Читать книгу Seduced by the Scoundrel - Louise Allen - Страница 12

He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I am going to sleep in this bed with you, that is all. Did you not realise? Did you still think I was going to force you, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Of course I did! I am not a mind reader!’ Fury flashed through her, obliterating the relief. She had been so frightened all day, she had tried so hard to be brave and now … now he was implying that she ought to have realised? That it was her fault she had been so scared?

‘Oh, you—you infuriating man!’ She lashed out, her hand hitting him across the chest with a dull thud. His skin was warm, the dark curls of hair surprisingly springy.

‘You want me to make love to you?’ He caught her wrists as she tried to hit him again. His hands were hard and calloused against her pampered skin and this close she could smell him—fresh sweat over traces of some plain soap and what must be the natural scent of his skin.

‘Make love? Is that what you call it? No, I don’t want you to make love or ravish me or anything else. I’ve been terrified all day and now you tell me you never had any intention—’ She ran out of words and sat there in the tangle of blankets glaring at him, holding on to her temper because if she did not the alternative was to give way to tears.

‘I do not ravish women,’ Luke said flatly and released her hands. ‘Unconscious or awake.’ She had insulted him, it appeared. Good. She had not thought it possible.

‘Then what are you doing with that?’ Averil made a wild gesture at his groin and he recoiled before her flailing hand made contact.

‘I told you, it has a life of its own. I don’t have to take any notice of it.’ Luc sounded torn between exasperation and anger. ‘I am sorry you were frightened unnecessarily,’ he added, with as much contrition as if he was apologising for jostling her elbow at a party. ‘I thought you realised I had no intention of hurting you in any way. If you can just move over so I can get in, we can go to sleep.’

‘Just like that? You expect me to be able to close my eyes and sleep with you in the bed?’ She heard the rising note of hysteria and bit her lower lip until the pain steadied her. The relief of realising he was not going to take her had cracked her self-control; now it was hard to hang on to some semblance of calm. ‘Why can’t you put some clothes on?’

‘I have no spare clean shirts to wear—you are wearing the last one. And one more layer of linen between us will make no difference to anything.’

She wondered what the grinding noise was and then realised it was her own teeth. At least if Luke was in the bed with the covers over him she couldn’t see his naked body. It was an effort not to flounce, but she turned on her side with her back to him and lay against the far edge of the bed, her face to the wall.

The ropes supporting the mattress creaked, the blankets flapped. ‘There is no need to rub your nose against the stones like that,’ Luke said. ‘Come here.’ He put an arm around her waist and pulled her backwards until she fitted tight against the curve of his body. ‘Stop wriggling, for heaven’s sake!’

‘We are touching,’ Averil said with what calm she could muster, which was not much. He was warm and hard and her buttocks were pressed against the part of his anatomy that he said had a mind of its own—and was still very interested by the situation by the feel of it—and one linen shirt was absolutely no barrier whatsoever. Below the edge of the shirt her thighs were bare and she could feel the hairs on his legs.

‘I am certainly aware of your cold feet,’ he said and she thought he was gritting his teeth. ‘Will you stop moaning, woman? You’re alive, aren’t you? And warm and dry and fed and still a virgin. Now lie still, count your blessings and let me sleep and you might stay one.’ She thought she heard a muttered If I can but she was not certain.

Woman? Moaning? You lout, she fulminated, as she tried to hold her body a rigid half-inch away from his. But that only pushed her buttocks closer into his groin. The heavy arm across her waist tightened and she gave up and let her muscles relax a little.

Count my blessings. It was a distraction from the heat and solidity behind her and the movement of his chest and the way his breath was warm on her neck. She was alive and so many people were not, she was certain. She had kept their faces and the sound of their voices out of her mind all day; now she could not manage it any longer. Her friends, so close after three months, and her numerous acquaintances, even the people she glimpsed every day but had never spoken to, were like the inhabitants of some small hamlet, swallowed up entire by the sea.

Averil composed herself and prayed for them, her lips moving with the unspoken words. She felt better for that, the grief and worry a little assuaged. The long body curled around hers had relaxed, too; he was sleeping, or at least, on the cusp of sleep. I am alive, and he is protecting me. For now I am safe. But the dark thoughts fluttered like bats against the defences she tried to erect in her mind. These men were deserters, traitors perhaps, and she knew too much about them already. What might she have to do to maintain even the precarious safety she had now?

Luc felt Averil’s body go limp as she slid into sleep. He let himself relax against her as her breathing changed and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of having a woman so close in his arms. The softness and the curves were a delicious torment; the female scent of her, not obscured by any soap or perfume, was dangerously arousing. It was over two months since he had lain with a woman, he realised, thinking back over the turbulent past weeks. And then they had been making love, not lying together like this, almost innocently.

The tight knot in his gut reminded him that he was still angry that Averil had supposed he would take her by force. Luc thought back over the words they had exchanged—they hardly qualified as conversations—and tried to work out why she had thought him capable of rape. He had never once said he would make use of her body, he was certain of that, and he had explained why he needed to share her bed.

