Fascinated

Chapter One

Monte Carlo, Easter week, 1896

Felicia Greenwood sat in the kitchen of her villa overlooking the sea, tearing the letter she had just received into shreds, casting aspersions on the writer in brisk, heated accents, then turning at last to her two servants, who watched with sympathy in their eyes. "And that's what I think of Cousin Dickie's advice!" She spoke in French, although her thoughts were still colored with a faint Scottish brogue.

"Your auntie disliked him, too." Her elderly housekeeper cum maid of all work offered in reassurance. "Tell Mademoiselle Felicia what the countess called him," she added, looking up at her husband, who served as the sole manservant in the establishment.

Daniel smiled at Felicia seated across the kitchen table. "She called him Monsieur le Prune and never listened to anything he said. "

Felicia's mouth curved into a fleeting grin, the description apt. Her cousin's mouth was always pursed in distaste. "Now, if only Cousin Dickie wasn't about to take Villa Paradise from me," she said with a small sigh, "I could ignore him as well."

"You still have a week to find the money."

Felicia's expression turned stricken. She had been given a year to come up with her cousin's required payment. Without success. "If only Auntie's funds were paying better dividends."

"He's robbing you, mademoiselle. I know he is," Claire asserted. "The countess always had plenty of money."

"I know you don't trust Dickie and his lawyers, and I'm not sure I do either; but at the moment our feelings are incidental to the immediate crisis, so I've decided to sell the tiara. I thought about it all last night. Auntie would understand-I hope…" The diamond tiara had been given to the countess by an admirer in her youth, an old love she had never forgotten. Brushing aside her misgivings, Felicia lifted her chin. "Desperate times require desperate measures."

"It still won't be enough, my lady." Claire knew to a sou what jewelry was worth.

Felicia knew she was risking it all, but it wouldn't do to betray her uncertainties before her servants. "That's why I'm taking the money to the casino," she said with what she hoped was convincing assurance. "There, I'll be able to parlay it into a much larger sum."

"I'll pray to Saint Dévote that you win the bank," Claire declared, the local saint her bulwark against all the pitfalls of life.

"Pardon, my lady, but you don't know how to gamble." An archpragmatist to his wife's simple, trusting nature, Daniel questioned the feasibility of Felicia's proposal.

"I'll pray to Saint Dévote and the Madonna," Claire firmly asserted, glaring at her husband. "Have a little faith, Daniel."

"Vingt et un shouldn't be so difficult to play," Felicia observed with a bolstering touch of nonchalance. "How hard can it be to count to twenty-one? I've quite made up my mind, so don't look at me like that, Daniel. Auntie's tiara is the last piece of jewelry left, so I shall simply have to win the additional sum at the casino. With luck," she realistically added.

"And my prayers," Claire interposed.

"It is the season for miracles," Daniel kindly noted.

Felicia brushed her palms over her riotous red curls, a good-luck habit from childhood. "Why not a miracle for me?"

"Why not, indeed, mademoiselle," Claire said with a beaming smile.

Lord Grafton had noticed the flame-haired woman the moment she had walked into the casino gaming rooms, the splendor of her face and form momentarily silencing the hum of commerce in the room. But he was on a winning streak at the roulette table, and he paused only long enough to imprint her image in his memory. There would be time enough later to make her acquaintance. In his experience, females who gambled generally gambled small stakes. She wouldn't be leaving soon.

He kept note of her in his peripheral vision and of the numerous admirers clustered around her. But she seemed intent on her play, and after standing stud to all the society belles of note since his adolescence, he wasn't overly concerned with his ability to overcome competition. His luck was running hotter than hot tonight, and he concentrated on his game until he took note of the lady's sudden distress. Signaling he was out, he swiftly moved toward her table. He had seen that look a thousand times in gambling hells from one end of the earth to the other.

She was about to lose everything.

The throng of men surrounding her parted as he approached, his colorful reputation well known. Whether exploring the outlands of the world or partaking of the fashionable venues of aristocratic society, he had a tendency to take offense when thwarted.

Coming up behind Felicia, he leaned close to her ear, murmured, "Allow me, mademoiselle," and placed a neat stack of thousand-franc chips beside her few remaining markers.

She half turned in surprise and gazed up at him.

He smiled.

Awestruck, she forgot that a lady should take offense when a stranger offered her money and any number of other principles of protocol having to do with strange men and a lady's honor.

"Might I suggest two cards?" His voice was like velvet, his dark gaze warm, his fragrant cologne reminiscent of her beloved highland heather.

"I shouldn't." She struggled to recall the proprieties.

He had heard that hesitant tone-the one hovering on the verge of capitulation-hundreds of times before. "It's only cards," he said with a faint grin. "Let me bring you luck."

She glanced back at her few remaining chips, at the munificent pile of donated chips beside them and, looking up for an indecisive moment, gazed into the diaphanous clouds painted on the gilded ceiling. Was this her miracle?

"Two cards for the mademoiselle."

A deep voice of command, Felicia thought, no angelic messenger of the divine, the decision already taken from her hands.

Two new cards lay on the green baize.

And her handsome benefactor was smiling at her. "Twenty-one, mademoiselle. Didn't I tell you I'd bring you luck?"

The croupier was pushing a very large stack of chips toward her, and with her heart beating wildly, she began to feel a soul-stirring hope. She might not be turned out into the street after all; she might be able to keep her home. It was impossible to reject the bounty before her, no matter what propriety required. Salvation was within her grasp when only moments ago, she was near-destitute. "I'm very, very, very much obliged," she breathlessly offered, elation in every grateful syllable, "Monsieur…?"

"Suffolk. Thomas Suffolk." Flynn sketched her a faint bow, and his dark hair momentarily gleamed in the chandelier light. "If I might suggest"-he deftly organized the increased stack of chips, taking out five one-thousand-franc chips and slipping them into her reticule-"perhaps one card this time."

He played for her from that point, smiling at her occasionally, keeping up a low murmur of inconsequential conversation, adding to the pile of chips before her while she stood next to the intoxicating warmth of his body and forced herself to appear calm in the midst of a wondrous miracle.

"Will that do?" he finally asked.

Another huge pile of chips was being added to her winnings. "Oh, yes, very much so. Without question!"

Flynn signaled an attendant to gather the chips and then offered Felicia his arm.

"You might need a guard," he teased a few moments later as they stood before the cashier, indicating with a nod the large pile of bank notes clutched in her hand.

"I don't know how I can ever thank you enough, Mr. Suffolk," she murmured, a glowing delirium in her voice. "My heart's still beating frantically."

Having a thought or two on how she might thank him, he blandly suggested, "Come have dinner with me next door. A glass of champagne will calm you."

She understood that under normal circumstances she wouldn't go to dinner with a stranger; but these were not ordinary circumstances, and he was far from an ordinary man. In fact, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Furthermore, the Hotel de Paris was perfectly safe with Daniel's brother and cousins in service there. And he had saved her from a life of drudgery as a governess or companion. He deserved her appreciation. "I'd like that," she said, smiling.

"Perfect." He held out his hand.

"Are you here for the season?" she asked as they strolled from the room.

"Actually I'm on my way back from Baku."

"Are you in oil?"

He shook his head. "I was visiting a friend. Are you here for the season…?"

Chapter Two

She hadn't intended to be so garrulous, or stay so long, or enjoy herself so. But three hours later, she was still talking as though she had known her benefactor for years. She had told him about her disastrous marriage, her widowhood, about coming to Monte Carlo to care for her elderly aunt, and about Dickie hounding her for his share of the property when she had not thought he was given a share. About the dismal earnings on her aunt's funds left to her and in general everything about her life that one would disclose under the influence of a superb champagne and a charming man's interest.

"Oh, dear," she murmured, her hand on her mouth in a small theatrical gesture prompted by a modicum too much of champagne. "I've hardly given you a moment to speak."

"I've enjoyed listening to you."

"Most men don't like to listen. They like to lecture or offer pronouncements or go on for unspeakable lengths about the hunting field or the state of the crops or the newest coat fabric-like Dickie…" She giggled. "Or in the case of the hunting field, my obnoxious husband." Her sudden smile was enchanting. "Not that he could help being obnoxious coming from his odious family."

"Why did you marry him?"

"Because he had money and I had none and mostly because my father insisted. Actually, he locked me in my bedroom until I agreed."

"I see."

"You probably don't," she replied, interpreting the reservation in his tone. "Not with your looks and money. But in Aberdeen, my choices were limited without funds to have a season. Even when I came here five years ago, Auntie only took me as a companion on a conditional basis. "

"But she liked you."

Felicia smiled again, and he thought his luck was running well tonight. Not only had he won a goodly sum at roulette, but the most beautiful woman in the casino was seated across from him, smiling, and the very large bed in his suite above would offer thern a lovely view of the sunrise.

"We came to be friends. Do you have family?"

He shook his head.

"You just travel?"

"I spend a portion of the year in England."

"Hunting?" she teased.

He smiled back. "Sometimes. Mostly I follow my thoroughbreds on the race circuit."

"A racing stable. Now, that requires a win or two at the roulette tables. Thomas Suffolk," she murmured. "Your name sounds vaguely familiar. "

"It's a common enough name." He had not mentioned his title. He often didn't, preferring anonymity if possible. "Would you like more dessert?"

"Heavens no. In fact," she added, taking note that they were the last diners in the room, "I should be going home. I've probably bored you to tears by now, although I want to thank you once again for simply everything." She opened her arms wide in an expansive gesture that mounded her breasts above her decolletage in the most delectable way. "And if there's anything at all I can do to show my appreciation, although appreciation is such a bland word for all you've done for me. You've quite literally saved my home for me and kept me from a life of abject drudgery and in general appeared like some beautiful guardian angel out of the blue-" Taking note of his expression, her rush of words trailed off.

"There might be something," he quietly said.

She laughed in delight. "How wonderfully you say that. So softly-without a modicum of demand. I was tempted to ask you the same thing a dozen times, but you were so polite"- she took a small, sustaining breath because she was about to step onto dangerous new ground-"and I've never actually-asked a man to take me to bed before, and I told myself you might say no and embarrass me for asking or you might say yes too quickly and make me nervous." Drawing in another breath, she rushed on. "So the answer is yes, of course, yes, I'd like to, if you don't think me too forward. And yes, please, I'd like to very much considering I haven't slept with a man since my husband died five years ago, and even that doesn't really count because regardless of my novice status, I could still tell he was utterly inadequate." She quickly held up her hands. "I don't mean to put any pressure on you in any way, Mr. Suffolk, in terms of adequacy or inadequacy. In fact, I'll apologike in advance for my own incompetence."

It was his turn to laugh. "I'm not sure I want to anymore."

"There. Now I've ruined everything because I never know when to stop talking, although I think the champagne is entirely to blame tonight. You're incredibly handsome, by the way, although I suspect you know that."

"Thank you and you're extremely beautiful, although I suspect you know that as well. Now, if I could interest you in a short walk up one flight of stairs," he offered, rising from his chair, "we could finish our conversation on the terrace."

"Under the stars. How romantic."

He smiled. "I'm not sure I'm very good at being romantic."

"You needn't be romantic," she qualified, coming to her feet. "It's quite enough simply looking at you."

His perfect teeth flashed white in a grin. "Lord, you must be tipsy."

Sweeping past him, she threw a cheerful glance over her shoulder. "A wee dram never hurt anyone."

She seemed to know her way upstairs, and when he began to wonder if the young lady was more than she appeared, she came to rest at the top of the first flight and further piqued his interest by saying, "I'd suppose you have Wales's suite." She had seen with what deference he was treated by the staff during dinner. The big winners at the casino always had the best suites.

"Why would you suppose that?" His brows twitched. "Or even know that?"

"That's a yes, I presume," she lightly replied, turning to the left and moving down the corridor in a deliciously provocative stroll that further baffled him. Might she be a courtesan after all? Had he misinterpreted her persona or was she simply that good an actress?

Not that it mattered, he supposed. He followed her swaying form and alluring fragrance to the corner suite that overlooked the whole of the harbor as well as the palaces of Monaco across the bay.

"I do adore the Wales's suite." Waiting for him at the doorway, she smiled at him with the most intriguing innocence.

