Her gaze was the first to slide away. She lapsed into silence. Lord, but this was awkward. She didn't like dancing. More aptly, she didn't like dancing with him. He was far too devilishly attractive, for one thing. It galled her to admit that she couldn't nor be conscious of him. My G.o.d, that was a feat no sane woman could accomplish. And she was acutely aware of the weight of his hand on her waist. She felt as if she burned clear to the skin. And his other hand, wrapped around hers, large and brown and strong*Something wholly unfamiliar stabbed at her insides.

He whirled her again. Arabella stumbled, forced to grab at him for support.

"Justin, stop that!" she hissed. Her legs felt like stilts. Her face was flaming, she was certain.

"My dear, how else are we to dance?"

"You're holding me much too tightly!"

"Am I?"

It was a mild inquiry, but hardly a mild look. What was it he'd said last night? I've been known to eat up tender little girls like you.

Arabella was heartily annoyed with herself. She sounded as if she'd been running. In truth her shortness of breath wasn't due to the tightening of his arm around her waist. No, it had far more to do with the proximity of his lips, which hovered so near she could feel the warm rush of his breath across her temple. And his height*confound it, he managed to make her feel dainty and delicate, no small feat. And*oh, how she liked it! G.o.d above, but she did!

But this was Justin Sterling. Rake of all rakes. Cad among cads.

Confused by her reaction, disturbed by his nearness, she rallied her defenses, straightened her spine*and accidentally stepped on his foot in the process.

He grunted. "I'd heard that dancing was not one of your accomplishments. But you did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I did not," she denied with a flare of resentment.

The clasp of his hand around hers tightened.

"Justin! For pity's sake -"

"Do you know, that is the third time you've uttered my name in as many minutes? I do

believe my status is growing in your eyes."

"I wasn't counting," she said from between her teeth. "Now loosen your grip, if you please."

He was undaunted. "The waltz is not yet over."

"Justin -"

"Four," he intoned softly.

Arabella's head came up so suddenly she nearly clipped his chin. She shot him a look that would

have withered many a man in his shoes. Alas, not him! He continued to regard her with the merest hint of

a smile on his lips.

"Now, see here." She did her best to sound severe. "I do not want to cause a scandal. And surely you don't, either-"

He laughed outright.Her eyes were snapping. "Why do you find that so amusing?""Because it is amusing. Scandal? My dear, you've spent too much time away from the country with your parents. The Sterling family name is synonymous with scandal. Hadn't youheard?""I thought it was only your name that was," she stated daringly.

"If you seek to wound me, Arabella, you'll have to do better than that."

Faith, but he had an answer for everything! She decided her best defense was silence. He spun. Arabella stumbled, and only narrowly avoided crashing into a large vase at the side of the floor.

He sighed. "If you would only relax and follow my lead, this would not be an ordeal. I'm

an exquisite dancer."

Arabella set her lips. But of course he was. He was light on his feet, his steps deft. What else could one expect from a man as perfect as he?

Again she trod on his foot.

"My G.o.d," he muttered, "what is this perverse compunction you have to see that Inever walk again?"Arabella flushed. She didn't appreciate the reminder.The music ended a moment later. Before she had a chance to draw a breath, a man appeared beside them. Fair-haired and ruddy-cheeked, he was nearly as tall and powerfully built as Justin. Arabella

watched curiously, for there was a certain arrogance in the way he inclined his chin toward Justin.

"Sterling," he greeted. "Good to see you."

He spoke with a distinct Scots burr, Arabella noted. Justin acknowledged with a curt nod.

"McElroy."

The man named McElroy transferred his gaze to Arabella. "I don't believe I've

had the pleasure of meeting your dance partner. Perhaps you'll be so good as to introduce us."

"Certainly. Miss Templeton, Lord Patrick McElroy. McElroy, Miss Arabella Templeton."

Oddly, Justin sounded less than pleased.

McElroy gave a bow. "Charmed, I'm sure."

