"You don't even remember," she muttered, not wanting to look at him.

"Lady Harrison's. You were wearing some abominable pink creation that clashed with your glorious copper hair. We danced a country dance, a complicated one, I believe. I think it was 'Prince William.'"

To this day Charlotte couldn't hear the strains of "Prince William" without feeling ill. She stared at him in disbelief.

"And you remember all this because...?" she said

His half smile was barely visible in the coach. "Because I'm seldom such a total bastard, and I try not to pick on the defenseless. You looked so crushed that I never forgot it."

"And this is the way you apologize? By abducting me?”

"No, my precious. My apology was that delicious fuck we had three weeks ago. Abducting you now, as you insist on calling it, is my way of repeating that most excellent activity."

She stared at him, openmouthed in astonishment at his gall. How dare you was too mild a response— she simply stared at him in disbelief. And then she moved, lunging for the door.

The carriage was going at a fast clip, and she was halfway out the door when he caught her, dragging her back in before she could tumble to the hard, filthy streets. She landed on the floor, and he held her there as he locked the carriage door.

"You idiot," he said, all humor and sly seduction vanishing. "You could have been killed. I don't travel at a leisurely pace—you could have broken your neck."

"Good," she snapped.

"Death before dishonor? Too late, my precious. I've already dishonored you quite completely, and I have every intention of doing so again."

She lunged for the door again, but he caught her easily enough, pulling her up onto the seat. And then he let go of her.

"You're so gullible, precious," he said in a weary voice. "How many times must I tell you I won't force you. Did I make you do anything you didn't want to do?”

“You tricked me," she said darkly. "You seduced me into it.”

"Of course. That was my intention. I’m very good at what I do. Isn't that the reason you gave in? If you were going to have sex, it might as well be with a master.”

"So humble, too” she murmured.

He moved his mouth close, so close. "Accept it, sweet Charlotte. I can take you home with me and make you come just by kissing your breasts, and you know it. Don't you, love? And you want me inside you."

She was having trouble breathing. She could almost feel his mouth on her as the words hit her ears. Her nipples hardened against her corset, and she felt wet between her legs.

At this rate he could make her come just by talking to her.

Adrian Rohan was a dangerous man. Too dangerous for her.

“No," she said, her voice wobbling slightly when she wanted it firm. "I'm telling you no."

"All right," he said amiably, not at all shattered by her rejection. "There are endless women who'd happily lift their skirts for me. I don't need to force anyone. I thought you might enjoy another taste of the forbidden, but since you so clearly regret our time together I'll find someone else."

Her head was going to explode. She needed her mask, but in their wrestling match it had been crushed. She reached behind her for the hood of the domino and tried to pull it over her head, but his hands caught hers. "No, you don't. Not that I don't despise the hair powder—that must have been Lady Whitmore's asinine idea. It's a crime to cover hair as glorious as yours."

"Stop it," she said. Good. Her unshed tears were making her voice hoarse, and it came out sounding calm and angry. "Why did you...did you...?"

"Why did I fuck the sweet hell out of you a few weeks ago at the gathering of the Heavenly Host? Because you were there, and I must admit I enjoyed myself tremendously. I'm afraid I don't need a great deal of motivation for these things. In your case I imagine it was the novelty of it all. I'd forgotten all about you, and then there you were, right in front of me. Just like tonight. I have to say it seems like Providence, since I hadn't made any other arrangements for female companionship tonight. But if you'd rather not, then so be it. Perhaps Lady Whitmore might be interested in providing me with entertainment."

His calm, cruel words were like knives, and yet she didn't flinch. Later, when she was alone, the words would sink in, but for right now she was too angry, too proud to let him see how he'd wounded her.

"I doubt Lina would be interested," she said in a cool voice. "She doesn't usually want my leftovers."

"Brava," he said softly. "Fight back."

Which was exactly what she planned to do. "As for novelty, you'd be a fool to try to repeat it. You can only deflower someone once, and as you've pointed out, I'm hardly the kind of woman you usually dally with. You prefer beauties, women who are adept at pleasing a man, who know all sorts of tricks and games to please you. You wouldn't want to bother with a clumsy spinster again."

"True... But she was so delightfully besotted with me.”

