Rachel Sommerville was captive. Not only was she practically imprisoned by her witch of an aunt in the Sommerville Towers, she was forced to sing for the San Franciscan hotel's guests. What was more. Roland Connor could see in her the repression of a wild sentiment, a savage desire that had yet to be released. He was counting on it -- for it was in seducing the young woman that his vengeance would be complete. Rachel was pure sweetness, a real American princess. If he were to tarnish the golden-haired beauty before her wedding night, send her to her bridal bower with more tricks than a saloon girl, he would gain his revenge on the man she was being forced to marry. But to free Rachel from the constraints of decency, to knock her form the high pedestal of her virtue. Roland needed a foothold to her heart -- and to harden his own. But that would happen soon enough . . . as soon as she let down her hair.