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assistance. Chuckling softly, she walked toward the phaeton, leaving him to clean up the remains of their picnic and everything else he’d mucked up.
     
    Thomas arrived at the lady’s house at the time they’d agreed on. Two in the afternoon seemed an odd time for wicked fantasies, but perhaps she had plans for the evening. The less he dwelled on that possibility, the better.
    She answered the door herself wearing a dressing gown. Knowing her, she might have nothing at all on underneath it.
    “Does your staff see you that way all the time?” he asked.
    She closed the door behind her. “Disagreeable already, Mr. Boulton?”
    “I’m very sorry.”
    “Your tone says you’re not.” She took his hat. “I gave everyone the afternoon off.”
    At least, none of her servants could catch a glimpse of his humiliation. All night, he’d lay in bed imagining what she had in store for him. With her penchant for doing what she wished and taking no prisoners, he might expect anything. He had his honor. He paid his bets. He’d pay this one.
    “This way.” She turned and led him into a formal drawing room. Quite opulent and furnished in the latest styles, but not the least bit scandalous.
    She dropped his hat on a table and pointed to a settee. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
    He sat and watched as she went to a sideboard and picked up a decanter. “Sherry?”
    “I’d prefer whiskey, if you have it.”
    “I do.” She poured for both of them and then joined him, finally handing him his drink. She lifted her own glass in a toast. “To good sports.”
    They drank. He took rather too much of his liquor, and though it proved excellent, it burned going down.
    She crossed her legs in a frankly provocative manner. Her slipper fell from her bare foot, and a naked ankle and lower calf appeared from under the hem of her gown. She proceeded to dip her toes under his pants and ease them up over his calf. No woman had ever acted so casual in her audacity toward him. The gesture tugged at a Puritanical streak he hadn’t known he had. Priapus loved it, though, and began to thicken.
    He shifted in his seat. “Are you going to tell me what plans you’ve made for me today?”
    She sipped at her sherry and studied him over the rim of her glass. “My plans center around myself. Remember, this is my fantasy.”
    “I could hardly forget.” All sorts of possibilities had kept him awake for most of the night. Would she tie him up and torment his cock again? Perhaps, she’d add another man for her pleasure. A big, strapping fellow with large hands. One of her footmen, so he’d have to perform in front of a servant. On the other hand, what about a lady’s maid? She could order him to watch them gamahuche each other. Damn, his rod really liked that idea, and it grew as hard as steel in his pants. He tried moving again, but no matter what position he tried, he couldn’t find any comfort.
    Her toes inched farther up his leg to the back of his knee. Who would have thought that spot could be so erotic?
    “I want you to spank me,” she said.
    He almost dropped his whiskey. Some of it did slosh down his front. “I beg your pardon.”
    “That’s expensive Irish.” She glanced at the front of his pants. “Would you like me to lick it off you?”
    “My good woman, don’t change the subject.” Blast it all, now he was sounding like a prude as well as feeling like one. “Did you say you wanted me to spank you?”
    “Oh, good, you did understand.” She gave him a smile the cat might give the mouse before it pounced. “You never really know if American English translates.”
    “I won’t do it.” No matter how splendid an idea Long Tom thought the image was.
    “I won our bet. You have to give me my darkest fantasy.”
    “I don’t hit women.”
    She gave him a pout that wouldn’t convince the most gullible of men. “Even if I asked you to?”
    “A man who uses violence against a woman is no gentleman.”
    She leaned toward