Part 29 (1/2)

”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.