d lands and responsibilities to resume and to hand on to a son who would at least be three-quarters French.
Averil was … impossible. The scandal if she left Bradon would be shocking; he could not believe the man would take the loss of such a dowry lying down. She was wrong for him, as wrong as a dangerous drug would be. And he must not compromise her. Bradon had accepted her, she had accepted Bradon for what he was. It would be the action of a blackguard to seduce her away now.
There was Bradon now, talking to a striking brunette. He felt a wave of dislike run through him. The man bristled proprietarily when he saw Averil with another man, but he made no move to touch her except to take her arm formally. His eyes did not follow her with anything in them except a cool assessment. He did not even desire her person, it seemed.
Luc stopped, then swung back, apologising to the officer he almost flattened with the suddenness of his movement. He passed a footman with a tray and lifted two glasses from it as he went. Averil was still sitting in the gay little tent, just as he had left her, her face calm, her hands folded decorously in her lap, her eyes blank.
She looked up as his shadow fell at her feet and went a little pale, but she made no move to throw the arrangement of hothouse lilies on the table beside her as she had threatened.
‘Here.’ He thrust the glass into her hand and drained his own. ‘Does he make love to you?’ He sounded like a jealous fool. He did not care.
‘Bradon?’ Averil looked at the glass as though she had never seen one before. ‘No.’
‘Does he kiss you? Caress you?’
‘No. He kissed my hand, once. He shows no affection and no desire. Why do you ask?’ She took a mouthful of the champagne, swallowed. ‘What possible business is it of yours what my betrothed does? Please do not tell me you are jealous of him—what right have you?’
‘I saved you on that beach and then made a decision that could have—may have—ruined you. I—’
‘Oh, so now you are going to tell me again that you feel responsible for me?’ Averil got to her feet in an inelegant scramble, tossed back the wine with a reckless hand and stood toe to toe with him, glaring up. ‘Well, you are not. I may have been innocent, but I was not addled—I am responsible for the decisions I made. And if you think I should be grateful to you—’
‘I think that you are just the right height for me to kiss,’ Luc said, ignoring the music and voices and laughter at his back, ignoring her anger. All he could see was her face, all he could smell was the fresh sweetness of her skin, all he could hear was his own blood pounding in his ears and the madness of a need he did not understand, that was so much more than lust, sweeping through him.
‘No.’ Averil stepped back and the pain deep in her eyes stopped him as abruptly as if she had slammed a door in his face. ‘No. I cannot bear this. It may all be about physical pleasure, the fun of the chase, for you. But it is not for me. For me it is a torment. I am not one of your sophisticated matrons or headstrong daughters of the aristocracy. I am a merchant’s daughter and I was not brought up for these games. I was brought up to keep my word and to respect and honour my husband.’
‘Averil, I am sorry—’ He would cut out his heart and lay it at her feet if that would help. It could not hurt any more than the pain in it now.
‘Oh, I do not blame you,’ she said bitterly. ‘You flirt and make love like a hound chases a rabbit—on instinct. If I had not been so weak, Bradon would still have cause for suspicion, but at least I would have a clear conscience and I would not have to be fighting the temptation to give in to you.’ She gave a little sob that turned the knife in his heart. ‘I would not have known what it was to be made love to as you made love to me, I would have known only him.’ Appalled, Luc reached for her. She batted his hands away. ‘Go. If you have any concern for me at all, any, go and leave me alone.’
Hell. What had he done? She was right, she did not know how to deal with the likes of him and he had no idea how to deal with her, except in his bed. Her chin came up and he could see the effort it was costing her to stand there and confront him like this. His temper, for some reason never far below the surface these days, flared. He wanted to hurt someone, to share the pain that racked him.
‘Yes, I will go. As you say, Miss Heydon, I should not be toying with someone who does not understand the rules these games are played by.’ He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Your virtue has defeated me.’
He knew he sounded ungracious, angry, sarcastic, all the things he had no right to feel. He expected her anger in return, was braced for tears. What he did not expect was for the well-behaved Miss Heydon to scoop up the vase of lilies and throw it at his head, just as she had threatened.
Luc caught it before it hit him, but water and lilies went everywhere, showering his immaculate evening clothes. Averil gasped, then turned and slipped through the flap at the back of the little tent, leaving him to shake himself like a wet dog. Lily pollen stained his shirt front as he batted petals from his lapels and water ran down his nose and dripped to the floor.
Behind him the flaps of the tent shifted. ‘Ah, there you are!’ said Mademoiselle de la Falaise in French. ‘It is our dance next, monsieur.’
He turned and she stared, her mouth open. ‘Mon Dieu! What has occurred?’
‘I was unaccountably clumsy,’ he said. ‘I tripped. Obviously I cannot stay at the ball. You will excuse me. I regret greatly that I must forgo our dance.’
‘I also, but there is nothing to be done.’ She shrugged with rueful charm. ‘I must go and find a dry gentleman. Goodbye.’ Her lips were twitching as she turned and left.
‘Goodbye indeed,’ Luc muttered. That had done his dignity with the woman he was thinking of courting a great deal of good to be sure. Now what? He could hardly walk out on to the dance floor looking like this. Where had Averil got out? He investigated the back of the tent and found it opened out on to a corridor under the orchestra gallery and it was mercifully empty. Luc gritted his teeth and stalked off to the front door.
‘I thought you were engaged for the supper dance, my dear.’ Bradon appeared in front of Averil as she sat on a gilt chair in the furthest corner from the little striped tent.
‘I was. I gather Captain d’Aunay had an accident and had to leave.’
‘I trust he is not badly injured. If no one else has claimed you, perhaps you would care to dance with me.’ He held out his hand and Averil put hers into it.
‘Thank you, I would prefer that in any case.’ He smirked a little, she noticed. She fixed a bright smile on her own face. It was time to face the future as Lady Bradon and convince her betrothed that she was indeed the wife for him. After all, the man she loved was an unscrupulous scoundrel who lost his temper when thwarted. Andrew Bradon’s cool equanimity was positively soothing after that scene in the tent.
She wondered what had come over her as she tried to feel remorseful for losing her temper so thoroughly and with such violence. What if she had hit him with the crystal vase?
He deserved it, the angry little voice inside her said. Just fall out of love with him, that is all you need to do.