Francis chewed her lip, twisting the ends of her shawl in her hands. Her fingers clenched around a tassel, and she tugged at it so hard that it broke off. The gloating look on Mr White’s face had incited her beyond bearing. Robert had left her the ring as his parting gift. She would rather die than let his precious keepsake end in the hands of a cutpurse.

Francis waited, crouching in the shadows, until she thought she heard the sound of snoring. Her joints were stiff when she stood upright again. Moving out of the shadows, she peered into the darkened room. The fire was still blazing in the grate, and she saw Mr White lying, with his eyes closed, in his bed. She trembled at the thought of what she would have to do. She was going to break into the room of a strange gentleman, risking her reputation, even her safety, to steal back her jewel. But Mr White had left her no choice. Francis dug her nails into her palms. She wasn’t going to let the Panchamaabhuta go without a fight.

She tugged at the window, which gave with a rasping sound. Did none of the windows have locks in this forsaken inn? Holding her breath, Francis pushed the window up and hoisted herself through it. It was a struggle, but years of arduous travel had put a fair amount of strength in her wiry arms. She lowered herself to the floor. She had done it. She was actually inside.

The crackling fire shed a dim light around the room. She darted an anxious glance at the man on the bed, wondering if all her noise had woken him. All she heard was the steady sound of snoring. Chuckling to herself, she crept towards him, imagining his look of chagrin when he woke and discovered his booty was gone. He lay under a white coverlet, and she looked him over with cautious interest. In sleep, he looked more like a boy than a man. The strong planes of his face had relaxed. His tousled blond hair gave him an innocent look. Mr White stirred, muttering to himself. Francis knew she had to act now, and quickly.

Perching on the edge of the bed, she tugged down his coverlet to reveal his right hand. She was trembling when she reached out for the ring. He stirred, moving his hand out of reach. With a deep breath, Francis seized it in hers. His fingers were warm and the hair on the back of his hands felt rough against her palm. A flutter ran through her at the contact. Francis pulled at the ruby, and then sucked in her breath. The Panchamaabhuta seemed to be glued to Mr White’s index finger. She would have to use all her strength to take it off. Little goosebumps stood out on Francis’ arms. The smallest touch or sound might waken him. She darted a glance at Mr White’s face, but his expression was as peaceful as before. Francis curled her nails around the square-cut ruby, trying to advance it towards the tip of his finger. Suddenly, Mr White turned his head. His catlike eyes, awake and fiery, stared into hers.

“So you’ve come back for more.” Throwing off his bedclothes, he dived for her.

Francis scampered away with a frightened squeak. Moving with a speed born of sheer terror, she raced to the window.

He reached it at the same time. Blocking her escape, he seized her wrist in a firm clasp. “We have a score to settle, you and I.” He loomed over her, and Francis stared at his hairy chest. He was standing before her, naked as God made him.

Francis’ heart seemed to be jumping out of her bosom, but she was still able to think. Bringing her foot up, she came down with all her weight, crushing his bare toes beneath her boot. He let go of her with an agonized grunt. She leaped to the window, and pushed up on the pane of glass. As she started to hoist herself up, strong arms seized her from behind. She kicked at him, trying to free herself, but an irresistible force pulled her down to the floor. Francis writhed, kicking and panting, as they rolled across the floor. She landed on top and scratched viciously at his face. He cursed and slapped her. Francis hardly felt the stinging pain on her cheek. Her heart was pounding, and a surge of fierce triumph shot through her. After two years of slow, burning rage at Robert’s death, now she had a human target to wreak her vengeance on. It wasn’t some nameless French soldier who had taken Robert from her. It was Mr White, who had violated her bond with her husband by stealing the ring.

“You bloody thieving bastard!” She hammered blows at his face. “How dare you? You miserable, mercenary wretch!” This time, her nail nicked the corner of his eye, drawing blood.

Cursing, he seized her wrists together in one hand, gripping her so hard that she cried out in pain. She wriggled, but he held her arms fast and pinned her writhing body against his chest with his other hand.

“Let me go!”

His grip tightened on her. Francis panted against his naked chest, feeling a hard button press into her cheek. Turning her head, she bit viciously into his nipple.

