"I was shocked that someone as old as twenty-eight would still be lost to propriety, a slave to decadence and lascivious riot."

Lascivious riot? He liked the sound of that. "My cousin Etienne is thirty years older than I am and just as debauched. Possibly more so, though I do hope to attain his level someday."

She refused to be baited. "Nevertheless, I'm two years older than you are, and to call me child is patently absurd."

"Sweet Charlotte," he said softly, watching her flinch as he used her name, "you are a mere infant when it comes to the darker side of the world."

"I prefer it that way."

He shrugged. "Tant pis. You're here now, by your own volition, stepping into the darkness. No one forced you to come to the Revels, to dress in a monk's robe. You toot the chance, and now you're going to have to pay the price. But there's no need to look so distraught. I have no doubt you'll emerge from this place a sadder but wiser woman, with no troubling illusions left."

"I had no illusions about you, sir," she said fiercely.

"Didn't you?" He was wearing soft boots, easily removed, and he kicked them off. "I rejoice to hear it. Was there anything else you wished to address like a civilized adult before you come to bed?"

She looked more annoyed than frightened. Good for her. "Be reasonable. I have no idea why you've suddenly decided I'm fair game, but we both know I'm not the kind of woman you bother with. I'm too tall, my hair is too red, I have freckles and... and..."

“Yes?" he said encouragingly.

She took a deep breath, diving in. "And I'm not... pretty. Some of the most beautiful women in the world are here and available tonight, and I'm quite... ordinary. You don't want to waste your time with a plain, elderly spinster."

It cost her to say that. He wanted to get up, cross the room and pull her into his arms. To touch that gold-flecked skin, that beautiful mouth, and tell her how pretty she was.

But she wouldn't believe it, not from anyone, but least of all from him. So he stayed where he was, and shrugged. "Perhaps I was looking for something a little different."

And she would be a great deal of trouble, he had absolutely no doubt of it. Making the reward all the sweeter. One thing particularly fascinated him. She was more interested in convincing him that he didn’t want her, not that she wasn't drawn to him. He wasn't particularly vain, but he knew women. He knew her. "I'm afraid I like a challenge," he said.

She bit her lip, frustrated. "What can I do to convince you to let me go?"

He looked at her as all sorts of erotic thoughts danced in his head. "Why, I'll let you go, my pet. Once I've had you."

How many women had he brought to this place? Charlotte wondered. There was no doubt they'd all been willing—she couldn't imagine a woman resisting that long, elegant body, those beautiful hands, (he hypnotic gaze and rich mouth. They would have to be mad to say no.

What would happen if she said yes? He would strip the clothes off her and she'd lie naked with him, skin to skin. He'd climb on top of her and put his penis inside her, and it would hurt, according to her parents' old cook, the only one who'd bothered to explain the facts of men and women to her. Would he kiss her again? Her mouth still felt tender from his first kiss, when he'd tricked her into coming into this...this prison. If she lay naked in the bed with him would he kiss her again? Stroke her? Hold her? Would it be worth it?

But she wasn't going to find out, she reminded herself stoutly. Because afterward he would let her go, and that would be the most painful of all.

She didn't believe him about the lock. If she had enough time she could figure out a way to make it open—her mother had had a habit of locking her chronically misbehaving daughter into her room, and Charlotte had never accepted imprisonment. A hairpin, judiciously applied, could spring most locks. She doubted this was any different.

First, however, she'd have to render the viscount unconscious. Maybe he'd simply fall asleep—she suspected he'd had quite a bit to drink, though of course he didn't show it. If she stayed quiet he might even forget she was there.

She looked around her for a weapon, just in case. There was the unopened bottle of wine—that could produce a respectable lump on his lordship's fine head. In fact, it might crush his skull and kill him, despite that thick, lovely hair.

While the idea of murder was a fond one as payback for this mess, in truth she was far too squeamish. And as angry as she was, she didn't want Adrian Rohan dead. Just living on a separate continent so she could get over him.

Which was ridiculous—she was over him. How could she not be, when he'd practically abducted her, all for wicked purposes?

