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around his neck, she pulled him into her. She would be content to kiss for
an eternity but for the ache building within her. Her hand slid from his neck
to the slight opening of his shirt.
    Abruptly he whipped her around and pinned her backside
against him. The thickness of his desire pressed against her derriere. One arm
circled her chest, the other her pelvis. She could have melted into his
embrace. As he rained kisses along her neck, he groped a breast, kneading the
flesh through her dress. Her nipple puckered beneath his touch. She wanted his
other hand to pull up her skirts as he had done and fondle once more that most
sensitive of parts.
    “Select a word,” he murmured as he nipped her earlobe.
    “Pardon?”
    “A word that when uttered will halt whatever I do.”
    She pondered the reason behind the peculiar request as Rati
looked down upon them through half-lidded eyes.
    “My lord?”
    He brushed aside the stray strands of hair at her nape and
sucked upon her neck. “Select a word and you shall understand soon enough.”
    She noticed a faint smile upon the Hindu goddess. “Rati.”
    “I like your choice, Miss Herwood.”
    He pulled away from her. She looked at him, disappointed.
Had she not complied?
    Taking her by the hand, he led across the drawing room and,
pulling a key from his pocket, unlocked a door she had not noticed before.
    The room she entered was dark but for two bronze oil lamps
on either side of what appeared to be a low sleeping area comprised of large
plush pillows, a blood-red canopy with golden tassels and orange silk curtains.
It was beautiful, fit for an Indian princess. But as she widened her view, she
saw in the corner of the room a mattress adorned with only a stark white sheet.
The headboard was made of iron bars like those found in a gaol. On the wall
hung more implements one might find in a gaol or medieval dungeon—crops, whips,
shackles and ropes.
    “Do not fear,” Rockwell said. “All that you see is intended
for your pleasure.”
    “Pleasure?” she echoed in disbelief. “Are these the
teachings of Rati?”
    “No. For the sinful delights of flogging, one need look no
further than Fanny Hill .”
    She flushed at the thought and began to wonder if she needed
to flee.
    “I presume you have never been flogged for pleasure, Miss
Herwood.”
    “I have never been flogged for pleasure or otherwise,” she
protested.
    “We may or may not have the opportunity tonight.”
    Her eyes widened. “Your proposition made no mention of
such…errant…”
    “You asked for no specifics.”
    “What woman of sound mind could have guessed—”
    “I stated that I would take my pleasure of you. I promise
that you too will enjoy every moment.”
    He spoke without hauteur and she was tempted to believe the
sincerity in his tone. Needing some distance from him to process her thoughts,
she walked over to one wall and inspected a cat-o’-nine-tails. She touched the
leather tails. It was real and no mere plaything.
    “You have used this on other women?” she inquired.
    He walked up behind her. She tensed. His presence alone
could send her judgment scattering. Already her body responded as if being
called by sirens.
    “I have,” he replied.
    “And they did not dislike it?”
    “Quite the contrary.”
    She closed her eyes at his seductive voice. She wanted to
trust him.
    “Surely you can forgive my skepticism,” she resisted.
    “Have I not attended you with satisfaction?”
    He ran a finger up her bare arm and she could not quell a
shiver. How had her body become so sensitized to his touch?
    “What you require is beyond the norm,” she murmured.
    He rested his hand upon her shoulder, then gently began
rubbing away the tension.
    “I would not have invited you here if I did not think you
possessed a bold spirit. I shall do nothing you cannot bear. You have but to
utter your chosen word.”
    “Rati.”
    “Precisely. You may invoke it at any time. I would not have
provided you this safety