Author: Anne Stuart

At that moment she couldn't remember. It seemed so long ago, lost in the realm of her own monumental stupidity. ''Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "I was...scientifically curious. As for your stupid Portal of Venus, Lina was going to point it out to me, but she disappeared."

His expression didn't change, and yet she knew his amusement at her expense was increasing. "Allow me to satisfy your curiosity. I'm more than happy to ensure you experience everything you've ever wondered about."

From this short distance the bottle wouldn't kill him, but it might startle him enough to give her time to escape. Though the door would have to be opened. If he was to be believed that time wouldn't come until morning. "You fail to understand," she said stiffly. "I'm an old maid. A spinster. Happily on the shelf. Since I would have no chance or interest in experiencing the.. .the lust that seems to be of such paramount importance in most people's lives, I thought I could simply come and observe. I'm of a scientific bent, and there's nothing wrong with a little intellectual curiosity.”

He laughed again. It should have annoyed her. Instead it sent a trickle of warmth into her belly. "A true scientist does more than observes—he experiments.”

"I’m not a true scientist. Observation is enough." "Then would you like to sit and watch while I disport myself with a more willing female?"

"No," she said instantly. Then regretted it.

"And why not?"

When she didn't answer, he laughed again. "Never mind, precious. Your secrets are safe with me."

"I have no secrets," she said sharply.

"Don't you, now?" he said softly. "Then you'd be the only one." He stretched, slowly, luxuriantly, like a sleepy cat. A tall, beautiful, elegant, sleepy cat "You really have no idea what you're turning down. Pm accounted to be one of the most accomplished lovers in society. No woman has ever left my bed unsatisfied,

"Then why don't you get one of them in here?"

"Because I want you."

That silenced her. The four simple words were devastating, both to body and soul. Her stomach reacted with an ache of longing, her breath and heart lifted in unconscious response, and she felt...hot... damp. ..between her legs.

Reflexively she clamped her knees together, and his soft laugh told her he didn't miss her movement. "Come lie on the bed with me, Charlotte. I won't do anything you don't want me to do. And it's the only way you're going to get out of here in any timely manner.”

He was Satan himself, she thought, because she was seriously considering his offer. She was tired, bone tired, and this chair was hard and uncomfortable.

And it was Rohan lying on that slightly rumpled bed—beautiful, haunted Adrian Rohan—who'd just said the very words she'd dreamed about for what must be years. Because I want you.

What would the harm wouldn't touch her body u would never happen. He'd sworn he would never rape. She could lie next to him on the bed, close enough to hear his heart beat, close enough to feel his body warmth. He might kiss her again. She could allow him to put his arms around her, chastely. To hold her Through the night, her one chance of lying in the arms of the man she loved...

No, she didn't love him. She didn't even know him, and his reputation was disreputable. But for some reason, sane, sensible, practical Charlotte Spenser had dreamed about the lost and beautiful viscount and his elegant hands, his bewitching mouth. And he was offering her all that beauty, and the lost soul that hid behind it.

Even in the darkness she could see his smile widen, the glitter of satisfaction in his bright, brilliant eyes. "Come to bed, Charlotte Spenser," he said softly, his voice a soft, impossible invitation.

And she did.

8

Adrian Rohan said nothing as Charlotte rose from the chair. She'd squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and crossed the few feet to the side of the bed, but he could see the faint nervousness, the slightest hint of trembling that she doubtless thought she'd hidden. Poor angel. If he were a kind man he'd summon the servant he'd sworn wasn't available and let her go free.

He wasn't a kind man.

He rose as she approached. She was not a short woman, but he was taller, and he was careful not to loom over her too badly. It wouldn't take much to spook her, and then he'd have to start the cajoling all over again, when all he wanted to do was lie down with her. Touch her face. Kiss her mouth. Fuck her senseless.

He could just imagine her reaction if he used those words. He'd have to peel her off the ceiling. He'd wait until it was a fait accompli, until she looked into his eyes and said "yes" and "please" and "now." The bed was pushed up against the stone wall.

"You get to be on the inside" he said. She looked up at him. "Why?" "If you want to escape I'll let you," he said in a deliberately bored-sounding voice. "Just say 'let me up' and I will. In the meantime, I prefer to lie on the outside.”

For a moment he thought she was going to balk. But a moment later she'd climbed up onto the bed, pulling the monk's robe up to crawl to the far side. She ended up tucked into the corner, trying to sink into the carved limestone, and he kept a straight face as he lay back down beside her.