"Do you do this often?" he softly asked, inserting the key into the lock.

"Win money at the casino or go to men's rooms?"

His glance swiveled to her, an ironic cast to his gaze.

"Maybe that's for you to find out, Monsieur Suffolk," she sportively declared. "Am I a woman of the night or not?" She struck a theatrical pose.

His gaze traveled slowly down her body, and when it returned to her face, he was smiling. "We'll find out soon enough, won't we," he softly said, pushing the door open. "After you, Mrs. Greenwood."

"Miss Greenwood," she amiably corrected, brushing past him. "I prefer forgetting my marriage." She quickly spun around. "You're not married, are you? Because while I understand fidelity isn't a requirement for a man-as evidenced by this suite that has never seen the presence of the Princess of Wales-nevertheless, I'd not wish to be a pernicious influence in a marriage."

"Rest assured, I'm not married." He quietly shut the door.

"So emphatic, Mr. Suffolk," she teased. "One might almost think you don't believe in the institution."

"Like you, I prefer my independence."

"My goodness. Have you a conscience, Mr. Suffolk? Most men maintain their independence despite their marriages."

"Might we discuss marital infidelity at some other time?"

"Oops." She quickly placed her fingertips over her mouth and playfully batted her eyelashes. "I'm hardly filling the role of courtesan with competence, am I? I'm here to please and be agreeable and never utter a discouraging word."

"A pleasant thought," he drolly murmured, placing the key on a small table.

"Are courtesans really like that?"

"Could we discuss that later as well?"

"Of course, we can simply discuss nothing at all. I love this suite," she expansively murmured, flinging her arms wide and swinging around in a circle. "All warm yellows and bouquets of flowers and rich damask furniture so soft you sink into it like a downy pool."

He pushed away from the door. "Have you been here often?"

"Only in passing, Mr. Suffolk. My servants' family are in service at the hotel, and I've seen every grand room-thanks to them."

For some bizarre reason, he was pleased with her answer, although he had decided sometime ago that Miss Greenwood was no courtesan. She was a shade too prickly and outspoken. As a rule, courtesans were accommodating in the extreme. And after his recent visit to Baku where his friend kept a harem, he was well aware of accommodating women.

He found the contrast refreshing.

She had moved to the open terrace door and was standing with her back to him. "I'm so incredibly happy," she proclaimed, "I could scream."

"Please don't."

She turned around and grinned. "What if I do?"

"I'd have to find a way to silence you."

Her brows rose. "Really?"

They stood a few yards apart in the most sumptuous room in the Hotel de Paris on a warm spring night with the scent of jasmine on the air.

Expectation palpable.

She opened her mouth.

"Don't."

Her smile was heated and tantalizing and so provocative, he wondered for a moment if he had been mistaken and she was trained to be alluring.

Her jubilant cry exploded into the quiet night and lasted only the brief time it took for the Duke of Grafton to cover the distance between them.

He moved incredibly fast for a large man, she transiently thought, and then his mouth covered hers and everything about him seemed large. She wasn't a small woman, yet his powerful body dwarfed hers, his ungentle mouth engulfed hers, and his large hands easily cupped her bottom, pulling her hard against his enormous erection.

She struggled briefly, perhaps out of shock for she wasn't averse to the bargain she had made, but he only tightened his grip. A tiny frisson shimmered down her spine at the tantalizing sense of helplessness, at the delicious sensation of being overwhelmed by this large, handsome man. He wanted her, not dispassionately like the emotionless couplings in her past, but with urbane gallantry and finesse and an intoxicating blend of virtuosity and ravishment that made her feel scandalously alive.

And wild.

She reveled in the heated pleasure provoked by the silken warmth of his mouth and exploring tongue, by the hard length of his body pressed firmly against hers. His kiss deepened, the taste and scent of him filling her mouth and nostrils, the exquisite feel of him becoming more familiar with each breath, more tempting as if his kisses served as appetizers and when she came to know him well, he would allow her the main course. In her urgency and desire, she slid her arms around his neck, lifted her face to better accommodate his mouth, melted against his tall, muscled frame and began kissing him back.

She kissed him like a woman who had never felt the flame of passion before, like a woman left in the wilderness for all of her life, her eagerness and hunger, her need to kiss and be kissed, captivating. She offered herself with such ardent intensity and longing, he felt a thrilling response he had not felt in years. Like the breathless gratitude in adolescence.

"This has been the absolute most perfect night," she murmured, pulling away for a moment, gazing up at him with adoration. "I didn't know a person could feel this good."

A half smile appeared. "You're easy to please."

"No one's ever kissed me so-well-so perfectly, so I'm warm clear down to my toes. Do your toes tingle?"

"Absolutely. "

"Are we… I mean-do you want to-" Embarrassed, she blushed.

He gently brushed his fingertip over her pinked lower lip. "We are and I want to and strangely my toes really are tin-gling."

"Oh, good. That's so good. I mean in terms of-"

"Sex?"

She smiled. "Yes. That."

"You can say the word, you know. We're quite alone."

"I'd rather not."

He moved against her so the imprint of his erection was clearly felt. "Sex is really a very nice word."

She moved her hips in a faint answering undulation. "I can see how it could be with you. The ladies must love you," she murmured, the grand length of him sending a shiver up her spine. "Don't make me wait," she blurted out.

She was a young ingenue, he realized, in the voluptuous body of a woman. "Of course not."

"I've waited a lifetime," she murmured, her lavender eyes filled with longing.

"That's long enough," he whispered, taking her hand and drawing her toward the bedroom.

Hope and delight sang through her senses. "Do you believe in luck?"

"Always," he replied, smiling at her. A risk taker to the core, he viewed life as a gamble.

"I never did until tonight." She made a small moue. "Probably with good reason."

"I believe in being open to the possibilities."

"I love this," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "Doing something without thinking too much or worrying about-"

Turning, he swept her up into his arms, curtailing her litany. "You're not allowed to worry tonight." A sparkle of mischief shone in his eyes. "Or even think."

"No thinking?" Wide-eyed, she grinned.

"It's absolutely not allowed. That's an order."

She wrinkled her nose. "I hate orders."

"Then, consider it a suggestion," he quickly improvised.

She laughed. "It would be quite enough for you to be just gloriously beautiful, and you're incredibly sweet besides."

He had not been called sweet in recent memory or ever to be precise. "You're a remarkable woman, Miss Greenwood."

"Please, call me Felicia. After all… we're going to be more than acquaintances soon…"

"Then, call me Flynn. My friends know me by that name."

"You don't like Thomas?"

"It was my father's name."

"I see."

"No, you don't, but then it doesn't matter much anymore. I've been on my own for a long time."

"As have I. Do you believe in fate? As in our meeting tonight?"

Having reached the large canopied bed, he lowered her to the riotous flower-print coverlet. "I believe in my own good luck."

She ran her finger across the broad width of his hand as he sat down beside her. "I believe in your good luck probably more than you. It brought me my life back."

"Pleased to be of service, my lady." Bending low, he gently kissed her.

"Speaking of service," she murmured, kicking her slippers off. "You really didn't mind my asking you tonight, did you? I mean, you're not just being polite?"

"No man with breath in his body would mind, dear Felicia. And I intended to ask you, only you asked first." He began sliding his evening jacket from his shoulders.

"You must do this often, I suppose, considering how handsome you are and… all."

He glanced back at her as he tossed his jacket on a nearby chair. "More often than you, I suppose."

"More often than every five years." She slid a garter down her leg.

With the view so fine, it took him a moment to answer. "That would be a safe assumption." Unclasping the diamond cufflinks from his shirt cuffs, he slipped them free.

"You must have lots of women asking you." She lifted her other leg to take off her garter and stocking.

"Not really," he lied, fascinated with the pale expanse of inner thigh before his eyes. Reaching out, he slowly slid his palm over the warmth of her thigh, coming to rest on the simple white linen covering her mons. "Let me buy you some silk lingerie."

"Mine's too plain," she ruefully noted.

"It's very nice. Prim and proper and ever so tempting." Easing apart the two sections of her drawers, he slipped his fingers inside and stroked her silky curls. "Has it really been five years?" he murmured, his middle finger sliding down her dewy cleft.

Her breath caught in her throat, and when she didn't answer, his gaze lifted. She nodded to his raised eyebrow, and he smiled. "Five years is a long time," he whispered, gently sliding his finger in a lingering path from her turgid clitoris down one side of her sleek, plump labia and up the other side. "I'd think you'd be ready to come without much foreplay…" Easing a single finger inside her only as far as the first knuckle, he circled the pulsing, wet tissue.

She moaned and lifted her hips to draw him in.

Forcing her back down, he held her in place with his palm and slipped a second finger into her vagina, farther this time, midpoint in depth, two knuckles deep. "Can you feel that?"

She was hot and wet and beginning to pant, and the suffocated small sound she uttered brought his head up.

"Say that again?"

"You heard me." Her heavy-lidded gaze held a hint of temper.

"Was that an order?" His voice was incredibly soft, the merest whisper.

"It was."

His gaze narrowed. "I may not want to."

She swiftly reached out and ran her palm up his erection, her fingers closing at the last, squeezing hard.

His eyes shut against the surge of lust, and a suppressed groan rumbled deep in his throat.

"Changed your mind?" she murmured, rising to a sitting position, easing away from his hand. "And I'm sorry I offended you." Lifting her skirts, she slipped her drawers and petticoat down and kicked them aside. "Now, if there's anything I can do to make amends, dear Flynn," she purred, leaning back on one elbow, her silken cleft and pale legs framed by the crushed folds of her skirt, "I'd be more than willing to concede to you." She slid a finger down the slick flesh of her labia. "I've never had a man like you. And I'd very much like to feel you inside me. So much better than this…" She eased her finger inside marginally. "I've never, ever had an orgasm with a man."

Her words spiked through his senses, his erection surging larger at the thought of her lush body having been so long deprived of satisfaction. "You've had an orgasm, though," he murmured, forcibly restraining his lust.

"The French have so many books on the delights of the flesh. I've learned. But I doubt it's the same."

"So you read books and masturbate."

"Don't you?"

Not since he discovered women. "Not lately."

"I suppose not. How lucky you are. I've often thought it quite unfair-how men can sleep around and women can't."

"Women do." And he should know, having serviced a great many ladies from every walk of life.

"So I'm simply naive. A shame, then. You'll have to tell me how to meet such-er-partners."

"Walk down the street, darling. Surely, you know you're a great beauty. "

"I've been told flame-red hair is quite déclassé."

"You've been told wrong."

"My husband deplored-"

"He was lying."

A small smile formed on her luscious mouth. "I want to make love to you for your kindness alone."

"While I have quite different reasons for wanting you. Are we done?"

"You're over your pet?"

"Don't give me orders."

"My feelings exactly."

He chuckled and stripped off his shirt. "We're going to have to be damned polite to each other." Standing, he unbuttoned his trousers.

"For that, I could even be polite to Cousin Dickie." The tempting bulge in his trousers was irresistible.

"For this?" He drew out his erection, the heavily veined penis framed by the opened placket of his trousers, the length astonishing, the gleaming crest swollen to gigantic proportions.

"Oh, my," she gasped, the pulsing between her legs responding to the glorious sight, to the tantalizing expectation as he stripped off his trousers and silk underwear. "Help me with my gown. I want to feel you everywhere." Scrambling from the bed, she turned her back to him and, trembling, waited. "Hurry, please…"

He heard the tremor in her voice and understood her urgency. He had heard the politesse as well and appreciated her understanding. Although he wasn't sure he wouldn't fuck her, orders or not, in his present mood.

"The buttons are ever so small. I apologize."

But he had done this so many times before, he swiftly unfastened the small covered buttons and slid her green chartreuse gown from her shoulders.

As it fell to the carpet, she was already slipping her chemise off, and short moments later, she stood naked before him, breath held and hopeful. "If you don't mind," she whispered, her thighs clamped together to maintain the most tenuous control over her approaching orgasm. "The sight of your- arousal… is very exciting…"

She was literally trembling for him, and such helpless need inspired a strange degree of involvement quite apart from his usual lust. It gave him pause, but not for long since fucking was a familiar standard in his life. His body responded automatically to a beautiful nude woman, his intellectual impulses secondary to his libido. "Let's try the bed the first time," he murmured, sliding his arm around her waist and moving forward.

