But the fog conspired against me. Come dawn, I found Belle prancing outside the rough lean-to, so skittish I could hardly hitch up the wagon. Had she spent the night pawing and tossing her head, rather than resting inside the makeshift stable? The white mist hung so heavily, I strained to see her haunches ahead of me as she lurched along the road, her eyes wide and her ears pinned back, as though something in the woods was upsetting her terribly. Finally it came too close, and Belle bolted. When she shot forward, we went careening down the rough road until she snapped the old traces and broke free.

Her startled cries got lost in the fog. I gripped the seat, praying the wagon wouldn't fly over the edge, for I'd traveled this stretch often enough to know that the boulder-strewn chasms on either side would be the death of me. Certainly the end of my cameras and glass negatives.

I came to a sudden stop, crossways. When my pulse settled, I figured I was at least a mile from anywhere. Even if I found Belle, I couldn't hitch her up again until my reins got repaired. So I stepped back into the wooden wagon that served as my home, and tucked my Bible, and Mama's handkerchief, and my only ambrotype of her into my valise--just in case I found souls in need of a sitting--and I set off through the fog. It seemed I had no choice now but to reneg on last night's promise: I had to earn the rest of Dr. Graves's fee so I could buy new reins, and maybe a horse, as well.

With the white mist whirling around me I, too, had the feeling I was being watched. I walked along as quickly as I could, listening for oncoming wagons, but I seemed to be the only fool out on this ominous morning. Gradually, however, as the Gold Camp Road meandered through the rocky foothills, flanked by trees whose bonelike branches seemed to reach for me, I could see the edge of town.The fog was lifting, although the sun was still a very washed-out yellow ball God had tossed behind the cloud cover.

I came upon a large house I'd often passed--civilization, even if I didn't know who lived there! I needed to talk to someone about fetching my wagon into town, so I strolled up the driveway. It wasn't a fancy residence, but it stood two stories high, with flower boxes at the windows and a verandah wrapping around its sides. Cozy, like arms hugging a home I'd always longed to live in.

What I heard next gave me pause, however.

"You call that a cock? That piddly little thing?" a siren voice cried out. "Why, that's the poorest excuse for a prick I've ever seen!"

I then heard a smacking sound followed by a moan. At the side of the house stood a red-haired woman dressed in the oddest costume I'd ever seen--a black corset it was, but it looked to be made of leather and it left her bare breasts bulging out. Her patterned stockings were held up by black straps that bisected her white thighs.The moans were coming from a blonde fellow leaning over the porch rail, and he wasn't wearing anything at all--except an expression of acute agony when the woman's riding crop whacked him across the bottom.

"You're a waste of my time, little man!" the virago proclaimed, and she landed another lash across pale moons that blushed like ripe peaches. "If you can't do better than this, I'll have to charge you double!"

I gripped the handle of my valise, thinking I should slip back up to the road and keep walking. The woman took a drag of her little cheroot and paced, her boots thumping purposefully on the porch floor as she surveyed her victim. I noted then that she wore a slender black mask over her eyes--and nothing under that corset, so the patch of fur beneath it was clearly visible.

"Let me see it!" she commanded.

The man raised up and turned to her. Why didn't he just scurry away? I wondered. But she looked between his legs and shoved him back over the railing with his butt up in the air.

"You know your problem, Aaron? You're way too pretty," she declared, accenting her pronouncement with crisp flicks of that whip on his flushed flesh. "I bet you made the young girls jealous, with those long lashes and that shiny blonde hair of yours! And I bet you were hiding behind your mama's skirts until you were twenty! Weren't you?"

"I--I--"

Smack, went the leather flap across his ass, and he yelped like a whipped puppy. A deliriously happy one.

"On your knees! All the way down!" the bitch in black commanded, pointing with her cheroot. "On your elbows, you pansy! Stick that ass in the air and take the punishment you deserve."

I got quite a view from where I stood, for the man pointed his backside at me--stuck it up in the air as though he craved such humiliation! His cheeks were smooth and white, crisscrossed now by stripes of pink that rivaled a sunrise, and his sac hung suspended between his slightly-parted legs.