"You and I are the only two who are going to sleep in this bed, angel," he said. "You really don't need to be so far away."

He turned on his side, facing her. The tall candelabrum cast a decent amount of light onto her face, leaving him in shadows. He could see the fear in her eyes, on her full, pale mouth. It was too dark to see the gold flecks of her skin, but that was a small price to pay for getting her on her back beside him.

Which was patently absurd. He had never in his life gone to so much trouble to bed one woman. "Move closer, Charlotte," he said in a low voice.

She did. In the close quarters of the bed she smelled delicious. Wet grass, and honey, and heated female skin with its own, indescribable scent. Her wild red hair had been doing its best to escape confinement, and tendrils curled around her pale face.

He reached up a hand to push some of it out of her eyes, and she flinched, annoying him. "I'm not about to hurt you," he said dryly. "You do realize that, don't you?"

If she'd said no he might have been irritated enough to let her go. If she didn't know well enough by now that he wouldn't force her, then this was a lost cause.

Fortunately she didn't know how close she came to being released. "Yes," she said in a low voice.

“Yes, what?" he prompted her.

Her eyes met his. The changeable hazel eyes of most redheads—in the dark they looked almost black. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Yes, Lord Rohan?" she ventured.

He laughed. "No. Yes, I know you won't hurt me. Adrian," he added. "We're in bed together—you may as well call me Adrian."

She jerked, startled, as if just realizing that they were, in fact, lying in the same bed. "I think Lord Rohan is more appropriate," she said in that starchy little voice of hers. Which was patently absurd, with her lying beside him in the shadowy room, her eyes wide, her mouth soft.

“Let’s not waste time discussing what is or isn’t appropriate. Appropriate behavior tends to be boring. I much prefer inappropriate goings-on. Lascivious riots. Isn't that what you called this?"

"Not this," she corrected him. "This is coerced proximity and nothing more."

He touched one errant curl, his fingers brushing against her cheek, and this time she didn't flinch as badly. It was like breaking a horse, he thought. Patience, getting her used to his touch, his weight. He was very good with horses—one frightened, virginal spinster should be easy. At least she couldn't kick him in the head and kill him.

Even if part of her might want to. He smiled at the thought, and her eyes narrowed. "What do you find so amusing?”

"You, dear Charlotte." He let his fingers trace the line of her stubborn jaw. Her skin was soft, smooth, creamy smooth, and he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of her, the touch of her. He was quite unaccustomed to working so hard for anything but a horse. And even more astonishing, he was enjoying it.

He opened his eyes again, looking into hers, and for a moment (heir gazes caught and held, like a physical connection. His fingers carefully cupped her chin, and he felt the tension through her entire body as he moved closer.

"You promised you wouldn't touch me," she whispered.

"I won't touch your body,” he said. “I’m just going to kiss you. I promise you, it won't hurt. You survived my first kiss—you'll survive another."

In retrospect, that first kiss had been remarkably unsatisfying. She hadn't known what to do, and he'd really concentrate. He wanted to take his time now, see how long it took her to respond.

Because respond she would—he had absolutely no doubt of it. And that would be the first step toward where he needed to be.

It would be too dark for her to see his erection—a good thing. He could feel the faint tremors dancing through her body. If she knew what was going to end up between her legs she'd try to bolt.

He leaned over her, his mouth just above hers. She didn't move, but her eyes were dark with apprehension. "What are you so frightened of?" he whispered against her lips. "It's just a kiss..."

She made the mistake of wetting her lips in her nervousness. He couldn't resist, closing the short distance between them, putting his mouth on hers before she realized what he intended.

He'd planned on taking his time, starting soft, but her jaw was clamped shut, her lips tight, and it annoyed him. "Open your mouth," he whispered against her tight lips, "or I'll make you."

Her eyes flew open, staring at him in consternation. It was enough of a surprise to make her mouth unclench, and he slanted his own across hers, pushing it open, using his tongue.

She froze in panic, and he was damn lucky she didn't bite him. He caught her rigid shoulders and pushed her back against the pillow, and his kiss softened, turning seductive, beguiling, touching her tongue, sliding his against it, gently. She was holding herself very still, simply letting him, when her own longue moved, just slightly, reaching for his as he withdrew, and he let out a groan of muffled pleasure.