It was too much-the implication that there would be more, the possessive feel of his hand on her hip, her tremulous desires-and with a gasp, she stopped halfway to the bed and climaxed in a series of tiny sobs.

He gently held her while her orgasm shuddered through her body, careful not to intrude on the heated flow, discreetly watching, waiting till the last before he lifted her into his arms and whispered, "Sorry. "

"It's not your fault. I'm not very good at this."

"You've been waiting too long."

"Do you mind?"

"Not if you don't. We've all night."

"All night?" She looked alarmed. "I can't stay all night."

"Why not?" He wasn't about to let her go without exploring the full range of her delights.

"My servants will worry."

He masked his shock. "Send them a note."

"What will they think?"

Sitting down on the bed, he cradled her on his lap. "Darling," he softly said. "They're servants. A note is more than sufficient."

"They're really friends."

"A note's good for friends, too. You write it and I'll ring for a messenger." Lifting her off his lap, he placed her on the bed.

"I'm so sorry."

Ignoring his throbbing hard-on, he said, "It's not a problem."

"I really am sorry," she murmured, her gaze on his erection as he rose and walked away.

"I can wait."

"You're ever so nice."

"See if you feel that way in the morning," he replied with a grin. "I intend to keep you up all night." Pulling open the desk drawer, he picked up a sheet of stationery and an envelope.

"Really? All night? You don't… I mean-not actually all night?"

His dark gaze held a hint of amusement as he plucked a pen from the holder. "Actually."

She took a deep breath. "My goodness."

"It should be extremely good." Adding a bottle of ink to the items in his hand, he moved back toward the bed.

"Better than my orgasm?"

"Oh, yes. I can guarantee that."

How comfortable he was with his nudity, she thought. "Because you do this often and you know about women?"

"Because you fascinate and intrigue me and I feel like fucking you all night."

"Oh, my." Somehow the blunt phrase didn't offend, the soft promise in his words triggering a liquid heat deep inside her.

"Write," he softly commanded, placing the supplies in her lap, grabbing a book from the bedside table for a writing surface and handing it to her. All the while she repressed her impulse to reach out and touch his arousal. Moving toward the telephone, he asked, "Do you want one of your servants' relatives to deliver your note?"

She hesitated, not sure she wished to expose her indiscretions. On the other hand, aware of the speed with which gossip traveled below stairs, she knew her stay in the Wales's suite of the Hotel de Paris would be impossible to conceal. Better someone she knew to perhaps mitigate the worst of the gossip. "Ask for Claude." She began to write.

Lord Grafton spoke rapidly in flawless French, the voice of authority resonating in his soft tone, his replies to a series of questions brief yeses and nos. Hanging up the ornate receiver, he turned to her with a half smile. "Apparently Claude has been waiting for your summons. It seems Daniel had been looking for you. Do you have a curfew?"

"Oh, Lord. How embarrassing. I suppose everyone knows."

"I was assured your presence here would be kept in the closest confidence."

"Who are you anyway?" Wide-eyed, she gazed at him, wondering why the staff was so accommodating.

"I spend a good deal of money at the casino."

"You're not going to tell me." She signed her name to the few brief sentences.

"I did tell you."

"It really doesn't matter after tonight anyway," she said, taking note of his evasion. "And I do owe you a tremendous debt."

"Is that why you're here?" One brow lifted in skeptical regard.

"Do you really care?"

He gazed at her for a moment, voluptuously nude, beautiful beyond the general standards for beauty, impatient for her first orgasm with a man. "No."

Her mouth quirked in a faint smile. "I didn't think so."

"Are you finished, then?" He nodded at the note, his momentary cynicism dismissed. "Claude's on his way up."

As aware as he of the reasons that had brought them there, she quickly folded the sheet of paper, slid it into the envelope and handed it to him.

Taking it to the desk, he sealed it. Then pulling a gray silk robe from the armoire, he slipped it on and walked from the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The knock on the suite door sounded as he was counting out a number of bills guaranteed to buy silence from the staff. If Miss Greenwood lived in Monte Carlo, it would be best if her stay with him were forgotten. When he opened the door a few moments later, he conveyed his instructions to Daniel's brother with a decisiveness that couldn't be misconstrued. And money aside, the soft threat in his voice would have been sufficient to see his orders obeyed.

"Your note is being delivered," the duke declared, reenter-ing the bedroom shortly after, "and I was assured not a hint of your presence here would go abroad."

Lounging against the pillows, she lazily scrutinized him. "You must be dangerous or very rich."

Some might say both, but choosing to disclose as little of his life as possible, the duke said instead, "I gave Claude some of the money I won tonight."

"A lot, no doubt."

"Enough." She was so lush and inviting lying on his bed, he would have willingly spent more if necessary. "Now that your concerns for your servants are alleviated, you no longer need worry." His smile gave evidence of his supreme good humor. "And we can concentrate on pleasure until morning."

"You make this very, very easy."

"I have the most selfish of motives."

She playfully shifted into an odalisque pose. "You're sure I'm worth it?"

"Definitely, and I'm always right."

She laughed, delighted to be the object of such regard. "And modest, too."

"Modesty is much overrated." He untied his robe and slipped it off.

She gazed at his tall, muscled form, bronzed from the sun, honed and taut, exquisitely aroused. "You could never be regarded as modest in any way."

"Nor you." He climbed into bed and settled between her legs with a comfortable ease that bespoke much practice. "Let's begin your first lesson in having an orgasm with a man," he murmured with a smile, guiding his penis to her heated cleft. "Stop me at any time if you have questions."

"I have no intention in the world of stopping you." The feel of him poised to enter her sent waves of pleasure upward from the thrilling point of contact.

"A woman after my own heart."

Her gaze came up, the sentiment oddly put.

"A generic phrase," he quickly noted, mildly confounded himself when he scrupulously avoided romantical utterances.

"Do make love to me," she purred, moving her hips in invitation. "And I mean it in the most generic way."

He moved forward, penetrating slowly, gliding into her heated interior with deliberate languor, wanting to give pleasure, but also selfishly wishing to feel each centimeter of the intoxicating invasion. He couldn't remember when he had had sex with such an inexperienced woman, and her breathless desire brought new dimension to his arousal. "Stop me if I'm hurting you."

"Au contraire…" Her hands were hard on his back, her hips rising to meet him, the melting heat of her desire flowing around his long, rigid length. "Please… more…"

As he obliged her, he met a small resistance and, unsure, hesitated.

"It doesn't hurt… really…"

Gazing down, he saw the entreaty in her lavender eyes, the glowing flush on her cheeks.

"Don't stop… I want it all…" she implored.

A saint couldn't have withstood such a plea and he had never aspired to sainthood. "You're sure?" he asked when he wasn't sure himself how much longer he could act the gentleman.

"I'm dying," she whispered, desperation in her voice.

So long celibate, she couldn't wait, nor in truth could he, his explosive need controlled only with superhuman effort. With her breathless consent, he gave in to his own rapacious urges and plunged forward, burying himself deep inside her, holding himself immobile against her womb, filling her, stretching her. The pleasure was so intense tears came to her eyes. Then he gently moved, and she moaned, the sleek friction stimulating every sensitized nerve and cell to fever pitch. Inhaling sharply at the agony of restraint, he forced himself to ignore the savage pleasure bombarding his senses. Although it wouldn't be much longer, he recognized. Her thighs opened wider to accommodate him, and her panting cries had reached a new level of need.

Settling into a slow, luscious flux and flow, he gave her what she wanted, what they both wanted, the exquisite rhythm of thrust and withdrawal overwhelming all but stark, finite sensation. She cried out, and he softly grunted each time at the blissful point of deepest penetration when the focus of the world centered on the tremulous imprint of his engorged penis against her throbbing tissue. And then breath held as he withdrew, gliding back to the farthest limit, they waited in sweet, shuddering agony for the next powerful downstroke.

The scent of sex engulfed them, the heated odor of passionate bodies in sleek fusion, the raw, primitive act of mating permeating the civilized luxury and sumptuous decor of the bedroom in the Hotel de Paris. An incongruous concept for a man who viewed sex as a casual game, equally incongruous for a woman who had spent the greater part of her life as pure as a vestal virgin.

But at that moment they existed in their own universe, joined in a dance as old as time, abandoned to a wild, audacious carnality, body to body, torrid desire to torrid desire, fevered, delirious, ravenous for each other. Until she whimpered and he instantly shifted direction, recognizing how close she was to the brink. Plunging forward, he buried himself so deeply she gasped. And then her low keening cry shattered the night air, the sound rising in soaring exultation as her orgasm tempestuously broke, surged, swelled. With blessed relief, he allowed his own fierce urges free rein. His long withheld climax exploded, flowing downward in such violent ejaculations he shut his eyes against the savage assault.

For reeling moments in the self-contained paradise of the canopied bed, convulsed with rapture, they clung to each other, experiencing a wild, tumultuous consummation so intense the world narrowed to blissful sensation and the heated contact of their bodies. How could she have known, she thought, ravished and saturated and filled with sperm, that sex could be so shockingly good. Was her naivete alone capable of such sorcery? he wondered, his senses still on fire despite his climax.

But resisting the notion of intense feeling on principle, intent on retaining the comfortable habits of a lifetime, he dismissed his errant feelings and, raising his forehead from the pillow, brushed Felicia's cheek with a casual kiss. "That was fantastic."

"And now I know what it's like." Her voice was the merest wisp of sound, her eyes half-shut in languor.

"When the world is perfect," he murmured, adjusting his weight on his elbows and smiling down at her.

"With you, you mean." Her lashes lifted, and contentment shone from her eyes.

"Is it better than alone?"

Her smile appeared, beatific and radiant. "As if you didn't know, you arrogant man."

"Just checking." He glanced at the clock on the mantel. "And I can make it better again."

"Impossible. Really," she murmured. "I couldn't."

"Are you sure?" He moved inside her.

She softly groaned, tremulous rapture in the delicate sound. "Don't do that. I'll expire of bliss."

"This kind of bliss?" He slid forward marginally, his erection seemingly undiminished despite his orgasm.

An exquisite flutter rippled through her vagina, and she purred. "That's not fair."

"Are there rules?" His smile brushed her lips.

"Apparently not for you."

"I can make you come again." Dulcet and sweet, he offered her paradise. "As many times as you want," he added in a whisper.

A flaring desire burned through her senses, and she understood unbridled lust for the first time. "How do you do it? Only seconds ago I was incapable of moving."

"Simple. I slide in like this and touch you-here…"

She shivered at the streaking pleasure.

"And your body takes note. Now, if I shift a fraction to the right and lift up just a little…"

Shocked, she felt an orgasm begin, and endless, hysterical, screaming moments later when her climax was over and her brain resumed its normal function, she opened her eyes.

"… I can make you come," he playfully finished.

"How do you know that?" she whispered.

"Years of practice if you don't mind the truth." Slowly withdrawing, he rolled away and sprawled on his back.

Rising on one elbow, she gazed at the beauty of his lounging form. "If it didn't feel so good, I'd be tempted to take issue with your years of practice."

Lacing his hands behind his head, he grinned. "Do you want me to apologize?"

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-five."

She softly snorted. "Years of practice aren't the entire reason. My husband was fifty and he didn't know a thing."

"Sex appeals more to some than others."

"The pleasure of it, you mean."

"No, I mean sex."

"Pleasure is incidental?"

"Hardly. It's the raison d'être. But you can take pleasure in a great number of things outside of sex."

"Do you?"

"Do I look like I'm obsessed?"

"You're awfully good at this."

"I have a great number of things I'm good at."

"And yet you're single. How have you eluded the pursuing women?"

He instantly looked uncomfortable.

"Relax, Flynn. I'm not in the market for a husband ever again."

He visibly relaxed, and she laughed.

"Force of habit," he muttered, "with a question like that. Would you like a bath?"

"Are we changing the subject?"

"Definitely."

"Do I need a bath?"

