"She is part of my past, Arina," he stated, and drew her shockingly close to him. He almost grimaced as they began to waltz. If he had not ruined Arina's reputation already he had done so now. She had not been given permission by any of the dowagers to dance, let alone waltz, and thus would never be welcomed into the halls of Almack's nor would she be invited to another ton ball. She had not been presented at court, nor was she known by any of the patronesses whose good will was so important to those young and vulnerable debutantes. Now that he was dancing with her in his arms he regretted what would never be. Now that she was in his arms he was beginning to realise what a fool he had been. She was, by her birth, beyond him. He could not pursue her as a potential bride for he was not worthy and she could not choose him as a lover because she was not married. And this was all despite the fact that he had unfinished business with the dangerous group of men determined to eradicate her.

Arina was wrapped up in her own internal battle. She was trying to stop her body reacting to his closeness. She had been in love with him for such a long time and he had never--until this point--shown any interest in her and certainly no courtly attentiveness. Now he was looking at her with such intensity, the warmth of his length brushing against hers she was in danger of losing her intelligence to the overwhelming hope that he might, in some small part, return her affection. She made herself look away, forcing her lips together firmly. He would never love her, not whilst he discarded women like Olivia because, having outlived their usefulness, he was no longer interested.

Jealousy ate at Arina to see the perfection of the other woman's stunningly English blonde beauty. Her heart ached also because she had seen the betrayal on that woman's face, the outraged hurt she shared with her. Charles was a monster. He discarded one woman without conscience because he had decided to use Arina to flush out those whom he believed she worked for. He believed her to be a spy and a whore and not only that--to be the very worst sort of person imaginable: one with no honour.

"I have insulted you," he said with terrible remorse as if it was easy for him to read her thoughts. "Arina..." Charles risked being thrown from Carlton House by pulling her closer to him. He tried to comfort her by his presence, but as their bodies touched length to length they both winced, overawed by the energy that exploded into life between them. She completely lost her ability to move her feet and they drew to a spectacular halt in the middle of the dance floor. Charles cursed under his breath, trying to reinitiate the dance. As he put his hand more firmly on her waist and realised she was not wearing any underwear he also understood that she was not safe in his arms. His body, which had not responded to any woman for nearly a year, that had not since adolescence betrayed his will, suddenly wanted to abandon all principle, all decency and every sense of honour. Now that he knew what she was and recognised that she was above his touch he wanted her. He wanted her especially in his bed. He wanted his body to conquer hers, to bring them both to satisfaction in unrestrained physical pleasure.

He looked into her eyes wondering if she knew how painful it was for him, to feel the way he did. Her face was expressionless, her eyes bleak, yet as they met his they glowed with violet fire. They stroked his returning passion with violent intensity and he glowered at her. Did she not realise that he had to get himself under some control so they could continue the dance? He was like a boy with a rising problem that was not going to be resolved by having the object of his desire staring at him with blatant need. The state he was in made it impossible for him to lead her from the floor. He was exceedingly uncomfortable in the breeches he wore which were tight enough to expose every male contour.

"Charles. How delightfully you both dance together. May I?" The portly gentleman who had interrupted them was smiling with patient amusement but Charles realised he was not amused. George, Prince Regent of Great Britain, was furious.

"Your Royal Highness." Charles bowed stiffly and uncomfortably. As he lifted his head he was aware that all the attention was focused on Arina. Black-haired with white alabaster skin, large violet eyes and incredible presence, she drew the eyes of everyone. Dressed up in the latest fashion he had to admit that she was one of the most stunningly beautiful women he had ever seen. Automatically he reached out and took her fingers in order to lead her gently forward to introduce the Regent.

"Do not," warned the Regent under his breath, then louder, "M'dear, you look very pale. I think perhaps we need to find you some fresh air, do we not eh?"

Charles froze as the Regent reached out and plucked Arina's hand from his. She moved forward without a trace of nervousness, as if she knew and trusted this portly royal. Delicately and with a great deal of poise she put her hand over his arm. The terrible sadness in her eyes lifted with a wry and very warm smile. She spoke softly, but Charles could not have said what she said or which language it was in, for quite unexpectedly he was suffering from a shocking and most unwilling delusion. He had discovered himself in love with her.