"Spread 'em!" the vixen cried, kicking his knees farther apart. The crop landed on his privates, and I cringed in sympathy. It was almost more than I could watch, yet the blonde man's moans and pleas for mercy sounded almost...ecstatic.

"Where have you been, by the way? Have you been jerking yourself off instead of coming to see Katy?" the woman demanded, lifting his chin so he had to look at her. "What have I told you about spanking that monkey?"

"I--I could go blind," he wheezed, gingerly turning his face away.

"And it's happening, isn't it? Can't see courting a nice young woman, when the married ones are so damn grateful and safe!" Smack, went her crop across his backside. "Why, I bet you'd suck yourself if you could!"

"Wouldn't you?" he retorted. "Best way to get what you really want!"

"Enough of your sass!" his tormentor cried. "Stand up! Look at you--still not worth my time!"

She then crossed her arms, which made her ample breasts heave out above the stays of her corset. She tapped her black boot impatiently. "Are you going to have to pump yourself up, Aaron? Do I have to watch, to make sure you do that right, too?"

To my utter amazement, the man had grabbed his pizzle and was rubbing it rapidly, up and down, with firm, frenetic strokes. The sight of his masked tormentor seemed to inspire him. As he stared raptly at her breasts, which bobbed which each tap of her foot, the shaft in his hand shot up like a telescope.

"You're absolutely right, Miss Katy," he rasped, his whole body shaking now. "Without your love, why--I'd be nothing! I'd be--I'd--oh, God--"

"Don't you dare shoot off on my stockings!" Miss Katy ordered, brandishing her little cigar.

The man turned abruptly, and with a grimace that seemed to hail all the way from his toes, he shot a torrent of cream over the verandah railing. It glinted in the morning light, and another burst followed it, along with a victorious cry of joy. "Thank you!" he gasped. "Thank you so--"

"Clean that dribble off the rail and get out of my sight," she replied stiffly. "No lotion today. You've been a pain in the ass again, Aaron."

"You're the most wonderful--how can I even repay you?" he gushed, and then he grabbed her up in a hug.

She bussed him lightly on the lips. "You know where my tip jar is."

It seemed a good time to leave, before either of them caught me gawking. Yet something told me that if this woman knew Dr. Graves, she would give me an honest assessment of him. She directed her blonde toward the back of the house, and then followed him inside, so I seated myself in one of the front verandah's wicker chairs. Better to have my questions ready than to approach a woman of such volatile temperament unprepared.

I pulled the letter from the pocket of my dress. The vellum was creased into a grid from numerous readings, but the script remained bold and black.

Dear Miss Caine, Dr. Graves began, I would greatly appreciate your help in summoning the spirit of my dear departed wife, who passed from this world some eight months ago. I wouldn't ordinarily consult a medium, but Ravenna sat at one of your seances a few years ago, so would be inclined to respond to you.

I'll await you in my office on Cascade Avenue, on April 26th. Please come alone, and keep this matter in strictest confidence. Accept this advance against your fee as a token of my sincerest gratitude. Until we meet--Dr. Ferral Graves.

I sighed, torn between the plea of a grieving husband and what I'd heard from my host last night. I didn't remember Ravenna Graves, as I'd consulted with hundreds of people, in groups and private sessions, since she'd come to see me. The doctor was correct however: spirits attuned to mediums were more likely to cooperate, just as my live participants gained the comfort and answers they sought if they believed in my abilities.

But if Ferral Graves had kept the method of his wife's death from me, what other pertinent details had he failed to mention? And how much store could I put in information from a man who'd licked me senseless and then slipped away in the night?

"I hope you're looking for work, honey. I've got some gentlemen coming this afternoon who'd eat you up."

I blinked in surprise, and looked over my shoulder to see the woman in black leaning out the parlor window, which was behind me. From this angle, I was looking directly into her plump ivory breasts, which she'd coaxed back into her corset. She flicked her cheroot ash as though totally unconcerned about what I might be looking at, and slipped off the slender black mask.

"Katy DeShay," she said, extending her hand. "And I meant what I said. These Englishmen go for tender young lasses with your faraway, innocent look. It'd be worth your while to give it a go."

