Читать книгу Seduced: The Scandalous Virgin - Deborah Hale, Deborah Hale - Страница 5

Singapore, December 1820

“A toast to my old friend, Blade Maxwell.” Ford Barrett raised a glass of potent Batavia arrack. “Perhaps it is no coincidence that the two greatest mischief-makers in the history of our school should meet up again so far from it. Though I am sorry to see him go, I wish him a happy return to civilization.”

“To Maxwell.” Ford's business partners, Hadrian Northmore and Simon Grimshaw, drank the toast while Blade nodded his thanks for their good wishes.

He could not pretend he was sorry to leave Singapore. The British trading post had been founded on this tiny island less than two years ago and conditions were still primitive. Though Ford and his partners had made their fortunes as free traders, they all lived together in this simple, palm-thatched dwelling they'd built beside their warehouse. All food had to be imported, making it expensive and often unpalatable. The coming of winter would only relieve the oppressive heat by a degree or two. After three years’ exile in the sweltering East Indies, Blade longed for the familiar amenities of Penkensey Manor and a bracing Atlantic breeze.

At the same time, he tried to forget the price he would pay for those comforts.

“To your safe voyage.” Hadrian Northmore regarded Blade with greater cordiality than usual, now that he was about to leave. A North Countryman of humble origins, he'd made it clear he had little use for the son of an earl. “May your ship be spared from storms and reefs.”

“Pirates and mutinies,” added Simon Grimshaw in a fierce tone Blade was at a loss to explain.

“And may you not expire from boredom,” Ford concluded with a wry chuckle. “Though I doubt there's much fear of that provided your fellow passengers include at least one fair female between the ages of eighteen and eighty.”

Blade grinned and hoisted his glass. “To the ladies of the good ship Hartwell and the last few wild oats I have left to sow!”

Ten long days later, Blade thought back to his last evening in Singapore as he gazed from the Hartwell's starboard railing toward the Coromandel Coast of India. The ship had stopped to take on additional cargo and passengers from Madras before resuming its long voyage to England. Since this part of the coast lacked a proper harbor, everything had to be ferried out from the shore by native massoulah boats.

“Let there be just one likely lady among them,” Blade muttered under his breath.

The voyage so far had been deadly dull. The only female passengers were a middle-aged vicar's wife and her niece, an empty-headed chit of seventeen who'd made a few awkward attempts to flirt with him. Though the girl was not ill-looking, Blade went out of his way to avoid her. Despite a well-deserved reputation as the black sheep of his family, he did have a few scruples about the sort of women he seduced. Happily wed wives were strictly offlimits, as were innocent virgins.

He sought the company of women for mutual pleasure. He did not want his conscience burdened by the loss of some poor girl's reputation and the lifetime of misery she might endure as a consequence. Neither could he risk being forced to wed one of his paramours. His family had made it clear that taking a wife other than one they chose for him would result in his being disowned and disinherited. No woman was worth that.

Watching the rickety-looking boats struggle from shore through the pounding surf, Blade wished they might bring him just one lonely widow to console, or perhaps an estranged wife looking for a bit of excitement to enliven the coming weeks at sea.

His hopes quickly faded as the new passengers were brought aboard. Neither of the women came close to meeting his modest standards. Much as he longed to get back to his comfortable life in England, he wasn't certain he could settle down properly without sowing the last of his wild oats.

Then one last passenger was hoisted aboard, looking much the worse for her wild ride through the crashing breakers. Her hat had blown off, sending her long dark hair rippling over her shoulders. Seawater had soaked her light muslin gown, making the fabric appear almost transparent as it clung to her body's alluring curves. The lady looked as delightfully tousled as she might after a vigorous encounter with an eager lover.

For an instant Blade stood rooted to the deck as desire coursed through his body, igniting a hundred sensual fancies. Then his tardy sense of chivalry caught up with him.

Peeling off his coat, he strode toward the lady and began to wrap it around her. “Pray make use of this, ma'am, until you find some better covering.”

Pleased at being the first to reach her and ingratiate himself with this small favor, he bowed low and took the liberty of introducing himself as he waited for her thanks. “Blade Maxwell, at your service.”

The words had scarcely left his lips when his coat came hurling back at him and a strangely familiar voice addressed him in a tone that conveyed more scorn than gratitude. “I know who you are, Mr. Maxwell, and I will thank you to keep your coat and your hands to yourself!”

Blade looked up into the flashing hazel eyes of Genia Vernon, the only woman who'd ever seriously tempted him to break his rule about not seducing virgins. Her blazing glare warned him he would never get that opportunity with her.

The sight of Blade Maxwell on the deck of the Hartwell sank Genia's spirits even lower than they were already. She had thought nothing could make her voyage of exile worse. The presence of a far-too-attractive charmer who'd spurned and humiliated her would make the coming months at sea very much worse, indeed.

