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was leading her along. Enlightened by the lessons of Eustace, she was not going to be bamboozled by a male of the species ever again.
    “Your brother is either too busy drinking or gambling or engaged in some other pursuit to worry about you for the moment. Unless of course you’re the precious item he’s wagering.”
    “Don’t be grotesque!”
    Beatrice went hot and cold. Might it actually be true? Charlie had gone on and on about the loss of her reputation damaging her chances of the marriage that would save both their fortunes. What might he be driven to when his judgment was clouded by brandy?
    Her moment of hesitation was fatal, and Ritchie whisked her along just as he’d done in the conservatory. Within seconds, he’d plunged the pair of them into a small study or smoking room, a masculine retreat, lined with books. With an air of triumph about him, he locked the door behind them.
    Beatrice stepped back and back, away from her captor. Fear surged, but swirled with a delicious longing in her belly. She was a person of supposedly bad reputation, so why not be worthy of it? Why suffer the disadvantages of being a scarlet woman without tasting any of its advantages?
    But maidenly fantasies on a drowsy afternoon were one thing. Facing a powerful man in his lust was quite another.
    “Don’t look at me like a terrified mouse, Beatrice.” Ritchie frowned, his broad brow puzzled. “A girl of your experience isn’t afraid of being alone with a man, surely?”
    But I have no experience. I was tricked into posing for those photographs. I don’t even know for sure whether I was touched while I slept or not.
    So, indeed, some variety of a mouse. But she wasn’t going to admit to being a fool and a gullible ninny, or Ritchie would laugh. And he’d know he could cozen her into any brand of debauchery that took his fancy.
    “No, I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Ritchie.” She stared at him, her eyes steady. Then, feeling the edge of a chair just behind her knees, she sank into it, feigning a composure that was far from her true state. “I’m just not particularly fond of your company and I don’t see why I should grant you any further liberties. Even with my experience. ”
    Ritchie shook his head. He was smiling, but he looked impressed in a vaguely perplexed sort of way. “What would it take for you to grant me a few more of those liberties, Beatrice?” He swaggered over to her and stood looking downwards. He was like a giant, a colossus, looming over her, and he seemed to own the very air around them. “I’ve got a lot to offer.”
    Beatrice swallowed. Right in front of her, he was still aroused and he did indeed have a lot to offer. She stared at his groin from beneath lowered lashes, then back up at his face.
    “You’re a tempting woman. Far too tempting.” He reached down and cupped her face, and for a moment she thought he was going to draw her lips to him. Perhaps rapidly unbutton his trousers and offer his cock to her, as Ambrose Chamfleur had done to his Sofia.
    “And that tempts me too, Miss Weatherly.” Ritchie laughed softly as if he’d read the lewd visions in her mind. Was he some kind of mentalist, with supernatural powers?
    Shaking, Beatrice turned away. If he could read her visions, he could read her desires too. And know that she’d wanted to caress him in that way, and that she’d almost reached out to unfasten his trousers.
    I’m going completely mad. I’ve known the man barely more than an hour…and he’s turned me into a jezebel and a slave to carnal appetites.
    His fingers curved around her cheek. The touch was as soft as thistledown, but no force was needed. Like a cat hungry for affection again, she rubbed her face against his palm, and when he pressed a little more firmly, it was the simplest matter in the world to follow his urgings.
    Beatrice laid her face against the front of his trousers, blindly seeking tangible evidence of his maleness.
    Through the fine cloth, he felt