"I--thank you, but no," I replied in a flustered gasp. I knew what she was now, and I shifted back in the chair so I could look her in the eye instead of down into her cleavage. "I've lost my horse and had to leave my wagon on the road, so I'm wondering if you could help me find--"

"Couldn't help noticing your note from Ferral Graves," she cut in coyly. "He a friend of yours?"

No point in challenging her right to read over my shoulder while I'd been lost in thought. Her tone suggested Dr. Graves was indeed a friend of hers, however. "I take it you know him?"

"Not a kinder soul on the face of this earth," she clucked, and then the ash of her cheroot glowed red as she drew deeply. "Not himself since his wife died, though. And who can blame him?"

"Apparently some do. I've heard rumors he--"

"Well, that's hogwash! Ferral would no more've hurt Ravenna than he'd murder me!" Her brown eyes flashed as she leaned closer, blowing smoke through her nose. "Whoever started that story knows nothing about the ways of a man and his woman. And I happen to know Ferral couldn't have killed her, because he was here the day she died. And nobody leaves Katy DeShay's without feeling all's right with the world, understand me?"

I nodded quickly, rather glad she didn't have that whip in her hand. Her protective manner toward Graves was an interesting contrast to the story I'd heard last night, so I prompted her to fill the silence with any confidences she cared to share. People trusted my plain face and quiet smile, so I'd learned to wait them out.

"Ravenna was a lovely thing, but of an artistic temperament," Katy continued in a gentler voice. "I'm thinking she threatened to throw herself off the widow's walk of her studio, just to scare the bejesus out of Ferral--to get his attention--but her plan backfired. Helluva sad story, isn't it?"

"Oh, my." As these images flashed through my mind, I felt sorry for Graves--to the point I decided without reservation to conduct his seance. But why had that man last night implied the doctor murdered his wife?

"So you're Caressa Caine? The famous medium?" Katy's rising voice cut into my thoughts. Her face lit up like Christmas, not the least bit ashamed for having read my letter. "Well I'll be--this is a step forward, Ferral's inviting you here! High time he put Ravenna's death behind him and got on with his life."

She lowered her eyelids then, studying me furtively. "So tell me, then. Is Caressa Caine your real name?"

I sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid my mother wasn't thinking about--"

"Damn, I wish I'd thought of it! Caress a cane! Certainly suits, don't you think?" She laughed out loud, making her kohled eyes crinkle at the edges and her lush breasts quiver with her mirth. "But you've got things to see to, and here I stand jawing as though I didn't have the Nichols twins waiting for me upstairs. And if it's a ride you're wanting--"

She turned sideways into the parlor and hollered, "Aaron! This young lady needs to see Dr. Graves. Get a move on, and maybe--maybe-- Miss Katy'll tie you to her bed next time!"

The madam turned back to me then, smiling as though I were her new best friend. "And I'll have the twins fetch your wagon into town, and find your horse for you, Miss Caine. Anyone who's a friend of Ferral's is a friend of mine."

"Why--thank you, but I hate to trouble Mister--"

"Aaron? He lives to serve, honey," she said, rolling those sparkling eyes. "And besides, his apartment's in the brick building right next to the doctor's, upstairs from where Ravenna had her gallery. Always one to take in strays, that Ferral. I'm guessing Mr. Lovejoy owes him a few favors, anyway."

When I heard footsteps coming around the verandah, I folded my letter into my pocket and stood to go. "Thank you so much, Miss DeShay, I--"

"That'll be Katy to you, dear."

"--truly appreciate all your help." I gave her my best smile, despite her looking me over as though still considering me for those Englishmen. "I'll do my very best for Dr. Graves. I believe my gift of contacting the spirit realm was meant to be shared--to bring peace and comfort to those who request my help."

Miss DeShay was about to reply when a beautifully-modulated male voice cut her off. "Peace and comfort are the last things Graves will ask of you, dear lady. It's your snatch he'll be after."

My jaw dropped at his impertinence--and because I now recognized him. Was this the man who'd groveled at Miss DeShay's feet, begging for the whip? At close range, Mr. Lovejoy presented the most flawless face I'd ever seen, appearing as cosmopolitan as a gentleman from the Continent while as romantically Byronic as the characters he portrayed. He wore a poet's shirt of cream-colored silk, tucked into trim-cut trousers and topped with a colorful tapestry vest. It was no wonder women the world over swooned when he stepped onstage.

