She punched his arm. “It sounds the same!”

“It’s not. The ‘the’ at the end sounds rather like a ‘da’ when pronounced in German, but—”

“Oh, for the love of the five and forty virgins, just give it up! Call me Io. Yes, just the vowels, I know, you don’t need to point it out again. Nikola, you said?” Her nose wrinkled slightly as she thought. “Oh, with a k in the middle, like Tesla? That’s actually a pretty cool name.”

“Thank you,” he said gravely, making her a little bow. “Were my parents alive, I would pass along to them your appreciation of it. I do not know this Tesla, but I have not met all the people in the valley. Now, if you would be so good to tell me what you were doing running into Heinrich. Were you fleeing your proprietress? Or a customer?”

“A what, now?” Io winced as she continued to rub her forehead. “Man, I have the headache to end all headaches. What happened? Do I know you? You sound Austrian—are you one of Gretl’s friends?”

Nikola refused to notice what an endearing picture she made when she blinked up at him with those smoky, mysterious eyes.

He did not like mysterious people. They were often annoying. “I was born in Moravia, not Austria, although I have lived here from the time I reached my majority. For whom do you work?”

“No one, not anymore.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, gripping the blankets and wobbling just enough that Nikola put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from toppling over.

The feel of that tanned, freckled silken skin under his fingers made his blood tingle with desire. He told both his blood and his desire to cease acting inappropriately. He had better things to do with his time than stand here and touch this woman, his fingertips positively burning with the need to stroke that flesh, to lick it, to bite and drink his fill in the warmth that he was suddenly certain only she could bring him.

What the deuce was he thinking? He did not want to lick or bite or drink from this prostitute. He did not want to lay her in his bed and sate himself on her over and over and over again. He did not want to watch her eyes go dark with passion, or to feel her body tighten around him….

“Hey, are you all right? You look funny, like you’ve got a painful gas bubble or something.”

“Hrn?” With an effort, Nikola dragged his attention from the erotic mental images that gripped him, and blinked down at the woman. “Painful gas bubble?”

“My mother used to get them a lot. She said they were a real bitch when she was around others.”

He was aware of more horrified gasping from the servants and his daughter, but the amusement in the woman’s eyes seemed to hold him in thrall. Who was she? And, more important, why did she affect him so strongly?

“Mind you, she also had a tipped uterus, but I really don’t think that has anything to do with the matter.”

Had she cast some spell over him?

“And of course, that’s not a situation that would affect you, either.”

It had to be a spell. He’d never before reacted in such a manner to a woman.

“My mom used to say that drinking water helped a lot. The painful gas bubbles, that is, not the thing with her uterus.”

He would simply demand that she remove the spell. Once she knew that he was aware of her trickery, she would be ashamed and would take her desirable, tempting person away from him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

And then life would return to normal, and he could continue to be a martyr to his servants. He nodded to himself. That was what he’d do. He’d demand she remove the spell.

“Nikola?”

Io was asking him something. He rummaged around in his memory to find whatever it was she’d been babbling about. “No,” he finally said. “I am not afflicted by painful wind in bubble or any other form.”

“That’s always good to know,” she said pleasantly, a little smile curling the edges of her mouth. “So, anyway, I got fired from my last job by a boss who was Mr. Grabby Hands. Thanks, you can let go of me, I’m OK now. I was just a bit dizzy for a few seconds. Is Gretl here? I assume I had some sort of an accident, but I’ll be damned if I remember just what happened to me.”

He released his hold on her shoulders, stepping back a foot in order to better pin her with a look. “I wish for you to remove the spell you have cast upon me,” he told her with a firmness that he felt brooked no opposition.

“You want me to what?” Her forehead scrunched up, her nose wrinkling in such an adorable manner, it almost brought him to his knees.

More gasps sounded around the edges of the room, but this time they were less shocked and more fearful.

“She’s a witch!” he heard Frau Leiven cry. “She’s cast a spell on the baron! Where’s the witch finder? Someone get the witch finder!”

“Oh for the love of Mike,” Io said, peering around him to where the servants stood against the wall. “A witch? I’m not even remotely Wiccan.”

