Devon Blake, the fifth Earl of Richmond, heard every word Aphrodite had spoken. For two centuries, he had been able to hear everything and yet see nothing of what was in front of his marble eyes. He had been trapped in a nightmare, unable to speak or cry out. He had spent the last two hundred years traveling from museum to museum around the world, and he could hear Aphrodite’s mocking laugh each time he reached a new city. In his frozen stone state, he’d been able to hear bits of conversations of people around him but could not see, could not truly grasp how different the world must be around him now.

How much life have I missed while trapped in stone?

He had been reduced to a creature put on display, to be marveled at and gawked at like a common street performer—and a naked one at that—as opposed to the aristocrat he’d once been, with power, good looks, and wealth.

And it was all Aphrodite’s fault.

Had he not come across her in a quiet corner of Covent Garden one night while the fireworks burst over his head and whispered laughter slithered through the hedges and blooms, he might never have made the mistake of bedding her. His mind howled at the memory of that night, how he’d slaked his lust upon the goddess’s beauty and had not one care for her pleasure before he’d abandoned her.

It was my downfall, to care only about myself.

He’d walked not twenty steps before he’d heard the booming shout from behind him.

“How dare you walk away from me, mortal!” And in seconds, his heart had stopped, his world had crumbled into darkness, and he’d been imprisoned in this marble nightmare where he could experience no sight or touch, but hear only what happened around him.

Now he had a chance to undo his mistake and earn Aphrodite’s forgiveness. He had to last seven days with one woman and not seek his own pleasure, only hers. He could do it. He had to.

But who would be the woman to free him of this curse? He thought of the woman who’d been in the gallery a few moments before Aphrodite. He’d had no eyes to see her, yet he’d felt her hand on his cold stone skin, and his body had responded with desire at her sultry whisper, longing for a perfect man. How could her touch have made him feel something when nothing else had since he’d been transformed into stone?

There was something in her plea that had called to him, and he had cried out inside his mind for her to keep touching him. It had been too long since he’d been a living, breathing man with a body to touch and hands to touch with. Too long…

He listened to the sounds of the quiet gallery now, the distant chime of a clock, the creak of a wall settling into place, and he wondered where he was. Somewhere in America, if he had heard the movers correctly. He’d lost track of how many times he’d been moved and had long since ceased to care. It hadn’t mattered—until now.

The woman’s words echoed in his mind, taunting him. “Why couldn’t a man like you be real?”

And then it happened. His skin began to burn, and his insides churned as though he was going to be sick. Though he couldn’t see or move, his head was spinning and he wished he could stand the dizzying feeling that…

His body hit the cold wooden floor with a thud. For a moment he feared he would shatter until he realized it had been flesh that hit the hard floor. Every muscle in him screamed in agony. After two centuries of being stone, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

An agonized gasp escaped his lips, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the room around him. He kept his eyes closed, panting as he lay on the floor, his body awkwardly twisted, but there was no helping it. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, listening to his heartbeat pound against his eardrums, before he heard a sound.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

It was a woman’s voice. The realization crept into his mind as he focused on breathing. He might as well have had dust in his lungs, after all the time they hadn’t been used.

“Hello?” the woman said again.

This time, Devon forced his eyes to open, then promptly clamped them back shut. The moonlight that swept in through the windows was too bright. He couldn’t take it.

“Oh my God!” the woman said with a gasp from close by. The sound of her footfalls and then the touch of her hands—it was shocking, and he tensed, emitting a low groan of pain.

“What happened? Are you okay?” The woman’s speech was hurried and her accent definitely American. Warm feminine hands touched his shoulder, his lower back, his arm, and then his cheek.

“Please don’t be dead,” she whispered. “Oh God, please don’t be dead.”

“Not. Dead. Need. A. Moment.” Every word he muttered had to be dragged painfully out of his unused throat.

“Thank God!”

Her exclamation made him chuckle. It was not the Christian God she should be thanking but a very clever goddess. He’d spent the last two centuries trying to come to grips with the theological implications of that fact, and he was no closer to an answer now than the day he’d been turned to stone.

“What are you doing in here? How did you get in?” the woman asked as she helped him to sit up. He could feel her trembling as she touched him. The ladies of his era would have screamed and likely fainted at the sight of a strange unclothed man appearing out of nowhere.

“I swear I mean you no harm, my lady…” His throat felt like shards of glass had cut him deep. “I’m afraid I had an…unfortunate accident.”

“I think I should call the police. I’m sure they can help you…er…” The woman stumbled over her words.

Devon wasn’t sure if police were the men of law and order from his century, but he could guess by her tone that they would likely take him away, which would damn him forever.

“Please, no, I beg you. Do not summon the…police. I can explain why I am here if you but give me a moment to rest.” He rubbed at his eyes, and then, blinking owlishly, he opened them. It took him a moment before he could bear the bright moonlight, and then he got a better look at the woman.

She sat on the floor beside him, in a knee-length tweed skirt that flared out. She wore a waistcoat of the same tweed, with a white blouse beneath and strange leather shoes with heels. It was quite a fetching and certainly scandalous-looking outfit that immediately caught his attention.

Devon looked to the woman’s face, startled by the warm brown eyes and the little upturned nose that was smattered with light freckles. A pair of rimless spectacles perched on her nose, giving her a scholarly look. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon with a…a pencil sticking out of the back? Did the woman know she had a writing utensil stuck in her hair? Surely she didn’t. Only artists and craftsmen used pencils. What did that make this woman?