He brushed his boyish blonde hair back from his forehead, a hint of condescension in his smile. "Pleased to be of service, miss," he then said, extending his hand. "Aaron Lovejoy, the Shakespearean actor and opera singer."

"Caressa Caine," I replied. "The medium and advisor of the spirit realm."

Once in a while I get a jolt from the blue, and the moment Lovejoy kissed my fingertips I knew this exquisite man was a fiend in fine clothing. I gasped with the sheer force of this premonition, which the singer took as an expression of my awe.

"The Caressa Caine?" he fawned. "Why, I attended one of your public seances a few years ago! Ravenna and I were overwhelmed by your ability to commune with the departed--or at least pass it off as such. Truly a pleasure to meet another performer of my ilk, Miss Caine. That happens so seldom here in the Springs."

I didn't know whether to laugh or vomit or slap him. Since Miss DeShay was observing our exchange with interest, and had arranged for this man to escort me into town, I chose to behave as it behooves any recognizable figure moving among her public.

"Why thank you, sir," I said with my nicest smile. "You're too kind. Really."

"Home, James," the handsome blonde instructed as he stepped into his carriage behind me. "Then it's to the Graves estate."

As he lit gingerly on the edge of the opposite seat, I scowled. "Perhaps I wasn't clear, Mr. Lovejoy. I need to go to the doctor's office to meet him."

"He's not there. Hasn't kept hours since his wife died."

Odd that Miss Katy didn't mention this. Odder still that Dr. Graves had specified this location in his letter, if he didn't intend to meet me there. "I still think we should try--"

"Why don't you like me, Miss Caine?"

There it was, as direct a question as anyone could ask. He focused intense tawny eyes on mine as he fidgeted to find a comfortable spot on the rich, claret-colored leather--no doubt because his backside was afire from that lashing. I didn't let on that I'd watched, however. I simply returned his gaze with all the sincerity I could muster.

"Your opinion of yourself is high enough that I doubt you require mine."

The silence hung between us then, like dark clouds heavy with rain. With only the clip-clopping of the horse's hooves and the popping of gravel beneath the carriage wheels, time stopped inside the well-appointed carriage. The actor glanced at my valise, then let his gaze meander up from my scuffed shoes to my old cloak before resting on my face. I felt like a poor relation being escorted to the home of a benefactor--and I'd had too many years of feeling obligated to Uncle Ludlow to accept that burden from the arrogant blonde across from me.

"Please just drop me in town," I insisted. "When Miss Katy volunteered you as my transportation, I didn't intend to inconvenience you."

"You're not. Ferral's an old friend, and I owe him a visit." Lovejoy shifted again, trying not to betray his pain. "I haven't seen him for weeks. So naturally, I'm curious about why he's summoned you, Miss Caine. Everyone knows he drove Ravenna to her death! She worshipped that man, and his insensitive accusations--his mean-spirited treatment of her--plunged the dagger of desperation into her heart!"

Here was the third person to express an opinion of Ferral Graves, and a third assessment of Ravenna's death! Suicide, was it? Aaron Lovejoy was warming to his subject, looking ready to put a theatrical spin on every sentence now. Instinct urged me to be rid of this egotist, to pursue my purpose with Dr. Graves on my own terms. But my escort had his own ideas.

"I'm taking you to Raven Crest, Caressa," he continued, gesturing eloquently, "because if Graves wanted you to summon his wife's spirit from his office, he's afraid of what Ravenna would reveal to you in her own home. You don't impress me as a woman who would sidestep the truth as only his wife could tell it."

I was about to refute his idea that the spirits gave more accurate revelations when summoned from their earthly homes, but the carriage halted before twin brick buildings. We'd arrived in town, and Mr. Lovejoy was opening the door.

"Wait here. I'll only be a moment."

This renowned personality was accustomed to giving orders, and I was the type to defy them. So when he'd climbed the stairs to an upstairs door of the building on the right, I slipped out of the carriage for a look around. We were on a busy street lined with impressive homes--Cascade Avenue, I was guessing--and Katy's description had me walking quickly to the front entrance of the other brick two-story.