“Mike?” Nikola pounced on the word. “Who is this Mike? Is he your lover?” A sudden surge of hatred for this lover made his heart pound. He hated Mike. He had no idea who the man was, but he hated him with every morsel of his being. He had to curl his fingers into fists in order to keep from grabbing her and demanding to know where this wastrel, this Mike, was located.

Io was back to looking at him, as she should be, but he could have sworn there was real confusion in her eyes as she answered. “No. My last boyfriend’s name was Thomas, but he was a real dick, so I dumped him.”

“Dick?” How many lovers did she have? There must be limits, even for prostitutes. If nothing else, time must be a factor. If she serviced customers on average ten hours a day, at one hour per customer, with four days off per month, then that would make a yearly maximum of… He did the calculations in his head, didn’t like the answer, and decided his equation was faulty.

“Oh, sorry, it’s slang for—” She waved a hand toward the front of his breeches. “Penis.”

Instantly, he was hard.

More gasping ensued from the woodwork. “The witch speaks words of the devil!” Frau Leiven declared, her reedy voice ringing with righteousness. “She will bespell us all if she is not tortured to reveal the truth about her dark master, beheaded, and burned, her ashes scattered to the four quarters so she cannot resume life and bespell us all again.”

“Really? All that just for saying ‘penis’?” Io shook her head at the emotional woman. “I’d heard there were some uptight folks in this part of the world, but I thought it was all just a bunch of bullshi—er—hooey.”

“You will cease speaking of your many lovers in front of my daughter,” he said sternly.

“Many lovers? I’ve had exactly three boyfriends—”

“She is a gentle and unlearned maiden, and does not know the ways of men.”

Behind Io, Imogen snorted, then instantly schooled her expression into one of innocence.

“Look, I know you guys are more conservative here—although really, beheading? Scattering ashes? And I’m sorry about saying the D-word if you have a kid, but really, you’re overreacting. And it was you who asked about my last boyfriend, not that I see mentioning him is going to corrupt your snow-white daughter, but still, you mentioned him first.”

“Papa—”

“Silence.” He narrowed his gaze on Io, picturing her beheaded. The thought gave him no pleasure. Quite the contrary, such an idea greatly disturbed him. “Do you deny that you have put a spell on me?”

“What is with you people? Yes, I deny it!” Io slapped her hands on her thighs, a thought that sent his brain on a little mental trip that ended up with him clearing his throat and hoping the witch prostitute would not look toward his groin. “And you can just stop that right now, too,” she added.

“Stop what?” He wanted nothing more than to pounce on her, he really did, but he was never one to allow his sexual needs to drive his actions, and he’d be damned if he started now.

He smiled at the irony at the fact that he was already damned. What could a little more damnation hurt?

“That.” Io pointed at his crotch. “You’re getting all bulgy, and I resent your penis’s implication that I’m doing something to arouse you. Unless you’re some sort of weirdo who gets off by women saying the word ‘penis,’ which is frankly kinda sad.”

“Baron, you must stop her from speaking! It is the devil’s words that come out of her mouth!” Frau Leiven hurried around the bed to stand behind it, clapping her hands over Imogen’s ears. “She will bespell us all!”

“Baron?” Io stopped glaring at his admittedly bulgy breeches and glanced up at him. “I thought you said your name was Nikola.”

“It is. I am also a baron. Frau Leiven, if you do not cease squawking, I will have you put out of the castle. Imogen, go to your room. This conversation is not suitable for you.”

“Wow, a real baron? Not one of those mall kinds that you become when you buy a square foot of land—Imogen?”

“But, Papa—”

“Leave!” he commanded, feeling that if there were fewer people in the room, he could get about to seducing the woman properly.

His mind did a double take. Chastising her, he corrected to himself, despite the nagging suspicion that the first would be infinitely more enjoyable.

Io got to her feet and turned around, gawking in surprise. “Imogen, it is you. Nice to see you again. What happened to me? I seem to be a bit wonky in the brain. I remember doing…something…but just can’t pin down exactly what.”

“You know my daughter?” he asked, frowning first at Imogen, then at Frau Leiven. “You allowed Imogen to consort with whores?”

“No, Papa—” Imogen started to say, but Io interrupted her.

“Whore?” she bellowed, then immediately slapped both hands to her head, weaving with pain. “Oh my god, someone get me some ibuprofen. I think my head is going to explode.”