She crept along, smelling dust and stale air, trying to ignore the cobwebs. The passageway was narrow, barely a foot wider than her shoulders, and not more than six inches above her head. Not a good place for a claustrophobic person, she thought, glad she’d left the door open at her end.

The tunnel made a turn and then she was facing a blank wall. Not a Rembrandt or ancient diary in sight. But, when she played her flashlight over the wall, she saw the thin line of a doorway and a latch.

Without giving herself time to think, she pushed open the latch, and with it the door.

“Good God,” said George, standing in his shirt, underpants and socks beside his massive bed and looking startled, as well he might. A deep and comfy-looking armchair sat beside a fireplace, and by its side was a table, with a lamp illuminating a book. Obviously, the earl had been trying some prebedtime reading as well. No doubt for the same reason she had.

“George.”

“Ah,” he said, while she stood there with her mouth open and her eyes blinking. “I see you’ve found the passage.”

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she stood there. “I am so sorry,” she managed. “I had no idea it went anywhere. I mean, I accidentally found the knob thing and it opened a door and-”

“Naturally, you were curious,” he said with his usual well-bred ease, as though people wandered out of the walls and into his bedroom every day.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Come in. Would you like a drink?”

She felt so foolish standing there, half in the tunnel and half in his room, that she went all the way in. “No, thank you.”

There was a pause. He finished folding his trousers over a wooden stand by his bed. She watched him, fascinated. His boxers were blue and white striped, very genteel looking. He had great legs, muscular but not bulky, furred with brown hair. When he leaned over to put his trousers away the fabric pulled over his butt and her mouth went dry.

“Why is there a secret passage linking these rooms?”

He took a navy dressing gown from a hanger and slipped into it. “The eleventh earl is believed to have built it. For his mistress.”

“For his mistress.”

“Well, more than one, I fancy. In fact, for a hundred years or so, I think that was a fairly high-traffic thoroughfare.”

She stared at him, resisting the urge to smack him. “Three hundred and thirty-three rooms in this place and they put me in the earl’s mistress’s room?”

“Wiggins’ idea of a little joke, I imagine.”

“Well, it’s not funny.”

“No. Quite.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you know I was in that room?”

“Yes. I didn’t choose the room, but I heard that’s where they’d put you. Look, I wasn’t planning to come sneaking into your room in the middle of the night, you know. And I never thought you’d find the door. It’s damned difficult to do unless you know it’s there,” he said, sounding a little huffy. “I’ll have you moved in the morning.”

“That’s okay,” she said, deciding he was right and she’d only look like an idiot if she asked to move. Besides, she realized, flashing him the smile that very often got her what she wanted in life, “There are advantages.”

He glanced up, the sexy twinkle in his eye. “There are?”

“Yes. Unlimited access to you.”

“I like the sound of that.” He walked forward until he was close enough to touch her.

She looked up at him demurely from under her lashes. “For documentary purposes.”

He reached out and traced the vee of her pajama top, the smile already tilting his lips so she caught a flash of white teeth. “Is that all?”

Oh, what the hell, she thought. Fate had practically drawn her a map to his bedroom, taken her hand, and led her to his bed. “No,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck. “That is not all.”

She kissed him, surprising him while the smile was still on his lips. She felt it, the curve of lip, the hardness of teeth, and found herself smiling against him. This, she realized, was about as perfect as mixing business and pleasure got. No one would ever know.

Being an earl definitely had its privileges.

After the way she’d walked away so hot for him, and so unsatisfied, her libido roared from zero to the speed of light in the time it took their kiss to deepen.

Tongues tangled and stroked, hands stroked then grabbed, good manners and caution flew out the window, and all that was left were heat and need.

Her oh-so-proper some kind of distant cousin to the queen turned into a savage. He nipped at her, dragged her nightclothes off her with no subtlety at all, popping two buttons in his haste.

She didn’t care. She reveled in it. She wasn’t all that shy about exposing her body, but usually the first time involved a certain awareness that a guy who loved big breasts was going to be disappointed, and that her belly would be a lot flatter if she could stick to her running schedule when on location. She’d normally turn away from the lamp, maybe suck in her stomach a bit, but somehow, here with George, none of that entered her mind.

While he was dragging at her top, cursing his own clumsiness-and what had happened to the smoothie out there under the oak tree who’d buttoned her back up so efficiently?-she was pulling off the sash of the robe he’d only just put on. When she’d dragged it down and off his arms, she went to work on his shirt.

When he got frustrated, he tried to help her and more buttons flew.

Oh, his chest was so nice. Barely hairy at all, but surprisingly buff. Even his muscles were elegant, she thought. They weren’t so big you worried he’d bench-press you halfway through the act, or so small you knew the guy rarely picked up anything heavier than a teacup.

“You play sports,” she breathed,

“Tennis,” he agreed, pulling off one sock. “Polo,” as he pulled off the second and hopped on one foot to keep his balance.

Polo. Of course.

He pulled her against him so they were skin to skin, and her nipples had never felt so exquisitely sensitive as they did rubbing against his chest. The warmth and friction only reminded her that she needed a lot more warmth and a lot more friction, and soon.

Slipping lower, she hooked her thumbs around the waistband of his boxers and slid south, taking the garment with her.

“Oh my,” she breathed, when she found herself face-to-face with the probable reason the earls of Ponsford had always enjoyed such a reputation with women.

If what she was staring at was a dominant gene-and it sure as hell seemed like one-then money and position weren’t all the earls had had going for them.

She glanced up and the usually self-effacing George was grinning down at her, looking anything but. He enjoyed her surprise. This genteel, urbane, well-mannered aristo was hung like a moose.

He stepped out of his boxers and when she rose, she couldn’t resist the urge to cup him in her hands. Oh, he felt as good as he looked. Hard and velvety warm.

He liked to use his mouth, she discovered. Everywhere his hands went, he followed with his lips, his tongue. Until she was dizzy with the desire that kept on building, and he finally pushed back a surprisingly modern-looking bedspread and they tumbled into bed.

She was so hot by this time, so needy, that she couldn’t wait anymore. She wanted him, and now. And just as she was about to grab him and guide him to where she needed him most, an unwelcome realization swept over her. She hadn’t started down that tunnel with sex on her agenda.

“Um, I have to run back to my room for a second.”

“There’s a bathroom through there,” George said, leaning in and nipping at her shoulder.

“No.” She shook her head and whispered. “Condoms.”

“Ah, right. I’m sure I’ve got some.”

“You have?” She flopped back in relief.

“I’ll ring Wiggins. I’m sure we’ve got some somewhere.”