected blackly. He had reached the age of

nine-and-twenty, and thus far no woman had ever captured his interest for more than a matter of weeks.

He was like his mother in that regard. In all truth, what was one more?

And if everything that had been said about The Unattainable was true*if nothing else, it might prove an amusing dalliance.

He met Gideon's keen stare. "You're aware," he murmured, "that I

rarely make a wager unless I stand to win.""What a boast! And yet I think perhaps it will be you paying me. Remember, you've therest of the horde to fend off." Gideon gestured toward Brentwood and McElroy.

Justin pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "Something tells me," he drawled with a lazy smile, "that you know where this beacon of beauty can be found."

Gideon's eyes gleamed. "I believe that would be the Farthingale ball."

Two.

Miss Arabella Templeton strained to see around the marble column on the edge of the ballroom, doing her best to remain hidden.

The reflection of hundreds of candles glistened in the cut-gla.s.s chandelier that dominated the center of the Farthingale ballroom. While it was quite a breathtaking sight, Arabella wished she were elsewhere. Anywhere else would have done nicely. But thus far Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph had displayed no indication that they were ready to leave.

"Is he gone yet?" she whispered.

"No." The lovely Georgiana was fervidly scanning the sea of faces. "The others have dispersed, but I spotted Walter a minute ago near the musicians. Now I fear I've lost him again."

Arabella stifled a groan. He was Walter Churchill, a pleasant enough fellow, she supposed. They all were, with the exception of Ashton Bentley. But Walter had proved most persistent tonight.

From the moment of their arrival, she'd been surrounded until she thought she would surely smother! Her feet ached abominably from being crammed into slippers that didn't fit - that was what came of having feet the size of a continent - and all she craved was her bed and a moment to herself. But her dance card was filled from now until Perdition. She'd managed to cry off the next several dances, but a number of gentlemen remained, hovering at her elbow, offering to fetch lemonade. In particular, Walter, who chattered in that nonstop way he had until she wanted to scream. Desperate, she'd announced the need to answer nature's call. There was silence - she knew they were shocked at such frankness, but Arabella no longer cared.

Luckily Georgiana had seen her plight. A year younger than Arabella, she had met Georgiana years earlier at the finishing school they'd both attended. In the room where the girls took their meals one evening, Arabella was on her way to the table in the corner where she usually ate her supper alone. She was walking past a group of girls when the inevitable comments about her hair and her height began, comments she was plainly meant to hear. Her face burning, Arabella lowered her gaze, set her shoulders straighter. There was nothing she could do to disguise her long limbs anyway, and besides, Mama had always taught her to be proud of what she was. And so she had marched on, determined to ignore them. Unfortunately, the only route to the corner took her directly by them.

There was a particularly unkind comment - from her nemesis Henrietta Carlson - and the inevitable snickers. Arabella didn't stop to think - oh, but somehow that was always her downfall! - she simply did the first thing that came to mind.

The sight of slimy pea soup dripping from Henrietta's pink-beribboned curls had been most gratifying.

Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph's afternoon-long session with the headmistress the next day was all that had saved Arabella's place in the school.

It also marked the last evening she ate alone in the corner. The very next night, Georgiana had shyly asked if she could join her. It seemed Georgiana liked Henrietta no better than she.

It didn't seem to matter that they were vastly different in many ways. The other girls' ridicule was no less virulent than before, but with Georgiana's friendship, it was easier to bear. Arabella was ever one to spout her feelings aloud, while Georgiana was quietly reserved, more thoughtful. Georgiana summed it up quite nicely one long-ago day: "The difference between us, Arabella, is that you have the courage to say what I should only like to."

Their friendship had not waned over the years.

Indeed, Arabella's upbringing was hardly the norm for a proper London miss. True, she was schooled primarily in England, but Papa's missionary duties often took the family off to such faraway places as India and Africa. Arabella had always enjoyed London, but at times it was difficult to conform to the many strictures required of a proper lady. To be sure, Arabella had never really quite fit in anywhere. When she was away with Mama and Papa, there was no need; thus, she'd grown rather used to going her own way.

Once again, she strained to see around the marble column toward Georgiana. "Georgiana?"

"I think it's safe to come out now," Georgiana ventured after a moment.

Cautiously Arabella stepped out from behind the column.

"Georgiana, I very much fear a fourth suit is imminent."

Georgiana laughed.

"Don't laugh," Arabella grumbled. "It should be you fending off unwanted admirers, not me." Pet.i.te, with silky flaxen hair and a heart-shaped face, Georgiana was the epitome of the very proper London miss - all that Arabella was not.

Indeed, Arabella's own mother, Catherine, along with Catherine's elder sister Grace, had both been beauties in their day. Arabella, on the other hand, was very much her father's daughter. Not only had she inherited his tall, rangy frame, but his abundance of thick red hair as well*all of which were most unfashionable in an age where pet.i.te, pale beauties like Georgiana reigned supreme.

"By the by, I adore your gown, Georgiana. You look like a princess." A slim gloved hand touched Georgiana's skirt of white bombazine. "I do wish I could wear white, but it makes my skin look like paste." She cast a wistful glance down at the blue silk of her gown.

"You sparkle like a jewel," Georgiana said warmly. "That's why everyone is so taken with you."

Arabella reserved judgment. There was no way to hide her gaudy coloring; she'd learned by trial and error that there was little point in trying.

"I recognize that expression, Arabella. Don't argue. You're all the rage. Accept it, and enjoy it."

"You know as well as I that it's not me." She was as ungainly as the elephants she'd ridden in India. At affairs such as these, she felt gauche and awkward. She must constantly bite her tongue to keep from speaking her mind. She simply hadn't the patience to remember each and every one of Society's blathering rules, despite the tutelage of Aunt Grace and Georgiana.

Lord, but she hated all the attention she was getting this Season! She'd spent her entire life eliciting second glances. By now she should have grown used to jaw-dropping stares. She'd never quite been able to decide which was worse - having hair the color of fire, or being the tallest female in the kingdom (in the entire world, she was convinced). Oddly, Society had been most accepting of her faux pas, probably because Aunt Grace and Uncle Joseph were such well-respected members of the ton.

She sighed. "It's simply that I chanced to receive the first proposal of the Season."

"As well as the second and third." Georgiana struggled to keep a straight face. "Why, I could almost be jealous, but you're blissfully unaware of your own charm."

"Georgiana! It's all quite distressing, really. I prayed I wouldn't cause a stir. I should have known better! Before I knew it, all of London was talking about me. And now it seems the whole of London is looking at me, and all these silly gentlemen are circling like vultures. I've seen them, you know, in Africa, and it's not a pretty sight."

Georgiana made no reply. At her silence, Arabella glanced at her.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Georgiana was gazing across the ballroom, her lips parted. She gave a tiny shake of her head. "Arabella, he's here," she whispered. "He's here!"