He gasped, and then seized her in an iron grip. A punishing hand pushed her head down, burying her face in his warm, muscular shoulder. Francis couldn’t move. She realized with a sinking feeling that she was in his power. She went limp against him, as the truth sank in. He wasn’t a French soldier; he was a common thief in a roadside inn. Even if she got the Panchamaabhuta back, Robert was lost for ever. Exhausted, she collapsed on to Mr White. Immediately, the painful pressure eased. He tilted her chin up, so that his luminous eyes bored into hers.

“You fight like a Bengal tiger,” he said. To her surprise, there was a chuckle in his voice.

“Give me my ruby,” Francis said.

“If you want it, you’ll have to give me something in return.” He gave her a hot look.

Francis was suddenly aware that although she was wearing a shawl over her nightgown, she had nothing on underneath. She could feel the heat of his limbs coiled beneath hers.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He flicked his hand at her, showing off the ruby. “I’m not asking for much. Just one kiss, willingly given.” His smouldering gaze raked her, and Francis realized that the position he held her in, sprawled on top of him, had been deliberate. He had let her take the superior position, giving him access to the most vulnerable parts of her.

“Why should I trust you?”

His lips stretched in a devilish grin. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He moved so she could feel his breath against her cheek, ruffling her hair. The gentle caress made her shiver.

He must have felt it, for he chuckled again. The low, purring sound, so close to her ear, only added to her giddy sense of danger.

“You’re actually enjoying this.” She glared at him.

In answer, he pushed down her hips, shifting her until she felt his erection press between her thighs. Trembling with a mixture of arousal and fear, Francis sat motionless astride him. His hungry jade eyes bored into hers with hypnotizing effect. Some part of her began to give in to his silent invitation, and then she forced herself to look away. She struggled to lift herself off his body, but he only let her move so far away before he pulled her astride him again. Their rocking motion, as she wriggled back and forth against his erection was highly arousing. Francis felt a betraying moisture dampen her nightgown, even as she struggled to get away. This time, when he thrust her down on top of him, he nipped at her ear, and then sucked her ear lobe into his mouth. It sent a tingle straight to her belly. Panting, Francis scratched his naked chest. He gave a deep moan. Then his mouth was on hers, fierce and hot. He plunged his tongue inside, sending currents of giddying sensation through her belly. Giving in to the pleasure, Francis surrendered to the hard pressure of his embrace. His heady taste, a mixture of man and brandy, made her senses swim.

He grunted, a low, guttural noise, then tangled his tongue with hers. Unwilling to relinquish all of her power, Francis pulled back and then stabbed her tongue between his lips, ravishing him as he had ravished her. She plundered his mouth until he twisted and panted beneath her. Enjoying her new sense of power, Francis scratched the buds of his nipples with her fingernails. He shuddered and she could feel the urgency of his arousal. He pushed her off him, panting, and then took her by surprise by flipping her on to her back. Before she knew what was happening, he had removed her shawl and then he ripped her nightgown, exposing her round, firm breasts to the cold. She gasped, and her nipples puckered in the slap of frigid air. He knelt over her, and she felt his hot breath on her sensitive skin.

“Say yes.” His voice was harsh against her ear.

Francis nodded, and he just barely touched her nipple with the tip of his tongue. She whimpered, but he hovered over her, teasing.

“I want to hear the words.”

The flickering movement of his warm breath against her skin made her wild. “Yes,” she whispered.

He lifted her up into him so that his knee was pressed into her groin. Francis gave a choked cry and dug her nails into his shoulders. Supporting her in his arms, he buried his face in her bosom. She moaned as he caressed her soft flesh with the fan of his cropped hair. Then, with a hungry look, he took one of her nipples into his mouth.

Francis cried out. He suckled her, his tongue circling the tight bud. She whimpered and moaned, waves of intense pleasure engulfing her. His tongue was warm and its teasing pressure sent shock waves to her core. Quivering, Francis tossed her head from side to side, giving in to the white-hot sensations building in her groin. The fire exploded and she bucked against him, screaming.

“Oh, God, yes, please. Oh, God,” she moaned. Her sex contracted against his knee, swamping her in blinding volleys of sensation. Then she collapsed, panting, against him.