The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst

‘But, I would like to marry you, Nathan.’

‘You said yourself that there was no one to whom you were attracted on the island, so no wonder you are willing to marry me now. When you get to London you will have the choice of every eligible man in society. You do not need to throw yourself away on me,’ he added harshly.

‘But I wouldn’t be! How could I throw myself away on a good, courageous, honourable man?’

He hugged those words to himself for a second, then put them away somewhere to recollect when she was gone. ‘Because you can do better,’ he said harshly.

‘Nathan—’ Whatever it was she had been about to say was cut off. Clemence shook her head, as though arguing with herself.

‘Clemence, I have

only the money that I earn myself—my pay and prize money. I was, seven years ago, so well off from prize money that I felt it safe to take a wife.’

‘A wife? You have been married?’

He nodded. ‘She is dead. I did not take enough care of her. And she was very expensive—the money is gone.’ There, now she knew.

‘Did you love her?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you are a widower, you can marry again.’

‘I am trailing the scandal of her death,’ he said tersely and something in her expression showed she recalled a conversation they had had before.

‘The duel you fought?’

‘With the man who intended to become her lover,’ he said, heedless of the blow to his pride that admission caused. ‘You see how desirable I am? If we lived quietly, that would hardly matter, but you have a position in society. I do not relish taking on the mantle of the fortune hunter who brought about the downfall of yet another well-bred virgin.’

‘So you do not wish to marry me at all, really?’ Clemence slid back so she was against one of the bedposts. ‘You were just doing the honourable thing to save my reputation.’ She waved a hand at the rumpled white bedding. ‘And I suppose, at least, once you had taught me to be less ignorant, you would not have minded bedding the wife you took out of kindness.’

Nathan wanted to protest, to tell her he wanted, not just to bed her, but to discover her in his bed every day. That far from forcing himself to do the honourable thing, he now found he was having to use all his will-power not to act dishonourably and take her, here and now, and keep her. Because Clemence Ravenhurst had got under his skin and into his heart in a way that he had thought would never happen to him again. If he were not careful, he would find himself fancying that he was in love with her and that was only a delusion, for that part of him was dead.

‘You are too young,’ he tried. ‘If you had more experience of the world, you would understand…’

‘I am too young, too rich and too well connected. I see,’ Clemence said, her voice flat. ‘What it boils down to is that you do not care to face my relatives and risk what they might say of you. What I am, as a person, does not count in this equation. Very well, I understand that a man’s honour is a very touchy and particular thing. And I am so very sorry about your wife. Please…’ she gestured towards the door ‘…please do not let me keep you from your rest.’

‘Clemence.’ They stared at each other. He was exasperated with himself for his inability to explain this without hurting her, and under that he found he was hurting, too, far more than he would have believed possible for a man whose emotions had been cauterized seven years before. And Clemence, he knew perfectly well, was as upset as he, for her own reasons.

She had been through enough. She did not deserve to find herself persuaded into marriage with a man she had come to trust and depend on, have her innocence disturbed by his lovemaking and then to be told she was alone after all, except for her important relatives, far away. Yes, of course she wanted to cling to him and the security that marriage, however inappropriate, would give her.

‘Nathan, please will you get off my bed and out of my bedroom? As it appears that I am not about to lose my virginity tonight, I would rather like to get some sleep.’

In the face of that, there was not much else to do than fight his way out of the mosquito netting, find his shirt and shoes and remove himself. He sincerely hoped she was going to get more sleep than he expected to.

It was all too much to take in, but one thing was clear: he had loved his wife and he blamed himself for her death.

She had to be thankful they had not made love, Clemence told herself, staring at the indentation Nathan’s long body had made in the bedding. She was rich, she was eligible, she was well connected and those three highly desirable characteristics were enough to drive away the man she was in love with. Loved, she corrected herself.

The marriage would not have taken place, of course; he would have discovered her name before that. She recalled, with a stab of guilt, that on the ship she had deliberately not told him who she was, afraid the temptation of such a hostage would be too much for the rogue she suspected he might be.

What had just happened proved he was every bit as honourable as she could have hoped—and that very honour was stopping him marrying her. That and the fact that he did not love her, of course. It was important to remember that, to remember that he had offered only to protect her because, otherwise, surely he would have made that declaration?

He had loved his wife. Did he love her still? Was the bitterness in his voice for her, for himself or for the man with whom he had fought that duel? What had happened to provoke that calamity?

And what would Nathan have done if that conversation about Raven’s Hold had taken place after they had made love, not before? Would he have married her then?

A high-pitched buzzing at last stirred her from her position against the bedpost. It took ten minutes to tuck in the net and to hunt the mosquito, by which time she was beyond tiredness, beyond even feeling miserable. Taking her remaining clothing off was too much trouble. Clemence curled up in the middle of the bed and sank into sleep.