My Fair Lover (Legendary Lovers 5)

Deverill’s mouth curved. “And you trust me?”

She suspected he was trying to lighten the moment by provoking her, so she answered in the same vein. “Amazingly enough, yes. You know more about the sea than anyone of my acquaintance. In fact, you own an entire fleet of ships, and now you have your own right here in London.”

“I had planned for my ship to return to America in a week or two.”

Kate felt her heart sink. “Oh. Well, perhaps I could make it worth your while. I can afford to pay a great deal.”

“You have your own extensive fortune, I know.”

She ignored his amused drawl. “I could hire a ship and captain, perhaps, but I would rather not depend on strangers in this endeavor. You see…I am not very fond of sailing.”

A vast understatement, Kate reflected. In fact she had a base fear of ships—not unreasonable considering how her parents had perished. “I can swim quite well,” she explained. “You will recall the lake at Beauvoir where I grew up? But I have a morbid fear of drowning at sea.”

“And you need someone to cosset your sensibilities.”

Certain now that he was ragging her, Kate smiled. “Alas, yes. I concede that I am craven. But there are other reasons you would be a better choice. Even if I could employ men to search for the wreck, I might have to deal with the pirates. I am English. After decades of war, the French are not exactly our bosom friends. I suspect pirates are much fonder of you Americans, since many of them aided you during the war.”

Deverill frowned as he pulled on a linen shirt and began tucking the hem into his breeches. A pity to cover all that bare flesh, Kate thought before scolding herself and concentrating on what he was saying.

“…it could be dangerous.”

“Perhaps, but pirates are unlikely to threaten you.”

He cast her a wry glance. “I am not concerned about my own skin, but yours. A young lady travelling along the coast needs protection.”

“Which is why I am asking you.”

“What about your family? Will they be accompanying you?”

“Although they would all very much like a resolution, they are not as adamant as I am. And they are all busy starting their own families.”

Kate watched as Deverill wrapped a length of cambric around his neck and began tying a cravat in a plain knot. The white fabric contrasted appealingly with his tanned skin. Indeed, clean-shaven, he was even more attractive— Stop that, you ninny.

She drew a steadying breath. “So you see, I want to lay to rest the memories of my loved ones with a proper burial of some sort. That is my one condition. I will help you find a bride if you will help me by taking me to France afterward.”

Deverill hesitated while he donned a coat of serviceable brown kerseymere. “Very well. I agree.”

Her eyebrow rose skeptically. “You do?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I thought it would require more effort to convince you.”

“But you are Princess Katharine. You have always been able to wrap men around your finger and persuade them to do your bidding.”

She gave him an arch look. “Some men, perhaps, but not you. And you oughtn’t call me princess since I am not of royal blood. Clearly you have more to learn about British customs in addition to your new responsibilities as a lord.” She paused as the urgency occurred to her. “We have very little time to secure you a bride—merely a month till the end of the Season. We should begin working on a plan at once.”

Fetching his stockings and boots, Deverill crossed the room and sat down in the adjacent chair to put them on.

Kate disliked his proximity but forced herself to remain seated as she studied his attire. With his superb physique—all broad-shouldered, rugged—he put her more effeminate, aristocratic beaux to shame. But his black mane made him look rather uncivilized, and although his coat fit well enough, the style screamed “provincial.”

“Our first order of business,” she said, “should be to find you a good tailor. You don’t want to look like a backwoods colonial, Mr. Deverill—Lord Valmere, I mean. I suppose I should address you by your new title.”

“Pray, don’t. I prefer you call me Deverill—or Brandon as you once did.”

“You must grow accustomed to it, my lord.”

He grimaced. “I will have a difficult time.”