“Why, M-miss Vernon.” Lifting his gaze to her face at last, Blade fumbled the coat she'd thrown back at him. “What an unexpected—” he seemed to grasp for a word that would not be too obviously insincere “—surprise.”

His momentary awkwardness rendered the man even more attractive than the usual easy charm—drat his hide! The roguish twinkle had faded from his silvery-gray eyes, making him look rather lost and in need of something part of her yearned to give. He appeared leaner than when she'd last seen him, and his patrician features had a chiseled look.

“I never heard of a surprise that was expected.” Genia seized a blanket offered to her by a crewman and covered herself with it, all the while trying to stifle her body's wanton reaction to Blade's touch. “If you will excuse me, I must retire to my cabin to change clothes before I catch a chill.”

In truth, her wet gown felt quite refreshing, but it provided a good excuse to get away.

“Of course.” Blade Maxwell made a graceful bow that seemed to mock her bedraggled state. His well-practiced charm overcame his momentary embarrassment at seeing her again. “We will have plenty of time to renew our acquaintance in the weeks to come.”

Did he think she was too stupid to see through his twofaced pretence of courtesy?

“Alas, I fear you are correct, sir.” With as much dignity as she could muster, Genia swept away.

She managed to maintain her brittle composure until she'd been shown to her little cabin off the roundhouse. Even once inside she did not dare vent the full force of her feelings, for fear of being overheard through the flimsy deal walls. The best she could manage was a violent dumb-show, shaking her fist in the air and muttering curses under her breath.

When the handsome Mr. Maxwell had arrived in Madras eighteen months ago, she'd been instantly smitten with him. The pulse-pounding attraction had been a most welcome diversion from her lingering grief over the death of her dearest friend and infant goddaughter. Desperately eager to seize any fleeting pleasure, she had flirted with him shamelessly, determined to leave him in no doubt that she could be his for the asking.

He had responded by going out of his way to avoid her. When circumstances made that impossible, he treated her as if she were some ancient dowager, rather than one of the most sought-after belles in all of India. To compound the insult, he embarked on an affair with a vapid officer's widow twice her age. Her social circle in Madras had been too small for his conduct to go unremarked. He had made her a laughingstock.

That wasn't true, Genia's conscience forced her to admit as she gazed out the port window toward the retreating coastline. She had humiliated herself with her heedless behavior, just as she'd brought about her own disgrace and exile. But was she not being punished enough for her imprudence? Must she also suffer several months in the company of the man who'd spurned her, so he could now gloat over her downfall?

She only hoped Blade Maxwell would make as strenuous an effort to avoid her on the Hartwell as he had during their first acquaintance. If she did likewise, the next few months might just be bearable.

Genia took great pains to repair her appearance before her first dinner at the captain's table. Unfortunately, her toilette made her so late that the only vacant chair was the one beside Blade Maxwell. Stifling a groan, she stammered her apologies and slipped into her seat.

Her hopes that Blade might ignore her were quickly dashed when he turned toward her with a smile that would have thawed an iceberg. “Your drenching doesn't appear to have done you any harm, Miss Vernon. I hope you found your accommodations satisfactory.”

“I believe they will do very well.” She took care to avoid his gaze. A glimmer of well-feigned interest in those silver-gray eyes might tempt her to let down her guard.

Her heart began to flutter in the most ridiculous manner when he leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Make certain to keep your cabin door locked at all times.”

“Why?” Genia cast a glance around the table at their fellow passengers. “You cannot suppose anyone would have designs on my person?”

He gave the most maddeningly infectious chuckle. “You need have no fear on that score. All the unmarried gentlemen are lodged on the deck below. You should be more concerned about the designs certain crewmen might have on your possessions. Some would consider an unlocked cabin an open invitation to pilfer.”

“Of course.” A fierce blush blazed in Genia's cheeks. “Thank you for the warning.”

Was Blade Maxwell deliberately trying to bait her into making a fool of herself again? What had she ever done to him but make her attraction too obvious?

She sought to ignore him by turning her attention to the elderly gentleman her father had asked to watch over her on the voyage, but he was deep in conversation with the captain.

Blade persisted in quizzing her. “What takes you back to England, Miss Vernon?”

Genia nearly choked on a morsel of Bengal mutton. Blade Maxwell was the very last person in the world she wished to know the truth about what awaited her in England.

“I am going to live with my father's aunt,” she replied once she'd cleared her throat. “She means to make me the heiress to her entire fortune.”

It wasn't altogether a lie, Genia tried to placate her protesting conscience. Great-aunt Millicent might leave her a small legacy, though not likely enough to live in any comfort.

“A most enviable situation.” Blade took a deep draft of his wine. “I congratulate you.”

The newfound respect in his tone went to Genia's head. “Yes. I shall be quite independent, able to live in perfect freedom without the encumbrance of a husband and children.”

Was she only professing to disdain what she had no hope of getting? Genia asked herself as she strove to resist Blade Maxwell's disarming charm. No, it went deeper than that. But she was not about to confide her most intimate feelings to a rake like him.