"Not necessarily. But the tub is large enough for two."

"Hmmm." Her gaze was flirtatious. "Do I detect another lesson?"

He faintly moved his head on the pillow. "No more lessons darling. I dislike the role. I'm just sweaty and sticky." He ran his hand over his chest. "But if you don't mind, I don't."

"How big is the tub?"

"Very. And there's a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket just outside the door." "Since when?"

"Since I told Claude to bring one up." "Oh, my God! Do you think he heard me scream?" "Servants don't hear anything."

"What kind of servants do you have? Mine tell me what to eat for lunch."

He grinned. "Then, you've become much too friendly with them."

"If you recall, my high-and-mighty Flynn, I once was very near their rank myself."

His gaze held hers for a moment. "Were you always poor?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not to me." He spent a good deal of time in the far-flung reaches of the world; he was content with a simple life.

"As a matter of fact, my father was a viscount, although a Scottish laird is almost by definition poor. But we lived on a fine old estate, much the worse for lack of funds until my marriage."

"Why don't you live there now?"

"I don't get on with my brother's wife."

"Ah. A common enough complaint. So you were thrown out on the world."

"I chose not to live there under their sufferance. As it turns out, I much prefer Villa Paradise to the chill of Aberdeenshire. And thanks to you, I can continue to enjoy it."

"It was my pleasure, chou chou. And at the risk of offending you, would you mind terribly taking a bath with me?"

"Oh, dear, I smell."

"We both do, although I'm thinking of a cold glass of champagne with considerable relish at the moment."

"In a warm bath."

He smiled. "Our own touch of paradise." Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he walked around the end and, coming up beside her, held out his hand.

"I'd be a fool to refuse, wouldn't I?"

"I think you'll like it."

"That tone of voice makes your offer even more tempting."

"I was hoping it would. You might like to ride me, I thought."

"Flynn!" She felt her body instantly leap in response.

"It doesn't appeal?" His dark eyes held a touch of amusement.

"Everything about you appeals, as you well know."

He didn't pretend false modesty. "Good," he said. "Then, we'll both enjoy ourselves."

The bathroom was enormous, tiled in gleaming red and gold faience that reminded her of the Provencal countryside. The tub was indeed large enough for two or four or six, she didn't doubt, the gold fixtures ornately cast, the designs of dolphin spouts and sea shell faucets exquisite. Opposite the sunken tub, three flower-painted porcelain sinks were backed by a mirrored wall. Above the sinks stretched a long glass shelf filled with such a variety of colorful toiletries, the array could have stocked a small boutique.

A balcony lay outside wide glass doors facing the sea while two paneled doors in antiqued yellow punctuated the opposing wall.

"If you'd like to use the facilities," the duke offered, indicating the doors with a wave of his hand.

After drinking so much champagne at dinner, the offer was inviting. "You can't listen."

His brows rose. "It's a bit late for modesty, isn't it?"

She blushed, reminded of all that had passed between them.

"I'll begin to fill the tub if you like. Would that be better?"

"Thank you." She lifted her hands slightly in a nervous gesture. "I'm very new at this."

Aware of the unusual desires she evoked, he gently said, "Maybe we both are."

"How gallant." Her voice was less uncertain, her gaze once again composed. Turning to the doors behind her, she opened them both before selecting the room with the bidet. Glancing back before she entered, she sweetly smiled. "I feel terribly grown up."

Alarm tightened his stomach. She was a lush vision of womanhood, but so entirely without guile, that inconsistency could pose a danger. "Don't tell me you're sixteen."

"I wish I could tell you I was sixteen and forget I was ever married. In a more perfect world, perhaps-"

"I'm not interested in a long discussion right now." His voice was terse. "How old are you?"

"You're nervous," she teased.

Nothing so genial resonated in his voice. "Just tell me."

"Twenty-six."

His relief was so apparent she laughed out loud. "Now that was a moment of sheer terror."

"Damn right it was. Men have been forced to the altar for far less."

"Let me assure you, dear Flynn, I'm only interested in your"-her gaze traveled down to his penis, and his libido instantly responded-"ability to perform on command," she purred. "By the way," she added, her gaze coquettish, "I like that I can do that to you."

"Go," he gruffly said, at a loss for an offhand remark when he was taut with lust. As the door shut behind her, he took himself to task, reminding himself that innocents like Miss Greenwood were outside his purview for a variety of reasons that bore recall, like families that might object or notions of accountability and responsibility he didn't care to face. He would enjoy her tonight because he would be a fool if he didn't, but worldly women were more his style. They knew the rules of the game. And with that sensible reminder, he walked to the tub, turned on the faucets and went to the second bathroom. He had every intention of drinking enough tonight to obliterate his disturbing attraction to the artless Miss Greenwood.

Even with the tub water running, Felicia heard him in the adjacent bathroom and found herself listening like a voyeur. How strange, she thought, that she was intrigued with even the most earthy facets of the man when she would have considered such conduct coarse and vulgar before tonight. Why this inordinate interest? she wondered, trying to make sense of the intense attraction she felt.

He was handsome as a god, of course, but that wasn't reason enough to be so fascinated in every detail of his life. His lovemaking was glorious, but sex didn't rule her world, or it never had, she ruefully noted, until tonight. As for his charm, he had that in abundance. But charm alone didn't explain her profound desire to know the intimacies of his life. Did he clean his teeth in the morning or at night or both? What kind of bed did he sleep on at home? Did he like scent on his shirts? Did he whistle? Her mind raced with new and peculiar curiosities.

Was this what happened to every woman Flynn made love to? Did his seductive skills leave every woman wanting more, wanting the whole man revealed? Or was she just overly impressionable like a grass-green maid, easily infatuated by a handsome face, spectacular sexual skills and a cock like the rod of empire?

That last indecorous image brought a smile to her face even as she chided herself for such shameful thoughts. She knew very well it would never do to become bewitched. She should regard this brief interlude of pleasure as nothing more than a delightful quid pro quo. Flynn was her angel of mercy tonight in more ways than one, and her amenability would perhaps repay him for his generosity. Or at least marginally, her inexperience a possible deterrent to a man of his sexual expertise.

Moving toward the door, she was suddenly stunned by her nude image in the mirror. Somehow she had forgotten she was unclothed. Perhaps one had to be removed from Flynn's heated embrace to begin thinking clearly again. Dear God, she nervously reflected. How exactly did one enter a room when one was stark naked? Averting her eyes from the disconcerting sight, she glanced about the small room for a garment. Although, maybe it was a bit late for prudishness as Flynn had so recently pointed out. And yet… she didn't know if she was sufficiently dégagé to face him with equanimity. It seemed as though she were about to walk out on stage.

This intermission, as it were, from heated passion had restored a modicum too much reason to her brain. And since no shred of clothing had materialized, her options were limited. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she understood she could ei-ther stay in here forever or... brazen it out. The forever option was unlikely to work, so exhaling softly, she reached for the door latch. Forcing herself to smile, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the bathroom. "Such splendid luxury," she brightly exclaimed, her voice brittle with élan. "A person could get used to this. Piles of monogramed linen, magnificent bottles of perfumes, scented soaps-"

"And champagne." The duke lifted his glass to her from the sunken tub where he lounged, two silver champagne buckets set on a ledge above his head. "The water's warm," he added, wishing to put her at ease, her discomfort obvious. "Are you hungry at all?"

"After that meal?" She hesitated in the doorway.

"If you'd like something, let me know."

He didn't mean it that way, she knew, but the deep tenor of his voice seemed to insinuate itself precisely where she least wished it to insinuate itself. Slowly inhaling, she repressed the ripple of pleasure fluttering through her vagina.

He noticed, both her response and her resistance. "Try some champagne," he softly suggested, understanding a woman of her background wouldn't easily assume the role of doxy. "And I'll entertain you with an account of my world travels."

He made it so easy to like him, she thought, the tension draining from her body. "Only if you tell me of the Taj Mahal first." She began walking toward him.

"Done." Setting his goblet down, he poured her a glass of champagne and placed it on the broad rim of the tub. She reminded him of a shy, skittish kitten, timid but wanting to play. "The first time I saw the Taj," he began, lounging back in the water, "I was eighteen and in love with a beautiful Irish girl who wouldn't leave her husband for me because my father had cut me off without a farthing."

"I'll bet she regrets it now." A trace of amusement colored Felicia's tone.

The duke shrugged. "I doubt she remembers me. Her husband was transferred to Calcutta, and I never saw her again."

"And you never found another woman to love." Picking up the glass of champagne, she stepped into the tub.

"She broke my tender heart," he sardonically murmured.

Sliding into the water, she leaned back against the smooth tile. "How convenient to have such a romantic excuse. And when your father died did he leave you a farthing?"

"He had to or else leave it to a distant cousin who was living in the Australian bush with his native wife."

"Lucky for you. Now, if only my father had left me a farthing. Although I can't complain. Auntie Gillian did leave me what she had. But tell me about the Taj," she suddenly declared, not wishing to dwell on unhappy thoughts. "Is it as magnificent as it looks in pictures?"

He nodded. "And what they say about seeing it in moonlight is absolutely true." He then went on to describe the monument to love and several more of the wonders of the world that he had seen in his years of travel.

They drank one bottle and then began another, adding warm water to the tub as it cooled, their comfortable rapport restored. He related various anecdotes from his life, editing only those portions that would make him recognizable as one of the wealthiest men in England. And she talked of her youth when her world was still filled with joy. "I used to have my own horses, too," she explained. "A beautiful black and a long-legged bay that could run for hours. Although it seems a lifetime ago. My husband sold them."

He almost said, "I'll give you some," but that would entail a future he was reluctant to envision. So he said instead, "He deserves to be dead."

"I know. It's terrible for me to say, but it's true."

"How fortunate for me that Auntie Gillian invited you down. I don't recall ever being to Aberdeen. And I would have disliked missing this evening."

"As would I." She suddenly blushed, conscious that the nude man sitting opposite her in the large tub had been a stranger short hours ago.

"No one will know." He didn't have to read her mind; her disquietude was patent.

"Only the entire staff."

"They've been well paid to forget."

"Really? Do you believe-"

"I not only believe-I guarantee it."

Something in his tone gave her pause, that soft menace fair warning to the staff, she suspected.

"Has anyone bothered us thus far?"

She visibly relaxed and smiled again. "You're to be commended. Thank you for that as well as the great multitude of your other kindnesses."

Always uncomfortable with praise, he searched for a new topic of conversation. "I still haven't described my trek through Turkestan. Are you getting tired? Would you like to sleep or listen?"

As if anyone could sleep while in close proximity to the magnificent Flynn. "Since your description is the closest I'll ever get to Turkestan, please tell me."

He was careful not to make advances. Clearly she was dealing with a bout of conscience. He spoke of his summer ride through the Takla Makan desert, of the scorching temperatures and the tribes he had lived with, of the Russian garrison at Khotan where the only thing to do was drink, and before his tale was finished, she was once more comfortable-asking questions, adding her own observations, laughing again at his attempts to amuse her. In any event, he wasn't in any hurry, having decided to change his departure plans. There would be time enough for sex, if not tonight, tomorrow.

He asked her about her sojourn in Monte Carlo then-a safe enough subject-and she offered lighthearted accounts of her duties as companion to her elderly aunt as well as thumbnail sketches of her daily life. And much later, when they had finished the second bottle of champagne and the sun was beginning to lighten the horizon, when their conversation had taken on an undertone of expectation, he said, "Would you like me to shampoo your hair?"

She ran her fingers through her unruly ringlets. "Do I need a shampoo?"

"No. I just thought you might like it."

Her gaze minutely narrowed. "I have a question."

"Only one?" he pleasantly said, in excellent humor after the major share of two bottles of champagne and such affable company.

"Have you done that before?"

He feigned deep thought for a moment and then grinned. "Never."

She giggled with delight. "Then yes, please do. Although I warn you, I seem to have developed a degree of possessiveness after all this champagne."

"It must be the Cliquot," he drolly observed, "for I find myself with similar feelings."

"We should stop drinking it, then. Surely it's a most foolish emotion."

