Seduced by the Scoundrel (16 page)

‘How you do run on, my dear.’ Bradon brought his hands palm down on to the desktop and studied her. ‘I did not seek to marry you for your virginity, when all is said and done. We will simply wait and see for a month.’

‘Wait? And if I am not with child, you marry me?’

‘It seems prudent, would you not say?’

It seemed incredibly cold-blooded. Averil struggled
to say so, with tact. ‘You do not trust my word or you would not insist on this stratagem. Does it not concern you that I might have lied to you, that I am not a virgin, but I have escaped becoming pregnant? Is such suspicion any basis for marriage?’

‘How very innocent you are, my dear—about life, if not in other ways. I am marrying you for the benefits of your very substantial dowry. My father is expensive, I fear. You are marrying me for a title and status. You appear to be a handsome young woman of good address and refined manner, as I was led to believe. What has changed? Has your dowry gone down with the ship?’

‘No. Of course not.’ So this was how it would be: polite cynicism. He would accept her because he would discover soon enough that she was not pregnant whether he believed it at this moment or not. She must accept him because he had given her no reason not to. He had not struck her or rejected her. He had not even raised his voice to her. She felt more cold than when Luc had carried her from the sea. This man simply did not care about her at all.

‘Will it not appear odd that the marriage is delayed?’ She tried to match his tone.

‘Why, no. No one of any significance knows of it, after all. You are visiting us, we will introduce you into society. After a month I may—or may not—marry you. There will be no expectations, so no gossip, no unpleasant rumours.’

‘How civilised,’ Averil murmured and he looked pleased, although she did not know how he hoped to keep it a secret. Dita knew. Alistair Lyndon and Callum Chatterton knew. Her chaperon knew. She had made no secret of her reason for travelling to England when
she had been on the ship. But something held her back from saying so.

Then she realised why. She welcomed this breathing space. It took little mental effort to calculate that she had three weeks’ grace before her mother-in-law knew she was not with child; there was no possibility of hiding such things from the female servants.

‘There are some practical matters,’ she said. ‘I require clothing and I owe Sir George Gordon for my travel here.’

‘I assume your father made arrangements with his agents here for you to draw on funds?’

‘Yes. Yes, he did.’ So, Bradon was not taking on the responsibility of repaying Sir George. Was he mean, penny-pinching or seriously short of money? Her eyes strayed over the ornate furnishing, the silk curtains, the yards of leather-bound, gilt-embossed books. An aristocratic family wealthy in land and property and possessions without a silver shilling to spare, no doubt. The expensive father out pursuing his pleasures while the prudent son ensured the family finances.

Averil tried to keep the judgemental thoughts from her mind. It was not her business how they came to this. It was up to her to try and make sure they were towed out of the River Tick before her children reached their majority, that was all.

‘Papa’s bankers and lawyers are in the City. May I have a carriage to call on them?’

‘Of course.’ He got up and came around the desk to stand beside her. Averil felt compelled to stand, too. ‘I will accompany you. I assume you will need someone to vouch for you, with all your possessions and papers gone.’

‘Yes. I suppose I will. Thank you.’

He took her hand, lifted it, then brushed his lips over her knuckles. She forced herself to stand still and accept the caress, if that is what it could be called. ‘We will set out after luncheon. The sooner you can replace your trousseau, the better. Mama will lend you her dresser to guide you to all the best places once you have some money.’

Averil spared a fleeting thought for the silks and muslins, the jewellery and shawls, the piles of linens that she had painstakingly monogrammed as they sailed across miles of oceans. All gone, all lost, along with her dreams.

‘Thank you. I will go and put on my bonnet.’ He released her hand.
And put any hopes I ever had of love and romance firmly in a box and throw away the key.

L
uc strolled up Bond Street and turned left into Bruton Street. He had no convincing excuse for coming this way, he admitted to himself. Yes, he was intending to visit Manton’s to pick up some new pistols and try a little target practice, but this was a roundabout route by anyone’s calculation. He could tell himself he was getting some exercise, but that was purest self-deception. He was worried about Averil and he was missing her like the devil.

