"You have to admit, he's the most heavenly man in London." Rosalind shrugged her dainty shoulders. "Or England, or the world, for that matter."

Alex offered her friend a sardonic glance. "Thank you for the discouragement."

"Forgive me, dear, but he is lovely."

"And he knows it and I don't wish to become an afternoon of amusement for him."

"Would you like it better if it were more than an afternoon?"

"No. I would prefer not thinking of him at all. He's arrogant and brazenly self-assured and no doubt has never been turned down by a woman in his life."

"So you're the first."

"I meant it facetiously."

"And you've come here to have me bolster your good judgment and caution you to reason."

"Exactly."

"And will that wise counsel suffice?"

Alex exhaled softly. "Perhaps if you're with me day and night," she muttered.

Rosalind's pale brows rose. "He's said to have that effect on women. In fact, Allison still trembles at the mention of his name, and her stories of his prowess are quite-unbelievable."

"And it annoys me immeasurably that I'm feeling as beguiled as all the mindless Allisons he amuses himself with-and don't look at me like that… you know Allison prides herself on never having read a book."

"While in contrast to Ranelagh's host of houris, you wish your intellect to be in control of your desires."

"I insist on it."

"Is it working?"

Alex shoved her teaspoon around on the embroidered linen cloth for a lengthy time before she looked up. "No."

"So the question becomes-what are you going to do?"

"I absolutely refuse to fall into his arms." She glared at her friend. "Do you understand? I won't."

"Fine. Are there matters of degree, then?"

"About what?"

"About falling into his arms. Would you fall, say, after a certain duration, or never in a million years?"