Fascinated

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 degage 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 elan. '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