Alex shifted uncomfortably, tapped her fingers on the gilded chair arm, inhaled, exhaled, was silent for several moments more. "I'm not sure about the million years," she said finally.

"Ah." Rosalind scrutinized her friend with a benevolent gaze. "Then some measure of compromise will be required."

"How do you possibly compromise with a man like that? Women have been flinging themselves at him his entire life."

"But you haven't."

"Not yet."

Rosalind leaned back on the settee, her expression amused. "That would be a first, wouldn't it? But as I see it, you and Ranelagh are very much alike." At Alex's instant pique, she added, "Honestly, darling, you have to admit, men have been flinging themselves at you with similar abandon ever since you left the schoolroom. Not that you've taken up with many of them, but they've certainly tried. So, do you think you simply dislike Ranelagh's audacity? Or would you prefer he beg?"

"I would prefer not having met him. I don't like feeling this way… as though I were simultaneously breathless with longing and in peril."

"Then refuse him."

"I intend to. I'm probably making too much of a casual meeting anyway. Ranelagh, no doubt, propositions women every day."

"No doubt. Are you feeling better now that you've reconciled sense and sensibility?"

Alex laughed quietly. "Marginally, at least. He is spectacularly male, unfortunately."

"And you've been avoiding men since Leon insisted you marry him not long ago."

"Which is the problem, I tell myself. Ranelagh's handsomeness is only incidental to my frustrated sexual urges."

"Certainly frustration could be a consideration," Rosalind said kindly.

"At the moment, I should be entirely too busy to be frustrated," Alex returned. "Both Leighton and Alma-Tadema have appealed to my goodwill, and in a weak moment I agreed to pose for them-when my schedule is already overcommitted." She glanced at the clock. "Which reminds me, I must be at Alma-Tadema's by six. Larry's working on a painting in which evening shadows are required."