"We're not," Arabella said quickly. "I believe I've heard the name,

though."

Indeed, Arabella thought vaguely, it was true. For she suddenly remembered vividly the night of the masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens, the conversation she'd overheard about Justin*and his many mistresses. What was it they had said?

It would not be beyond reason to say that he's bedded down with fully half the women here tonight, now, would it?

And this woman among them.

She couldn't stop the sheer, stark pain that wrenched at her insides. Nor could she tear her gaze away from Agatha Dunsbrook.

She could scarcely imagine anyone more beautiful. Soft, blond ringlets were caught up on her crown.

Pet.i.te, Agatha did not even reach Justin's shoulder. She was, Arabella decided, a study in grace and loveliness, all the things that she could never be.

Tipping her gla.s.s to her lips, she drained the champagne.

"I met her last week," Georgiana went on. "I do not intend to be mean-spirited, but I confess, I really did not care for her. Do you remember Henrietta Carlson?"

"Implicitly," came Arabella's response.

"Well, she put me in mind of Henrietta."

Which was not a good thing. It was one thing to be pretty. After all, Georgiana was pretty and sweet.But to be pretty and unkind*"Oh, I hear my name," Georgiana said. "I shall see you next week, if not before, love."

Arabella bade her good-bye. Her attention returned to Justin, who was still with Agatha. Even as she

watched, Agatha tiptoed her fingertips so they snuggled into Justin's elbow. She stepped closer,then reached up to touch Justin's cheek.Agatha has her eye on him again, one of the women had said.Ah, but Arabella could well believe it, for the gesture was shamelessly bold.She felt dizzy. Weak. It was the champagne, she thought hazily. Hauling in a breath, she forced herself to look away, gathering herself in hand.

In that instant, Arabella made a vow to herself.

She would not be rash. She would not be hasty. But she would not allow Agatha Dunsbrook to make a

fool of her, either.In three seconds, if Agatha Dunsbrook was still with her husband - by G.o.d, her husband - she would march over and pry Agatha's pink little fingers from her husband's arm, then wrap her own around Agatha's pretty little neck. At the thought, one hand began to flex.

One.

Two.

Three.

She looked up. Neither Justin nor Agatha was in sight.

"Not getting tipsy again, are we?"

Her husband stood before her. Taking her empty champagne gla.s.s, he gave it to a pa.s.sing footman.

Arabella regarded him unsmilingly. His gaze sharpened. "Are you unwell?"

Slowly she let out her breath. "I'm fine," she said with a shake of her head.

"Truly, I am."

He studied her, as if to a.s.sess the truth of her statement. "Do you realize," he said softly, "we are standing in the very place where we renewed our acquaintance last month?"

Arabella bit her lip. "I didn't think you'd remember."

He c.o.c.ked a brow. "How could I forget?"

"I was hiding from Walter that night," she confided. "I was afraid he was going to

propose.""And instead I found you. Instead I proposed."

Their eyes locked.

Agatha was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. She wanted to throw herself against him and start theday all over again. Forget that stupid, silly argument*He caught her hand within his and raised it. He did not kiss it, but held it suspended so close to his she could feel the moist warmth of his breath upon her skin.

She smiled slightly. "What, sir, are you going to lick me again like you did the last time?"

"Your memory errs," he said immediately. "I bit you the first time. I licked you the

last time." The corners of his lips flirted at a smile. He retained possession of her hand.

"Ah, I see more than a few heads turning in our direction. Should I do so again, it might cause

more talk."

"Ah, but we are wed now."

He kissed her knuckles, then weaved his fingers through hers. "You tempt me, sweet. But I warn you, I would not be content with tasting merely the inside of your wrist. Why, I vow I would lick you all

the way up to your lips, and there I would feast." With his free hand he traced a flaming line up and down the length of her bare arm, exposed above elbow-length lace gloves.

The prospect sent the blood rushing to her cheeks. "Justin," she said faintly, "as

you just noted, we have an audience.""I antic.i.p.ate the moment when we don't.""You shouldn't say things like that," she stated weakly."Why not? As you just pointed out, we are wed. I can say such things knowing you won't slap me."

"Yes, but still*Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"As if*" Hot color rose from her throat to her cheeks; she could feel its betraying

heat.

"As if I should like to devour you inch by inch?"

"Yes!"

"And I shall. But that, I fear, must come later."

She could feel everything inside going weak. "Are you making advances toward me, my

lord?"

"I once promised that when I did, you should know it."

"Yes, and you shall give husbands a bad name, should you appear quite taken with your

wife."

"Perhaps because it's true."

Arabella's throat constricted. When he gazed at her the way he did just now, it made her stomach plummet clear to her feet and her pulse race as if she'd run a very great distance. He made her feel as if she were the only woman on this earth. Was that his secret? Was this how he captivated so many women?

"Indeed," he murmured, "I do believe it's time to take our leave."

Arabella did not argue. The night was almost over, and she was suddenly anxious to be home - in Justin's arms.

In the foyer, they waited for the carriage to be brought around. Behind them, someone coughed. Both she and Justin turned at the same time.

"Walter!" gasped Arabella.

"h.e.l.lo, Arabella." Walter's gaze encompa.s.sed Justin as well. "My congratulations to the two of you. Do you mind if I give your bride a congratulatory kiss?"

Justin inclined his head. "Not at all."

Arabella was allowed no chance to either agree or object. Reaching out, Walter grasped her elbows and kissed her lightly on the lips. Drawing back, he studied her, and she sensed there was something more he wanted to say. Yet all she could think was that she would die of mortification if he made a scene*

Walter glanced at Justin, then held out his hand. "You're a lucky man, old chap. You'll take care of her the way she deserves, won't you?"

For the span of a heartbeat, Justin simply stared at Walter's extended hand. Arabella held her breath uncertainly, for his expression was rather strange. But then he shook Walter's hand. Briefly he inclined his head. "I shall," he said smoothly.

"Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've engaged Miss Larwood for this next waltz."

Justin said nothing as he escorted Arabella into the carriage. He was polite but distant on the ride home; Arabella's heart plummeted. The closeness that had sprung up between them had shattered, as surely as if it had never been. But one thought thundered through her, and try though she did with all her might, it refused to be vanquished.

Their first day back in London as husband and wife*and it was a disaster.

Eighteen.

In bed that night they lay near to each other, but without touching. For the first time since they had wed, Justin did not take her in his arms, and Arabella felt the loss in every corner of her soul.

The minutes slipped by. The room lay smothered in darkness. Half an hour surely pa.s.sed, perhaps another. But while her body was still, her mind was not. Wide awake, not wanting to move for fear of waking Justin but feeling she would surely scream if she laid still an instant longer, she eased to one side, then the other.