Seduced by the Scoundrel Read online

  There were more growls from the direction of the bedchamber. Oh, dear. He did not sound like a man who could be persuaded to part with a large sum of money in exchange for a novice mistress’s inept caresses. The nerves that had been a flock of butterflies in her stomach turned into bats.

  Hughes reappeared, seized a decanter from the sideboard and vanished again. Finally he put his head around the door. ‘If your woman would care to join me in the scullery, ma’am, the captain will be out in a moment.’

  Grace got to her feet, stopped, whisked off Averil’s bonnet, patted her hair into place, hissed, ‘Bite your lips. Good luck’, and followed him out.

  Averil sat watching the door as though a tiger might emerge from it. Every carefully rehearsed sentence fled from her head. When the door did open she was ready to faint through sheer nervous anticipation.

  Luc stopped in the doorway and studied her without speaking. His hair was wet and looked as though he had poured water over his head and then run his fingers through the black locks. There were purple smudges under his eyes, which were bloodshot. He was wearing a shirt, open at the neck, and pantaloons; his feet were bare.

  ‘You look dreadful,’ Averil said without thinking and stood up. He looked like death and she loved him. She wanted to take him in her arms and fuss over him and soothe his headache and kiss away the strain around his eyes and never leave him. Instead she clasped her hands tightly together and just waited.

  ‘I have seen you looking better,’ he rejoined. ‘And worse, come to think about it. I am damnably hungover. I am probably still half-cut. Tell me what’s wrong, just don’t shout at me.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Averil bit her lip. ‘Hadn’t you better sit down?’

  He gestured at the chaise and sat in the chair opposite. ‘Does Bradon know you’re here?’

  ‘No!’ Luc winced. ‘Sorry. No. I have run away and left no note. I cannot bear to marry him.’

  ‘And so you have come to me.’ The colour was returning to his face and the bleak look in his eyes seemed to fade. Whatever potion the manservant had given him must be working.

  ‘Yes. But—’

  ‘Ah. The but. Tell me the worst.’

  The door opened to admit Hughes with a tray. ‘Coffee, Captain. Your woman said you would take coffee also, ma’am.’ Leaving her to pour, he left as quietly as he had entered.

  She stirred in sugar, careful not to strike the porcelain and make a noise, passed a cup, black, to Luc and added cream to her own.

  ‘I want to go home, to India. Bradon is a man that my father would not wish me to marry, once he knows the truth about him.’

  ‘Tell me what he has done.’

  Averil explained, not at all certain that Luc would believe her. Her father would, she was certain. But would another man?

  Luc’s face darkened. ‘The man contemplates the murder of a woman and child as he might consider destroying a wasps’ nest. It would do the world a service to remove him from it. And that harpy of a mother of his. But I suppose one cannot, not without evidence.’

  ‘No,’ Averil agreed. ‘But you understand why I cannot marry him.’

  ‘Of course. Thank God you ran before they discovered you had overheard.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Tell me the but.’

  Averil bit her lower lip, struggling to find the way to express what she wanted. In the end she simply said, ‘I will be your mistress for two weeks in exchange for my passage back to India, Grace’s wages as my companion on the voyage and enough money to cover my expenses to Calcutta.’

  He was silent, watching her with an impenetrable, heavy gaze over the top of steepled fingers.

  ‘I know it isn’t for very long, and it will be a lot of money and I won’t be very good, although I am a virgin and men seem to set a lot of store by that, so I suppose that is something, and I will do my best.’

  He held up one hand and she trailed to a halt, red-cheeked and breathless with embarrassment and nerves.

  ‘What is your plan if I refuse?’ He might have been discussing naval tactics in a meeting except that he had gone white under his tan.

  ‘I have none.’

  ‘So you are desperate and I am your only hope?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Flattering,’ he remarked.

  But I love you! The words she could not say were bitter on her tongue. What could she say? That if she was not desperate she would still have come to him? No. Nor would she have seen him again if her father’s lawyer had given her the money. She would have written to say goodbye, that was all. So he had every right to feel used.