"Strange certainly," he casually remarked, capable of ignoring his feelings after a lifetime of cultivating the habit. "So you don't want any more? No champagne for breakfast?"

"Don't say it's morning already!" All the ramifications of her real life flooded her consciousness.

"It's not morning," he lied, tossing a bottle of shampoo at her. "Trust me. And since I'm going to play hair dresser for the first time in my life, you may want to take notes."

It took her only a fleeting moment to be drawn into his play, her anxieties vanquished by his warm smile. "Notes about the shampoo or something else?" she playfully inquired.

"Either, both-neither. Actually, I'd rather keep you busy with other things." Moving through the water, he glided over her and, balancing above her, took the shampoo from her hand, set it aside and touched her mouth with a gentle kiss.

She smiled up at him, his butterfly kiss a residual sweetness on her lips. "Perhaps I should take notes. I could sell my memoirs back to you someday and spare you the embarrassment of seeing your sexual exploits in print."

"I've been beyond embarrassment for a very long time, darling, but I might take notes on my overwhelming fascination with you." His body lightly touched hers as he floated above her. "I've wanted you since you first entered the casino tonight, and that persistent craving hasn't diminished."

The imprint of his erection was hot on her stomach. "Good, because I wouldn't wish to be alone in my obsession."

"Have I been patient enough?"

Regardless of the unspecified nature of his query, she understood what he meant. "You've been extremely courteous."

"I can't recall ever lying naked in a tub with a woman and doing nothing-for so long."

"I can't ever recall lying naked in a tub with a man."

"Lucky me." He moved his hips faintly.

"No, me," she murmured, matching his slow rhythm. "And I'm quite sure my shampoo can wait."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Is your hot little pussy finally ready," he whispered.

"Oh, yes," she breathed. "I've been wanting to ask you for a very long time; but you were so far away and I'd already asked you so many times tonight and I thought, perhaps, you preferred less aggressive women-so in terms of hotness…"

He slipped his finger inside her and felt the drenching heat. "You're way past ready."

"Do you mind if I come right away?"

"Do you mind if I have sex with you for a decade?"

"Please do," she whispered, reaching up to kiss him, her small gasp as he entered her warming the duke's mouth.

The sensation of weightlessness, the velvety friction of their bodies, the gentle lapping of the water as they moved together, the languor induced by the champagne, offered a rare enchantment.

"This isn't the real world, is it?" Her eyes were nearly shut.

"It's better…" He eased a fraction deeper, and they both held their breaths, intoxicating pleasure melting through their bodies.

"Bathing with you is… enthralling."

"Someday we'll do that, too," he murmured, tightening his grip. He held her up, his arms wrapped around her, his elbows resting on the tub bottom, his feet braced against the tiled wall-for better penetration.

"I don't think I can wait."

"You don't have to."

"I'm insatiable…"

"Perfect," he breathed, his own carnal urges voracious. "I should keep you naked in my bed." He pulled her closer so his rigid length rammed deeper. "And then I could have you whenever I wanted."

She whimpered, shamelessly aroused by the licentious image.

"I could make you come before breakfast and during breakfast, before you dress in the morning-if I let you get dressed. You could lie naked in the sun on the terrace in the afternoon, and I could have sex with you there…"

Gasping, she climaxed, the flagrant, thrilling rapture ravishing all her sensory receptors in a fierce, flame-hot rush, his words unspeakably carnal, his erection filling her, impaling her, pouring into her.

And yet long moments later with post-coital bliss warming their senses, beneath the contented glow, unquenched desire still stirred.

"I'm afraid I won't let you go," Felicia murmured, her arms still wrapped around his back.

"Good idea." His reply initiated no alarms in his brain, and were he less consumed by covetous need, he might have noticed.

"We're probably both tipsy."

"Speak for yourself." He never got drunk.

"I am speaking for myself," she said with a delicious giggle. "I've found the path to true bliss."

"Definitely nirvana." He moved faintly inside her as though testing the limits of paradise.

She arched her back and purred, and he wondered at the degree of fate involved that he had found such a perfect fit for his cock.

"I could wash your hair." She slid her hands up his back and ruffled the damp, dark curls on his neck.

"Or you could stay right where you are." He lazily glided forward.

In perfect accord, she sighed, wrapped her legs around his back, and lifted her hips to accommodate him more fully.

They made love leisurely, the languor of their recent orgasms adding a drowsy sensuality to the lazy rhythm of their bodies, the water in the tub flowing in faint waves, washing against them, warming their heated flesh. All thought was displaced by sensation. Time disappeared. The centered pleasure, the matched rhythm, the ultimate expression of sexual harmony converged in their blended bodies.

She climaxed first because she was wildly tasting the splendors of lust while he believed in the merits of waiting-a requirement perhaps for a man who was known for pleasing women. Nor was he as famished; he had not gone a lifetime without sex.

He gently kissed her when her fevered rapture had faded, and rolling over, he slid upward and lifted her onto his lap. "It's my turn now," he playfully murmured.

"No…" She buried her face in his shoulder.

"You always say no." He brushed a gleaming fall of red curls from her face and met her gaze. "You never mean it."

"I do right now."

"Sure?" His smile was cheeky. "And here I thought you'd like to ride me."

"Do I have a choice?" She took issue with the damning fact he was probably right.

"Of course you do," he pleasantly said, raising her enough to meet the crest of his erection.

She pushed at his chest. "I dislike undue prerogatives…" Her words trailed away as he eased her down his engorged penis.

"And so you might if you weren't so wet," he whispered, gently stroking her hips, thrusting upward in slow, measured degrees.

"You can't-just do-whatever-you want," she protested, breathless at the deliberate, thrilling invasion. Her last bit of scruples jettisoned as he intensified the pressure on her hips, when he made it clear who was doing what to whom, when he penetrated to the very deepest depth and whispered, "You'll be keeping my cock warm until I decide otherwise."

"No." But her denial ended on a whimper.

"Sure you will," he softly repudiated, holding her in place so they both felt the excruciating rapture.

"I should slap you," she whispered.

She wouldn't, and if she didn't know it, he did.

"Please me, darling," he murmured, "and I'll see that you get what you want."

"Or I you." The heat in her voice wasn't exclusively anger.

"Now, if only you had the patience. But your sweet pussy is always hot and wet and waiting for this"-he ground into her-"and you can't even think beyond your need to climax. Can you?" he whispered, watching her try to stem her imminent orgasm.

"Maybe I don't want to," she heatedly retorted, arching her back against the exquisite pleasure. "Maybe… I don't… want to at all," she panted, a faint smile curving her mouth as her climax flared, crested, washed over her in flourishing splendor.

Brought a new degree of meaning to the word gratification.

And a new degree of satisfaction to a man who was contemplating an extended holiday in Monte Carlo. Restraining his own desires until she was lying calm and passive in his arms, he gently lifted her unresisting body upward and then as leisurely downward, his erection undiminished, his senses still in flagrant rut.

Pliant, tractable, she neither resisted nor participated, her passions subdued, her hands resting on his muscled shoulders, the rippling movement beneath her palms counterpoint to the smooth motion of his powerful arms. In a gentle, exquisitely relentless rhythm, he raised and lowered her with effortless strength and an eye to sensation, until she was predictably, feverishly panting once more, until he felt as though his body might dissolve from unsatisfied lust. Until he hoped she would come soon because he couldn't wait much longer.

Suddenly, she caught her breath, shut her eyes, and shuddered under his hands, and gratified, he plunged in that last distance more so they both felt the sweet agony begin.

Their climax lasted and lasted in prolonged, endless wonder, all the hyperbole, all the brandishing magnificence of soul-stirring passion pulsing, throbbing, screaming down their nerve endings. His ejaculation jolted his brain, his body, the hot-spur, out-of-control spasms brutal, jarring, sublime. She was shaking, shaken, scandalized by the power he had over her and, in due course, gloriously replete.

He didn't know where he was for a second when he regained his grasp on reality, and then he saw her and felt her. And with a whimsey that would have seemed far-fetched prior to his visit to the casino, he began to contemplate the existence of miracles. She was truly a gift from the gods.

"You're cold." His transient flight of fancy was overcome by the sudden realization his companion's skin was cool beneath his hands.

"Am I?" Overwrought, she was simultaneously hot and cold, shamed and shameless, existing in the flagrant wonderland of shock and wonder, uncertain of all but the pleasure he gave her.

"Let's get you under the covers." He spoke in the authoritative tone she had come to recognize. Shifting her into his arms, he rose and stepped from the tub, pulling a towel from a heated rack on the way out of the room. Placing her on her feet near the bed, he wrapped her in the warm toweling and briskly rubbed her dry. Then he tucked her into bed, covering her with several layers of comforters.

Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on the slender bridge of her nose. "Better?"

Gazing up from her warm cocoon, she wrinkled her tingly nose. "It would be if you were here."

He raked his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it back in sleek waves. "You're going to wear me out. Although," he added, grinning, "I'm not complaining."

"I feel terrible for hounding you." Her voice was small-girl apologetic, but her smile was the flamboyantly seductive one he had come to adore. "And also horribly sexy."

Surely there was a god, he thought. "In that case, I'll hurry." He began moving toward the sitting room.

She felt instantly bereft. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you something you'll like."

"Oh." Her expression brightened. "For me?"

"For you." He winked, and she was flooded with jealousy for all the women who had been the recipients of that roguish glance.

But even in her pink-clouded bliss she knew better than to take issue with his past or future. His entire persona was distinctly profligate, and such men never stayed long. But she had him now, and she had every intention of enjoying the pleasure. And with him, pleasure was guaranteed. She snuggled deeper into the downy comfort of the enormous bed, intent on ignoring the cold reality of tomorrow. Today he was with her, and all was warm enchantment.

When the duke returned, he was carrying a tray with a coffee service. "I had selfish motives for this," he explained. "I didn't want to fall asleep. Not that it's possible with you," he teased. "And before you ask," he added, interpreting her puzzled look, "I ordered this last night."

She glanced at the tray he set on the bed. "How sweet. Two cups."

"I had no intention of letting you leave."

"How flattering. Even last night?"

"Directly after I saw you enter the casino. You've changed my plans."

"Plans?"

"I intended to leave Monte Carlo today, but if you're not busy, Miss Greenwood," he declared, his faint bow exquisite, "I'd prefer entertaining you for a time."

After all the trials and tribulations of her life, she didn't question the equivocal designation "time." When one was offered paradise, one didn't quibble over details. "I'd like that very much, indeed."

"Thank you, Miss Greenwood," he said with punctilious good breeding and a teasing smile. "And this is for you," he offered, lifting a small package from the tray and handing it to her before he sat down.

She couldn't remember when she had last received a gift; she felt like a child at Christmas. Coming to a seated position with a helpful hand from the duke, she carefully eased off the beautiful magenta silk ribbon, set it aside and opened the indigo-colored wrapping. The embossed gold box was from a well-known confectioner. A smile lit up her face. "Chocolates!"

"Look inside." He began pouring coffee.

"I adore any kind of chocolate." Lifting the cover, she opened the crisp parchment and went utterly still. A diamond bracelet glistened from the midst of the chocolates.

"I thought it might go with your gown," he casually said.

Or any gown or a royal diadem, the array of large diamonds was so dazzling. Her gaze came up, her eyes bright with tears. "I don't know what to say. No one's ever given me anything… like this…" Her voice faltered for a moment. "Diamonds… my goodness… they're magnificent, but- that is… I'm not sure I can keep it." A tremulous uncertainty quivered in her words. "It would make me-"

"No, it would not." Quickly setting his cup aside, he leaned over and took her hands. "It's a gift between friends. It doesn't make you anything; it doesn't make me anything. I've plenty of money, and I wanted to give you a gift." He almost said, "Women don't refuse these," but knew better. She was already uncomfortable with the role of paramour.

"I've never done this before… I mean… coming here with you-"

"I know." He gently stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs. "Look." His tone was conciliatory. "I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. If anyone should ask, tell them it's Aunt Gillian's."

"I don't actually know anyone who would ask."

"There. You see?"

"But I'd know," she murmured.

"Please…" His voice was soft and low, his gaze tender. "Do you know how fortunate I feel for having been in the casino last night?"

