It was distracting. Disturbing. And most disconcerting.

For something had changed last night*and she had the oddest sensation that she was falling for him*

Which would be most unwise.

Indeed, downright foolish.

Yet she found herself battling the helpless sensation there wasn't a thing she could do to fight it. And deep down, she wondered what it would be like to be wanted - to be pursued - by Justin Sterling.

Exciting, to be sure.

Dangerous, without question.

He's broken half the hearts in London, warned a voice. If you let him, he'll break yours, too.

He was the kind of man she had always despised, the very ant.i.thesis of all she believed in, of all she held dear.

Yet she had only to catch the merest glimpse of him, and she was curiously short of breath. There was a strange flutter in her chest. When he wanted, he could be completely engaging and wholly charming. By heaven, she herself had been charmed!

She winced as she thought of all that happened last night. McElroy's advances - the wretch! And then there was the matter of that disgusting bet at White's. Just thinking of it made her shudder all over again.

But Justin hadn't disclosed it to be nasty or mean. Somehow she knew, in some strange, unfathomable way she didn't fully comprehend, that he'd been trying to protect her - which was totally at odds with the type of man she thought he was!

It made no sense that she should confide in him as she had. The details were fuzzy, but she remembered pouring her heart out, revealing all her deepest fears and flaws, sobbing against his shoulder.

And what had he done? He hadn't been appalled. He hadn't been disgusted. He'd simply held her, and it had felt remarkably good and right. And*oh, but she'd wanted him to hold her again this afternoon, back at the stream. She wanted him to kiss her as if there was no tomorrow*

Oh, but she was a fool! He'd kissed her once - once! - and surely it wouldn't happen again. It was well known the woman didn't exist who could put his heart under lock and key.

So why had he called her beautiful? Had he meant it? Of course not. Her heart contracted. From his own lips, he was a womanizer, a niggling little voice reminded her. No doubt it was naught but habit, a slip of the tongue, in much the same way he called her sweetheart.

Still, a curious sadness dwelled in her breast. Ah, if only*

On and on her emotions squalled and bl.u.s.tered in her chest. But he was right about one thing. She was wild. Wanton, and a little shameless. Lord, but she was a hypocrite! To think she had lectured him as she once had*Her conscience was proving most troublesome indeed. She was shocked at her own audacity as they had sat at the stream. Why had she queried him as she had?

Oh, indeed, she had no doubt that many of the tales she'd heard of his scandalous behavior were true. He'd admitted as much this afternoon. Never had he pretended to be anything but what he was. A rogue and a rascal. A rake and a libertine.

And yet*a part of her whispered that he wasn't the cold-hearted man he pretended to be, though everyone was convinced he was.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him drop a fond kiss on Julianna's cheek. Her throat tightened oddly. When he was with his family, he was*different somehow. With them, he was care free, not care less. He wasn't what she'd first been so convinced he was, uncaring or insensitive. Last night, she realized shakily, had proved it.

She didn't know what to make of it. She didn't know what to make of him.

A high-pitched squeal pierced the air, followed by another. Sebastian and Devon's little ones were tottering across the lawn as fast as their chubby little legs would carry them. Every so often they glanced behind at their pursuer, Justin. A woman Arabella suspected was their nurse trailed behind. Arabella shook her head as if to clear it.

Even as she watched, he caught up with them, laughing, scooping them up, one in each arm. It was a sight so unexpected, so startlingly unlike the man she thought she knew, that her jaw nearly dropped open. At that precise instant he raised his head.

Their eyes tangled. Arabella couldn't have looked away if the earth had crumbled beneath her feet. Indeed, she decided hazily, that was how he made her feel.

Long legs closed the distance between them. The little ones were still giggling in delight as he came to a halt directly before her. The merest hint of a smile lurked on his lips, a smile that somehow managed to both dismay and disarm her.

"I don't believe you've had the privilege of meeting my niece and nephew."

"Indeed I have not." There was a breathless catch in her voice. Was he aware of it?

"Then may I present Geoffrey Alan Sterling, and his sister Sophia Amelia - or Sophie, as we call her." He glanced at the chaise next to her. "May we join you?"

"You certainly may."

Arabella smiled at the children. They were darling, with plump round cheeks and wee little noses.

"Oh, my. What little angels." She tipped her head to the side and regarded them. "Geoffrey has his father's hair, but his mother's eyes. And Sophie has her mother's hair, with her father's eyes." She shook her head. "Their coloring is so different, it's amazing they're twins."

"That's what everyone says." Justin moved to sit in the chair, only to find it a bit narrow with the two little ones in his arms.

"Here, let me take one of them," she said immediately. She patted her lap. The little boy promptly scampered from Justin's lap onto hers. Sophie, however, clung harder to Justin's neck, clearly reluctant to leave the safety of her uncle's arms.

"They're just over a year old," Justin commented, "so of course they don't speak much yet, except for Mama and Papa - and Uncle Justin, of course."

