Seduced by the Scoundrel. Louise Allen
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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?
Chapter Five
Luc saw Averil’s eyes dart from one man to the other and the almost imperceptible relaxation when she realised that Tubbs and Dawkins, the two who had found her, were not there. He had sent them off with the first crew so they would be too winded for an immediate reaction when they encountered Averil again. In their turn the men stared at her with interest, but the mood was different from when they had found her on the beach. He took his hand from his knife and shifted his weight off the balls of his feet.
Time to mark his territory. Luc took two platters from Potts and went to the rock where Averil sat, legs primly together, hands clasped in her lap. ‘You’re in my seat,’ he said and got a cool stare in return. In the depth of her hazel eyes fear flickered, but she tipped up her chin and stared him out. ‘We’re lovers, remember, ‘he mouthed and she blushed harder and shifted to make room for him next to her, hip to hip.
Luc handed her a plate and touched her cheek with the back of his free hand. ‘Hungry, sweetheart?’
‘Ravenous,’ she admitted dulcetly, her eyes darting daggers at him. She folded the bread around the slices of bacon and bit into it. ‘This is good, Mr Potts.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ the cook said, then spoiled it by adding slyly, ‘nothing like a bit of exercise to give you an appetite, I always say.’
‘Quite,’ Averil retorted. ‘That hut was in a shocking state—it took a lot of work to tidy it up.’
Thwarted, Potts returned to his frying pan, glowering at the grins of the other men. They were good-humoured smiles, Luc noticed, neither jeering nor directed at the young woman on the rock. ‘Well done,’ he murmured. She narrowed her eyes at him, so he added more loudly, ‘I’ve a pile of washing needs doing.’
‘I am sure you have, Luke