"Not as fortunate as I," she quietly said. "You saved my life."

He traced a lingering path down her middle finger. "Repay me by keeping the bracelet."

A playful light appeared in her eyes. "Now, there's a bargain."

"I was the one who gained the most, darling." And for once in his life, he wasn't uttering a charming phrase to please a lady.

"So you owe me."

"Exactly."

She wrinkled her nose in indecision.

"Take it, darling, or I'll cry."

Her laugh bubbled up. "When was the last time you cried?"

"I was probably two." In truth, he had no memory of ever crying. Indulged by his mother, ignored by his father, his world had been perfection until his mother died when he was twelve. And by that time, he knew full well to never show emotion before his father.

"So you feel that strongly."

"It's only a bracelet, darling, not the crown jewels of England."

"Scotland."

He rolled his eyes.

"If I decide to keep it, I need three things from you."

"They're yours."

"No caution?"

"You can have whatever you want." A staggering statement from a man who habitually viewed intruders into his life with suspicion.

She grinned. "That's the third thing."

His brows flickered in amusement. "And my favorite, I warrant."

"First, I'd like some café au kit."

"I've never met a lady so easy to please." He poured her a cup, glanced up with a spoon poised over the sugar bowl, poured in two when she held up two fingers and added hot milk until she said, "Stop."

"And the second?" he asked, handing her the cup.

"Where did you get the bracelet in the dead of night or do you keep a supply in your luggage for the ladies you bed?"

"I ordered it when Claude came up for your note."

"The shops were closed."

"The shops are always open if you want them to be."

"Really. And how many times have you opened the shops?"

"On several occasions. My cufflinks were from Carrier here."

"Was this?"

He nodded. "They know me."

"I don't think I want to hear any more. You probably do this all the time, and-"

"I don't do this all the time." It was the most honest statement he had ever uttered. He had never been obsessed before. And he had had numerous opportunities in the last twenty years to experience the phenomenon.

"Then, we're both tyros," she quietly observed, "because I've never slept with a stranger or any man other than my husband. I've never enjoyed myself so. I've never been given chocolates for breakfast-or diamond bracelets-anytime at all. So thank you for-this rare glimpse of heaven."

"You're very welcome, and once we-shall I say-engage in the response to question number three, you may thank me again."

She cast him an assessing glance. "Such confidence."

"In the not-too-distant future, I expect you can tell me if my confidence is warranted." He pointed at her cup. "Now, drink your coffee and eat some pastry," he softly commanded, "because you're going to need your strength."

"There are times, although don't let it go to your head," she said with a provocative smile, "when I adore that voice of command."

"How fortunate, since I have these inexplicable urges to possess you. Would you like to be mastered, darling?" His dark brows faintly rose in query. "I could tie you up."

"No!" But a thrilling frisson fluttered up her spine.

"Or I could initiate you into droits de seigneur."

With anyone else she would have taken fierce offense; but his dark gaze was scandalously wicked, and the thought of being dominated by his strength and power quickened her ready sexuality. "What exactly would that entail?" she hesitantly inquired.

An iniquitous smile curved his mouth. "A good deal of pleasure for us both."

"How exactly would that occur?"

"Are you taking notes?"

"The concept makes me marginally nervous, although not with you-I think…"

"Trust me, darling," he assured her. "It's only for fun. Now eat something," he added, handing her an almond pastry. "I wouldn't want my dairy maid to be hungry when I lift up her skirts and put my stiff prick in her."

His words ignited a flame deep inside her; she could almost feel the thrilling invasion. "You make certain aspects of a dairy maid's life sound tantalizing," she murmured, a heated tremor in her voice. "And perhaps the dairy maid could order her master about as well…"

His gaze went shuttered. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't allow it."

"Because?"

"You don't have enough time for the answer, nor do I care to discuss it. You had your husband, and I had"-his eyes went utterly cold for a moment-"other people in my life I prefer to forget."

"Except you can't forget everything, can you?"

"It depends what you're doing," he softly said.

"Is that why you travel the world?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"And that's also why you're so good in bed."

"That's why," he brusquely said. "Are we done?"

"Certainly. I know how to be polite."

"I'm not interested in politeness."

"Actually, I'm not either."

His gaze held hers for a potent moment, and then they both laughed.

"I'm interested in sex with you," she said in well-bred accents.

"I'm interested in protracted sex with you." His boyish smile lit up his eyes.

"That's pretty simple."

"It can be."

"If I don't grill you on your feelings."

"You're intelligent in addition to being one of the world's most beautiful women."

"And you should know."

"And I should know. Are you warm now?" he gently inquired.

The discussion was over

"Very warm. It must be these quilts." Her glance was playful.

"I'm sure," he softly drawled, pulling away the fold of quilt that covered her breasts. "Although your nipples look like they're cold." They were hard, peaked, provocatively long.

"Your reference to prolonged sex took their fancy."

"And they became hard for me?" Reaching out, he slid his fingertips around the taut crests, the imprint of his silken touch instantly registering in the pit of her stomach, a delicious heat streaking downward like molten pleasure.

"We've been so busy seeing to your orgasms, I've been derelict in my attentions to these large, lovely breasts." Softly gripping her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, he tugged them, pulling them one way and then the other, her plump breasts swinging, quivering, the fleshy contours compressing and swelling-the coffee in their cups on the tray rippling with the gentle movement of the bed.

"Do you like that? Do you like me to squeeze these?" His fingers tightened their grip.

A convulsive heat liquefied between her thighs, and she softly moaned at the carnal pleasure.

"I can't hear you. Should I squeeze them harder?" The pink tissue compressed between his fingers, and bending his head, he licked one constricted tip.

She could feel the touch of his tongue in every taut nerve in her body, and shuddering, she wondered if she would ever get enough of him.

Relaxing his grip, he slid his palms over the outside flare of her breasts, slipping his hands under their delectable weight, lifting the quivering flesh upward until her breasts were mounded high, until her tingling nipples were conveniently at mouth level. "If you want me to suck on you," he whispered, lightly bouncing the pink globes, "just let me know…"

"Please, Flynn," she breathed, anticipation strumming through her body, her need for him overwhelming.

"Who?" he softly queried, gently shaking his head. Releasing her breasts, he leaned back slightly. "Remember you're the maid and I'm…?"

"The master," she whispered, the throbbing between her thighs quickening at the salacious thought.

"And I'll be putting my hard cock in you."

She squirmed against the fine linen sheet, her soft whimper a distinct plea.

"But you have to please me," he softly warned. "Sit up straighter so I can suck on your big breasts more easily."

She instantly responded, her breasts thrusting upward.

"Make your nipples longer for me. Rub them." And he watched as she massaged her nipples, lightly stretched them, diligently obeying. "Look at what that does to my hard-on," he murmured, and when her gaze focused on his upthrust erection, he wondered if she would come before he touched her. She was flushed, panting, gently rocking on the bed, her eyes hot with desire.

"Do you want this?" Lightly grasping his penis, he slid his hand downward, the movement increasing the length, the gleaming crest arching higher.

"Yes…," she breathed, a heated tremor in her voice.

"You have to let me suck on you first."

"Of course… please-whatever you want." With her eyes trained on his pulsing erection, submission resonated in her words.

"Lean forward," he ordered. "And hold your breasts up for me."

She instantly complied, the fleshy abundance spilling over her palms, her carnal hunger so intense she was shaking.

"If your nipples are to my taste," he whispered, his breath warming one crest, "I may allow you to fuck me. What flavor are they?"

She shook her head, unsure of anything but her throbbing need for fulfillment.

"I prefer cherry. Do you think you can accommodate me?" He lightly licked the turgid tip.

She moaned, all her senses alert to the merest touch, the grazing imprint of his tongue vibrating throughout her body.

"You have to answer or I won't let you come. There's cherry creams in your chocolate box." He gently nibbled on the pink nipple she held up for him. "Should we flavor these to make me happy?"

"If you wish…" She could barely respond, her desire so ravenous.

"Don't you wish?" His voice was brusque. "Tell me or I won't ram my cock in you."

"Yes, yes…," she whispered.

"Are you wet enough?" he murmured and waited for her answer.

It took her a moment to recall the question, and even then she was unsure. "I think so."

"You seem to have your mind elsewhere." His tone turned severe. "I'm not sure you'll do for a dairy maid if you can't concentrate on your duties."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I may not fuck you if you don't better apply yourself."

"I will, sir," she quickly replied. "Forgive me, sir."

"Well…" His tone was considering. "Maybe this once I'll forgive you. You're new and don't understand what's required of you. But you understand, you're on probation."

"I understand. I shall listen-truly I shall."

He scrutinized her for a moment as though questioning her sincerity. "Very well," he finally said. "Now then." He lifted her chin so their eyes met. "The question was whether you're wet enough to have sex with me. Do you think you are?"

She took a small breath, forcing herself to concentrate on answering correctly. "I'm sure I am, sir."

"Why don't we see." Easing her thighs apart, he slid two fingers inside her, slowly, delicately, gliding upward, the slick, hot tissue pulsing around his strong fingers. He avoided contact with the most sensitive areas of arousal. She was teetering on the brink, and he wanted to delay her orgasm-or at least try, he thought with a faint smile. Smoothly withdrawing his fingers awash with pearly liquid, he lightly traced a path down the deep valley between her breasts, leaving a glistening trail. "Your sweet cunt is a veritable river of desire," he murmured, holding his scented fingers up for her to see. "Such enthusiasm. Would I be right in saying you're suitably prepared for intercourse?"

It took enormous effort to respond when her entire nervous system was obsessed with voluptuous sensation. "Yes, sir," she whispered in the merest wisp of a voice, near delirious with wanting him, the throbbing ache between her legs so intense she would do anything to have him inside her.

"Soon we'll test your readiness," he promised, sliding his fingers over one plump breast. "But first I want some cherry-flavored nipples." He rested his fingertip on the turgid crest of one breast as though clarifying his statement. "You may service me after that, provided I'm satisfied with the taste. Keep those breasts up nice and high," he added, adjusting her hands under her breasts before forcing them upward. "I don't want to have to bend down too far." As she quickly complied, pushing the ripe weight of her breasts into great, high mounds, he lifted the cover from the chocolate box, took out the bracelet and snapped it around her wrist. "There's no more debate about keeping this, is there?" His voice was silken.

She shook her head.

"You're sure?" He gently stroked one nipple, and the jarring pleasure racked her body.

She nodded, unable to gather breath to speak.

"How amenable you've become," he murmured. "You'll find it more rewarding. Obedient dairy maids are allowed to serve me in a great number of ways. Would you like to serve as a receptacle for my sperm?"

She softly moaned, imagining the sensation as his monstrous erection entered her, stretched her, filled her.

"You seem like a particularly hot-blooded little piece," he whispered, watching her gently sway against the rush of heat flowing into her vagina. "Have the grooms been fucking you in my absence? Are you suitably primed for sex? Or have you been waiting just for me?" Picking up a chocolate, he held it to her mouth. "Take a bite," he quietly commanded, "and then we'll see whether you've been trained or not."

Her gaze came up and met his for a potent moment, umbrage beneath the smoldering heat. "I wouldn't do this for any other reason, you know."

"I know." His voice was like velvet or more aptly like rich chocolate cream. "Take a bite, darling… yield to me and I'll forgive you for fucking the groom."

Sudden temper flared in her eyes, and she bit down hard on his finger.

With a grunt of pain he jerked his hand away and shoved at her. As she tumbled backward, he followed her down, imprisoning her with his body. "You need a lesson in submission," he growled, his dark eyes only inches from hers.

"Maybe I need something else," she snapped, struggling against his weight.

"And maybe you'll get it if you contrive to please me." Curt and resentful, he glared at her. "Understood?" His voice was whisper-soft, his eyes as hot as hers. "Now, let's start over again, and if you're very, very good, I'll put this in you"-he slid the head of his erection just past the sleek lips of her labia, forcing open the engorged, pulsing tissue, holding himself immobile just inside the entrance to her vagina while she shivered with longing-"so you can really feel it." Abruptly withdrawing, he sat up while she tried to stop trembling.