He should walk on past and go about his business; there was nothing he could do in any case unless she appeared here and now on the pavement in front of him. However much he wanted her, he had given her his word that he would not turn up on the doorstep and precipitate a crisis.

But despite his resolve some demon had him turning right and then right again into the mews that served the smart houses. He had promised nothing about watching the house and now he grabbed at the loophole.
Damn
it, but this obsession hurts. Where’s your will-power, man?
He didn’t seem to have any, only a sick fear that he was not going to be able to bear it when she married Brandon.

An English gentleman would cut her out of his life: it was, after all, the honourable thing to do. A Frenchman, hot-blooded and passionate, would ignore his own promises and snatch her. But he was neither. God, was he ever going to find where he belonged? What if Napoleon was never defeated and he was stranded here, belonging to no country?

Stop it!
Luc exerted years of hard-learned discipline and got his thoughts under control.
Just deal with it, day by day, just as you always have. Concentrate on Averil and whether she is all right.
He forced his attention back to the mews.

It was quiet, so presumably the carriages had gone out for the morning. A man whistled as he came out of a stable with a bucket, nodded to Luc with no sign of curiosity, and strode off.

Luc walked along, counting until he got to the back of the Bradons’ house. Where was she? He leaned a shoulder against the wall and eyed the gate that led into the garden as though it could answer the questions that so preoccupied him.

Averil would not be installed in Bradon’s bedchamber yet, of that he was certain. The family would do this properly, although without any great fuss, given the bride’s connections. But the man might be making love to her even now. What was there to stop him? And unless Bradon was made of stone, he would want her. Jealousy lanced through him. The bastard would take her innocence and that belonged to him, no one else.

As he watched a window opened on the second floor and there was Averil, as though he had called to her. She leaned her elbows on the sill and leaned out, a most unladylike thing to be doing. Luc smiled, the dark mood evaporating like mist under sunshine, and lifted a hand.

For a moment he thought she had not seen him, or perhaps did not recognise him in civilian dress, then she made a flapping gesture with her hand as though trying to shoo chickens. Amused, Luc stayed where he was. He could almost hear the huff of exasperation as she slapped both palms down on the sill and stared at him across the length of the garden and the low roofs of the mews buildings. Now what would his Averil do?

Her face changed and he realised she was mouthing something, although from that distance it was impossible to tell what.
Go away,
probably. They stared at each other for a while, then she ducked back inside and pulled down the window. Luc grinned; she was wearing a pale gown and the glimmer of white behind the glass showed clearly that she was standing watching him. He tipped the brim of his hat down, shifted his shoulders more comfortably and set himself to look like a man with nothing better to do than prop a wall up and watch the world go by for the rest of the morning.

It took ten minutes before the gate opened and Averil appeared. ‘Go away! What on earth are you doing here?’

Luc straightened, came across and stood next to her under the shelter of the garden wall. No one looking out of the windows in the house could see them there. ‘I wondered how you were.’
I needed to see you so
much it hurt.
No, he could not admit his weakness to her. Instinct warned him to hide his vulnerability.

‘I was perfectly all right until I saw you,’ she retorted. ‘I almost had a heart stroke.’ She was looking delightfully flushed and flustered, but he saw the dark smudges under her eyes and wondered how much sleep she’d had the night before. Had she been thinking about him, or worrying about Bradon?

‘You recognised me.’

‘I could think of no one else your size who would be lurking in back alleys.’ Despite her tone he suspected she was glad to see him. He hoped she was.

‘How was it? What is he like?’

‘Lord Bradon is perfectly charming and his parents are delightful. I could not be happier.’ Her green eyes were dark and shuttered.

‘Liar,’ he said. ‘Something is wrong. Tell me the truth. Did you confess what had happened?’

