"There won't be another time, my lord."

"If I were a betting man-"

"But you are." Equal to his reputation as a libertine was his penchant for high-stakes betting. It was the talk of London at the moment, for he'd just won fifty thousand on the first race at Ascot yesterday.

He smiled. "It was merely an expression. Do I call you Mrs. Courts or the dowager countess?"

"I prefer my maiden name."

"Then, Miss Ionides, what I was about to say was that if I were a betting man, I'd lay odds we were about to become good friends."

"You're too arrogant, Ranelagh. I'm not eighteen and easily infatuated by a handsome man, even one of your remarkable good looks."

"While I'm not only fascinated by a woman of your dazzling beauty, but intrigued with your unconventional attitude toward female nudity."

"Because I pose nude, you think me available?"

The merest smile appeared on his lips. "So blunt, Miss Ionides."

"You weren't interested in taking me to tea, I presume."

"We'll do whatever you like," he replied, the suggestion in his voice so subtle, his virtuosity couldn't be faulted. And that, of course, was the problem.

"You've more than enough ladies in your train, Ranelagh. You won't miss me."

"You're sure?" he pursued. "I can't change your mind?"

"Absolutely sure… and no," she declared firmly.

"A shame."

"Speak for yourself. I have a full and gratifying life. If you'll excuse me, Frederic," she said, addressing her host as she rose to her feet. "I have an appointment elsewhere."

The viscount had come to his feet. "May I offer you a ride to your appointment?"

She surveyed him slowly from head to toe, her gaze coming to rest after due deliberation on his amused countenance. "No, you may not."