Intent on repressing her alarming reaction to their meeting, she reminded herself he was just another man and she wasn't a missish young girl whose head could be turned by a seductive glance and a charming smile. Nor was she some tart who could be bluntly propositioned as though he had but to nod his handsome head and she would fall into his bed.

In spite of the fact that seductive power was his hallmark and he was notorious for inspiring carnal longing in legions of women, she didn't intend to be added to his harem of eager and willing females. She'd spent too many years struggling against conformity, trying to find a role outside the societal standards for women of her class, and she relished her hard-won independence. Surely, she was strong enough to resist a libertine no matter how sinfully handsome or celebrated his sexual expertise.

Regardless of the fact that she'd been celibate since a recent disastrous affair with a man who didn't understand the meaning of no.

Reason, perhaps, for her current agitation.

But after Leon, she'd vowed to be more prudent in her choices.

And Ranelagh would be not only imprudent but-if his conduct at Leighton's was any evidence-impudent as well.

Inexhaustible in bed, however, if rumor were true, a devilish voice inside her head reminded her.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, as though she might restrain her carnal urges with so slight a gesture. Impossible, of course, with the stark images of Ranelagh lodged in her brain-his tantalizing smile, the boldness of his glance, the overwhelming sense of power he evoked. He was tall, dark, breath-takingly handsome at close range, and all honed muscle and brute strength beneath the gloss of his fine tailoring. She'd never met such a man before, his presence one of sheer physical force. The purity of his finely modeled features only enhanced his image of physical perfection, while his brooding black eyes and sensual mouth suggested impassioned sensibilities beneath the consummate male animal.