She wanted to kill him. If she'd had a knife she probably would have stabbed him. As it was, she had nothing but words to hit back with.

"You took care of that, my lord," she said, not bothering to deny it. "One night with you is a most effective cure."

It was supposed to infuriate him. Instead he laughed softly. "Of course it is. And it was two nights. You don't want me to kiss you, do you?"

"The thought disgusts me."

He moved closer, and she could feel his body heat in the cool night air. "And you don't want my mouth on your breasts, sucking your nipples into hard little berries.”

It didn't need his mouth—his words had had the same effect as she felt her nipples tighten. Fortunately he couldn't see beneath the layer of clothes she wore. "Absolutely not."

"And you don't want my mouth between your legs, my tongue teasing you into such peaks of pleasure that you cry out?"

She was wet now. He probably knew it, but it didn't matter. "I'm not fond of perversion."

"I suppose that means I can't talk you into taking my cock into your mouth then."

She was so shocked she couldn't find the words to refute it. Finally she said, "You sick bastard."

"Oh, my love, not sick at all. It's quite lovely, and some women, the very best of women, enjoy it as well. So I gather this means you don't want me inside you, riding you, pumping you, making you cry and scream with pleasure?"

"You're a pig," she snapped.

"It's a pig's world. So the answer is no, my precious?"

The smug, cruel bastard. The beautiful, wicked, hurtful man with the hands of a devil and the mouth of an angel. He would take her back to Grosvenor Square, and she would slink into the house, go up to her room and curl up into the ball he talked about.

"The answer is yes," she said. And had the pleasure to see his face freeze in shock.

17

Never would Adrian Rohan have thought that a woman's acquiescence would send a cold chill down his back. It had no effect on his cock, which had been painfully hard since he'd put his hands on her, which had been at least at half-mast since he'd spotted her on the dance floor and moved heaven and hell to join her set. This was supposed to be a salutary lesson, a way to get over her. Instead he was seducing himself as he was seducing her.

She was supposed to slap his face, demand that the carriage take her to Grosvenor Square, and he would cheerfully accept her dismissal, proving to her, and to him, how little she mattered.

Instead it was all he could do to keep from throwing her down on the seat, yanking up her skirts and taking her.

And she'd said yes. He didn't bother to hide his astonishment. Though he could...ahem...rise to the occasion. "I beg your pardon? Was that agreement I hear? How delightfully refreshing. I thought you decided to regrow your hymen and be the same prissy, starched-up female you were before I put my wicked hands on you."

Now he was sorry he hadn't lit the carriage lights. He couldn't see her expression very well, and she seemed to have turned the tables on him.

In fact, that was probably why she'd done it. She was calling his bluff. Or was it the other way around? He was the card player—he was usually much better at sizing up his opponents.

He could imagine that she had her hands in her lap clasped tightly, but her voice was calm and smooth. "Like you, my lord, I had no other plans for this evening short of returning home with my cousin. If you're that desperate to have me I could hardly argue. It's quite flattering."

"Well played," he said softly. "And now it's my turn to tell you that I'm not the slightest bit desperate. That I chose you simply to torment you—that picking on lovelorn virgins... I beg your pardon, I forgot that you are no longer a virgin. Picking on lovelorn spinsters is better entertainment than sampling the pussy at Madame Kate's." He wondered if she knew that word. From the slight flinch he decided that she probably did.

"Are you trying to hurt my feelings. Lord Rohan? If you receive such pleasure from inflicting pain I’m

surprised you didn't suggest you whip me.”

"What do you know of whips, child?" he said with a laugh.

“I live with Lina, in case you've forgotten. She's quite...broad-minded when it comes to her search for pleasure. Though from my experience men usually prefer to be the ones who are whipped, not the ones delivering the pain."

"I'm not like other men—haven't you realized that yet? And I doubt I'd trust you enough to give you the upper hand. I could end up with the very skin flayed from my body."

"We could see," she said sweetly.

Damn, he was enjoying himself, he realized. After his initial shock at her seeming agreement, he was finding this sparring the best thing in weeks. ''You're quite surprisingly resilient. Miss Spenser. I would have expected you to go into a languishing decline after my rough treatment of you."