"So whenever you're ready to cooperate," he murmured, selecting another chocolate from the box.

"Damn you," she breathed.

"At the moment, the feeling's mutual. I'm waiting," he coolly said. Why did it suddenly matter that he prevail in this ridiculous game? Why did he require submission when it was never relevant before? But his passions were as immune to logic as hers, and no facile answer materialized in the tumult of his brain.

No more did Felicia understand why she was so humbled by desire, having always regarded obsession as a flight of fancy, poetic license at best, but never real… until this moment when she was lost to all reason, desperate for what he could give her. And not compliant so much as lustful, she sat up, leaned back on her hands and offered him a seductive smile. "I'd thought I'd make myself available."

"You don't think I could take you if I wanted?"

"It would be a change, at least. You never have to take, do you?"

"Make a selection, perhaps," he insolently drawled.

"But you want me now, don't you? What if I said no?"

"You can't."

"Nor can you."

"A not unpleasant dilemma, I'd say. Are you ready to try this again?" he softly asked. "Because I'm not finished yet."

"Do you often play like this?"

He had no intention of answering. "Do you?"

"You know better."

"Somehow I like being the first," he murmured with a sinful smile, placing the chocolate against her mouth.

She did as well, the blatant beauty of his smile only one of his numerous charms. And she took the candy into her mouth to please herself and him and bit into it while he watched with a modicum of caution she found amusing. As the chocolate coating cracked, a tiny rivulet of cherry cream oozed down her chin.

"How sweet you look with pink cream running down your face," he murmured, lifting the candy away. Leaning forward, he licked a lingering path upward, devouring the sugary trickle. "Definitely good enough to eat," he whispered as his mouth came to rest on hers. "Now don't move," he warned, easing away.

His warning was unnecessary, her understanding clarified, her body taut with longing.

Tipping the chocolate, he dribbled a thin stream of pink liquid over one nipple and then the other, lightly smearing the creamy sweet over and around each tingling crest. Then dropping the chocolate shell back into the box, he sat back to admire his handiwork. "Look, darling. How do you like being my favorite bonbon?"

She glanced down, the rose crests slick with the pale confection, glossy and emblazoned because Flynn required it. "To be your bonbon is my greatest desire." Her voice was low, infused with seductive flattery. If need be, she would paint her body with sweetness to have him.

"How delightfully submissive." A slow half smile graced his mouth. "You learn quickly, my sweet dairy maid."

"If you would look on me kindly, my lord, I await your pleasure."

"I find humility a most charming asset in a servant," he said, his grin as insolent as her statement. "You may win a place in the main house for such deference."

"Would that mean I might warm your bed, my lord?"

"You'd have to take your turn, of course."

"Perhaps," she whispered, delectable promise in her voice, "I could find a way to please you best."

He gazed at her for a breath-held moment, her lush body incarnate female, voluptuous, full-breasted with a narrow waist and curving hips and soft thighs that could only have been made for love. That were made for love. "Perhaps you could," he whispered, a sudden, unnerving truth to his words. But as quickly he deflected such perilous sentiment. "I think we're done now," he abruptly said. For half his life, sex had been his entertainment and amusement, a means of keeping feeling at bay. And he reverted to type with ease.

His mouth closed over one frosted nipple, and with delicate concentration, he swiftly sucked first one, then the other clean. No longer interested in play, he was intent on the simple act of fornication, needing the physical gratification and oblivion that only a woman's body could bring. Easing her down on the bed, he slid between her thighs and plunged inside because he didn't want to think or speculate or change his life in any way; he only wanted to feel the seething rapture of an orgasm. Forcing himself deeper, he buried himself in the anonymous female sweetness that had always offered deliverance. But this time at the farthest limit of his downthrust, his throbbing erection rammed against a soft, specific, highly personalized womb.

Perhaps a fertile, life-giving womb.

The terrifying thought almost arrested the powerful rhythm of his lower body, and if not for the mindless urgency compelling him, he might have been able to stop. But he didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, and as he drove into her again, she suddenly came like she was wont to do in a swift, wild delirium that warmed his cock, his lustful soul and oddly his heart.

Heedless of all but his selfish quest for orgasm, he continued his savage hammering into her, ignoring his misgivings, immune to consequences, rash, impetuous, fevered like a callow youth when he had never been imprudent even then. But everything seemed different this time, his nerves raw to the quick, his sensory receptors so vigilant he was conscious of the pulse beats in the hot, sleek tissue of her vagina-in the answering beat of his heart. And familiar lust was overwhelmed by another kind of pleasure, finer, more pervasive, deep-felt, as though a new vista had opened in the sumptuous realm of sensation.

He was selfish when he rarely was, intent on taking, on possessing and owning her-not in play, but in fact. The rhythm of his body was so violent, she was steadily pushed upward. And even when the pillows piled against the headboard arrested his progress, he continued his assault, softly grunting with each powerful downstroke, forcing her thighs wider with each savage thrust, needing to dominate her completely.

He was unaware of her orgasmic cries when he climaxed, conscious only of a shameless sense of mastery and triumph and the panting voice in his ear, growling, "You're mine," as he poured into her.

But he had avoided attachment for so long, he quickly came to his senses and with cooler, post-orgasmic reason, recalled his commitment to personal freedom. Quickly disengaging himself, he rolled away, the consequences of unprotected sex and entrapment suddenly in the forefront of his brain. Raising himself on one elbow, he scowled at the woman beside him. "Why aren't you concerned with protection-condoms or sponges or cervical caps." His precise litany was for clarity's sake, and that he wanted an answer was equally clear.

Felicia didn't stir from her languid pose, nor did a modicum of distress crease her brow. On the contrary, when she smiled he was reminded of sunshine. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"I'm just wondering why you're not worried about conception." Gruff and grumbling, he was already contemplating how much she would want.

"You don't seem to be worried." That same mild unconcern.

"I'm not the one who might get pregnant," he muttered.

One brow rose infinitesimally, and her voice was amused. "You mean it's my problem?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"This? This sexual marathon? Yes, very much," she pleasantly added. "Are you?"

"I was."

"Until your lust-filled brain cooled sufficiently to wonder whether I was trying to trap you?"

His scowl deepened. "Are you?"

"Now, why would I want to do that?"

"Some women might."

"You really mean all women, don't you?" She smiled. "But I'll give you the benefit of a doubt. As for myself"-her voice was serene-"let me assure you, my motives are as selfish as yours and as finite. I'm only interested in sex with you, not motherhood or fatherhood. I was married for four years as you know. Did I fail to mention I never became pregnant? So you're quite safe, Flynn. You may discard that black scowl and continue to think of me as nothing more than your current sexual partner. Is that better?"

He slowly exhaled and then ruefully smiled. "I beg your pardon, most profoundly."

"Apology accepted. Might I suggest, though, if you're concerned with some woman trapping you, you should consider using a condom. It would be a sensible idea."

"I usually do."

Her eyes opened the merest fraction more. "But not with me?"

He looked momentarily afflicted, and then he dazzled her with his warm, boyish smile. "I have no explanation."

"And you have no intention of thinking about it."

He grinned. "No."

Her smile this time was well-bred and urbane. "Nor do I. We are neither in a position to think unduly about"-she sweepingly gestured around the room-"this tantalizing interlude at the Hotel de Paris. If we did, we would have to stop this madness."

"And I have no intention of doing that."

She put up her hand. "A small intermission, perhaps, if you'd be so kind. I really do have to go home and let my servants know I'm safe."

"Have them come here."

"I'd be embarrassed in the extreme."

"Then, I'll go home with you." He didn't wish to relinquish her, however briefly, for myriad selfish reasons.

She gently shook her head. "Let me go first and smooth the way."

He laughed. "You sound as though you have chaperons."

"I suppose they are in a way, but they've also been of great solace to me; so I shall go ahead, and you may follow me if you wish."

"Of course I wish." His voice was gruff.

Her smile was filled with delight. "I was hoping you might."

"How long do I have to wait?" He felt like an adolescent with his first lover, burning with impatience, filled with longing.

"Give me, say, two hours. Enough time to explain what I can of this"-she grinned-"relationship… and I use the term loosely, and time also to allow them to assimilate the good news of our casino winnings." She reached out to touch his hand. "And for that I shall be eternally in your debt."

"As I am for your delightful company," he smoothly replied, facile charm second nature to him. "And if I must wait two hours, I'd be grateful if you left posthaste, so I may see you that much sooner." Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he quickly came to his feet. "I'll help you dress."

She wasn't entirely sure his haste was sincerely motivated or predicated on the notion he could rid himself of her sooner if he helped her along. A man of his licentious tastes didn't inspire any ideals of genuine devotion. And whether he would appear in two hours was highly moot. But if he didn't, she would have not only wonderful memories, but the necessary money to save her home and a new and delightful appreciation for the enchanting congress between a man and a woman.

He kissed her as she stood by the door, once more dressed and presentable, thanks in no small part to his swift proficiency as lady's maid.

"Thank you," she quietly said, "for everything." Wanting one last moment of physical contact in the event he didn't appear, she touched the lapel of his robe in a lingering caress.

Disconcerted by sentiment, by goodbyes, by the disarray of emotions she occasioned, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. "We needn't say more than adieu. I'll see you in two hours."

Her heart leaped with joy even as she cautioned herself to be sensible about a man like Flynn. "Then, I'll just say adieu."

"Two hours, darling, and you'd better complete your explanations to your servants, because I intend to monopolize you once I see you again."

"How charmingly masterful you are." Her voice was a low, sensuous purr.

"Don't start that," he warned, reaching for the door latch, "or you'll never get out of here." Pulling the door open, he gently pushed her out into the corridor. "Claude has a carriage waiting for you. And I'd escort you downstairs, but I'm sure you'd rather I didn't."

She blew him a kiss. "Thank you again."

"Hurry," he brusquely said.

She floated down the hall and then down the stairs, and when Claude caught sight of her as he waited near the outside door, he repressed the knowing smile that came to his lips. "Good morning, Miss Greenwood," he said as she approached. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

"The most beautiful, indeed, Claude." She ran her hands lightly over her coiffure-for all the good luck she had experienced. "Quite the most beautiful," she softly added, walking past him to the carriage waiting at the entrance to the Hotel de Paris.

Chapter Three

While Felicia enjoyed her morning drive home, Flynn summoned two shop owners to his suite, and when they arrived, his orders were crisp and concise. Neither asked for clarification. They both understood the Duke of Grafton demanded the very best for his lady loves. His requests weren't unusual in any event. They were, in fact, quite ordinary for the style of man who spent a great deal of his leisure time in ladies' boudoirs.

They both left the suite much richer for their visit. While Felicia explained as much of the previous evening as she deemed necessary to her devoted servants, and during the happy interval in which they all exalted at the good fortune that had befallen them, Flynn sent new instructions to the captain of his yacht at anchor in the harbor.

In truth, Claire and Daniel were already party to much of what had transpired the previous night, related as they were to a bevy of servants at the Hotel de Paris. They joyfully fussed over their beloved charge, assuring her in the casual way the French had in relation to amour, that they were pleased and happy for her whatever came of the evening she had spent with the man who had won them a fortune.

"You've been too long alone anyway," Claire observed as she helped Felicia into a bath. "You deserve some amusement. "

A bland word for the enchantment she had experienced, Felicia thought, smiling at the memories. "He's coming here, you know."

"I suspected as much. You're smiling like a woman in love."

"Nothing so romantic, Claire. But as you say, amusing, certainly."

"You must wear something delicious."

"As if I have anything so risque."

"We'll find something, and I'll have Daniel bring up the best champagne."

"And perhaps some cognac. I'm not sure what he likes."

"He likes you, my lady. He's not coming for the liquor."

"Do you think so?" It was a delectable thought when her life had been so devoid of happiness.

"I know so." Claire refrained from saying all the servants at the Hotel de Paris had never been so generously bribed into silence. As relatives who could be trusted, she and Daniel had received a full report.

Sometime later, when Felicia had been bathed, toweled off, perfumed and was seated on the terrace in her robe having her hair dried by Claire, two carriages appeared on the steep drive.

"Oh, Lord, is he here already?"