  ‘I am sorry. I thought you wanted me.’ ‘Oh, I do, my dear. Very much. I was hoping you would come because you wanted me, too—and for rather longer than two weeks.’ He closed his eyes and she wondered if his headache was still very bad. ‘For much longer,’ he said and opened them again.

  ‘But the ship sails then and in any case, the third week wouldn’t be …’ Her voice trailed away. Possibly it was possible to blush even redder, but she doubted it.

  ‘In three weeks your not-to-be mother-in-law would have known you were not with child?’ he enquired. ‘There is no need to colour up like a peony, I am aware of how females work, you know.’ Luc did not sound at all like a man who had just heard that his physical desires were to be gratified. ‘Are you not afraid that two weeks as my mistress will leave you pregnant?’

  Yes, it was possible to become more embarrassed. Averil studied her gloved hands intently. ‘I overheard two married women talking at the reception. They have lovers, I think. And then I asked Grace about what they said and she told me that there is a way if the man …’

  ‘I see. So I have two very expensive weeks teaching you how to make love and I have to withdraw every time?’ His voice was flat; she could not tell whether he was furiously angry with her or disgusted and bored. Had she hurt him?

  ‘Yes,’ she said. A seam in her glove split and with it her nerve. ‘I am sorry. I should never have come here, never have asked. It is quite unreasonable of me, I can see that. I will go away.’ The wave of flat despair blacked out even the fear of not knowing what she could do now. All she could think of was that she would never see Luc again, never lie in his arms, never show him how much she loved him even if she could not say the words.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Averil.’ She looked up as Luc knelt in front of her and caught her hand. The glimpse of pale skin through the split glove seam was deeply affecting. It was erotic, but it also made him feel a strange tenderness, almost enough to wash away the hurt that she had come to him not because she wanted him but because he was the only person she could sell herself to.

  ‘It is not unreasonable, quite the contrary—it is quite delightful of you,’ he said, instinct telling him to keep his voice light. He could not beg her to stay for ever, not when she was so desperate to leave that she would do this thing. ‘I must admit that two months would be better and I do hope you will not ruin any more expensive gloves while in my keeping, but I agree to your terms.’

  The hazel eyes that looked into his with such earnestness were dark and troubled. There was real fear lurking there. She must have been at her wits’ end to have come to him, he knew that. He was her last resort. If he had not taken her in, what would she have done? The options were bleak and the least dreadful of them would be to return to Bradon.

  Her desperation put her feelings for him in stark context: becoming his mistress was better than selling herself on the streets, better than throwing herself in the Thames and preferable to returning to a man who terrified and disgusted her. His pride kicked at the realisation. And there was something else, a feeling he could not identify except as an ache. He pushed the pain and resentment to the back of his mind; it was time to put his own feelings to one side and think only of her.

  As he spoke her eyes lost focus and he realised she was near to fainting with relief. ‘Drink your coffee. Have you eaten today?’ She shook her head. Luc got to h
is feet and tugged the bell. ‘Hughes, some food for Miss Heydon.’

  As the manservant vanished to the scullery he contemplated his new mistress. His mouth felt dry, his loins were heavy with desire. Not now, he thought, willing his clamouring body into some kind of obedience. She was virginal, distressed, determined. Exhausted. He needed to get her safe so she could rest before he so much as kissed her fingertips. That did it all over again; he could only be grateful that she was too preoccupied to notice his rampant arousal and be alarmed even more.

  ‘I’ll go and get dressed,’ he said as Hughes brought in a tray and began to set an omelette and bread and butter and preserves on the table. ‘Eat, you’ll feel better.’

  In the bedchamber as he changed he worked through the list of things to be done while Hughes jotted notes. ‘Book the best cabin you can get—no, make that two cabins, on the next ship for Calcutta. There is one in two weeks, apparently. Go for the best, even if that means settling for one bigger cabin rather than two—I’ll leave that to your judgement. On the way call in at the agent for the Half Moon Street house and tell him I want to extend the lease for another month.’

  ‘Staff, Captain? Footman, a cook-housekeeper and a maid?’

