"But what do you want?" Her voice was very low, her eyes huge in the candlelight.

He didn't answer immediately. When he spoke his words were scarcely above a murmur. "I was under the impression you were expected in Florence."

"Yes," she quickly agreed. It was enough. "I have friends who are waiting for me. Professor Castelli has made arrangements for me to study with his colleagues."

Damien's gaze took in the cozy scene, the obvious intimacy. Not that he'd expected any of Beau's female friends to be with him under duress. "Well, you must come to dinner at least and allow me to send along letters of introduction for you."

He watched the young lady look to Beau for guidance again and realized she was unusually innocent, a divergence from his nephew's normal amorous companions.

"Tomorrow night," Beau said.

"Emma will be delighted. Just a family party then?"

"Perfect," Beau said and stood waiting.

"Ah-Well then, until tomorrow ..." And with a faint bow, the ambassador departed.

"I didn't know what to say to him," Serena affirmed, still uncertain whether she'd correctly interpreted Beau's response.

"Damien meant well," Beau noted, sitting beside her again and drawing her close, "but I wasn't sure you were interested in joining the English colony in Lisbon."

"Not without you I'm not." Enclosed in the warmth and security of his arms, she spoke from her heart.

He smiled at her candor. "My feelings as well, lollipop. Now where were we," he huskily murmured.

"We need a guard posted outside the door," she said, her voice lush and low. "I'm not sure I care to have any more interruptions. I have plans...."

"Such as?" Despite the darkness, his eyes held a smoldering glow.

"Such as making use of this braided silk cord around your waist," she purred, touching the colorful tasseled belt.

"An intriguing thought ..."

She smiled up at him. "I knew you'd like it."

"You'd look good in red," he murmured, his fingers working the loosely tied knot open.

"I was thinking of you."

His fingers stilled briefly and then shaking his head, he resumed his untying. "I don't think so."

"You said I could later."

"I said maybe."

"What would it take to make that less equivocal?"

"A gun to my head?" His grin flashed in the darkness.

"You'll have to tell me about Eton sometime."

"You don't want to know. Now hold out your hands." The corded belt from his robe dangled from his tanned fingers and when she didn't respond, he lightly said, "I have the advantage."

"You'll overpower me, you mean?"

"I could if I wished." He didn't move.

"Or if I wished you to."

"That too," he softly said, his rising erection evident with his robe partially opened.

"Coercion arouses you, I see."

"Sometimes."

"Perhaps it does me as well."

"You're not strong enough," he gently said.

"I could use guile."

"You could try."

"You resist so, Rochefort. I'm intrigued that you don't capitulate in even this playful diversion. Am I not allowed a turn?" And she slid her yellow robe tie from around her waist and draped it over the tip of his jutting penis, which was framed between the draped folds of his robe.

It surged larger and higher.

"See ... he's interested in being tied," Serena whispered, brushing her fingertips over the red pulsing crest, stroking downward over the large conspicuous veins. "You really should let me," she murmured, wrapping the slippery brocade once around the thrusting length.

"I'll think about it," he said on a caught breath.

"That's a start at least." She slid a second silken loop into place, tightening it with exquisite slowness.

He groaned, a small, reluctant sound.

"Now that I have your attention," she whispered, bending to kiss the tumescent crown rearing upward, "let's see if my wonderful toy looks pretty in a yellow bow."

His eyes shut when her lips touched him and as her mouth opened and slowly slid down his length his back arched against the fierce pleasure.

Holding his rigid length in her hands, she drew it into her mouth until it rested against the back of her throat and then pulled away leisurely. The friction of her mouth and tongue lingered sumptuously-sleek, warm, sensational. He felt as though it were his first time-as if he were young and quivering, defenselessly in rut. And when she slipped two silken loops around his testicles and tugged lightly, he moaned deep in his throat.

"How showy you are, Glory," she said, tying the primrose brocade into a firm bow. "Cock up and rock hard," she breathed, fluffing the bow out, the yellow silk bright against the dark, crisp curls at the base of his stomach. "I may just want to sit and admire you tonight." She measured his glorious erection with her fingers, sliding her hands downward to cup the weight of his testicles. "I may not let you touch me at all."

Such heresy brought his eyes open. "I'll be touching you," he said, his voice a raspy, low exhalation.

"Maybe you won't," she whispered.

He could do anything he wanted to her, was his first unequivocal thought. "I hope this isn't a contest," he said.

"And if it is?"

"You'd lose."

"So you're allowing this?"

He didn't answer, his reasons too complex, inchoate, and damning. He'd resisted physical coercion-however benign this was-since Eton. He'd promised himself that long ago.

"Why?" she asked.

"Jesus, Serena, how the hell should I know. You like it, I like it-it's foreplay to my fucking you," he brusquely declared. "And it's over." Jerking the bow apart, he pulled the tie off and tossed it aside.

"You have to be in charge, is that it?" She gazed at him with stormy eyes.

"Something like that."

"Do women always do your bidding?"

"I don't give orders, believe me," he gruffly said, his experience rather that of fending off females, "and I don't feel like fighting over this. Do you want a drink?" And sweeping her up into his arms, he strode through the garden into the bedroom and deposited her on the bed.

"You drink more than you should," Serena told him, sliding into a seated position against the headboard.

"And you sound like a wife I don't need."

"You've drunk steadily since Dover."

"So?" He selected a bottle of old brandy from the array on the table. "I'm not working now."

"You work?"

"Of course," he declared, turning with a rim-full glass of brandy in his hand. "You can't fuck all the time," he said with a tight smile.

"Ah, yes-your primary avocation."

"Hardly," he scathingly retorted.

"The scandal sheets disagree," she contested, watching him walk toward her-all lithe strength and grace-resentfully aware of his reputation as stud to the female aristocracy.

"They make it up."

"I don't imagine they have to fabricate much. You're an unbearable show-off," she coolly noted, her gaze on his arousal. "Always erect, aren't you?"

"Only with you," he silkily replied, coming to a halt beside the bed.

"Right," she waspishly said. "Like a virgin ... unpracticed and naive."

"While some people apparently don't need any practice at all," he murmured, lifting his glass to her in salute. "Are you finished looking?"

"Is there a time limit?"

"There's always a time limit. But in your case I'm not concerned-you're more impatient than I."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Oh no," he replied, his smile smug. "That's definitely an asset."

"Like your hard cock."

"Exactly," he sardonically agreed. "Would you like to try it?"

"No, I've decided to begin a celibate life tonight. You're much too annoying."

He looked at his drink for a moment and then at her. "What if I say I'm sorry?"

"Too late."

"What if I say I'm very, very sorry," he quietly said, sitting down beside her.

"I shan't be moved."

"Not even if I offer to make amends?"

"How? With that?" She gazed blightingly at his erection.

It usually worked, he thought, but said instead, "I'll let you have your way."

"You'd do that?"

He nodded.

"For me?"

"For you."

"That's very sweet."

He smiled. "I know."

"I can do anything?"

"Anything," he unequivocally said.

"And you'll acquiesce?"

He took a small breath. "Yes."

Taking note of his faint hesitation, she realized she'd witnessed a minor watershed. "Thank you," she softly said. "And you really do drink too much," she added with a mischievous grin.

"And I really need to make love to you," he murmured, ignoring her playful gibe, tossing his drink down his throat and dropping the glass on the carpet. Reaching out, he drew her close.