Sure enough, the plaque read, DR. FERRAL GRAVES, GENERAL PRACTICE, SPECIALIZING IN DISEASES OF THE SKIN. The intricate spider's web in the corner of the door confirmed that he hadn't opened it in quite awhile.

Was there a back entry, off the alley where Lovejoy took the stairs? When I looked up to see if the singer was returning, I became aware of opera music swelling from his open door--a bold, glorious voice I knew to be Lovejoy's even though I couldn't afford his concerts. The song stopped abruptly. Then the poetic blonde stepped onto his landing and closed his door, watching me speculatively as he descended the stairs.

"I leave my Victrola playing when I'm out," he explained. "If people think I'm practicing for a performance, they don't pester me. You know how it is. When the masses get curious about your private life, you no longer have one."

Then he nodded toward the doctor's door, raising a superior eyebrow. "Seeing is believing, eh?"

"And believing is seeing."

I let him chew on that one as we walked toward his carriage. It had occurred to me that going to Raven Crest--the mausoleum last night's host had warned me away from--would show me a great deal about Dr. Graves, and allow me to decide for myself how his wife died. And why.

And, much as I didn't like spending time with this man, who cupped my backside as I stepped into his carriage, the ride would also allow me to glean more details about the doctor--not to mention this "old friend" who blamed him for his wife's demise. When we got rolling again, I widened my eyes without being obvious about my motive.

"I sense you know a lot about Ferral and his wife. From a different perspective than Katy DeShay gave me."

His golden eyes flashed with the haughty affirmation of those whose opinion has been asked. "Truth be told, Ravenna never should have married Ferral Graves! She was young and impressionable. Feeling beholden to him for taking her under his wing. How could she have known what a monster he really was?"

"That doesn't mean she didn't love him."

"Oh, she loved him--my God, she worshipped the man!" he gushed. "And how did he repay her affections? By going on safari for weeks at a time! Ravenna Graves was the loveliest woman I've ever known, and the loneliest. Such a needless tragedy, her death."

He leaned forward then, and the face that graced advertising circulars around the world narrowed slyly. "If you expect me to elaborate, Caressa, you'll have to trade me favors. Seems only fair, since you watched while Katy brought me off. I usually get paid to perform, you know."

"Wh-whatever do you mean?" I breathed, my heart skittering. He was looking as predatory as my nameless host at the cabin, but something about Aaron Lovejoy's aura made me much more uncomfortable about it.

"I saw you staring at my bare ass! Watching the crop leave its stripes!" he accused. "So the least you can do is bare yours! Do you want a spanking?"

"NO! Why on God's earth would I want that?"

"Oh." He relaxed a bit. "If you have to ask that question, you wouldn't understand the answer. But if you expect me to escort you to Ferral's door--to be sure that insatiable bastard doesn't take immediate advantage of you--you'll give me payment in kind. An eye for an eye...a cheek for a cheek."

There was that description of Graves again--insatiable. And while something about the term made me tingle in places I wouldn't tell my escort about, I sensed I'd learn nothing more about the doctor or his circumstances if I didn't do as Lovejoy asked.

"Come now, Caressa, don't be coy!" he said in a sinuous whisper. "Turn around and lean your elbows on the seat. Up with your skirts and down with your drawers. I just want to look."

I didn't believe him, but what could I do? We'd been rolling along and had left all signs of civilization behind, so I was clearly at his mercy. Slowly I slipped off my cloak, and slipped into the same mental haze as when Uncle Ludlow had been ordering me to do this very thing, and collecting miners' money for it. I pointed my posterior at him, raised my dress without ceremony, and tugged my threadbare drawers down my thighs.

"Spread your legs and arch your back. I want to see what Ferral's getting himself into. It's only a matter of time, you know."

Pressing my elbows into the claret leather, I prayed the singer wouldn't see the telltale bead of moisture poised to slither down my leg. To set myself more at ease I glanced out the window, where the morning sun created sharp contrasts between the peaks and valleys of the mountains. Rich periwinkle shadows rivaled the morning-glory blue of the sky, and spring flowers were popping out along the ridges.

"When I think what Ravenna might have painted, had she lived, it sickens me," he went on with a desolate sigh. I heard him fumbling his cock from his trousers. "She was only twenty-three--you'll see her when you enter the house, as Graves has hung her self-portrait on the first landing. Positively haunting, it is. For the life it commemorates, and the talent her death has deprived us of."

