He brushed some errant curls from her face, marveling at the effect she’d had on him in the short weeks since his return to England. Already he could feel his emotions softening, his rigid guard dropping. He was losing his strict detachment. And the restless dissatisfaction that had gripped him had eased significantly. Even better, the sharp emptiness he’d known for years was gone entirely.
Kate had given him a taste of an intimacy he’d never known, a tenderness he’d never thought he would experience. Without question, the prospect of creating something deeper didn’t alarm him as it once had, nor did building the kind of bond he’d always avoided. Perhaps with time he could even permit himself to feel stronger emotions, like love.
If anyone could show him how to love, it would be Kate.
The thought lingered on his mind as she stirred awake and slowly became aware of her surroundings. After a moment she turned her head and focused her warm, sleep-drugged eyes directly on him.
When she offered him a soft smile that was part shyness, part siren, the sharp pleasure of it stabbed him in his midsection, in his loins.
Brandon swore under his breath and determinedly reined in his baser instincts before they bolted. He couldn’t lie here any longer, though, with Kate firing his blood. Nor could he possibly touch her and remain unmoved.
So he planted a light kiss on her temple and slipped from the bed. A bracing bath in the sea would help temper his explosive lust.
“I am going for a swim,” he announced, bending to pick up his breeches. “My absence will allow you some privacy.”
She blinked at the suddenness of his decision, but without waiting for her to respond, he gathered up the remainder of his clothing and quit the room.
—
When Kate recovered from her speechlessness, she stretched languidly. She’d been having the most pleasant dream, indulging in the fantasy that Deverill was her husband, her lover. It was quite a delicious feeling, waking to the feel of a hard, very male body beside her. And the sight of his nude form—so tanned and solidly muscled—made her recall how he had made love to her the night of the storm. At the memory, she could feel her nipples harden.
Painfully aware of her breasts and the hollow between her thighs, Kate bestirred herself to rise.
As she washed with water from the basin, she longed for a bath herself. Gabrielle had shown her the small copper tub in a closet off the kitchen, but there was likely not enough time to build a fire in the stove and heat enough bathwater. And most certainly she didn’t want to be caught naked when Deverill returned from his swim.
After dressing, she brushed her hair and wound it back into a tidy knot, then went to the kitchen to consider what could be prepared for breakfast.
She had her longings under better control by the time Deverill entered by way of the back door, but her resolve to appear casual instantly deserted her. He was clad in only breeches, his torso glistening with moisture, hair slicked back from his face. Her mouth went dry at the sight of so much warm, bronzed skin, and she was glad when he announced his intention to dress and shave. With a shadow of stubble darkening his jaw, he looked ruggedly handsome and more than a little dangerous, like the pirates he meant to consort with today.
While he disappeared, Kate busied herself putting together a breakfast of bread and jam and slices of ham from the loin stored in the pantry cooler. She craved a cup of hot tea, but settled for cider.
Deverill appeared a short while later and joined her at the kitchen table. When he complimented her resourcefulness, Kate demurred. At Beauvoir in Kent where she had grown up, she commanded an enormous staff, and a smaller one at the mansion in London, but she had learned enough to get by in a pinch.
“I should go to the market and purchase food,” she said. “And perhaps I can hire a servant to help with the cleaning and cooking.”
Over their meal they discussed the plans for the day.
“From the beach you can see the small harbor of St. Georges,” Deverill told her. “Louvel’s men will gather there to begin the search while he and I interview the villagers who witnessed the Zephyr go down, according to Macky’s investigation.”
“I wish I could accompany you,” Kate said, “but Louvel and his fellow pirates will not appreciate my tagging along. And my time will be better spent cultivatin
g an acquaintance with Gabrielle.”
When a companionable silence followed, Kate once again was struck by the simple domestic scene and couldn’t help wondering if this was what their marriage would be like.
All too soon, however, the peaceful interlude ended, for Deverill gave her a pistol to carry in her reticule, as well as a sharp-bladed dagger, reminding her how serious their situation was, facing a band of potential cutthroats. She and Deverill would need to work together and keep their wits about them if they hoped to prevail without major consequence.
When they were finished eating, Deverill retrieved the horses and carriage from the local livery and delivered Kate to the pirate’s house. Before they parted ways, she managed to divulge her misgivings. “I admit I am worried for you.”
“I am more worried for you,” he replied. “I don’t like the thought of leaving you alone—although I suspect you can fend for yourself,” he quickly added. “I know better than to question your courage.”
That dredged a smile from her, as she knew he’d meant to.
Kate stood watching with Gabrielle as the men departed, then began asking questions. The Frenchwoman explained the layout of the village and led her outside at the rear of the house, which afforded expansive views of the sea. When she pointed out the harbor in the distance to their right, Kate could just make out a number of fishing vessels—sailboats and skiffs and dinghies—tied to the jetties. Along the coast to their left, Gabrielle said, were ample caves and grottoes and pretty beaches.
Afterward, they returned inside to the parlor, where a tea tray had been delivered. When the conversation broadened, they both lamented having to remain at home while men did the real work.
“Regrettably, it is the lot of women everywhere,” Gabrielle remarked. But then she described her situation, and it became clear that the Frenchwoman had far more freedom than English girls of similar station. The village of St. Georges was fairly poor but lively, and except for her lack of family and husband, she cherished living there. Furthermore, her position as Louvel’s mistress was seen as practical rather than shameful.