Deverill nodded solemnly. “Reportedly Valmere was in a great deal of pain, so perhaps it was a blessing. I plan to travel to Kent this week to pay my respects to his remaining kin and make arrangements to provide for them.”
Kate was aware of Deverill’s lineage. His late grandfather, a younger son of a British baron, had immigrated to Virginia in America decades ago and married into a prominent merchant family that owned a fleet of sailing ships. This past January the current Baron Valmere—Augustus Deverill—had succumbed to a lingering illness, leaving behind a widowed daughter and two young granddaughters. The title and entailed properties had devolved to Brandon as the closest male relation.
For a moment, silence reigned as he lathered his face with soap. Watching, Kate found herself distracted by the sheer allure of his bare torso. Without volition her gaze skimmed over his wide shoulders and followed his tapered back to his lean waist, then lower to his tight buttocks and powerful thighs encased in buff knit breeches—
She looked away quickly so Deverill wouldn’t catch her admiring his lamentably impressive body. “Would you mind donning a dressing gown?”
“Regrettably, I don’t have one with me.”
“A shirt, then?”
He hesitated. “I will when I finish shaving.” Deverill glanced over his shoulder at her. “Have you turned missish all of a sudden?”
That tender, amused light that she’d loved so well had returned to fill his eyes. Seeing it, Kate remembered another provoking quality of his: No other man could make her blush as he could. She always felt as if he knew what she was thinking. And sometimes he seemed to be laughing at her—or at himself—inviting her to share a private jest.
It had been that way from the very first. He’d always taken vast liberties with her and never stood on formality. On the contrary, he’d teased her intimately, the way her brothers and cousins did. She could also count on Deverill to be candid, even brutally honest.
She had never minded his casual familiarity before, for it felt amiable, comfortable. Indeed, she had prized his frankness after all the sycophants who had toadied to her all her life as a wealthy, noble heiress.
They had met seven years ago when Deverill was visiting his uncle in Kent, the introduction made by Lady Isabella, who knew him from the days when he worked for the British Foreign Office. It was an unusual occupation for an American—a career that had originated because of his cousin Trey Deverill, and was cut short when war broke out between their countries.
“I have not been completely sheltered,” Kate answered lightly. “I grew up with male relatives, so I’ve seen partially unclothed men. But you and I are not at all related. Just because I dared call at your rooms twice does not mean I am unaware of the impropriety.”
“You forget I’ve seen your charms as well,” he murmured.
With her face flaming, she ducked her head. “You needn’t remind me,” she said in a low voice. “I once felt a foolish infatuation for you, but that is long over.”
Realizing how fainthearted she sounded, Kate raised her chin and met his gaze bravely. It was best to confront her embarrassment head-on.
Deverill was regarding her with that penetrating look, as if he knew all her secrets. Defensively, she flashed him her most winsome smile. “Never fear, Mr. Deverill. I am not here to throw myself at you again. I promise I won’t accost you or try to sneak into your bed.”
He looked as if he might reply, for his mouth curved for a moment, but he only shook his head and commenced shaving.
When he turned his back to her again, she noticed a wicked-looking scar beneath his right shoulder blade, perhaps three inches long, as if a knife or bayonet had speared his flesh. It must have hurt dreadfully, Kate thought, biting her lip in sympathy. She started to ask how he had come by the scar but stopped herself. The condition of his body was far too personal a matter for her to contemplate.
She changed her mind about taking a seat, however. Pointedly ignoring the bed, Kate crossed the small chamber to one of the chairs and sat down so she wouldn’t have to gawk at him directly. Deverill was pure physical temptation. More than that, he possessed the type of raw, vital presence that was supremely dangerous to any woman’s virtue. Any woman’s but mine, she amended. Her virtue had been perfectly safe in his hands, to her immense regret.
Kate cleared her throat. “Aunt Bella wishes she could be here to greet you, but she recently travelled to Cornwall to attend the lying-in of a friend’s daughter and needs to remain there a while longer. Meanwhile, she solicited my aid in her absence. I don’t know all the particulars of your correspondence with her, but I understand you intend to fully assume your role as Baron Valmere?”
“Yes.”
“I would like to hear from you what your aim is.”
He complied as he scraped off his whiskers. “You know that when the conflict between our countries escalated, my father requested I come home to Virginia? When he died a year later, I assumed the reins of our shipping company. I’ve spent the past several years rebuilding, since commerce suffered significantly during your British blockades of our harbors, and a portion of our fleet was destroyed. Now we are finally on solid enough footing that I can turn the enterprise over to my younger brother and fulfill my duties here.”
Kate eyed him inquiringly. “You actually mean to settle here in England?”
“In all likelihood, although my mother is not happy about it,” Deverill said dryly.
“I find it surprising that you would even consider it, given where your loyalties lie.”
“My loyalties?”
“To America. It is no secret that you were devotedly engaged in privateering.”
When his gaze sharpened at her disapproving tone, Kate pressed her lips together. There was no point in arguing the past with Deverill. The fact remained that he was the bold American seafarer who had stolen her heart and left her pining, which was his greatest offense.
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