"A terrible waste," I agreed. He sounded like a lovesick fool, yet Aaron Lovejoy was a hotbed of information--not to mention the keeper of a few compelling secrets--so I wanted to learn as much as possible before he broke down completely. "What sort of life did she have before she took up with him?"

"She was destitute," he sighed, his pitch higher now. "Lost her mother to consumption when she was very young, and her father to a mine explosion. Began selling her miniatures, in oils and pastels, after he died. She was to the point of working in Miss Katy's whorehouse when Ferral saw her pictures and sent her to art school.Touch yourself, Caressa. Spread that wetness around your pussy lips."

Lovejoy's heavy breathing quickened, eclipsing his disgust. "She succumbed to him out of sheer gratitude--the bastard's twice her age!--and other men never stood a chance. At least he rescued her from a life of whoring."

I was feeling a kinship with Ravenna already...reacting to a man who nurtured her muse--and her body--in that inimitable way older men of experience had. But I wasn't letting on to the man panting behind me. Wasn't going to hint that such a rescue might turn my head, as well, for fear Lovejoy took it upon himself to save me from my fate at Raven Crest. No doubt the opera-singing actor had amassed a fortune on his world tours and could treat a woman very well. But something about him gave me the willies.

"Perhaps it's not such a good idea, taking you to Raven Crest," he mused aloud--and I wondered if he'd read my thoughts. "I greatly admire your stage presence, Miss Caine. Your...radiance bespeaks a true gift, when you commune with the spirits. But I recall a Ludlow Pratt."

Sensing where this might lead, I stuck my middle finger up my hole and began to pump with abandon.

Lovejoy moaned, and I could hear the quickening of his own strokes. "Why isn't he with you? Did Ferral request you come alone?"

Recalling the phrase in the letter about keeping this visit confidential, I realized anything I'd say to Lovejoy was a moot point--but that he might later come back at me for any lies I told. "Actually he did. Wants me to summon Ravenna's spirit without any...stage assistance. And since Uncle Ludlow died a few months ago, that's the way it would be anyway."

"You can do that? Without assistance?"

"It doesn't matter what you believe, does it?" I retorted, spreading my knees to distract him with a view of my wet petals. "Dr. Graves has invited me, and I've accepted. I'm sincerely grateful you've brought me, however, for I would never have found Raven Crest on my own."

"Show me how grateful," he replied slyly. "Lean lower. Reach around and part the halves of that pretty white ass, Caressa. Open your hole so I can watch it twitch."

I sucked air, wondering if he would spring up and fuck me now--with my dress pooled on the seat, I couldn't peek at him between my legs. Only the rhythmic creaking of leather told me he was sliding lower, engrossed in his own sensations as he continued.

"I'm seeing several parallels between you and the woman he drove to her death, and I'm hoping Ferral's not bent on some sort of madness here. Like Ravenna, you're young--lovely in a fresh, untainted way. You live by your instincts and depend upon others to provide for you, although your talents attract the masses.

"And you're far too trusting," he continued, his voice a rasp now. "You've agreed to conduct sittings for a man you've never met--alone. And if you've heard others say how unstable and vengeful he is, you've ignored their warnings."

I weighed this against what Katy and the man last night told me. "How do you mean, vengeful? I've heard various descriptions of Ferral Graves, but nothing to suggest vengeance."

"You've not heard the circumstances?"

"I'd never even heard of Dr. Graves before he invited me here."

Lovejoy's panting increased then, sounding damn near the desperation point. "Ravenna was with child--probably eight months along--when she leaped from the widow's walk outside her suite. Graves believes the baby was mine."

I let out a little yelp, cracking my knees against the seat. This explained much of Lovejoy's insolence, but was revealing another pattern, it seemed. Not knowing how to respond, I glanced out the window. Was it my imagination, or had the sun ducked behind a cloud? We traveled in the shadow of the mountains now, which rendered the carmine interior of the carriage a macabre shade of blood red. And when we rounded the bend in the rutted road, a huge stone home loomed before us.