“You’re naked!” The woman’s gaze dropped to his lap, and he cursed as he glanced down. His body was already showing signs of interest in the woman, and he was not about to forget Aphrodite’s words of warning regarding his own lust.

“That I am, my lady. Could you please tell me what year it is and where exactly I am?” He sighed and rubbed at his face, relieved that he didn’t have to shave, at least not yet. That was one thing he hadn’t missed in all those years trapped in stone. “And perhaps something to cover myself with?”

“What year? If you’re going to tell me to come with you because some robot is trying to kill me, you can forget it. I’ve seen the movie.”

Robot? Movie?

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand you. Please, where am I?”

“You’re in Mistlethwaite, near Boston. Oh God…” The woman choked suddenly, and her distress made his heart race. “You shipped yourself here in a freight container, didn’t you? I heard about some magician doing that stunt once. But why did you do it naked?”

He looked around the exhibit and saw a banner announcing the current exhibition: “Meeting the Masters—Classical Art Exhibit 2018”

So it was true. That night he’d been in the gardens with Aphrodite had been in the year 1816. His mind reeled. He’d known it had been two hundred years, yet seeing the evidence of it now put a knot in his stomach.

“Two hundred bloody years… You damned bitch!”

He heard a soft, lilting chuckle drift down from the rafters of the room. Aphrodite was always watching.

“You’re starting to scare me,” the woman whispered, backing away, and then she looked around the room. “Wait. Where is the statue? It was just here…” Her head lowered as she stared at his feet and the faint sheen of dust that surrounded him on the stone floor, mixed with the scattered packing material.

“I’m sorry,” Devon muttered, wondering how he was going to explain that he was the statue. “I should not speak thus in front of a lady. Please accept my apologies.” He looked her way again, focusing on her face, the soft brown eyes, the pale creamy skin that was full of a rosy blush, and smooth petal-soft-looking lips. Damn, she would be a delight to please in bed.

“Okay. I’m not going to lie—I’m still freaking out. Seriously, how the hell did you get into the gallery, and why are you naked?” She gave him a respectable, safe distance. “Sane, rational people don’t go running around naked. Only crazy serial killers do, and I swear, if you try anything…”

“What is a serial killer?” he asked. He was not a killer of any kind, except during the occasional hunt for foxes, deer, or pheasants.

“You expect me to believe you don’t know what a serial killer is? That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.” Rebecca took another step back, and each time she did, it terrified him. She was the only thing keeping him from returning to stone, and he could not let her leave him.

Devon raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m afraid you would not believe me if I told you the truth of how I came here and why.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you try me? As long as you don’t claim to be from the future on a mission to save mankind or something insane like that…”

A rough chuckle escaped him. This would prove to be interesting. “Nay, I’m not from the future, but the past. Two hundred years ago, I had the misfortune of bedding the goddess Aphrodite. She cursed me for being a selfish bastard. She trapped me in the marble stone you were admiring a short while before.” He waved at the empty pedestal behind him.

The woman’s eyes went from him to the empty pedestal. “But…that’s not possible. You can’t be…”

“I’m afraid I am.” His tone turned gruff as he tried to stand, but his legs wobbled and he fell back down like a newborn foal.

The woman stared at him and then the pedestal for a long moment. “Okay, so let’s pretend I believe you, just a little. Gods and goddesses aren’t exactly known for their forgiving nature. Hell, I remember reading once that a woman was turned into a spider just for claiming she was good at weaving. Cursed people tend to stay cursed. So why did Aphrodite change her mind now?”

Devon smiled crookedly. This lass was a smart one, and he liked that. It wasn’t often in the past that he’d enjoyed the company of intelligent women. He’d only ever been focused on what was underneath their skirts, but this woman was rather refreshing. Perhaps the goddess had done him a favor when she’d chosen this woman for him.

“I believe she thought you would be well suited to the challenge of my redemption.”

“Redemption?”

“It seems Aphrodite believes you are in need of an exceptional and unselfish lover. She thought I would be the answer to your amorous woes.”

Rebecca tilted her head to one side. “The answer? What does that mean?”

“It means that the curse requires me to pleasure you for an entire week without receiving any of my own.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice rose sharply in pitch. “You’re not touching me, mister. I don’t want you to—”

“Do not fret. I’ll not touch you unless you wish it.” He made another attempt to stand, and when he started to stumble she caught his arm and steadied him.

“Look, mister, I think I should take you to the hospital.”

“No!” he barked out. When she pulled away, he ducked his head. “I’m sorry. I cannot go there. I just need to rest, eat a bit, and sleep.” He was suddenly weary, as though he hadn’t slept in, well, two hundred years. While he’d been trapped in stone, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Ever.

“But…” The woman hesitated. He offered her his most hopeful, non-seductive smile. And like hundreds of women before her, she caved. She looked back to the empty pedestal, as if confirming the statue’s disappearance one more time before agreeing to help. “Look, I can take you to my place, but you’re sleeping on the couch, and I swear to God if you try anything—and I mean anything—I’ll have the cops on your ass before you breathe. Understood?”

He nodded. He had no idea what cops were or why he wouldn’t want them on his ass, but it sounded rather unpleasant.

“Follow me.” She started to walk away, and he followed her, his legs still a little shaky, but the more he walked, the better he felt. The stiffness was coming out of his joints, and his lungs didn’t burn as much. Soon he would be at this woman’s home, in her bed, and with luck, fulfilling his promise to Aphrodite so he could secure his freedom.

Just seven days without my own release—I can do that, can’t I?