She had been tired and frightened by all she had gone through; obviously she had not been thinking clearly, he told himself. He supposed stripping off had not been tactful—but she could have shut her eyes, Luc thought with a stirring of resentment. If she wanted him to wear a nightshirt, then she could do some washing tomorrow; he had too much else to think about without worrying about Averil’s affronted sensibilities.

It did occur to him as he began to drift off to sleep that he was not used to being with well-bred young women on an intimate level. He had been at sea, more or less permanently, since he had been eighteen; he had no sisters at home, no young sisters-in-law. No one, thank heaven, to have to care about. Not any more.

But this wasn’t some society drawing room or Almack’s. To hell with it, she was in his territory now and she would just have to listen to what he said and follow orders. His aching groin reminded him that something else was refusing to follow orders. It would be interesting to seduce her, he thought, toying with the fantasy as he let sleep take him. Just how difficult would it be?

* * *

Averil woke with an absolute awareness of where she was and who she was with. In the night she had turned over and now she half lay on Luke’s chest with her naked legs entangled with his. One moment she had been relaxed in deep sleep, the next her eyes snapped open on a view of naked skin, a tangle of dark curls and an uncompromising chin furred with stubble. He smelled warmly of sweat and salt and sleep. She should have recoiled in disgust, but she had the urge to snuggle closer, let her hands explore.

Every one of her muscles tensed to fight the desire.

‘You’re awake,’ he said, his voice a deep rumble under her ear, and moved, rolling her on to her back so his weight was half over her. ‘Good morning.’

‘Get off me!’ Averil shoved, which had no effect whatsoever. ‘You said you don’t ravish women, you lying swine.’

‘I don’t. But I do kiss them.’ He was too close to focus on properly, too close to hit, but ears were easy to get hold of and sensitive to pain. She reached up a hand, got a firm grip and twisted. ‘Yow!’ Luke had her wrist in his grasp in seconds. ‘You little cat.’

‘At least I am not a liar.’ She lay flat on her back, her hands trapped above her head, her senses full of the smell and feel of him, her heart pounding. She had hurt him, but he had not retaliated and there was amusement, not lust or anger, in his eyes, as though he was inviting her to share in a game.

But she was not going to play—that was outrageous. Luke was too big even to buck against, although she tried. And then stopped as her pelvis met his and that rebellious part of his body twitched eagerly against her belly. Something within her stirred in response, a low, intimate tingling. She blushed. Her body wanted to join in with whatever wickedness his was proposing.

‘Since when has kissing amounted to ravishment? I need us to go out there looking as though we have just been making love.’ There was exasperation under the patience and somehow that was reassuring. If he was bent on ravishing her he would not be discussing it. Still, it was wrong to simply succumb so easily.

‘Making love?’ She snorted at the word and he narrowed his eyes at her.

‘Do you prefer having sex? It will make life easier for both of us if you can give the impression that you have been seduced by my superior technique and are now happy to be with me.’

Averil was about to tell him what her opinion of his technique was when his words the previous evening came back to her. A pack of wolves. ‘I see,’ she conceded. ‘I am safer if I do not seem like a victim. If I am happy to be with you, then it is convincing that I would be confident. And they will think I am unlikely to try to escape and put you all in danger.’

‘Exactly.’ Luke breathed out like a man who had been braced for a long argument. ‘Now—’ He bent his head.

This was not how it was supposed to be, the first time. This was the antithesis of romance. And I wanted romance, tenderness …

‘You don’t have to kiss me. I can pretend,’ Averil said as she tried to move her head away. She only succeeded in clashing noses. Luke had a lot of nose to clash with. But she did not want to pretend. She realised that it was herself and her own desires that were the danger, not him.

‘You are an innocent, aren’t you?’ That was not a compliment. ‘Never been thoroughly kissed?’

‘Certainly not!’ She had never been kissed at all, but she was not going to tell him that.

‘You’ll see,’ Luke said, releasing her wrists and capturing her mouth.

It was outrageous! He opened his mouth over hers, pushed his tongue inside and … and … Averil gave up trying to think about what was going on so she could fight him. But she did not seem to have any strength; her muscles wouldn’t obey her and the rest of her body was in outright mutiny.

Her arms were round his neck, her fingers were raking through his hair, her breasts were pushing against his chest—which had to be why they ached so—and her lips …

Her lips moved against Luke’s, answering his caress, and it was, some stunned part of her mind that was still working realised, a caress and not an assault. His mouth was firm and dominant, but that dominance was curiously arousing. The heat and the moistness were arousing too and the thrust of his tongue was so indecent … and yet she wanted to echo it, move her own tongue, although she did not dare.

Against her stomach she felt his flesh pulsing and lengthening and sensed the restraint he was imposing on himself. Her legs wanted to open, to cradle him, and her aunt’s words came back and made sense now of what had seemed embarrassingly ludicrous before. He only had to move a little, to thrust. Suddenly she was frightened again and he sensed it.

‘Averil?’ They looked at each other, noses almost touching. ‘Have you ever been kissed before?’ Mute, she shook her head.

