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for a gown, and tied to this bed all against my will?”
    “Do you really expect me to believe that?” Ashton thought it was just his wretched luck to experience his first taste of blind, hot lust for a woman who was beset by delusions.
    “Not really.” She sighed. “If you are offering me choices, might I choose to be untied now?”
    “In but a moment I will untie your ankles.” He began to encircle her long, slender neck with soft kisses and gentle nips. “I thought this a silly game but allowed my friends to push me into playing it.”
    “This is a game? What is it called?”
    “The Pagan Sacrifice game. Did they not tell you?”
    “No one told me anything. I did not realize that one played fanciful games in a brothel.”
    “A lot of games are played in brothels. I was never one to indulge in that. I have never been an imaginative man. Then I saw you. At that moment I realized that I did indeed possess a powerful imagination. My mind became crowded with ideas of how I would enjoy you, pleasure you. I realized I could do anything I wanted to. I intend to make you want it, too.”
    Penelope knew she was not herself when the heated images his words created in her mind were more exciting than alarming or shocking. She wondered if, somewhere in those many dreams she had had about this man, her thoughts had taken her far beyond kisses and sweet words of love. She did not recall anything particularly lascivious in her dreams but she had enough knowledge to have made them so. That would certainly explain why she woke up so many times all asweat and aching with a need she did not understand. Those dreams worked against her now, almost as much as Mrs. Cratchitt’s potion did.
    She shivered with pleasure so sharp it was almost painful when he covered her breast with a warm hand and slowly licked the space between her breasts. “Should you not kiss me first?”
    When he lifted his gaze from her breasts, Penelope caught her breath too quickly and nearly choked. It was as if she stared into the heart of a thundercloud. The gray of his eyes had darkened nearly to black and there was such heat in his gaze it warmed her skin. There was also the glint of amusement and curiosity. She had obviously just said something else that did not suit the role she was being forced to play.
    Such inconsistencies did not prompt him to ask any questions, though, she thought, and anger began to stir inside her. She knew enough about Lord Radmoor to know he was not some thick-witted dandy so it puzzled her that he would so blindly accept what a brothel madam had told him about her. It was not as if a woman who made her living selling other women was one a person should put much trust in. Like far too many people did, he simply accepted what he saw and used that to soothe away any doubts stirred by her words. Penelope wondered sadly how often that happened in such places, how often innocent girls and women were forced into this hellish life because no one asked questions and no one listened to them.
    Ashton saw the sadness in her beautiful eyes and gently framed her small, lovely face in his hands. He never kissed courtesans and whores, was even very sparing with his kisses with the rare widow or flirtatious wife who had favored him in the past. It was an idiosyncrasy others shared with him so it did not worry him too much. Despite the temptation of her soft, sensuous mouth, he had thought to hold fast to that rule, but the sadness in her eyes broke his resolve.
    He brushed his lips over hers and the warmth of them flowed through his body. “You taste so good.” Ashton hoped she could not hear the surprise in his voice, then wondered why he was so concerned about offering some insult. “You are a feast I could linger over for hours.”
    “My deepest apologies, sir, but I fear you shall have to step away from this banquet before you have had your fill. It would be best for your health.”
    Chapter Three
     

    Ashton tensed. He was not sure