‘I do not ravish women,’ Luke said flatly and released her hands. ‘Unconscious or awake.’ She had insulted him, it appeared. Good. She had not thought it possible.
‘Then what are you doing with that?’ Averil made a wild gesture at his groin and he recoiled before her flailing hand made contact.
‘I told you, it has a life of its own. I don’t have to take any notice of it.’ Luc sounded torn between exasperation and anger. ‘I am sorry you were frightened unnecessarily,’ he added, with as much contrition as if he was apologising for jostling her elbow at a party. ‘I thought you realised I had no intention of hurting you in any way. If you can just move over so I can get in, we can go to sleep.’
‘Just like that? You expect me to be able to close my eyes and sleep with you in the bed?’ She heard the rising note of hysteria and bit her lower lip until the pain steadied her. The relief of realising he was not going to take her had cracked her self-control; now it was hard to hang on to some semblance of calm. ‘Why can’t you put some clothes on?’
‘I have no spare clean shirts to wear—you are wearing the last one. And one more layer of linen between us will make no difference to anything.’
She wondered what the grinding noise was and then realised it was her own teeth. At least if Luke was in the bed with the covers over him she couldn’t see his naked body. It was an effort not to flounce, but she turned on her side with her back to him and lay against the far edge of the bed, her face to the wall.
The ropes supporting the mattress creaked, the blankets flapped. ‘There is no need to rub your nose against the stones like that,’ Luke said. ‘Come here.’ He put an arm around her waist and pulled her backwards until she fitted tight against the curve of his body. ‘Stop wriggling, for heaven’s sake!’
‘We are touching,’ Averil said with what calm she could muster, which was not much. He was warm and hard and her buttocks were pressed against the part of his anatomy that he said had a mind of its own—and was still very interested by the situation by the feel of it—and one linen shirt was absolutely no barrier whatsoever. Below the edge of the shirt her thighs were bare and she cou
ld feel the hairs on his legs.
‘I am certainly aware of your cold feet,’ he said and she thought he was gritting his teeth. ‘Will you stop moaning, woman? You’re alive, aren’t you? And warm and dry and fed and still a virgin. Now lie still, count your blessings and let me sleep and you might stay one.’ She thought she heard a muttered If I can but she was not certain.
Woman? Moaning? You lout, she fulminated, as she tried to hold her body a rigid half-inch away from his. But that only pushed her buttocks closer into his groin. The heavy arm across her waist tightened and she gave up and let her muscles relax a little.
Count my blessings. It was a distraction from the heat and solidity behind her and the movement of his chest and the way his breath was warm on her neck. She was alive and so many people were not, she was certain. She had kept their faces and the sound of their voices out of her mind all day; now she could not manage it any longer. Her friends, so close after three months, and her numerous acquaintances, even the people she glimpsed every day but had never spoken to, were like the inhabitants of some small hamlet, swallowed up entire by the sea.
Averil composed herself and prayed for them, her lips moving with the unspoken words. She felt better for that, the grief and worry a little assuaged. The long body curled around hers had relaxed, too; he was sleeping, or at least, on the cusp of sleep. I am alive, and he is protecting me. For now I am safe. But the dark thoughts fluttered like bats against the defences she tried to erect in her mind. These men were deserters, traitors perhaps, and she knew too much about them already. What might she have to do to maintain even the precarious safety she had now?
Luc felt Averil’s body go limp as she slid into sleep. He let himself relax against her as her breathing changed and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of having a woman so close in his arms. The softness and the curves were a delicious torment; the female scent of her, not obscured by any soap or perfume, was dangerously arousing. It was over two months since he had lain with a woman, he realised, thinking back over the turbulent past weeks. And then they had been making love, not lying together like this, almost innocently.
The tight knot in his gut reminded him that he was still angry that Averil had supposed he would take her by force. Luc thought back over the words they had exchanged—they hardly qualified as conversations—and tried to work out why she had thought him capable of rape. He had never once said he would make use of her body, he was certain of that, and he had explained why he needed to share her bed.
She had been tired and frightened by all she had gone through; obviously she had not been thinking clearly, he told himself. He supposed stripping off had not been tactful—but she could have shut her eyes, Luc thought with a stirring of resentment. If she wanted him to wear a nightshirt, then she could do some washing tomorrow; he had too much else to think about without worrying about Averil’s affronted sensibilities.
It did occur to him as he began to drift off to sleep that he was not used to being with well-bred young women on an intimate level. He had been at sea, more or less permanently, since he had been eighteen; he had no sisters at home, no young sisters-in-law. No one, thank heaven, to have to care about. Not any more.
But this wasn’t some society drawing room or Almack’s. To hell with it, she was in his territory now and she would just have to listen to what he said and follow orders. His aching groin reminded him that something else was refusing to follow orders. It would be interesting to seduce her, he thought, toying with the fantasy as he let sleep take him. Just how difficult would it be?
*
Averil woke with an absolute awareness of where she was and who she was with. In the night she had turned over and now she half lay on Luke’s chest with her naked legs entangled with his. One moment she had been relaxed in deep sleep, the next her eyes snapped open on a view of naked skin, a tangle of dark curls and an uncompromising chin furred with stubble. He smelled warmly of sweat and salt and sleep. She should have recoiled in disgust, but she had the urge to snuggle closer, let her hands explore.
Every one of her muscles tensed to fight the desire.
‘You’re awake,’ he said, his voice a deep rumble under her ear, and moved, rolling her on to her back so his weight was half over her. ‘Good morning.’
‘Get off me!’ Averil shoved, which had no effect whatsoever. ‘You said you don’t ravish women, you lying swine.’
‘I don’t. But I do kiss them.’ He was too close to focus on properly, too close to hit, but ears were easy to get hold of and sensitive to pain. She reached up a hand, got a firm grip and twisted. ‘Yow!’ Luke had her wrist in his grasp in seconds. ‘You little cat.’
‘At least I am not a liar.’ She lay flat on her back, her hands trapped above her head, her senses full of the smell and feel of him, her heart pounding. She had hurt him, but he had not retaliated and there was amusement, not lust or anger, in his eyes, as though he was inviting her to share in a game.
But she was not going to play—that was outrageous. Luke was too big even to buck against, although she tried. And then stopped as her pelvis met his and that rebellious part of his body twitched eagerly against her belly. Something within her stirred in response, a low, intimate tingling. She blushed. Her body wanted to join in with whatever wickedness his was proposing.
‘Since when has kissing amounted to ravishment? I need us to go out there looking as though we have just been making love.’ There was exasperation under the patience and somehow that was reassuring. If he was bent on ravishing her he would not be discussing it. Still, it was wrong to simply succumb so easily.
‘Making love?’ She snorted at the word and he narrowed his eyes at her.
‘Do you prefer having sex? It will make life easier for both of us if you can give the impression that you have been seduced by my superior technique and are now happy to be with me.’
Averil was about to tell him what her opinion of his technique was when his words the previous evening came back to her. A pack of wolves. ‘I see,’ she conceded. ‘I am safer if I do not seem like a victim. If I am happy to be with you, then it is convincing that I would be confident. And they will think I am unlikely to try to escape and put you all in danger.’