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scaring me.
    But in a way, this is a good thing. It’s taking my mind off the fact that tomorrow, I’m supposed to be leaving. And though I won’t miss this cold, English rain one bit, there are a lot of things I am finding very hard to leave.
    This funny old house has really grown on me, and I wish I was going to be here to see it finished.
    I’m going to really miss being spanked and tied up and given mock orders in a mock- stern, beautifully cut-glass English voice. Oh, I’m sure there’ll be a man somewhere in the Caribbean who’ll oblige me, but it won’t be the same, it won’t be the same.
    And pleasure, oh how I’ll miss the pleasure. Not just any pleasure, but the bliss gifted to me by a man who seems to know my every thought, my every response, inside out.
    I’ll miss the sex, too, even if I never do get to see his glorious face as he comes inside me. But even if he won’t face me, I still don’t think I’ll ever find anyone with his finesse, his strength, his sweetness, his consideration…and his mastery.
    Yes, it’s the marquis. I fear he’s irreplaceable.
    And it’s our last night.
    Lights flicker along the passage as I make my way to the little sitting room, and just as I knock on the door, as I always do now, the lights dim and then go out. There’s still some rewiring to do and this happens now and again, but this is the first time the power’s gone out in a storm.
    There’s a loud crack of thunder, and lightning flashes almost simultaneously.
    I shriek with fear and the door to the study flies open.
    If I wasn’t so terrified of the storm outside, I would laugh out loud. It’s just like a Dracula movie, with a venerable old house, a wild storm and a beautiful, dramatic aristocrat dressed from head to foot in black.
    I squeak again as he gathers me to him and hustles me into the softly lit room.
    “I didn’t think you’d come tonight, Rose. I thought you’d be down with the others in the kitchen, all seeing out the storm together.”
    I would be annoyed that he’d think that of me, except that the joy in his eyes at the fact that I did come is patent. He looks as if I’ve just given him a supremely magnificent gift, and that expression binds me to him far tighter than any length of rope ever could.
    Mad, mad thoughts gather in my mind. They’re thoughts that have been circling for the past two weeks, nipping at my resolutions and my every idea of what I’ve always wanted for my future.
    But they’re so crazy that I find it hard to acknowledge them, and when thunder cracks again they disappear, along with almost all my normal ones.
    The marquis wraps me in his arms, softly cooing to me in low, comforting tones, and it’s only as I settle that it dawns on me that I just shouted out incoherently again.
    The embrace isn’t sexual, it’s protective. And yet I can still feel him hard against my belly. I hope he’ll make love to me tonight, seeing as it’s our last time. He doesn’t always. Sometimes he’s still hard when he escorts me to my little room, high in the old servants’ quarters, and I can only assume he deals with his own needs after, alone.
    His hold on me is too nice, too sweet and tempting. I struggle out of his grip and try to sink to the floor and kneel…to begin the game.
    But he holds on to me, his big, strong hands gripping my shoulders.
    “Not tonight, dear. You’re too frightened, aren’t you?”
    He gazes at me, his dark eyes full of complicated emotion. He does want to play. I can tell by his erection and the tension in his body that these games of ours seem to release just as much as actual sex does. But there’s more, so much more on his mind.
    Turbulent joy rushes through my veins. He’s going to miss me! My marquis is going to miss me!
    And it’s for more reasons than just the obvious one—because he likes to spank my bottom….
    Amazingly, for one so confident and masterful—both by birth and by inclination—he snags his lip like a nervous,