Seduced by the Scoundrel Read online

  ‘Thank you.’ Averil straightened her shoulders, sent a firm message to her wobbly knees and followed the footman up the stairs. Start as you mean to go on, she told herself. And being intimidated by the upper servants would not be a good beginning. Nor would appearing before her future mother-in-law looking like a hoyden.

  ‘‘Strewth, miss,’ Grace said as the footman left. ‘It’s a bit grand, isn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed, yes.’ Averil turned on her heel to admire the heavy golden-brown hangings, the tassels, the gilt-framed pictures, the marble overmantel. None of it was new, she could see that, and all of it, in her honest opinion, needed some loving care. It was not exactly shabby, but it was definitely worn.

  Hot water came with exemplary speed, brought by a pretty maid with freckles who confided that she was Alice and would Miss Heydon like a cup of tea?

  ‘We both would,’ Averil said firmly as Grace attacked her dusty hem with a clothes brush. A large glass of wine would be even better, she thought as she washed her hands and face and began to unpin her hair. But she was going to need all her wits about her now.

  ‘Thank you, Rogers, I am ready now.’ The butler looked up as she came down the stairs and she congratulated herself on thinking to ask his name.

  He opened a door and announced, ‘Miss Heydon, my lady.’

  Averil found herself in cool, glittering elegance. White silk walls, gilt details, marble, a pale lemon-and-cream carpet that stretched like an ice flow across dark glossy floorboards towards the chairs and a sofa arranged in a conversation-piece setting at the far end.

  Two men got to their feet from the armchairs as she began the interminable walk across the carpet. The taller must be the Earl of Kingsbury, she realised. His brown hair was grey at the temples, his thin face lined more with experience than age. Beside him was his son Andrew, Lord Bradon. Her betrothed. The man she was going to spend the rest of her life with—if he would take her. Shorter than his father, plumper, with the same brown hair and brown eyes. A comparison with another man of the same age flickered through her mind and she forced a smile.

  She arrived in front of the sofa and the woman who sat on it. Small, birdlike, dark-haired and dark-eyed: the countess. Her steady regard changed suddenly into a bright smile. The two men bowed. Averil curtsied. We ‘re like automata, she thought wildly. A clock would chime at any moment.

  ‘My dear Miss Heydon! What an adventurous journey you have had to be sure. Come and sit beside me. Bradon, ring for wine—we must drink to Miss Heydon’s safe arrival.’

  Averil sat, expecting an embrace, a kiss or at least a pat on the hand. Nothing. The men resumed their seats, the countess sat beside her, straight-backed, hands folded in her lap.

  ‘You left your family in good health, I trust?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. My father sends his good wishes and regrets that he was unable to accompany me.’

  ‘Business pressures, no doubt,’ the countess remarked and the earl smiled. Rogers brought in a tray with champagne already poured. Averil curled her fingers around the fragile stem of the flute and made herself focus on not snapping it.

  ‘Er. Yes.’ No one appeared about to make a toast so she sipped the wine. It fizzed down into her empty stomach. Mistake. I don’t care.

  ‘And it was an uneventful voyage until the shipwreck, I trust.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you.’ She doubted that her future mother-in-law wanted to hear about mad dogs in Madras, Christmas festivities on board or a joint attempt by the younger passengers to write a sensation novel.

  ‘And the ship was wrecked on the fifteenth of last month, I understand?’

  Why were the men so quiet? Averil addressed her answer to Andrew. ‘Yes, that is correct. At night.’

  ‘But the letter from the Governor was dated the twenty-first, six days later.’ The countess frowned. ‘That was very remiss of him, I fear.’

  ‘I was unconscious for three days, on one of the outlying islands. They did not know who I was.’ The Governor would have told them that already—her skin began to prickle with apprehension. They were already suspicious. She would tell Andrew what happened tomorrow; she could not blurt it out now, not in front of his parents like this.

  ‘Oh. I see. You were cared for by respectable people, one hopes.’

  ‘A secret navy mission. They rescued me when I was swept on to the beach.’

  ‘Men?’ The countess might as well have said Cockroaches?

