Louise Allen - Seduced by the Scoundrel

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?

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 darling,’ Averil said, then softened her tone with an effort he could see. ‘I will need hot water, please.’

‘See to it after breakfast, Potts.’

‘Is she doing all our washing, Cap’n?’ Ferret asked through a mouthful of herring.

‘Miss Heydon is not doing anything for you, Ferret.’

‘Are you the man who lent me these clothes?’ Averil asked as Potts handed her a mug of black tea.

‘Aye, ma’m.’

‘Is Ferret your real name? Surely not.’ She took a sip of tea and gasped audibly at the strength of it.

‘Er … it’s Ferris, ma’am.’ ‘Thank you, Mr Ferris.’

The man grinned. ‘Pleasure to help the Cap’n’s lady, ma’am.’

The others said nothing, but Luc sensed, with the acute awareness of his men any captain learns to acquire, that something in their mood had changed. They had stopped thinking of Averil as a nameless creature for their careless pleasure and started regarding her, not just as his property, but as a person. She was frightened of them still, wisely so—they had not forgotten that she was a woman and they had been celibate for weeks. He could feel the apprehension coming off her like heat from a fire, but she had the intelligence and the guts to engage with them.

Miss Averil Heydon was a darned nuisance and enough to keep any man awake half the night with lustful thoughts and an aching groin, but he was beginning to admire the chit. Admiration did nothing to dampen desire, he discovered.

‘They’re coming,’ Tom the Patch said, his one eye screwed up against the sun dazzle on the waves.

Luc pulled out his watch. ‘They need to do better than that.’

‘Nasty cross-current just there,’ Sam Bull observed with the air of a man determined to be fair at all costs.

‘These waters are one big cross-current,’ Luc said. ‘You reckon you can do better?’

‘Yeah,’ Bull said, and nodded his curly head. ‘Easy.’

They are training for something, Averil thought, watching the men as she sipped the disgusting tea. Her teeth, if they had any enamel left, would be black, she was sure.

The men were a crew, a real ship’s crew, not a motley group of fugitives. They weren’t hiding here because they were deserters, or waiting for someone to come and take them off. It was incredible how much more she was noticing now her terror had abated a little. Instinct had told her to try to treat the men as individuals and, strangely, that had been easier to do over the shared food than it had been to pretend an intimacy with Luke that she did not feel.

Or, at least, she corrected herself as she felt the warmth of his thigh through the thickness of their trousers, she felt an intimacy, just not one involving any sort of affection or trust.

He was a good officer though, albeit a rogue commanding rogues. She had seen enough army officers in her time in India, and she had watched how the Bengal Queen was run; she could recognise authority when she saw it.

The men were focused on the approaching boat while Luke ate his bacon, his eyes on the pilot gig, too. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, low voiced.

He shook his head without looking at her.

‘Deserters have no need to train for speed,’ she carried on, speculating. ‘And why steal one of those big rowing boats, why not a sailing ship? A brig—you have enough men to crew a brig, haven’t you?’