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her as she moved away, and when, once or twice, she caught the intensity of his glance, she was forced to look away, suddenly feeling hot and angry. He had no business to stare after her in that way. It was most improper, and made her conspicuous.
    When she rejoined him, she spoke out bluntly. "Mr. Trevelyan, it is most inconsiderate of you to stare at me in that hungry fashion. Lady Jersey is watching you and is bound to make a story of it."
    "Hungry, Miss Latham?" he queried, raising an eyebrow. "Your language is certainly most...most refreshing," he added with a chuckle.
    "I have an unhappy habit of saying what I think—"
    "And I an unhappy habit of showing what I feel." The topaz eyes narrowed, looking more cat-like than ever. "But I beg your pardon. I did not wish to embarrass you."
    Although she somehow suspected that he did wish to embarrass her—or at least to make her uncomfortable—she dared not contradict. She was afraid that he was only too eager to explain his motives. Abruptly, she changed the subject, asking after his aunt.
    "Oh, Aunt Clem's quite well—in her element, in fact, busy at finding a suitable wife for my cousin." Another would not have noticed the way her smile froze on her face, but Basil was watching her closely. He noted her reactions as carefully as he would those of his opponents in a card game.
    "Is it so massive an undertaking?" she asked, wondering why she suddenly felt unwell.
    "She's been after him to marry since he returned to England. Responsibility, you know. Carry on the title and all that. But it's only since Lucy came into his care that he's shown any signs of enthusiasm." He glanced in the direction of a handsome young woman in ivory silk with whom Lord Hartleigh was conversing. "Though it may be too early to tell, I'd wager that Lady Honoria will be the lucky bride."
    Reluctantly, Isabella followed the direction of his gaze. Yes, the earl was paying rather special attention to Lady Honoria. But then, what concern was it of hers?
    Basil did not like what he was discovering, but persisted, nonetheless. For one, her discomfort compensated somewhat for his; and for another, well, he preferred to know exactly how the land lay. Thus she was relieved of hearing about Lord Hartleigh's matrimonial prospects and the wagers at White's on Lady Honoria's chances only when the dance separated them. When it finally ended, she urgently longed to be home again.
    Unfortunately, the viscountess was enjoying a comfortable close with Lady Cowper and clearly had no thoughts of departing. And then, as Basil brought Isabella back to her aunt, Lord Hartleigh appeared. This time Isabella was struck by the animosity between the two men. Oh, they were impeccably polite to each other, but the air fairly crackled with the tension between them. And when Lord Hartleigh led her away to dance, she knew that an angry pair of cat eyes followed them, watching every move.
    Lord Hartleigh was not happy. He'd found himself walking toward her in spite of every intention of going in the opposite direction. For to speak with her meant enduring the presence of his insufferable cousin. Each and every time he'd seen her, he'd vowed to stay away. Yet each and every time, there she'd be, with Basil hovering nearby or stalking her with his eyes—and she looked so...so...in need of rescue, confound it! So the earl, relinquishing Lady Honoria to his rivals, would rescue Miss Latham, only to meet with, not gratitude, but an uneasy acquiescence. As though she mistrusted him as well. In fact, it was much the way in which Lucy looked at him...Isabella's voice called him from his meditations.
    "I beg your pardon?" he responded.
    "I was asking after your ward. I trust she's well?" Why did he ask her to dance if he was going to be so inattentive? Really, it was too bad. One cousin making her conspicuous by trailing her like a shadow and staring her out of countenance, and the other barely aware that she was alive—even when he danced