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Averil took another sip between gritted teeth. She had known this was not going to be easy, but why did her betrothed not utter a word? The earl was watching her from under hooded lids: a calculating, predatory stare. ‘I really cannot say much more about it just now—it was very confidential. I will explain all about it tomorrow to Lord Bradon.’

  He spoke so suddenly that she jumped. ‘I am sure you will.’ He might as well have been referring to details of a shopping expedition to buy a new hat. ‘Ah, here is Rogers. Dinner at last.’

  ‘You slept well, my dear?’

  ‘Thank you, yes. My lord.’ Andrew Bradon had not asked her to use his given name, so she did not presume. The study was very masculine, very English. Was it his taste, or his father’s? The earl had excused himself after dinner and she had not seen him since. She suspected that he was not much at home.

  The chair Brandon offered her was comfortable, they were alone, his expression was pleasant. What, then, was making her stomach tie itself into knots? This was much worse than she had imagined when she had woken that morning in a bed that seemed far too large and soft and lonely.

  ‘I believe there is something you need to tell me about the shipwreck.’ He settled back in his own chair behind the desk and nodded encouragingly. Why, then, did feel she had been called in to explain breaking the best china?

  ‘About the aftermath and my rescue, yes.’ This was the right thing to do. Averil took in a breath. ‘I was washed up on the beach of an island that is normally uninhabited. I was found by a group of men who were part of a secret mission to intercept messages being sent to the French by a traitor in the islands. Their captain assisted me to shelter in the old isolation hospital on the island.’

  ‘And why did he not return you immediately to the main island?’

  ‘Because I was semi-conscious. He had no way of knowing whether, when I awoke, I would say anything about their presence there. At that point no one could be trusted.’

  He did not say much, this man. No exclamations of sympathy or anger, no reaction at all save for a pursing of his lips. Averil guessed he was waiting for her to prattle on out of sheer nervousness and rather thought he was succeeding. ‘I was unconscious for two days.’

  ‘Three nights.’ Of course, he had to pinpoint the number of nights. ‘Who nursed you?’

  ‘He did. The officer.’

  ‘Did he rape you?’ Still the same calm, pleasant tone.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Really? Are you certain? You say you were unconscious.’

  ‘I would be able to tell. And besides, he is not that kind of man.’ She tried to keep the passion out of her voice, offer an objective assessment, but she was not at all sure she succeeded.

  ‘Did he take liberties of any kind?’

  ‘He kissed me. I slept in his bed.’ There, she had said it.

  ‘In his bed?’ Everything about Bradon’s rounded features sharpened as though he had suddenly come into focus. ‘In his bed?’

  ‘It was that or sleep outside with the men who were a rough crew sleeping in makeshift shelters.’

  ‘And you kissed him. Did you enjoy it?’ He was coolly objective again.

  ‘I have nothing to compare it with. I am a virgin, my lord.’ And I am blushing like a peony and ready to sink. It was so much worse than she had expected, even though he was so calm and dispassionate. Perhaps because of that. Why was he showing no emotion?

  ‘So you say.’

  Averil found she was on her feet. ‘I give you my word! Why
on earth should I tell you this if it was not out of a desire to be honest with my betrothed?’

  ‘Because you fear you may be with child, of course.’ He steepled his fingers and regarded her over the top of them.

  ‘With child?’ For a moment it did not make sense. What was he talking about? She could not be pregnant because Luc had not … Then the anger came. He did not believe her. ‘It would have to be an immaculate conception then, my lord.’

  ‘Do not blaspheme!’ Finally, some emotion.

  ‘I am not lying. I am not pregnant because it is impossible that I should be.’

  ‘Indeed, I hope you are telling me the truth. I will not tolerate a lying wife.’

  He was going to throw her out. Something very like relief flooded through her. Averil shook her head. Relief? This was a catastrophe. ‘I understand that given the possibilities for scandal you would wish to reconsider the marriage contract. But it was a secret mission, you may rely on nothing of my presence coming out. The Governor gave his assurances that he would say nothing.’

  ‘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.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Luc 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?’