‘I told Lord Bradon this morning. About the shipwreck and being washed up and being in the hut with you for those days and nights. I did not tell him I was naked, or about … about the summer house in the Governor’s garden. He was very calm about it. He is—oh, I don’t know!’ She threw up her hands and for a moment Luc thought she was going to cry, then she tightened her lips and controlled herself. ‘He is very emotionless, very cool. They all are. There is no feeling or warmth. But I expect we will get used to one another soon.’

Luc put his hand on her arm. It was good to touch her and hell, too. He wanted to yank her into his embrace and kiss her senseless. She shook her head. ‘No, do not do that.’ He took his hand away, feeling absurdly as
though she had slapped him. ‘I do not need sympathy. I will be all right.’

‘So what did Bradon say? About us?’

‘I told him nothing about you. I told him that I could reveal nothing about the identity of the officer involved because of the secrecy required for the mission. He appeared to accept that.’

‘And you are still here. So he believes you are a virgin.’

‘No. Not exactly. He either does not trust my word or thinks me too ignorant to know if something had happened while I was unconscious. For a month, until he is certain that I am not with child, it will be put about that I am merely a guest of the Bradons. Once he is sure, then we will become betrothed.’

‘My God. The cold-blooded devil. You will not stay with him, surely?’

‘Why not? What has changed?’ She shrugged and he felt a spurt of anger. This was not Averil, not his Averil, this obedient, long-suffering puppet. ‘I did not behave well on the islands, I should have been stronger willed. There is a contract. My family—’

‘Your family can shift for themselves!’ He fought to keep his voice below a quarterdeck bellow. ‘They are adult men, the lot of them. You can’t behave like a virgin sacrifice, Averil, and they should not expect it of you.’

‘Can’t I? What will your wife be? She will not be agreeing to a love match, will she? She will be marrying a man who wants her for her bloodlines and her deportment. Will you lie and pretend to a warmth you do not feel while all the time you sneak off to your mistresses?’

The temper and the shreds of restraint that he was hanging on to by his fingernails escaped him. Luc hauled Averil into his arms and lost track of what he was about to say, let alone what he was thinking. She was soft and yet resilient as she pulled back against his arms, she smelled of a meadow in springtime and his mouth knew what her kiss would taste like.

‘I do not sneak,’ he snapped. ‘And I am not such a damned cynic as this money-grubbing Englishman you are throwing yourself away on either.’

‘Luc, please …’
Please go,
she meant. Her mouth was soft and under his hands, her body trembled and he knew he should either release her or just hold her, give her the comfort of some human warmth and care. But the devil that had brought him here was strong and the feel and the scent of her was making his head spin with desire so he took her mouth and closed his eyes on the hurt in her green, exposed, gaze.

She was quivering with anger and desire and vulnerability in his arms. She tasted of his dreams and she felt like heaven and he ravaged her mouth even as she twisted in his arms and kicked at his booted shins with her pretty little slippers.

When he lifted his head she stared back, holding his eyes despite the confusion in her own. He remembered the way she had looked deep into his eyes on St Helen’s as she searched for the truth in his words.

‘Damn it, Averil. Be mine. Come with me—I’ll give you all the warmth you’ll ever need.’

‘You’ll ruin me for your own desires, you mean,’ she said flatly. ‘Let me go. Promise me you will stay away from me.’

Sick at what he had just done, at the look in her eyes,
Luc opened his hands and she stepped back. ‘There. Free. But I will not stay away, not while you need me. Not while you want me.’
Not while this madness holds me.

‘You—’ The effort it took to regain her poise was visible, but she managed it. ‘You are arrogant, Monsieur le Comte. I neither need nor want you. Only your absence. Goodbye.’

Luc opened the gate for her and she went past him a swish of skirts without looking at him. He waited until she was through and said, ‘Convince me.’ The gate shut in his face and he heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being drawn across. He should leave her to Bradon, forget her. He ran his tongue over his lips and tasted her—passionate, feminine, innocent—and knew he could no more do it than fly.

‘That was reasonably satisfactory.’ Andrew Bradon replaced his hat and frowned at the traffic fighting its way up and down Cornhill. There was no sign of the carriage. ‘Where has that fool got to?’