"Of course," Arabella echoed, biting back a smile. She nodded at Sophie, who had popped a finger into her mouth and regarded her with wide gray eyes. "She's adorable."

Justin's smile widened. He glanced at his niece. "I predict, Sophie, that you'll someday be a beauty and take the ton by storm, just like Miss Vicar here."

Arabella bit her lip and looked away. There. He'd said that she was beautiful again. She wished he wouldn't say things he didn't mean, that weren't true. Unsure how to respond, she said nothing. She didn't notice that Geoffrey was busy playing with the ribbon ties that closed the front of her bodice. All at once Justin cleared his throat. His gaze slipped down, then quickly away. It was then Arabella noticed the little boy had undone the ribbon. The opening in her bodice had begun to gape.

She gasped. "Oh," she cried, fl.u.s.tered. "Oh!"

"Only a year old," Justin teased, "and drawn to the ladies already."

Swiftly Arabella did up the ties again. She didn't want to laugh, but she couldn't stop herself, either. "Perhaps he's been too much influenced by the company of his uncle!"

Justin chuckled. "Perhaps. But let's see if we can find something else to amuse this young man." He fished his pocket watch from his trousers and dangled it before Geoffrey, who immediately grabbed for it.

In the meantime, little Sophie's eyelids had begun to droop. A companionable silence settled over them. Geoffrey played with his watch, while Sophie drifted off to sleep.

There was an almost imperceptible tightening of Justin's arms around the little girl. Or was it a trick of her eyes? Even as the thought spun through her mind, he pressed a fleeting kiss against her curls. There was a strange tugging on her heart at the sight of Justin, so dark and striking, with Sophie's golden head tucked beneath his chin, one booted leg stretched out before him. Something stark and strong stirred within her.

A week ago she'd have soundly denounced a rake such as he as being utterly incapable of loyalty and devotion. But seeing him with a child in his arms*His love for his niece and nephew was so very much apparent. That they adored him in turn was unquestionable. It was a side of him she had never dreamed existed. A side of him she had never thought to encounter.

Her head was suddenly whirling. Was she wrong about him? Was there more to the man than the cavalier facade he presented to the world? Was it possible his arrogance was just a mask, his cynicism a shield?

Alas, there was no time to consider. The Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Carrington had stopped before them. Her snowy white head tipped first one direction, then the other as she beheld them. A slow smile crept across her lips. Before either Arabella or Justin could say a word, the d.u.c.h.ess spoke.

"I knew it." Beneath her shawl, her bony shoulders shook with laughter. "I knew it the first night I saw the two of you dancing together at the Farthingale ball."

Justin arched a brow. "Your Grace?" he murmured.

The d.u.c.h.ess was gazing at Arabella. "Walter was never the man for you, dear. I daresay you'd have been bored silly with him within a month."

Arabella gaped.

The d.u.c.h.ess continued, leaning on her cane. "But you and Justin*well, *tis just as I told your aunt. The two of you look remarkably fine together. La, but I can almost hear the wedding bells now!" She was almost giggling as she transferred her gaze to Justin. Raising her cane, she shook it at him almost playfully. "Now," she stated briskly, "all that remains is to find the right man for Julianna. Ah, but she has proved remarkably stubborn thus far, hasn't she?"

Arabella was speechless as the d.u.c.h.ess sauntered away. To her utter shock, when she turned her gaze to Justin, she discovered an utterly wicked amus.e.m.e.nt dancing in his eyes. Oh, how dare he laugh! Moreover, how could he, particularly in light of what the d.u.c.h.ess had said about wedding bells?

It appeared Justin did not share her loss for words. "As you can see," he said mildly, "the d.u.c.h.ess is a woman who does not hesitate to speak her mind. And she does fancy herself a matchmaker extraordinaire."

Arabella eyed him over Geoffrey's head. "How did she know about Walter? You promised you wouldn't tell anyone he proposed!"

"And I did not."

"Then how could she possibly*"

"My dear Arabella, it was obvious dear Walter was smitten with you."

But Justin was hardly smitten with her. Why, then, had the d.u.c.h.ess said what she had? And why hadn't Justin set the d.u.c.h.ess to rights regarding the two of them? Merciful heavens, why hadn't she?

Arabella's gaze slid away. She swallowed, no longer able to meet his amused regard.

Her heart constricted. A sense of helplessness a.s.sailed her. Oh, Lord. She couldn't*wouldn't...shouldn't fall for a man like him.

Yet the oddest thought kept running through her mind. What if it was already too late?

The seating arrangements at dinner were the same as the previous evening, with the exception of McElroy's absence. Afterward, the gentlemen gathered for port and cigars, and the women retired to the drawing room. Arabella, however, was restless. She and Georgiana walked outside for a time, and when they returned to the house, they stopped to inspect the heavy, gilt-framed paintings in the portrait gallery. One by one they paused before the generations of Sterlings. In truth, Arabella paid scant attention to Georgiana's idle chatter. Her mind was elsewhere. But suddenly Georgiana exclaimed, "Why, look, it's Sebastian, Justin and Julianna!"

