And yet, regrettably to Kate’s mind, most days they were required to engage with the real world.
That night they dined at Louvel’s house. For a pirate, Jean Louvel seemed quite civilized and gentlemanly and welcoming as a host. Despite his proper table manners, however, his treatment of Gabrielle left something to be desired. Although he seemed genuinely fond of her, his behavior toward her bordered on arrogant and demanding, as if he considered her his property, Kate thought.
She observed their interactions carefully, and when the women retired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port, she was able to question the beauty at some length.
Clearly Gabrielle was far more enamored of Louvel than he was of her. She truly loved him, but while he unquestionably bore a passion for her, his affection didn’t indicate the prospect of marriage or family. Gabrielle wanted children—legitimate children. A place at his side as his wife, not just a mistress to warm his bed. But by her admission, her plan to seduce Louvel into proposing had borne little fruit thus far, nor did she expect it to.
“Have you spoken to him about marriage?” Kate asked her. “Does he know how you feel about him?”
“I have been too afraid to press him for fear he would cast me out. If that occurs, I would have no livelihood and no place to live. As the spurned lover, I would likely be compelled to move away, to leave my home, my friends.”
“But even as his chère femme, you should have certain rights,” Kate argued. “What if you were to give him an ultimatum? Demand marriage as payment for continuing with him? Sometimes men only need a little push in the right direction to come to their senses.”
“If he refuses, then where would I be? I would have nowhere to go. And I have no leverage to sway him.”
Kate considered Gabrielle thoughtfully, wondering whether to encourage her to risk being left with nothing. It was often the way of the world, where men held all the power and women were but chattel or, at a minimum, impotent supplicants. But if it was only a matter of money…
“Let me think on it, and I will try to devise a plan. Meanwhile, I am grateful for all the help you have given us since we arrived in St. Georges.”
They went on to discuss how the search for the shipwreck was proceeding. And the next morning reminded Kate of the benefits of cultivating Louvel’
s good graces. With his permission she went with Gabrielle to the harbor to watch as a half-dozen vessels sailed away. The searchers began upstream of St. Georges and worked their way along the estuary toward the Atlantic, but there had been no sightings thus far. Over and over, their nets and hooks came up empty, with very little to show for their dredging efforts.
Midweek found Kate pondering more on her progress with Deverill. She thought he might be responding to her unspoken encouragement to be more open with his feelings. Undoubtedly an undercurrent of deeper emotion ran beneath the playful tone of their sexual encounters.
He never again spoke about the war, nor did she ask, but each time she saw the stark scar on his back beneath his shoulder blade, she felt a powerful urge to touch that old wound, along with an intense anger at whoever had hurt him. And she knew that having to fight his former friends and colleagues had scarred him more deeply than his flesh wound ever had.
He did talk about his family sometimes. At her instigation and his own, he shared a few fond memories of his younger brother, Griffith, during happier times, and less often, his conflicted feelings about his parents.
Kate knew she might be indulging in wishful thinking, but she couldn’t help hoping that Deverill’s frozen heart was slowly thawing, making him less resistant to the possibility of love.
As for passion, he was most definitely broadening her horizons as he’d promised. Two afternoons later, he returned early from the search and took her to explore the Roman bath that Gabrielle had mentioned.
The ancient buildings, which had been erected in a small cove with a spectacular view of the sea, had long ago fallen into ruin, but there were three fairly large pools made from slabs of stone, fed by a natural hot spring swirling from the depths. The water was fresh and clear and partially shaded by overhanging branches of tall willows that had sprouted between the cracks in the rock.
It was a perfect place for lovers, Kate thought: the aquamarine of the sea behind them, the waves washing upon the shore below, the surface of the heated pools dappled with sunlight that wove through the sheltering leaves above.
No sooner had they reached the edge of the largest pool when Deverill drew her close.
Under the pretense of kissing her, he raised the hem of her gown and slid a hand up her stockinged calf to slip one finger inside her. When she gasped, he drew back. His dark eyes seared her, conveying the promise of mindless rapture. “You’re so wet for me. So hot and tight. Let me pleasure you, lovely Kate….”
They both knew how this encounter would end—in her seduction. But vowing again that she would not make it easy for him, she danced away.
“All in good time,” she said, flashing a teasing smile.
After undressing, she scooped up a cake of soap, then carefully descended a flight of stone steps and slipped into the pool. The water was pleasantly warm, the surface a little higher than waist deep.
She had begun soaping herself by the time Deverill shed his own clothing and stood on the bank, preparing to enter. She stared, enrapt. He looked like every woman’s most wicked dream.
Out of self-preservation, Kate turned away. She heard a slight splash as he joined her. Then he came up behind her and slid his arms around her.
When his thighs brushed hers, she could feel the firm, purposeful nudge of his swollen manhood against her buttocks. Heat surrounded her. Her breasts felt heavy and full and throbbed for his touch.
“We are supposed to be bathing,” Kate managed to say rather weakly.
“I know. Allow me to help you, angel.”
The caress of his voice was so enticing, she could almost taste the pleasure he promised, could almost feel his lengthy shaft gliding between her feminine folds.