Glancing around the receiving room, Nick saw that one wall was lined with bookshelves, every available inch of space occupied with leather-bound volumes and folios. He drew closer to the shelves, investigating. Although he could not read well, he discerned that most of the books were about sex and human anatomy.

"A hobby of mine," Mrs. Bradshaw said, her eyes gleaming with friendly challenge. "I collect books about sexual techniques and customs of different cultures. Some of the books are quite rare. Over the past ten years, I have accumulated a vast wealth of knowledge about my favorite subject."

"I suppose it's more interesting than collecting snuffboxes," he said, and she laughed.

"Stay here. I'll be just a moment. While I am gone, you are welcome to view my library."

She went from the receiving room to the adjoining room, where the end of a poster bed was visible.

The leaden feeling returned to Nick's stomach. Finishing his drink in one gulp of smooth fire, he set the glass aside and went to the bookshelves. A large volume bound in red leather caught his attention. The antique leather creaked slightly as he opened the book, which was filled with hand-painted illustrations. His seething insides tangled in a huge knot as he saw drawings of bodies writhing in sexual positions more peculiar than anything he could have imagined. His heart hammered against his ribs even as his cock surged with aggravated desire. Hastily he closed the book and shoved it back onto the shelf. Going back to the sideboard, he poured another brandy and downed it without tasting it.

As Mrs. Bradshaw had promised, she returned soon, coming to stand in the doorway. She had changed into a thin dressing gown trimmed with lace, the long sleeves draping in medieval points. The white silk garment revealed the pointed crests of her full breasts, and even the shadow of hair between her thighs. The madam had a magnificent body, and she knew it. She stood with one knee eased forward, protruding through the opening of the dressing gown to display the long, sleek line of her leg. Her blazing hair rippled over her shoulders and down her back, making her look younger, softer.

A shiver of longing chased down Nick's spine, and he felt his chest rising and falling in a labored rhythm.

"I'll have you know that I am selective about my lovers." The madam gestured for him to come to her. "A talent such as mine should never be squandered."

"Why me?" Nick asked, his voice turning raspy. He drew nearer, close enough to realize that she wore no perfume. She smelled like soap and clean skin, a fragrance far more arousing than jasmine or roses.

"It was the way you touched me. You instinctively found the most susceptible places on my hand...the center of the palm and the insides of the knuckles. Few men have such sensitivity."

Rather than feeling flattered, Nick experienced a flare of panic. The madam had expectations of him-expectations that he was guaranteed to disappoint. He kept his face expressionless, but his heart dropped in a sickening plunge as she drew him into the warm, firelit bedroom. "Mrs. Bradshaw," he said awkwardly as they approached the bed, "I should tell you-"

"Gemma," she murmured.

"Gemma," he repeated, every coherent thought scattering as she pushed his coat from his shoulders and helped him remove it.

Untying the knot of his sweat-dampened cravat, the madam smiled up at his flushed face. "You are shaking like a boy of thirteen. Is the notorious Mr. Gentry so intimidated by the thought of bedding the famous Mrs. Bradshaw? I wouldn't have expected it of such a worldly man. Certainly you are not a virgin, at your age. A man of...twenty-three?"

"Twenty-four." He was dying inside, knowing there was no way he could deceive her into believing that he was a man of experience. Swallowing hard, he said hoarsely, "I've never done this before."

The ruddy arcs of her brows inched upward. "Never visited a brothel?"

Somehow he forced the words up from his aching throat. "Never made love to a woman."

Gemma's expression did not change, but he sensed her astonishment. After a long, diplomatic pause, she asked tactfully, "You have been intimate with other men, then?"

Nick shook his head, staring at the patterned wallpaper. The heavy silence was broken only by the drumming in his ears.

The madam's curiosity was almost palpable. She ascended the moveable wooden step that had been placed beside the tall bed, and climbed onto the mattress. Slowly she reclined on her side, relaxed and catlike. And in her infinite understanding of the male sex, she remained silent and waited patiently.

Nick tried to sound matter-of-fact, but a tremor broke through his voice. "When I was a boy of fourteen, I was sentenced to ten months on a prison hulk."

He saw from Gemma's expression that she understood immediately. The wretched conditions on the hulks, the fact that men were chained together with boys in one large cell, was hardly a secret. "The men on the ship tried to force themselves on you, of course," she said. Her tone was neutral as she asked. "Did any of them succeed?"