Her attention piqued, Arabella leaned closer. The three Sterling siblings were easily recognizable, as they had changed but little since childhood.

"My word, but look at Justin! The likeness to his mother is amazing."

Arabella caught her breath. Georgiana was right. Their mother was truly a vision. It was clear Justin had inherited his looks from her. Each possessed the same fine-boned elegance, the same dramatically gleaming dark hair, the same exquisite plane of perfect, symmetrical features. But it was the mother's eyes that captured Arabella's notice the longest. Bright, startlingly vivid green, long-lashed, and spectacular, particularly in contrast with her hair*it was like peering into Justin's eyes.

But their father, the previous marquess*A chill swept over her. He was thin-lipped and austere, and she took an instant dislike to him.

"Good evening, ladies."

So engrossed were they in the portrait that they both jumped.

It was Justin, garbed in black evening clothes, so dashingly handsome he nearly stole her breath. His gaze rested for a disturbingly long moment on Arabella, then slid to Georgiana. He inclined his head. "Miss Larwood, your presence has been requested in the drawing room. Something about a game of charades."

Georgiana clapped her hands together. "Oh, but I do love charades!" She started off, only to stop an instant later. "Arabella, what about you?"

Arabella gave a slight shake of her head. "Perhaps later." Her gaze returned to Justin. She frowned, rather puzzled. He had been charming and light and teasing during dinner. But the warmth he'd displayed throughout the day was gone. He seemed suddenly distant. Almost cold.

She struggled for something to say, feeling suddenly awkward. "Georgiana and I were just commenting how much you resemble your mother."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that. But we all have our curses, don't we?"

His tone was no less than icy, his expression drawn in cold, frigid lines. He regarded the portrait unsmilingly.

Arabella floundered. "I'm sorry. Georgiana and I, we didn't mean to intrude where we should not -"

"Don't be silly. The gallery is hardly off-limits to guests." He drew his shoulders up tensely, then released a breath.

"I'm sorry, Arabella. I have a particular aversion to this portrait. Sebastian thinks it belongs here. Family and duty and all that." He grimaced. "My father had it removed when we were young. It was painted just before the scandal and he couldn't stand the sight of it."

Arabella frowned. "The scandal?"

"Oh, come. You don't have to be polite and pretend you don't know how my mother ran off with her lover."

Arabella blinked. "Her lover?"

Justin gave a mocking laugh. "Innocent Arabella. Yes, my mother had lovers - quite a number of them, I suspect. She was killed crossing the Channel with her lover of the moment."

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "I'm afraid I didn't know."

He eyed her. "Truly?"

"Truly." But she suddenly recalled how, the night of the Bennington ball, he'd mentioned his family and scandal.

"I'm surprised you didn't. These things have a way of resurfacing."

"Well, I didn't. I wasn't even born," she reminded him. "And I was often out of the country with my parents when I was young."

"I'd forgotten," he admitted. "Suffice it to say that Sebastian did a far better job of being both mother and father to Julianna and I when we were young than either of our parents."

"I'm sorry," Arabella murmured.

"Don't be." His tone was still rather curt. He stared at the image of his mother.

On unfamiliar ground, Arabella struggled for something to say. "I suppose that explains your closeness, then," she said softly. "When I was a child, I remember wanting a brother or sister so badly I would plead with Mama and Papa. But Mama had fallen ill with infection after I was born, and was never able to conceive again. Of course, it was some time before I understood why."

Still he said nothing. He hadn't taken his eyes from the portrait. He stared as if transfixed, his expression half-hurt, half-angry. Arabella had the oddest feeling he wasn't even aware of her presence.

His silence was beginning to sc.r.a.pe on her nerves.

She glanced wistfully up and down the gallery. "You're very lucky to have grown up in a place like this, though. Papa was always being called abroad for his missionary work, and it was exciting to travel to India and Africa, but we never really had a place to call home. We stayed with Aunt Grace when we were in England, and when I was in school. That was nice, but my cousins were older than I, and so I was the one always having to entertain myself. I should have loved to have had a home in the country like this. Not so grand, of course, but something cozy and -"

All at once she stopped. She'd succeeded in diverting his attention, at least. "I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"You are," was all he said.

A guarded tension defined his stance. Words seemed to dry up in her throat. She felt acutely lame. "And saying all the wrong things in the bargain, too, aren't I?"

She heard him inhale then release his breath as if he were striving mightily to relax. He gave a shake of his head; his gaze avoided hers. "It's not you. It's me, Arabella. Not you. I can be a beast sometimes."

"Yes, my Lord Vice," she agreed mildly. "You certainly can."

He startled her by taking both her hands within his, turning to face her directly. "Will you come onto the terrace with me? If I stay inside much longer, I - I feel like I might choke."