"Oh my," I murmured, my heart pounding with my ominous thoughts. It seemed I'd gotten myself into more than one situation I couldn't escape

"Are you all right, Miss Caine? Forgive me for being so blunt. I thought surely you'd heard that Ravenna and I--"

"Is that Raven Crest?" I breathed.

Lovejoy rose and fitted himself against my bare backside, grunting when a wheel struck a rut. "Quite the monstrosity, isn't it? That Graves built such a medieval-looking fortress for his young bride should tell you something of his mental state, even then.That he named it for Ravenna is the ultimate insult to her beauty. Squeeze your thighs together. Now."

With his hands planted on my waist, I had little choice. His slender prick found the wet groove where my legs came together and he began to rock, seemingly content to remain outside me. For how long? To distract myself from the thought that I'd come this far with my maidenhead intact, only to lose it to Ravenna's jealous lover, I focused intently on the estate I was about enter

The structure loomed like an ancient castle, built against a backdrop of unforgiving terrain, high enough on the mountainside that its turrets pierced the incoming storm clouds. An aura of gloom shrouded the neglected grounds. Trees yet untouched by spring stood like skeletal sentries along the drive. We were rolling slowly past a spiked iron fence that separated the property from the barren landscape surrounding it. A vision of doom came to me--a young woman falling backwards into the chasm behind the house, her scream echoing between the peaks. I shivered, which only spurred Lovejoy on.

"I once asked Graves if he built this damn fence to keep intruders out, or Ravenna in," he remarked, his words punctuated with feverish pumps. "He didn't answer me. Never had much tolerance for other people's opinions or criticism, you see."

I had to agree that the black wrought iron, at least twelve feet high and topped with those wicked points, gave the whole estate a prisonlike atmosphere. When the driver dismounted to open the double gates, they protested with an unearthly squeal. Their large, circular insets boasted ravens facing each other, with wings poised as though ready to fly--although my fertile imagination painted them as vultures scouting for prey. I was half hoping the man humping me would suggest we return to town, but he was intent on his own satisfaction now.

So we rolled between those iron ravens, toward my first encounter with a doctor I was beginning to dread. Reminding myself that I'd survived my uncle's threats and overbearing attitude for years gave me no further courage: Ludlow Pratt had his bad points, but he couldn't wield his wealth the way Ferral Graves could. And he hadn't supposedly killed his wife.

The wheels clattered over the cobblestones, taking us between those leafless trees. Like a man possessed, Aaron Lovejoy drove his shaft against the underside of my slit. When we pulled up in front of the gray stone entryway he suddenly stepped back, and with a melodious groan, he climaxed. Hot seed splattered against my crack, and without missing a beat he yanked his pants up.

Since I heard James coming around to the door, I quickly did the same, feeling the ooze of his jism sliding between my thighs. When the door opened, a gust of wind caught it and then whistled inside to chill us.

"I swear this place is haunted. Even before Ravenna's death, I thought so," Lovejoy muttered. "Let's hope his damn Geisha lets us in before we get drenched. Subi's even less hospitable than her master."

He stepped to the ground and opened his arms, supporting me with hands that spanned my waist and seemed intent on staying there. Why Aaron Lovejoy was interested in me, I didn't know. With his fame and fortune, he could've had any woman in the world.

But it was too late to question his behavior. As the first splats of rain splashed us, he steered me under the arched stone entryway and toward the massive double doors of the mansion. Again I had the sense of being trapped, at the mercy of whoever opened the door--or the man who gripped my arm--even though Lovejoy had asked James to wait.

My escort knocked, and then we listened for footsteps. My mouth went dry and my pulse pounded. I gripped my valise, like a poor waif forced by fate into the clutches of the unknown--wishing desperately that I'd had a chance to wipe myself. My bloomers were soaked, and from beneath my cloak I caught the reek of Lovejoy's seed.

Lovejoy knocked again, muttering something about that Japanese whore hovering in the bowels of the house. Then, on impulse, he scooted a wooden bench from the side wall and used it as a stool, so he could peer through the high glass window in the door. He chuckled, pulling me up beside him.

"Well, Miss Caine, it's our lucky day!" he said in a gleeful whisper. "Not only is Ferral home, but he's humping his housekeeper. Right here on the stairs!"