Patricia Frances Rowell - A Dangerous Seduction

“Don’t step out very far,” Lalia called, hurrying toward him. “The currents are not safe.”

“Yes, ma’am. I want to see what’s up there, anyway.” The boy pointed at a small dam of stones holding a tidal pool. He sprinted away.

“He will be well enough. I’ll keep my eye on him.” Morgan strolled along the waterline examining and discarding shells. It had been nineteen years since he had lived by the ocean. He looked forward to having a personal sailing craft close by again—when he found Hayne’s. If he didn’t find it soon, he would have his own sloop brought in. He turned to Hayne’s lady.

She was investigating another tidal pool, waving at his nephew. “Look, Jeremy. There are crabs.”

Morgan moved closer to observe the crabs—and the lady. Careless of her threadbare gown, she knelt beside the puddle, turning stones on the bottom with a piece of driftwood. He hunkered down beside her, and she smiled, her usual wariness dissolved in her enjoyment of her discovery. Her face glowed with pleasure.

Breathing in the scent of sunshine and woman, he resisted the desire to touch her again. Her caution would certainly return, and he liked the way she looked now, happy and carefree, her petite figure almost childlike. Far be it from him to spoil her mood. Besides, the sea and the sun made him feel young and carefree himself. And perhaps a little foolish. He reached into the pool and drew out a small but indignant crab.

Turning suddenly he thrust waving pinchers toward Lalia’s face. She shrieked very satisfactorily and jerked away. Overbalancing, she tumbled backward onto sand, skirts flying. Morgan caught a glimpse of beautifully shaped leg before she sat up, laughing, and subdued the unruly garment.

“My lord! What a wicked prank! You will be teaching Jeremy bad tricks.”

Tossing the crab back into the puddle, he held out his hand and grinned. “No one needs to teach boys that sort of mischief. They come by it quite naturally.” He pulled her to her feet. “Forgive me. I forgot the dignity of my years.”

“Humph.” She straightened her clothes and brushed at the sand clinging to them, twinkling eyes denying her stern tone. “I do not see one particle of penitence in your countenance, my lord.”

“I’m hopelessly corrupt.” He favored her with his most winning smile. “Here, let me help you.” He limited his assistance to whisking the dirt off her shoulders, regretfully restraining himself from more interesting areas. Bethinking himself of his nephew, Morgan looked around for the whereabouts of that fearless young man. He was discovered to be tugging vigorously at something jammed between two rocks a few yards away.

Morgan sauntered in his direction. “What do you have there, lad?”

“I think it’s part of a boat. Maybe the one that got wrecked.” A final wrench freed the object and Jeremy sprawled backward, following Lalia’s undignified example. “Ow!” He got up sucking his finger.

“Oh, dear. Let me see.” Lalia took his hand in hers. “Yes. It’s a splinter.” She grasped the sliver and pulled before Jeremy could object and withdraw his hand.

“Ouch! Don’t!” He stuck his finger back in his mouth, mumbling, “Did you get it out?”

“I think so. Let me see. Stay still a minute. How can I…?”

Ignoring the tussle with the splinter, Morgan stood, brow furrowed, studying the battered lettering on the length of wood Jeremy had retrieved. He turned to Lalia. “What did you call Hayne’s vessel?”

“The Seahawk. Why?” She glanced at what he held, then froze. “Oh, my.”

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