"No. But since then..." Nick paused for a long moment. He had never told anyone about the past that had haunted him-his fears were not easy to put into words. "I can't bear to be touched," he said slowly. "Not by anyone, in any way. I've wanted..." He paused for a moment, floundering. "At times I want a woman so badly I almost go mad with it. But I can't seem to..." He fell helplessly silent. It seemed impossible to explain that for him, sex and pain and guilt were plaited together, that the simple act of making love to someone seemed as impossible as making himself jump off a cliff. The touch of another person, no matter how innocuous, triggered a perilous need to defend himself.

Had Gemma displayed a dramatic reaction of horror or sympathy, Nick would have bolted. However, she only regarded him thoughtfully. In a graceful movement, she swung her long legs over the bed and slid to the floor. Standing before him, she began to unbutton his waistcoat. Nick stiffened but did not move away. "You must have fantasies," Gemma said. "Images and thoughts that excite you."

Nick's breath turned shallow and quick as he shrugged off his waistcoat. Remnants of volatile dreams swirled through his head...lewd thoughts that had left his body charged and aching in the empty darkness. Yes, he'd had fantasies, visions of women bound and moaning beneath him, their legs spread wide open as he worked himself between them. He could not possibly confess such shameful things. But Gemma Bradshaw's brown eyes contained an invitation that was nearly irresistible. "I'll tell you mine first," she offered. "Would you like that?"

He nodded cautiously, heat spreading through his groin.

"I fantasize about being naked before an audience of men." Gemma's voice was low and molten as she continued. "I choose one that captures my fancy. He joins me on the stage, and performs any sexual act I wish. After that, I select another, and another, until I am completely satisfied."

She tugged the hem of his shirt from his trousers. Nick lifted it over his head and dropped the damp garment to the floor. His cock throbbed painfully as Gemma stared at his bare torso. She touched the heavy pelt of hair on his chest, much darker than the brown hair on his head. An appreciative sound came from Gemma's throat. "You're quite muscular. I like that." Her fingertips ventured through the matted curls and stroked the hot skin beneath, and Nick took an instinctive backward step. Lazily Gemma gestured for him to come back. "If you want to make love, my dear, I'm afraid you can't avoid being touched. Stand still." She reached for the top button of his trousers. "Now tell me your fantasy."

Nick stared at the ceiling, the wall, the velvet-draped windows, anything to avoid the sight of her hands at his crotch. "I...want to be in control," he said hoarsely. "I imagine tying a woman to a bed. She can't move or touch me...she can't stop me from doing anything I want."

"Many men have that fantasy." The backs of Gemma's fingers brushed the stiff underside of his cock as she attended to the last buttons. Suddenly Nick forgot to breathe. The madam leaned closer, her breath whisking through the curls on his chest. "And what do you do to the woman, after she is tied?" she murmured.

His face darkened with a flush of mingled arousal and embarrassment. "I touch her everywhere. I use my mouth and fingers...I make her beg me to take her. I make her scream." He set his jaw and groaned in his throat as her long, cool fingers encircled his shaft and freed it from the trousers. "God-"

"Well," she purred, her clever fingers tracing him down to the hilt and back up to the tightly swollen head. "You are a most generously endowed young man."

Nick closed his eyes, reeling from a powerful onslaught of sensation. "Does that please a woman?" he asked unsteadily.

Gemma continued to stroke him as she replied. "Not all women. Some cannot comfortably accommodate a man your size. But that can be managed." She released him gently and went to a large mahogany box on the bedside table, lifting the lid and searching through its contents. "Remove the rest of your clothes," she said without looking at him.

Fear and lust clashed violently inside him. Eventually the lust won out. He shed his clothes, feeling vulnerable and painfully impassioned. Gemma located what she was looking for, turned, and tossed something lightly to him.

Reflexively Nick caught the object in his fist. It was a rope made of claret-colored velvet.

Perplexed, he watched as Gemma untied her dressing gown and let it fall to her feet. Every inch of her strong, supple body was exposed, including the wealth of vibrant hair at her groin. With a provocative smile, she climbed onto the bed, revealing her generously rounded backside in the process. Leaning back on her elbows, she nodded toward the length of velvet clenched in his fist. "I believe you know what to do next," she said.