Arabella's lips parted. She gazed up at him. He was taut and tight-lipped, his voice oddly strained. She didn't pretend to understand what he meant, yet there was a terrible, terrible tension within him. She could see it. She could feel it. What was behind it, she didn't know. She didn't care. All she knew was that if her mere presence could help ease it, then by G.o.d, she would help him.

She squeezed his fingers. "If that's what you want."

"It is." Arabella clung blindly to his hand as he led her quickly to the end of the portrait gallery, down a pa.s.sageway, and through a door that took them to the rear of the house. In order to keep up with him, she was almost running. Only when they were outside did his pace slow.

They walked at a more leisurely pace now. The terrace ran the entire length of the house. Her hand was still anch.o.r.ed within his. Just thinking about it made her pulse skitter madly. Was Justin even aware of it? she wondered. She ignored the p.r.i.c.k of disappointment. No doubt he'd forgotten, too preoccupied to even notice. But she liked the feel of his hand wrapped around hers, his grip warm and strong.

It was a clear, wonderful night, the temperature so mild she had no need of a wrap. Though the moon was no longer full, the lights from inside the house blazed a path for them to follow.

"Oh, look!" She pointed to the outline of a cherry tree on the edge of the orchard. "Now, that," she announced, "is the perfect tree for climbing. See the way the branches spread wide and hang low? Easy to simply leap up, grab hold, and swing a leg up."

Justin came to a halt. "My dear Miss Vicar, never say you used to climb trees when you were young." He arched a brow. "You?"

Arabella wrinkled her nose. "Oh, stop pretending to be shocked."

There was a small silence. "Actually, I was going to say I fell out of that tree once and broke my wrist."

Arabella didn't see the shadow that flickered across his face. "Well, I was never so clumsy," she went on breezily. "There was a tree much like that one at Uncle Joseph's estate near Yorkshire. I'll never forget the day my mother walked outside to find me hanging upside down, my skirts swirling about my head."

"I daresay that's probably not a feat every mother wishes to see her daughter engage in."

Arabella stole a glance at him. She was relieved to note some of the harshness had left his face. "Yes. My mother was quite horrified. And my father*I vow he's the gentlest soul on this earth. As I recall, that's the only time I ever heard him raise his voice to me. Though I certainly gave them both enough provocation," she added thoughtfully.

"Do they know you're the darling of the ton?"

Arabella lifted her gaze heavenward. "Well, I haven't mentioned it in my letters,"

she said dryly, "though I'm sure Aunt Grace has."

They walked on a bit farther, past a high stone wall. The air was filled with the scent of roses. Justin paused, a wide stone bench behind him. The drawing room was nearby, casting out hazy fingerlings of light that etched his profile in silver.

When he released her hand, she felt curiously bereft. But they stood close, so near his scent eclipsed that of the roses. Man. Musk. Heat. All combined to send a tremor through her. Oh, Lord, he was so handsome he made her ache inside.

The merest hint of a smile curled his lips.

"What is it?" she murmured.

"I was thinking about the night I came here from London once. Sebastian and Devon were here.

And I think - no, I am almost certain they were out here kissing when I arrived.""Why is that so unusual? They do, after all, have two children."His smile widened ever so slightly. "They weren't married then.""Oh." Arabella felt her cheeks pinken.Justin gave a husky laugh. "Don't look so shocked, Miss Vicar. Remind me sometime to tell you the tale of how those two ended up together. It's quite a story."

"Really? They're such a perfect couple. It's obvious they're very much in love."

"That they are," he agreed.

Her eyes widened. "I'm surprised to hear you say that."

"Why?"

"Well, I - I just a.s.sumed you didn't believe in love."

Justin made no comment.

"My parents are like that," she confided, her voice very low. "They look at each

other and - and it's like no one else in the world exists, save the two of them. And yet, the truthis*my parents are so much in love that I - sometimes I almost feel like an outsider.""I'm sure they love you very much, Arabella.""Oh, they do. I know they do! But*I suppose I'm not making much sense."

She gave an embarra.s.sed laugh. "I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"You told Walter you would only marry for love," Justin said suddenly. "Is that why?"

She lifted her hands, then let them fall to her sides. "Yes. I can't imagine marrying someone I don't love. Can you?"

He merely raised his brows.

Arabella bit her lip. "Yes, yes, I know. You're hardly the person to ask. Men like you spend much of your adult life seeking to avoid marriage."

Justin crossed his arms across his chest. "Ah, Miss Vicar is getting testy now. Let us consider the

requisites of a wife, then.""Obviously she would be a diamond of the first water.""Without question.""Ah, then. So you would require a beautiful, docile, biddable maid.""Beautiful, docile, and biddable, perhaps. But a maid?""Oh, so you prefer used goods?" She shot back an arch retort.He gave her a wry smile. "Not used. That sounds so sordid. Let us say*experienced."

Well, at least she had succeeded in raising a smile. "Ah, yes, so you could engage in your licentious activities. But I would venture to say you would make a horrible groom."

"My brother said much the same thing once."

Arabella went on as if he hadn't spoken. "However, I do believe you would make an

excellent father."

"What! Can it be true?" He feigned astonishment. "Why, Miss Vicar has just flattered me!"

"Oh, stop," she commanded. "You're very protective. You're

good with children. It was very clear today with Geoffrey and Sophie."

"On to you, then." His tone was grave, but his eyes were alight. "What sort of man would you prefer to husband?"

"Well, a woman wants a man with more than good looks." It was her turn to needle him.

"A man of fervent and not idle ambition."

"What, is that where poor Walter fell short?"

"No," Arabella muttered, "that was Phillip Wadsworth."

"I beg your pardon?"

She clenched her teeth. "Short. He was shorter than me, Justin. Must you make me say it? He

only came to here." She gestured in the vicinity of her chin.Justin laughed.Her eyes flashed. "Must you make light of it?" She flounced away, so she didn't have to witness his mocking smile.

Silence drifted between them, as thick and heavy as the night.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to be cruel."

When she said nothing, he edged closer. "You're not crying again, are you?"

Mutely she shook her head.

"Then look at me. Please, sweetheart, look at me."

Sweetheart again, and spoken in a husky, tender note that made her tremble. Her eyes climbed slowly to his. His smile had evaporated.

His hands were on her waist, devastatingly large and warm, drawing her near.

Arabella's heart lurched. Her eyes widened. His were dark and heated.

"Justin," she gulped. "What are you doing?"

"You're shivering. Don't be afraid, Arabella."

The trembling was spreading through her, to her limbs, to her very toes. In sweet confusion, she looked

up at him. She remembered telling him that if he ever chanced to make her shiver from head to toe, it would be in disgust. But that was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

His head was lowering. As if*as if*

"I must be mad," he muttered.

"Why?" she asked wildly.

"Because I think I'm going to kiss you again."

His eyes seemed to burn clear through her.

"Oh, my," she said faintly.

"Why do you say that?" he demanded fiercely. "Why do you look like that?"

There was havoc on her skin, there where his hands rested. But most of all, there was havoc in her heart*

"Because I - I think I want you to."

Thirteen.

His searing gaze trapped hers. "You shouldn't. I'm a rake. A scoundrel. Every one of those things you said I was."

Her fingertips crept to the front of his jacket. "I don't care, Justin. I don't care ."