"I'm sorry," he interrupted, his arm sliding around her waist. He pulled her into the shelter of his body, her back fitting against his hairy chest. "I didn't mean to nettle you. Here, rest against me." He nuzzled into the pale streamers of her hair. "What a fiery little wench you are."

"I'm not fiery," Lottie protested, for that quality was hardly something that befitted a ladylike graduate of Maidstone's.

"Yes, you are." His hand curved possessively over her hip. "I've known it from the moment we met. It's one of the reasons I wanted you."

"You said you wanted me merely for convenience."

"Well, there is that," he said with a grin, and reacted swiftly as she tried to elbow him. "But in truth, convenience had nothing to do with it. I wanted you more than any woman I've ever met."

"Why did you insist on marriage, when I offered to be your mistress?"

"Because being a mistress wasn't good enough for you." He paused before adding quietly, "You deserve everything I can give you, including my name."

A sobering thought dimmed Lottie's pleasure in the compliment. "After everyone learns that you are Lord Sydney, you will be quite sought after," she said. A man with his looks, a fortune, and a title to boot was an irresistible combination. He would undoubtedly receive a great deal of attention from women who would want to tempt him into having an affair.

"I won't stray from you," Nick said, surprising her with his perceptiveness.

"You can't be certain. A man with your personal history..."

"What do you know of my personal history?" He pressed her flat on her back and loomed over her, one long leg sliding between hers.

"It is obvious that you are very experienced in the bedroom."

"I am," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean that I've been indiscriminate. In fact..."

"In fact?" Lottie prompted.

He looked away. "Nothing."

"You were going to tell me that you haven't had all that many women, I suppose." Her tone was loaded with skepticism. "Although the concept is obviously subjective. What is 'many' for you, I wonder? A hundred? Fifty? Ten?"

"It doesn't matter," he said with a scowl.

"I wouldn't believe you if you claimed anything less than twenty."

"You would be wrong, then."

"How far off the mark would I be, then?"

"I've been with only two women," he said curtly. "Including you."

"You have not," she exclaimed with a disbelieving laugh.

"Believe what you like," he muttered, rolling away from her.

He was clearly annoyed, as if he regretted what he had just told her. As he left the bed and strode to the wardrobe, Lottie watched him in slack-jawed astonishment. She couldn't quite bring herself to accept his claim, and yet there was no reason for him to lie to her. "Who was the other one?" she couldn't resist asking.

His broad, well-muscled back flexed as he shrugged into a burgundy velvet robe. "A madam."

"French, you mean?"

"No, the kind of madam that owns a whorehouse," he replied bluntly.

Lottie nearly toppled from the edge of the bed. She managed to keep her face relatively composed as he turned toward her. "Was it a long...friendship?"

"Three years."

Lottie absorbed the information silently. She realized with dismay that the heaviness in her chest was caused by jealousy. "Were you in love with her?" she brought herself to ask.

"No," he said without hesitation. "But I liked her. I still do."

A frown worked across her forehead. "Why do you no longer see her?"

Nick shook his head. "After a while, Gemma believed there was nothing more to be gained on either side by continuing the arrangement. I've since come to realize that she was right. And I haven't slept with anyone else, until you. So you see, I don't have a problem keeping my trousers buttoned."

A tide of relief swept over her. Just why she was so pleased at the notion that she might be able to keep him all to herself was not something she wished to ponder too closely. Leaving the bed, she hurried to pick up her discarded dress from the floor, and held it over her front. "I will admit that I am surprised," she said, trying to appear casual with her nudity. "You are certainly not predictable in any regard."

He approached her and closed his hands over her bare shoulders. "Neither are you," he replied. "I never expected to receive such pleasure from a rank novice." Taking the dress from her hands, Nick dropped it to the floor and pressed her body against the velvet front of his robe. Her skin tingled at the plush softness that caressed her from breasts to knees. "Maybe it's because you're mine," he mused, his hand covering her pale, round breast. "No one's ever belonged to me before."

Lottie smiled wryly. "You make me sound like a horse you've just bought."