  ‘Yes, that will do. Get them round there as soon as possible, I want the place clean and provisioned by tonight.’

  He had leased the little house for a new mistress just before the crisis with the admiral blew up and it had never been used for that purpose. Now, although it was in Mayfair and possibly dangerously close to Bradon, he thought Averil would feel comfortable there. It was not as if she was going to be going out much. His body stiffened all over again and he jerked his neck cloth tighter.

  ‘Uniform, Captain?’

  ‘Yes, I need to go down to the Admiralty.’ There was his finished report on the Scillies affair to present this afternoon, if he could manage to focus on that. Possibly they would have his new posting. If they wanted him to leave immediately, then they could think again. He found he could smile, his thumping headache beginning to melt away.

  ‘Tell Miss Heydon’s woman to make her mistress comfortable in here—she needs to rest.’

  He buckled on his sword as he walked through into the main room. Averil had colour back in her cheeks and the plate was clean. She smiled at him as he stood in the doorway. ‘How handsome you look in uniform.’ She tilted her head to one side and studied him. ‘I preferred your hair longer, though.’

  Luc grinned at her. ‘Flattering me? You do not have to, you know.’ He was unprepared for the feeling that hit him when she smiled back. It was as though she had always been there, in his rooms, smiling at him. Only two weeks. Fourteen days. How did you stretch time to make it last for ever? What was the matter with him? He had never wanted to keep a mistress beyond a few months before.

  ‘Do you feel better?’ Averil asked. She stood up and came to stand in front of him, frowning a little as she studied his newly shaven face. ‘Why did you get so drunk?’

  Because he had decided to speak to the Comte de la Falaise today, ask his permission to pay his addresses to Louise, was the honest answer. Because he had contemplated married life and the prospect had filled him with nothing but gloom. An afternoon of brooding had failed to reveal why, when he was within an inch of achieving a major objective in his plans, he should feel so damnably flat and empty.

  It was not as though he expected Louise’s father to refuse his suit. The man had been unbending subtly over the past few days. He had hinted that he had heard good things about Luc’s career prospects, he had made vague, but suggestive, enquiries about the d’Aunay lands in France.

  And Louise would do exactly as her father told her. Not that there was any reason why she should not: she had never given any indication of disliking Luc. Nor, if he was honest, of favouring him above any of the other men who paid her the attention a pretty young lady received. She did not care, in effect. Which was exactly what he wanted, of course.

  At that point in his mental processes he had begun drinking and had kept drinking, something he never did, not when he was alone. Burgundy had been succeeded by brandy, he recalled vaguely. Brandy had been followed by merciful oblivion and by waking with a head full of hedgehogs, a mouth full of dry hay and a stomach that was achingly empty.

  And now he felt wonderful—and fearful, too. ‘I had been working very hard to finish my report to the Admiralty about our little adventure. It was late, I was tired, I did not notice how much I was drinking.’ He could not tell her about Louise and that proposal would have to wait. Wait until Averil had left, headed half a world away from him. Marrying a woman for whom he felt nothing would not matter then.

  Averil sucked in her cheeks as though she was biting the inside of them to keep from saying something. When she eventually spoke all she said was, ‘I hope you finished it before you became drunk, if that is where you are going now.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and showed her the leather portfolio under his arm. ‘All checked before I touched a drop. I am not going to disgrace myself.’

  ‘Good.’ She reached up and tweaked his neckcloth, her face absurdly serious as she inspected him.

  ‘That is very wifely, my dear,’ Luc said, enjoying being fussed over. The expression drained from her face.

  ‘I beg your pardon, I had no wish to presume.’

  ‘You are not. I enjoy being looked after. I—’ He touched the back of his hand to her cheek and swallowed, forgetting what he had meant to say in the feel of her skin, the way her eyes widened, became greener, the soft catch of her breath. If he wasn’t careful he would drag her into the bedroom and neither of them would emerge until tomorrow. And he must go to the Admiralty and she must rest.

  ‘I must go. Hughes is making arrangements for a house for you. Meanwhile use my chamber. Sleep. You are safe here.’