‘I thought not.’ He threw back the covers and got out of bed, the sudden cool rush of air as effective in cutting through her sensual daze as his abrupt words had been. This time she had the sense to turn her head away from his nudity and to stare at the wall. After a few minutes he came back. ‘Averil?’

‘Yes?’ She kept her head averted.

‘Look.’ She risked a quick look. He was holding out a small mirror. ‘You see?’

A wanton creature stared back at her in the scrap of glass. Its hair was a wild tangle, its eyes were wide and dark and its mouth—her mouth—was swollen and pouting.

‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, my. Does it last?’

Luke had moved away and was lifting some things down off the shelf, but at that he turned his head and studied her. ‘For a bit. Then I have to do it again.’ She felt the crimson flood up from breast to forehead and his lips quirked. He looked thoughtful. He had, thank goodness, put on his clothes. ‘I’ll get you some hot water. When you come out don’t forget that you have been conscious these past four days.’

Averil sat up as the door banged behind Luke. One kiss and she felt like this—and she didn’t even like the man, or want him. He thought it was amusing, the wretch. It was not amusing, it was outrageous and shameful, those were the only possible words for it. Her breasts still tingled, her stomach felt very strange—almost as though she was apprehensive, but not quite the same—and lower down there was the most embarrassing awareness and that strange little pulse stirring. He had made her feel like this—and he must have realised—and then he had stopped.

The door opened, Luc dumped a bucket inside and then closed it again. Whatever his morning toilette consisted of, he was performing it elsewhere. Averil climbed out of the tangled bedding and went to fetch the hot water. Then I have to do it again, Luke had said.

‘Oh, my heavens,’ she murmured. ‘I had no idea.’

Luc stood on the shore, pocket watch in hand, as half-a-dozen of the crew fitted the oars in the rowlocks and pulled away towards the bulk of Round Island to the north. There were no other ships or boats out in the area and it seemed a good opportunity to work the excess energy out of the men.

Behind him the others lounged on the short grass, jeering at the rowers. ‘You reckon you’ll do better?’ Luc asked. ‘You drew the short straw—you’ll be rowing with breakfast in your bellies to weigh you down and they’re pushing to get back to eat.’

‘Wot about the mermaid—Miss Heydon, I mean, Cap’n? I’ll take her breakfast down to her, shall I?’ Harris’s tone could have served as a definition of the verb to leer.

‘I—’ Luc broke off as a figure walked over the shoulder of the hill. ‘No need, Harris, Miss Heydon has come to eat with us.’

He had to admire her. From the set of her shoulders and the frown between her brows she was as tense as any sensible woman would be under the circumstances, but her back was straight, her chin was up and she had scraped back her hair into a plait down her back in a way that must have been intended to diminish her attractiveness. The fact that it simply showed off her bruised cheekbones and her wide hazel eyes was not her fault, Luc pondered appreciatively as she got closer.

He saw with satisfaction and a sharp pang of arousal that her mouth was still lush and swollen from his kisses. He had never kissed a complete innocent before and it had been … interesting. He wanted her. Was he going to have her? It was a stimulating fantasy, that and the thought that by the time he took her she would want it just as much as he did.

‘Good morning,’ she said, her voice as coolly polite as if they were all in a drawing room. ‘Is that breakfast? You are Mr Potts—the one who cooks?’

Potts gawped, displaying his few remaining teeth, then, to Luc’s amazement, touched a finger to his forehead. Goodness knew how long it had been since someone had addressed him as Mister, if they ever had. ‘Aye, er … ma’am, I am and ‘tis that. Got mackerel or bacon, unless you fancy porridge, but it’s wot you might call lumpy.’

‘I would like bacon and some bread please, Mr Potts.’ Averil sat down on the flat rock Luc usually took for himself. He wondered if anyone else noticed the automatic gesture to sweep her non-existent skirts out of the way. ‘And is there tea?’

‘Aye, ma’am. No milk, though.’

‘Really? Never mind.’ She turned and looked directly at Luc for the first time, as haughty as a duchess at a tea party. ‘Couldn’t you have stolen a goat?’ She was overdoing the confidence and completely forgetting that she was supposed to have just passed a night of bliss in his arms.

‘We did not plan on company,’ he said with an inimical glance at the cook. Potts might well decide that a raid on the neighbouring islands to steal some livestock would be amusing. ‘And we will not be drawing attention to ourselves by stirring up the islanders and lifting their goats either.’

Potts grunted; he knew a warning when he heard it. Luc studied Averil and was rewarded by the colour staining her cheeks. So, she was still agitated by that kiss; it was strangely satisfying to know that he had unsettled her like that—and it would be a pleasure to do so again. He was not used to virgins and Averil’s untutored responsiveness was unexpected. It was doubtful whether she realised she had responded—it was all very new to her and she had been too shocked to think.

The other men had been down by the water’s edge, catcalling at their rapidly vanishing comrades. Now they turned and began to walk back to the fire, their focus on the woman in the badly fitting clothes. He saw her eyes widen and darken as the haughty young lady vanished, leaving a girl who looked ready to run. His hand rested on the hilt of his knife as he watched the men’s reaction. Would they react as he intended or would they turn as a pack and attack to get at the girl?