It didn't matter that it smacked of some of the gothic novels Lina had lent her. Or that being abducted by the most beautiful man in England, simply because he wanted her, was desperately romantic. They both knew all he had to do was snap his fingers and he could have someone else. Anyone else. If she were an idiot she'd be flattered.

But she wasn't an idiot.

The candelabrum sat on the table. If she clubbed him with it, it wouldn't kill him; silver was a soft metal. It might simply bend over his hard head, and then what would she do?

She could pick up the sturdy wooden chair she sat on and clobber him with it. But that wouldn't slow him down much. Maybe her best bet was to get him to drink the bottle of wine—surely that would make pass out.

"Are you looking at that bottle of wine so lovingly because you want a glass, or were you considering its efficacy as a weapon?"

She could feel color stain her cheeks. He saw far more than she would have liked. Stay calm, stay focused, Charlotte, she told herself. Maybe she'd consider bashing him with it after all.

"I decided I didn't want to risk crushing your skull and killing you," she said in an admirably even voice. "Not that I wouldn't like to kill you, but the practicalities convince me it's a bad idea. No matter how much you might deserve it, the Crown would look askance at the righteous execution of a peer. And, besides, blood makes me squeamish."

"You, squeamish? I find that hard to believe. And you'd be surprised what wouldn't kill me. I'm possessed of a very hard head."

She picked up the wine bottle then, annoyed. "I'm perfectly willing to see..."

"Put it down." His silken voice held a cool note that would have terrorized a more fragile soul.

She turned it in her hand, reading the label, determined not to do as he ordered. And then, when she was good and ready, she set the bottle back on the table, turning to look at him.

His eyes glittered in the semidarkness. "You're determined to fight me on every level, aren't you?" he murmured.

“Yes."

"Then you're right, we'll have to find a way to compromise." He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm not going to rape you, you know."

"No, I don't know."

His smile was devastating. "I have many crimes to my soul, but I'm not a rapist. I've never forced a woman in my life and I have no particular interest

"That's because no one has ever told you no, before."

His eyes lit up. "You think I'm that irresistible? How flattering, my pet. Occasionally misguided women have been able to resist me, but they've been few and far between. And you're not one of them."

"No," she said. "Force is the only way you'll

His soft laugh was low and impossibly sexual. "No, my pet, it isn't. But I'll indulge you for the time being. If you come and lie down with me I promise not to touch you below the neck."

"I'd prefer you didn't touch me at all." "Of course you would. And I'd prefer to push your skirts up to your waist and bury my cock in your body, right now, but we're not going to do that either. Not until you tell me to. You see, we’re compromising already."

Her skin fell hot and prickly, her stomach ice cold at his words. She rallied. "You must be very drunk indeed if you dunk that time will ever come."

"It takes a lot to get me drunk, my love," he said. He'd stopped calling her "child," and she realized she would have preferred it to his mock endearments. "Get on the bed with me, and you're safe. For now."

"And if I don't?"

"Then when the servants unlock the door tomorrow morning they'll find you tied up and gagged and you'll stay right here until I decide to let you go."

''Wouldn't you be more likely to have an enjoyable., .orgy if your servants simply brought you another willing female?"

"Another? I hadn't realized you were willing."

"I mean another female who, unlike me, happens to be willing."

It really was unfortunate. He had the most seductive voice, making the wicked things he was saying sound almost irresistible.

He smiled at her. "I suppose they could, and you could watch, as long as you promised not to make too much noise."

"You're disgusting."

He laughed softly. "I'm healthy. You haven't asked what you'll get if you agree to my devil's bargain. You get on the bed with me, let me touch you, and when morning comes you get to leave, dignity and virginity intact."

"Why should I trust you?"

He shrugged. "My word as a gentleman?"

Her snort expressed a certain lack of faith.

"What kind of assurance can I give you?"

"Unlock the door. Then I'll know I can leave any time I want.”

"But you can't. In fact, I can't either. So we're equals, of a sort. I'm not asking much, my angel. No trespass against your maidenly flesh. And I can't fathom why you're protesting so staunchly. You're the one who came to the Revels of your own free will. You walked through the Portal of Venus, dressed in monk's robes. You must have been in search of something, and since you stood side by side with Lady Whitmore I know you weren't looking for Lina. So, tell me, why did you come here in the first place? Where you looking for me?"