Seduced by the Scoundrel (Danger and Desire 2)

As he cut diagonally across Green Park for St James’s Street he puzzled over why Averil was not pleased that he was staying faithful to her. She had his undivided attention for two weeks—and she was showing every sign of thoroughly enjoying those attentions. There was something wrong, some hairline crack in the pattern of what Averil had told him and how she was acting, yet he could not put his finger on it. And what had made her cry? She had faced far worse on St Helen than a row over the breakfast table and yet she had never once given way to tears. Why was he able to untangle the subtle pattern of a spy’s actions and yet he could not understand a woman who was sharing his bed?

His heartbeat slowed as he walked and his thoughts became more coherent. She was sharing his bed. He had got what he wanted, but at what cost? He had ruined her. That she seemed to enjoy his lovemaking mattered not at all. He had corrupted her.

But I have agreed to help her, the inner demon protested, but he thrust away the easy excuses. Now, the hangover gone, his lust slaked, he could see clearly. What he should have done was to install her in the house, buy her what she needed and protect her until the ship sailed. He should not have laid a finger on her whatever either of them wanted.

Luc felt sick. Sick with guilt, sick with the knowledge that the moment he had her alone again he would not be able to stop himself from taking her again, caressing her, making love to her until they both collapsed with exhaustion. Sick with the knowledge that when she left him he had no idea how he would stay sane.

The walk was long enough, and brisk enough, for him to have regained a semblance of calm by the time he reached White’s. Which was fortunate as the first person he saw as he entered was Lord Bradon.

‘Ah, Bradon, this is well met. I have been hoping to run into you.’ He kept his voice cheerful and his hands relaxed even though in his imagination he had the man by the throat and was pounding his brains out on the elegant marble floor.

The other man turned, his already frowning countenance turning darker when he saw who was addressing him. ‘Were you, indeed!’

‘Yes, although this appears not to be a convenient time to discuss porcelain. You seem distracted.’

‘You want to talk to me about porcelain? Is this a joke?’

‘Well, it might be a forgery,’ Luc said. How interesting that Bradon should react so badly to seeing him. Given that Luc had done nothing to anger the man there could be only one conclusion to be drawn: he was suspicious that Luc might have something to do with Averil’s flight. ‘I am not experienced with Meissen and I wondered if—’

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‘To hell with Meissen.’ Bradon shouldered past him and out of the doors.

‘Damn bad form,’ Percy Fulton remarked, strolling past the porter’s desk and joining Luc as he went into the library. ‘He was prowling round here like a bear with a sore head last night and back he comes this morning, asking who had seen you. I suggested he went round to your chambers and had my head bitten off for my trouble and now that he finds you he doesn’t want to talk. Done something to upset him? I’m always ready to stand as second, you know. Can’t abide the man.’

‘A misunderstanding, that is all. But thank you.’ Luc retreated behind a copy of The Times. So, Bradon had put two and two together and come up with the only naval officer who had been paying Averil any attention. It never did to underestimate the opposition and it seemed that he had done just that with Averil’s betrothed.

So now he had to be very careful indeed or he would lead the man to her doorstep and, while he had no objection to facing him at dawn over the matter, it would do Averil’s reputation no good at all.

Half an hour later he realised that he had been thinking about Averil and had not given a thought to protecting her from Bradon. Restless, he got up and walked out, back up the long slope to Piccadilly and Albany. He turned into the court yard and caught a movement from the corner of his eye. A man in dark, ordinary clothing moved down the side of the yard and out on to the street. Nothing so unusual there, but the way he kept his head averted had the hairs rising on the back of Luc’s neck.

He had felt like that before now and had found a sniper with his sights on him. ‘Who was that?’ he asked the porter.

Jenks shook his head. ‘No idea, Captain. I’ve been out the back for a few minutes.’

‘Hughes,’ he said as he let himself into his rooms, ‘I have a problem. How do you fancy a game of hide and seek?’

‘Has to be better than blacking your boots for the rest of the morning, Captain.’ The manservant began to untie his green baize apron. ‘What’s the plan?’

Half an hour later Luc strolled out of Albany at a leisurely pace. If they couldn’t keep up with this, they deserved to lose him. At the bottom of St James’s Street, with the warm red brick of the Tudor palace in front of him, he opened the door of Berry Brothers and Rudd and walked into an atmosphere redolent of wax polish, coffee and wine.

‘Captain, welcome back!’ The wine merchant came out from behind the counter. ‘Are you here to be weighed or to restock your cellar?’

‘The latter.’ Luc moved around the great swinging coffee scales that most of the aristocracy of the day were weighed on. ‘I am deplorably short of Burgundy.’

‘Not easy to get just now, as you no doubt know.’ The man shook his head as he steered Luc towards the head of the stairs down to the cellars. ‘We are buying up what private holdings there are in the country, but naturally, we cannot countenance smuggled wines …’

‘Indeed not.’ Luc paused and peered at racks as he passed. Behind him the bell on the door rang as someone came in. ‘I have a long list, I’m afraid, Humphries.’

At the bottom of the stairs Hughes appeared, a valise in his hands. Humphries said, ‘Mind the shop, John. I’ll be a while with Captain d’Aunay’, and a young man put down a ledger and hurried up the stairs.

Luc stripped off tail coat and pantaloons and changed into buckskin breeches, a riding coat and a low-crowned hat, then followed the wine merchant back through the labyrinth of cellars and up another set of stairs.

‘There you go, sir.’ Humphries heaved open a trapdoor. ‘Pickering Place.’

‘Thank you—there will be an order coming your way in the next few days.’ Luc walked briskly down the narrow passage back to St James, round the corner into Pall Mall and signalled for a hackney.

Averil rang for the maid and apologised for the state of the dining-room carpet. The girl, Polly, seemed surprised that she should do so and went calmly about her business picking up the pieces and sponging the thick pile.