Arabella smiled and gave a small curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you, my lord."

Behind them, the musicians struck a chord.

McElroy turned to her. "Miss Templeton, may I have this next -"

He never got the chance to finish. "Sorry, old man," Justin cut in smoothly, "but

Miss Templeton has already promised this next set to me."

Arabella had no choice but to follow when he practically dragged her into the middle of the dance floor.

Still rather stunned, she gaped up at him. "Why did you do that? Maybe I wanted to dance with

him."

"Trust me" - his tone was clipped - "you didn't."

Arabella borrowed his phrase of but moments before. "Ah," she almost purred.

"Jealous, are we?"

That he did not deny it with the utmost vehemence stunned her to her very soul. She was still contemplating his lack of dissent when his eyes snared hers.

"Let me put it this way, Arabella. You're better off with me than with him."

"I do believe I should be the judge of that."

He scowled. His lips were almost ominously thin, the set of his jaw stern. Why the devil was he suddenly

so out of sorts?

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

"What! More so than you?" she asked tartly. The bent of their conversation was

altogether shocking. Later she would ask herself how she dared. For now, she did not.

"That is not something you should know." He put his face close to hers. "You are an innocent young maid, are you not?"

Arabella gasped. "That, sir, is none of your affair!"

He smiled suddenly, his good humor restored. Ah, but at her expense, she feared!

They danced on in silence, until the tune ended.

He bent his head low. "That was much better," he murmured, his breath brushing her ear. "Why, not once did you trounce upon my foot."

He led her to the edge of the dance floor, but retained possession of her gloved hand. Reminded of his impertinence last night, Arabella didn't dare tug it back, as she wanted to. But there was a wicked slant to his smile. It held something she didn't trust in the least, especially when he raised her hand to his lips.

"Don't you dare bite me again!" she hissed. "Else I swear I shall bite back."

Laughing green eyes met hers. "Now, that I should like to see."

His dark head descended. And indeed, he did not bite. At the very last instant, he turned her hand palm up. A thumb grazed the inside of her wrist, where her glove ended and her skin was bared. And then she felt the warm, wet wash of his tongue trace the very same path*

Arabella was speechless. By Jove, he'd licked her instead!

Once Arabella was home, her lacy white gloves were consigned to the bottom of the drawer - they would not be worn again, she vowed. From there she marched across to the washbasin, where she scrubbed the offending hand as fiercely as she'd once scrubbed her freckles. If she never saw the man again, it would suit her just fine!

With luck, she decided blackly, he'd take himself back to the Continent, or wherever it was he'd been. Of course, that was hardy likely*

Twice in as many nights she had seen him. Twice. Would she be so unlucky as to encounter him a third? But what else could she do? She could hardly avoid him the rest of the Season.

But Arabella did not relish the prospect of seeing Justin again. Indeed, it was still on her mind the next day because Lady Melville's masquerade party was to be held that night at Vauxhall Gardens. Aunt Grace had been thrilled to pieces when the invitation arrived. According to her, rumor had it a thousand guests had been invited. Arabella had been excited at the prospect as well; she glimpsed a balloon ascent from Vauxhall one afternoon not long ago, but she had yet to experience the glorious wonder of Vauxhall after dark.

But that was before Justin had returned.

Now, she could have wailed aloud. Would he be in attendance?

She hoped not. She prayed not.

The prospect of seeing him again, wondering what he would do next, filled her with dread. Dancing with him last night*He hadn't lied. He was an exquisite dancer, and she had felt like such a clod! He'd held her altogether too closely. She remembered vividly the feel of his hand on her waist, his heat and warmth, a warmth that spread clear inside her. As for the warm slide of his tongue on her skin*G.o.d above, his tongue! And he was altogether too handsome, his behavior altogether too rakish. Furthermore, he was altogether too unpredictable.

She didn't trust him. She had the sneaking suspicion he had enjoyed tormenting her. He would delight in making a fool of her, she was convinced.