"No, no… the carriages are from Boulonge and Madame Denise. See, Henri and Bertram are driving."

Under their curious gazes, the carriages were unloaded of an astonishing number of baskets filled with roses and a lavish array of beribboned boxes in the distinctive periwinkle blue of Madame Denise's exclusive shop.

And in only minutes more, when the gifts had been carried upstairs to Felicia's suite, she found herself surrounded by an overwhelming quantity of various-colored roses and blue boxes. Fluctuating between alarm and joy at Flynn's extravagant gesture, she anxiously surveyed the spectacle. "I don't know, Claire…" The scandalous gifts of lingerie were causing her a level of discomfort no matter how much she adored the giver. "Should I send the lingerie back?"

"Of course you won't," her housekeeper repudiated, continuing to unpack the sumptuous finery. "They're lover's gifts."

"I'm not sure…" Felicia's expression mirrored her uncertainty. "What will Madame Denise think of me?"

"She'll think you're a very lucky woman to have such a wealthy lover. And you can't possibly wear your high-necked linen nightgowns for a love tryst."

Felicia plucked at the skirt of her plain linen robe, the sensible garment in sharp contrast to Flynn's beautiful gifts. The intimate attire Claire had put out on display was a veritable flower garden of radiant color: peignoirs and negligees, lacy drawers and sheer corsets, dozens of silk stockings in every imaginable hue with matching satin slippers. She had often admired the magnificent creations in the windows of the exclusive shop, but the frothy confections had been beyond the reach of her modest salary. "I could just try one on."

"Try these first." Her servant held up a lilac lace corset adorned with white rosebuds and ribbon rosettes along with a matching lace petticoat so lavishly ruffled, it had the look of a ball gown-a very expensive one.

"If I accept these gifts…" Felicia sighed, struggling against her conscience. "They're so highly indecent-completely immodest and-"

Claire's disbelieving snort interrupted Felicia's litany. "They're the most beautiful lingerie you've ever had. You're not in Scotland now, my lady. You're also a widow, not a schoolgirl. You don't even have to worry about cuckolding a husband. It's high time you had a lover. And," she added with pithy emphasis, "a lady always dresses to please her lover."

"High time, you think…"

"You're going to dry up and blow away, but if that's what you want?" Claire shrugged, a particularly Gallic shrug, brusque and dismissive.

The stark reminder of her lonely future vanquished the last of Felicia's reservations. "You're right," she quietly said.

"Of course I'm right. Now, let's see that you look ravishing for your Mr. Suffolk."

"He's not mine," Felicia corrected, thinking Flynn was the least likely man to belong to anyone.

"He is today." Claire's smile was conspiratorial. "And who knows, poppet, with your beauty and charm…"

"How romantic, but you haven't met Flynn. He's not a romantic."

"He didn't send you gloves or a book now, did he? And your diamond bracelet is the kind of romance any woman would love."

"He does this for all the ladies in his life."

Claire's shrug discounted Felicia's comment. "You're going to be the loveliest woman he's ever seen, and if you have any sense, you'll stop making excuses and enjoy yourself. Now take off that robe and put these on before he arrives and finds you in that plain thing."

Felicia smiled. "You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"Just hurry," Claire briskly replied, shaking out the garments. "He'll be here soon."

Felicia gave herself up to Claire's ministrations and to her edifying homilies on love and lovers, allowing the happiness she felt at the promise of seeing Flynn again fill her senses. And when she saw herself in the cheval glass, adorned in lilac lace fit for a queen, she felt as though she had been transported and transformed and indeed might be some fairy queen bedecked for her lover-on a very warm summer day, she facetiously noted, the sheer corset and petticoat the merest of coverings.

"Now just a light peignoir, my lady. Something to cover but not conceal," Claire added with a cheerful wink. "This white lace is nicely demure."

"It's hardly demure. It's so sheer, one can see right through it."

"He'll love it." Claire held out the lacy robe. "And think, poppet, when have you ever been so happy?"

She was indeed happy, and Flynn would be here soon unless these lavish gifts were intended as a polite goodbye. Although lingerie or certainly this much lingerie suggested a shamelessly serviceable gift instead. Felicia smiled. She rather thought Flynn had something in mind. "Tell me again I'm doing the right thing," Felicia murmured, slipping her arms into the peignoir, needing reassurance after a lifetime of dutiful behavior.

Claire rolled her eyes. "After all our struggles? After almost losing the villa? How can you even ask? He's a gift from heaven."

"I'll have memories at least in my old age."

"Life is to be lived every day, child. You'll have memories tomorrow."

Recall of the previous night made her smile. "It is rather nice to give in to impulse on occasion."

"Which you should do more often," Claire observed, pleased her young charge had at last tasted the joys of love. "Now eat your breakfast," she briskly ordered. "You need some food after your sleepless night. I made your favorite Savarin chocolate and toasted baba. While you're eating, I'll check that Daniel has the champagne ready-and the cognac," she added, curtailing Felicia's reminder. "And then, I'll be right back."

Too excited to eat after Claire left, Felicia moved from gift to gift, smelling each bouquet of roses, touching each item of lingerie, sliding the fine fabrics through her hands and wondering if all miracles were so incredibly sweet. And she would stop to admire her glamorous image reflected in the mirror from time to time. So must all paramours look, she cheerfully thought, displayed to advantage in scanty bits of lace meant for a lover's eyes only. Even lilac satin, high-heeled slippers had been included, so from the tips of her lilac toes to the top of her ruffled curls she was elegantly attired in wanton splendor.

And if she wasn't so dizzy with excitement at seeing Flynn again, she might take issue with the blatant sexual nature of his gifts. She wasn't sophisticated enough to completely ignore the impropriety, but she was infatuated enough not to care. In the grip of a mad and glorious exultation, nothing mattered but wondrous amour.

At the sound of racing footsteps on the stairs, she spun around and laughed with joy. He was here!

A moment later, the door crashed open and hit the wall with such force the paintings quivered. But no lover met Felicia's horrified gaze.

"So this is how you've earned the money to pay me, you whoring slut." Cousin Dickie's mouth was lifted in a sneer, his obese body seemingly larger than life in the sudden hush. Moving into the room, he surveyed the profusion of gifts with a withering glance. "I always thought you were a tart with your big breasts and cheeky impudence."

"I'm sorry, my lady." Daniel stood in the doorway, his attempts to stop Dickie unsuccessful. "I told him to leave, that you had the money to pay him, but he wouldn't listen."

"Never mind, Daniel. It's not your fault. I'm expecting a guest. If you'd see that he's comfortable in the drawing room, I'll be down soon." Turning to her cousin, she coolly said, "You're not welcome here. Kindly leave or I'll call the gendarmes."

Ignoring her, Dickie picked up a black lace corset and held it between his thumb and forefinger as though it were odorous. "Really…" His voice was oily. "And what would you tell them? That you earn your money as a whore? You might wish to reconsider," he unctuously noted. "And I'm not sure such illicit wages will serve as proper payment for my share of the villa. I'll have to check with my lawyer." He dropped the scrap of black lace. "Are you waiting for another customer?" The lechery in his eyes sent a chill up her spine. "Perhaps you could entertain me in the interim."

"I'd rather kill myself." Felicia held her peignoir tightly closed. "Or better yet you."

"How fierce you sound," he murmured, a loathsome smile on his fat face. "I'm intrigued."

"While I'm repelled as always in your presence. You'll have your money by the end of the day, and that's all you'll get. I want you gone now and out of my life."

"Wouldn't you, now?" Dickie's prominent eyes had a reptilian cast. "I was just thinking," he murmured, as though she had not spoken, "with your new-found wealth, I may have to raise my price."

"I have your lawyer's agreement. You can't."

"You have no idea what I can do," he silkily drawled. "What if I were to tell your brother about your new livelihood. How do you think Ann would like a whore for a sister-in-law, dear Felicia?"

"Mind your tongue when you speak to my wife!"

The deep voice slashed through the warm spring air, fury in every syllable.

Felicia's eyes flared wide. Cousin Dickie pivoted, prepared to do battle.

Until he saw the tall, powerful man in the doorway with eyes chill as the grave. His face turned ashen. "Your… Grace…," he stammered, his body frozen in place. "I had… I mean… I didn't-I had… no idea."

"And now you do." Harsh, grating words struck like a blow.

"She's your wife?" Dickie blurted out, incredulity overcoming fear. The Duke of Grafton was the most eligible bachelor in the western world.

"You heard me," Flynn growled. "My wife. Now get the hell out of my sight. And if you're still in Monte Carlo twenty minutes from now, I'm going to find you and kill you." Without another glance for the red-faced man making for the exit, Flynn moved toward Felicia. "Forgive me, darling," he gently said, as though he had not just threatened a man's life. "I'm sorry I was late." And like a child rescued from a fiery dragon, Felicia rushed into his arms. Gathering her close, he gazed down at her upturned face, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Before that rude encounter, I meant to mention you look good enough to eat in those…"

"Unmentionables." Her lashes fluttered in demure parody.

"Ah-" Amused understanding sparkled in his eyes. "We must be discreet away from the Hotel de Paris. If I were to take care with the exact wording, might I do-"

"Anything at all…"

His grin was sinful. "Then, I hope you have considerable leisure, because anything at all quite boggles the mind."

"I have all the time in the world," she murmured. "Now that you've scared Dickie away." She eased away slightly and surveyed him with a mild gravity. "But you needn't have gone so far, Flynn. Dickie will talk. There's sure to be gossip."

"We could marry and deter scandalous rumor," he lightly proposed.

She gently shook her head. "I appreciate your gesture, but such a sacrifice is unnecessary. I live outside society, no one knows me, my family is distant and unconcerned-"

"Don't you wish to marry me?" A faint frown drew his brows together.

"Be serious, Flynn."

"I am."

"Of course you're not. You were about to leave Monte Carlo this morning. You'd hate to be married."

Her blunt directness forced him to question his motives. "Maybe I wouldn't."

She laughed. "Maybe? There, you see. You'd be out the door and halfway to Asia before a week was up."

"Have you considered you might be opposed to marriage?"

"What if I am? I've reason enough."

"This wouldn't be the same."

"Flynn! Stop. You don't know what you're saying. Think for a minute, are you actually willing to give up your freedom?" Her expression sobered. "Because I'd require fidelity."

A sudden silence fell.

And then he smiled. "I'm willing to risk it if you are."

"Losing your freedom, you mean."

He nodded.

"We should be madly in love to even consider this."

"I am." Until that moment, he had not known.

"How can you be sure?"

"Nothing's sure, darling. But if you don't take the risk, you'll never know. And if this isn't love, I don't care, because it's better than all the amusements and journeys in the world."

She grinned. "It is, isn't it? It's even better than cherry creme chocolates."

His smile was pure sunshine. "That might be a draw. But if you say yes, I promise you chocolates for breakfast every day."

"Ummm, tempting."

"You don't really want to live without me, do you?"

His question cut to the core, and the simple truth was she didn't. "Can you tell?"

He faintly dipped his head.

"Because you know women."

"No, because your happiness is mine."

"Before last night, I hadn't known what happiness was."

He smiled. "Nor I."

"Tell me we're not making a huge mistake."

"I can do that. We're not. Marry me and I'll make you happy."

"So sure?"

He was a gambler who always played for broke, and he had never been so sure. "I guarantee it."

"One question more before we leap into the abyss. You're not just Mr. Suffolk, are you, Your Grace?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not to me. I fell in love with Mr. Suffolk."

"And so I'll always remain, although you may be addressed as the Duchess of Grafton on occasion."

"You aren't!" The Duke of Grafton was the byword for vice and beauty and wildness and of course a king's ransom in wealth. "I see why you don't tell women if they don't know."

"I don't tell anyone. So if you don't mind being a duchess, my vanity would be assuaged with a simple affirmative to my one and only proposal of marriage."

"If not for Dickie, you might not have-"

He stopped her words with a kiss, and when he raised his mouth a lengthy time later, he softly commanded, "Just say yes."

Her mouth quirked into a grin. "Convince me." And he did with finesse and skill and in the end with a wild abandon that destroyed Madame Denise's lilac-colored creation and momentarily stopped the world.