  ‘If Bradon finds out—’

  ‘How should he? I will keep you safe, Averil.’

  ‘I know, you always have.’ Her smile vanished in a huge yawn. ‘Oh! I am so sorry!’

  ‘So tired, you mean.’ He pointed at the bedchamber door. ‘Go and sleep.’

  The bed smelled of Luc, the familiar scent of him from their little bed on the island all mixed up with clean linen, leather and an elusive, citrusy cologne.

  Averil closed her eyes, burrowed into the pillows and let herself relax, finally.

  ‘I’ll be outside,’ Grace said. ‘I won’t go for my things until the captain’s man comes back.’

  That brought her back to reality with a jerk. ‘No, go now.’ Averil sat up and pushed her hair back with both hands. ‘The longer you leave it the more suspicious they will be that I haven’t returned. I’ll be safe here.’

  ‘Yes, you are right, miss. He’s a good man.’

  ‘He is. But he is going to marry a French lady. He has it all planned out. When Bonaparte is defeated he will go back to France and be a Frenchman again.’

  Grace simply muttered something under her breath as she closed the door. Averil lay down again, breathed deeply and told herself that two weeks could seem like a lifetime if she lived it as if it was.

  Through her thick veil the narrow hall was blurred. Averil pushed it back and looked around. ‘This is all for me?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Luc was still in uniform. He tossed his hat on to the hall table, unbuckled his sword and propped it in the corner. ‘Show Miss Smith’s woman to the bedchambers,’ he said to the footman who had opened the door to them.

  At the back of the hall a thin woman bobbed a curtsy. ‘Mrs Andrews, ma’am, the cook. And Polly is down in the kitchens and that,’ she nodded towards the footman’s back as he climbed the stairs, ‘is Peter. I had the parcels sent up, ma’am.’

  ‘Parcels?’ Averil looked at Luc.

  ‘I did some shopping. You can send your maid out for anything I have forgotten, but I suggest she goes veiled.’

  ‘Of course. Thank you.’ Now what? Should she offer him tea? Would he expect to have a conve
rsation in the drawing room that she could glimpse through an open door to the right. Averil’s heart thudded and her mouth felt dry. Perhaps she should brazenly walk upstairs to the bedchamber.

  ‘Why don’t we go and check what I selected?’ Luc said and the amusement in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was dithering about. ‘Dinner for seven-thirty,’ he said to Mrs Andrews without so much as a hint of embarrassment.

  Presumably he kept all his mistresses here and the staff thought nothing of it. She set her expression into bland unconcern and mounted the stairs. As they reached the top Luc touched her arm and indicated a door that was already open.

  Inside the footman was gathering up wrapping paper and Grace was putting away what looked like the contents of an entire shop. Or shops—there were gowns, underwear, shoes, bonnets in the armoire and the chest of drawers, a heap of toiletries on the dressing table.

  ‘Luc, this is too much! Grace—’ But the maid and the footman had vanished and the door shut with a soft click.

  ‘No, it is not,’ Luc said. ‘But just at the moment you are wearing entirely too much.’ He began to unbutton his uniform jacket. ‘And so am I.’

  She had seen him undress before with a total lack of self-consciousness. I have seen him naked. I have touched him, she told herself as she tried to get her breathing under control. But this was different and the way he looked at her was different. Let me do this right, she thought. Let me please him.

  She must not be passive, she thought. He had liked it when she had straightened his neckcloth; perhaps he would like her helping him undress. As Luc began to shrug out of the jacket she went behind him and eased it from his shoulders and hung it on the back of the dressing-table chair. Then she stood in front of him and pulled the ends of his neckcloth free and began to work on the knot. He went very still and she looked up to meet hot, dark eyes.

  ‘Go on,’ Luc said and made no move to touch her.

  The neckcloth seemed endless as she unwound it. He bent his head, but even so she had to keep standing on tiptoe and her breasts brushed against his chest and her hands kept rubbing against the thick silk of his hair and by the time she had the length of muslin free she was as aroused as if he had been kissing her.