"A horse would have been cheaper," he replied, and grinned as she attacked him in mock outrage.

She pounded at his chest, and he twisted her wrists neatly behind her back, causing her breasts to thrust forward. "Save your strength," he advised, smiling against her hair. Releasing her wrists, he rubbed the small of her back with one hand. "You must be sore. I'll draw a hot bath for you. When you finish, we'll have something to eat."

A hot bath would be wonderful. However, the thought of lacing herself into a corset and dressing for dinner was distinctly unappealing.

"Shall I have a supper tray sent up here?" Nick asked.

"Yes," Lottie said immediately and gave him a quizzical glance. "How do you do that? You always seem to know what I'm thinking."

"Your face shows everything." Removing his robe, he placed it around her, the heavy velvet warming her with the lingering heat of his body.

"I've only eaten in my bedroom once, when I was ill," she told him as he tied the robe around her. "And that was years ago."

Nick bent to whisper in her ear. "My passionate bride...later I'll show you that the bedroom is the best possible place to dine."

He bathed her himself, kneeling by the tub with the sleeves of his robe rolled up to reveal the wet, dark hair of his forearms. Eyes half-closed, Lottie let her gaze drift from the tanned column of his throat to the dark hair that filled the open vee of his robe. He was such a robustly masculine creature, and yet he touched her with incongruous gentleness. Veils of steam rose from the water, making the air hot and iridescent. She felt drugged with heat and sensuality as his strong, soapy hands glided into the intimate places of her body.

"Does it hurt here?" he asked, his fingers slipping over the swollen entrance of her sex.

"A little." She leaned back against his arm, her head lolling on the polished wooden rim of the huge porcelain bathtub.

Nick kneaded lightly with his fingertips, as if he could heal her with his touch. "I tried to be gentle."

"You were," she managed to say, her thighs floating apart.

Nick's thick lashes lowered as he stared at the shimmering blur of her body beneath the water. His handsome features were carved with such severity that his face could have been molded from bronze. The edge of his rolled-up sleeve dragged in the water, the velvet turning hot and sodden.

"I won't ever hurt you again," he said. "That's a promise."

Lottie caught her breath as he parted the tender folds between her thighs and investigated the fragile plumpness they had concealed. Her hips lifted, while her hands fought for purchase on the slippery surface of the tub. He slid a supportive arm behind her back, holding her securely.

"Lean back," he murmured. "Let me pleasure you."

No, she thought skeptically, not in a bathtub, with a thick wall of porcelain between them. But she relaxed in his hold and opened for him as his free arm moved across her body. She grasped his wrist lightly, feeling the movement of tendons and muscles as he ran his thumb over each side of her vulva. He rubbed the silken flanges of her inner lips together, his touch tender and light. Softly he spread her, stroking his middle fingertip along the tender seam, brushing the rosy nub of her sex each time. He smiled slightly as he saw bright patches of color appear on her face and chest. "The Chinese call this the jewel terrace," he whispered. Gently his finger slipped inside her, advancing only an inch, circling softly. "And here, the lute strings...and here..." He reached to the most secret recesses of her body. "The flower heart. Does it hurt when I touch you this way?"

"No," she gasped.

His lips brushed her ear. "The next time we lie together, I'll show you a position called Stepping Tigers. I'll enter you from behind and go deep inside...and rub against the flower heart over and over..." He suckled her earlobe, catching it lightly between his teeth. A hum of pleasure climbed from Lottie's chest to her throat. She was floating, weightless, yet clasped securely by the arm at her back and the hand between her thighs.

"How do you know such things?" she asked unsteadily.

"Gemma collects books on erotic techniques. One of her favorites is a translation of a text written during the Tang dynasty. The book counsels men to increase their stamina by forestalling their own pleasure as long as possible." His finger withdrew, and he stroked her inner thighs with the lightness of butterfly wings. "And it gives prescriptions for health benefits...to strengthen the bones...enrich the blood...ensure long life."

"Tell me some of them," Lottie said, swallowing hard as his hand cupped over her, the base of his palm nudging rhythmically into the place where she was most sensitive.