‘There does not appear to be anywhere he could wait.’ Averil stared at a flock of sheep being driven down the middle of the street; it was like Calcutta but cooler and with sheep, not goats. Sheep were easier to think about than what had happened this morning. Two men: ice and fire. They both burned the skin.

‘He should have kept circling.’ Still fuming about his coachman, Bradon extended his crooked elbow. ‘Take my arm.’

‘Thank you.’ She had fled upstairs from the garden and washed her face and hands, brushed out and
redressed her hair, afraid that he would somehow scent Luc on her.

‘I do not understand why that lawyer wants all your bills sent to him to settle. He could have entrusted a sum to me to deal with on your behalf.’

‘Doubtless Mr Wilton will need to give Papa an exact accounting for the purposes of insurance after the shipwreck.’
And I am going to have to go through my married life being this careful and tactful. Mr Wilton saw no reason to put the money into your hands until he was forced to by my marriage. He is a canny man.

But he was also a dusty, dry and unimaginative man, she decided. She wondered whether to write to Papa and mention this. Wilton seemed to be the sort of person who would carry out orders even if they made no sense—there was a feeling of unyielding rigidity about him. On the other hand, he did appear to be utterly devoted to Papa’s interests. Sir Joshua’s word, it seemed, was law.

There was a navy blue uniform and a cocked hat in the crowd pouring out of the Royal Exchange. Averil told herself not to be foolish. The City must be full of naval officers; besides, he had been wearing civilian dress.
Oh, my God. It is him. Luc—

‘My dear? What is wrong?’

‘That crossing sweeper—I thought he was going to be struck by the carriage with the red panels.’

And Luc was crossing the road, coming towards them. Her heart beat so hard she thought she would be sick.
No!
He was going to speak. He was going to betray her in some way, make Bradon suspicious and her own position more precarious so that she would be forced into his arms. Averil closed her eyes and tried to
banish the memory of just how those arms felt around her and how much she wanted to be in them.

‘Excuse me. I think you have dropped this?’ Luc stooped and straightened with a man’s large linen handkerchief in his hand. He made a polite bow in her direction, but his eyes passed over her with no sign of recognition and his enquiring gaze fixed on Bradon.

‘What? No, not mine. Obliged, sir.’

‘Not at all. Lord Bradon, is it not?’

‘Yes.’ Bradon pokered up, whether because he objected to being addressed by a stranger or because he was suspicious of anyone in naval uniform after this morning’s revelations, she could not tell.

‘Forgive me, but someone pointed you out to me the other day as a considerable connoisseur of porcelain.’ Under her palm Averil felt Bradon relax. It was a miracle that he could not feel her own pounding pulse.

‘You are interested?’

‘As a mere amateur. I was able to pick up some interesting Copenhagen items when I was in that area recently.’

‘Indeed? I do not believe we have been introduced.’ Bradon’s manner became almost cordial.

‘Captain le comte Luc d’Aunay.’

Averil managed to breathe. Bradon would not suspect a count of involvement with an undercover operation and, thanks to the remark about Copenhagen, he now had a mental image of Luc being posted somewhere in the North Sea. And Luc was very properly not acknowledging a lady to whom he had not been introduced and not, as she had feared, doing anything to make Bradon suspicious. Perhaps this was a coincidental
meeting. Had he recovered from that morning’s madness?

‘ … interesting dealer off the Strand,’ Bradon was saying as she pulled herself together to listen to the two men. ‘Feel free to mention my name.’

‘Thank you, I will certainly do that. Good day.’ Luc raised his hat, his gaze focused on Averil for the first time. His expression was perfectly bland with just the hint of a query.

Her escort seemed to remember her presence. ‘Er, Miss Heydon, from India.’

‘Ma’am. India? I thought I had not had the pleasure of seeing you in town before.’ The bow was perfectly judged: polite and indifferent with just the hint of masculine appreciation that would be expected.