Seduced by the Scoundrel (Danger and Desire 2)

Luc produced his best quarterdeck frown. He needed to distract her, and fast. ‘Might I remind you that you are my mistress and as such I expect obedience and respect. You have twice thrown things at my head, you have ruined a shirt, my best evening coat may never be the same again, that coffee pot was Dresden and now you say I am stupid. That little catalogue calls for chastisement, I fear.’

‘What? You do not mean that you would—no!’

Averil gave a scream of protest as Luc picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, just as he had that first day on the beach. This time she fought, drumming her fists on his buttocks and thighs as s

he dangled upside down, kicking her heels as he carried her up upstairs and into the bedchamber, but it was hopeless. He twisted her round as he sat down on the edge of the bed and she found herself face down across his lap.

‘Let me go, you brute! You dare beat me! I’ll … I’ll …’

Cool air touched her thighs, her buttocks and the world went dark as her skirts flew over her head. One large warm hand spread over her exposed backside, lifted—and she was rolled on to the bed with Luc scrambling after her, tickling her until she screamed with laughter.

‘Oh, you beast,’ she murmured when they finally lay still, gasping and tear-stained and still hiccupping faintly with hilarity.

‘I know. Shall I be more beastly still?’

‘Yes, please,’ Averil said. ‘I would like that very much.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Eight days had seemed endless when she was staying with the Bradons. Now thirteen seemed to have sped by. Tomorrow she would sail for India. Tomorrow she would say goodbye to Luc and never see him again, possibly never hear what became of him. She had counted off the passing days with the dread of a prisoner awaiting execution, prayed that this evening would never come, but of course, it had.

Ferret had escorted a heavily veiled Grace to do their shopping, but as that had been spread over many days it had been possible to pretend it was still not all complete.

The only thing that had changed with time had been Luc, she realised, watching him as he lay asleep beside her. It was three in the morning, the watchman had passed only minutes before, but the candles were still burning. They had been making love half the night.

As the days had passed he had become quieter, more introspective. She had thought at first he was worried about Bradon, but then realised that he was too courageous to let the other man bother him once he had put measures for her protection in place. Then she wondered if he was working too hard at the Admiralty, but he seemed to enjoy the sessions he was having with his students and returned energised from them.

His lovemaking had grown more intense, more passionate, as the days and nights had passed and sometimes she would catch him watching her, his eyes dark and troubled as though she was a mystery he could not solve.

Now he lay sprawled face down, naked except for a twist of sheet that did nothing for decency. Averil resisted the temptation to touch him again or he would wake and she wanted him to sleep now so she could look at him and fill her memory with the images that would have to last her for the rest of her life.

For the first time she wished she could draw. ‘I love you,’ she whispered, over and over. It was a delicious, heart-breaking luxury to be able to say it. ‘I love you.’ Her lids drooped and she wriggled down the pillows to lie close beside him, soothed by the scent of his skin and the musk of their lovemaking. If she could just stay awake, the night would never end….

Luc woke slowly, smiling as he seemed to every morning, waking next to Averil. Eyes closed, he reached out a hand to where she would be lying curled up, her hair in her eyes, warm and soft and sleepy. She would come to him, still waking and they would kiss and then—then his hand touched the hollow in the mattress and it was cold. She was gone.

Puzzled, he opened his eyes and remembered. Today was the day she was leaving. The ship was sailing, Averil was going home. Leaving him.

That was what they had agreed and he had deceived himself for days that time would stand still. But it had not and he knew she had been fretting for this morning to come; he had just not admitted it to himself. He had moved a book she was reading and a scrap of paper fell out, a page torn from an almanac with the days crossed off. She had grown quieter and yet more restless and there were dark shadows under her eyes.

He closed his eyes again. Coward. Get up and face it. But there was something else to face, the fact that he had taken her innocence, had used her as his mistress when he could have simply hidden her away, given her the money she needed. That it had never entered his head until it was too late was no excuse. Neither was the fact that Averil enjoyed their lovemaking and had suggested the arrangement in the first place any justification.

There were no excuses for seizing what he wanted without thinking about Averil. But he was being punished for it now. He was missing her already. I’ve grown accustomed to her, he thought. Accustomed to her touch and her laughter, to her scent and her company, her courage and her kisses. Accustomed, that is all. She will be gone and I will propose marriage to the de la Falaise chit and find another mistress …

He rolled over on to his back, eyes wide open now. It was barely light. No, when he married he would make himself be faithful. Averil would not approve otherwise. But what did it matter what she would think? She would be thousands of miles away making a new life, trying hard to forget him and the bargain she had made to free herself from Bradon. By the time she came back to England, if she ever did, he would be in France, being a Frenchman at last, with his French wife and his French children at his side.

He tried to sink into the familiar dream that had sustained him so often in the past. But for the first time he could not picture the scene. Instead of a vivid picture of the château and laughing children and an elegant chatelaine there was nothing, just the black-and-white ghost of the house as he remembered it.

With a curse Luc rolled off the bed, dragged his robe around his shoulders and went to look for Averil. She was sitting in the dressing room, folding small items, placing them in one of the trays that would fit into the trunk that stood open next to the clothes press. Her face was shuttered, intent.

Luc thought to stand there for a while and watch her, but she looked up and the scrap of silk and lace fell from her hands. ‘I was finishing packing,’ she said.

So eager to be gone. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘You will be happy to see your father and brothers again.’

‘Yes. I miss them.’ She bent and retrieved the camisole. ‘This will all seem like a dream. The voyage, the shipwreck.’

‘Me.’

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. Yes, she could let it become a dream, find a husband in India, pretend none of this had happened. With any luck and a little acting the man would never know. He felt faintly sick and guessed that it must be jealousy of that unknown, unsuspecting man. She would make the choice herself this time, he knew. She would choose with care, someone she would get to know before she committed herself, someone she could trust.