But as she'd grown older, the fascination had fueled a bizarre fantasy, a fantasy so uncharacteristic of her normal, conservative nature that she'd been embarrassed to even think about it. The notion was borne of pure romance and based on nothing resembling reality.

In her dreams, the pirate, a devilishly handsome rogue, would come to her at midnight, slipping into her bedroom. His hand would cover her mouth as she put up a halfhearted struggle. After he'd bound her hands and gagged her, he would toss her over his shoulder and take her to his ship. From there, the fantasy would become more erotic, a sensual dance between a predator and his prey.

But that was as far as the fantasy ever went. She'd usually wake up before the first item of clothing was discarded and no matter how hard she tried to resume the dream, she'd never managed to complete it.

Why bother? She knew how it would end. Her fear of intimacy would overwhelm her and she'd run away…the same way she had in real life. At first, she'd blamed her fears on practicality. Outside of her work, she had little room in her life for a real relationship. But as time passed, she realized that all the years spent in scholastic pursuits, her nose buried in history books while other girls thought only about boys, had done little to prepare her for a real relationship. She had less knowledge of the opposite sex than the average nun.

"I was born too late," Meredith murmured as she stared at the drawing. She'd always wanted to live in an earlier time, when life was more immediate, more exciting- when men were heroic and courageous and chivalrous. And women were modest… and virginal.