"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.