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Miss Raines.”
    â€œNo, you’re a model of decorum,” she said dryly.
    â€œNot always. As I hope you’ll allow me to demonstrate.” He hesitated. The answer to his next question was more important than he’d have believed possible a day ago. An hour ago, even. “Tomorrow?”
    When she looked at him, her face was vivid with challenge. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter 3
    O livia rounded the turn in the elaborately carved staircase and looked down into the hall. It was night and Lord Erith had just arrived at the lovely little house he’d taken for her near Regent’s Park.
    The earl stood below her, his feet planted square on the black and white tiles. He certainly was a handsome devil. Lamplight gleamed across his thick dark hair as he passed hat and cane to the butler.
    He looked splendid in his evening dress. Black coat and trousers, a crisp white shirt, a high neckcloth. The scrolls of embroidery on his gray silk waistcoat shone in the soft light. When he glanced to where she hovered above him in the shadows, his eyes glittered silvery hunger.
    â€œOlivia.” The bass baritone rumble conveyed gloating satisfaction.
    She read ownership in his stance. Ownership of the house. Ownership of her. Resentment made her raise her chin even as her belly churned with nerves.
    Curse this uncertainty. She needed to remember who she was, who he was. Erith was only a man. Nothing would happen tonight that hadn’t happened before. Once the old, banal dance started, surely she’d find her pattern, follow the steps that were second nature. Nevertheless, her hand tightened on the banister rail until her knuckles shone white.
    The butler discreetly withdrew, leaving them alone. She fought to steady her voice. “My lord.”
    â€œI’m sorry I’m late. A family crisis.”
    The apology surprised her. After all, he paid her to await his convenience. “No matter.”
    She stood poised above him like Juliet speaking to her Romeo from the balcony. The fugitive thought left a sour taste in her mouth. Neither she nor Lord Erith was young or innocent or passionate.
    Or in love.
    Real love between a man and a woman was as unreal as Perry’s randy painted gods. Years of servicing her patrons had taught her that.
    His stare remained unwavering upon her. That hot gaze licked across her skin like living flame. He vibrated with unspoken desire. She was wrong to say he lacked passion. He could claim passion, or at least its earthiest variant. She’d seen that intent look on men’s faces too often to mistake it.
    Desperately, she sought the still, calm center that bolstered her when she entertained her lovers. She was appalled that it wasn’t there. Instead, she was a roiling mass of fear and anxiety. Her palm became slick as it flattened on the polished mahogany.
    Perhaps his unwelcome kisses had made her jumpy. They’d certainly inspired bad dreams last night from which she’d woken trembling and bathed in sweat.
    Perhaps she was off-balance because she hadn’t taken a lover for months. The intervals between her liaisons had steadily lengthened. The world interpreted her fastidiousness as an attempt to push up her price, but in reality it wasnothing so calculated. As the years passed, she found having a man in her bed less and less palatable.
    It might be time the great Olivia Raines relinquished her self-appointed crusade against the male sex. She had money, and Lord knew she was weary of this empty life. Weary to the bone.
    But first she had to get through tonight, keeping her reputation for cold allure intact. Then the nights that followed, until she could discard Lord Erith on her own terms.
    Retirement from this stale game might beckon, but by God, she’d end her career in triumph. She wouldn’t sneak away like a whipped dog. She’d claim one last victory over a lover then vanish in a blaze of glory. Her pride would accept nothing