Seduced by the Scoundrel (17 page)

‘Captain.’ She inclined her head. ‘Lord Bradon’s family has kindly asked me to stay with them for a month.’

‘I will not delay your sightseeing any longer. Thank you for the recommendation, Bradon.’

As Bradon turned to hail their carriage Averil glanced back, but Luc was gone, swallowed up by the crowds. What had he been doing there? Surely not following her? He had work to do at the Admiralty, she was certain; it would do his career no good if he neglected that in order to dog her footsteps in the hope she would throw her bonnet over the windmill and decide to become his mistress!

‘We will return to Bruton Street,’ Bradon said as they settled into the carriage. ‘Mama will have given Finch her instructions on where to take you and what you will need. We must have you creditably outfitted
before anyone else sees you in that hand-me-down gown.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Averil bit her lip and reminded herself of her duty and that tumbling out of the carriage and running up Cornhill in search of Luc would be madness.

Luc took one of the side alleys, went into the George and Vulture, the first tavern he came to, and sat at an empty table in the taproom. ‘A pint of lush,’ he said to the girl who approached, wiping her hands on her apron. Brandy was tempting, but strong beer was prudent.

He still could not credit that Bradon was waiting a month to see if she was with child. Calculating devil. At least he had seen him now. After what Averil had said that morning he could not rest until he had seen her with her betrothed, seen how the man was with her. The tankard came and he took a swallow. Good London beer, full of hops and dry in the mouth; he had missed that.

Yes, he was a calculating devil who did not believe Averil when she told him she was a virgin. Luc realised he was angry and drank again while he sorted that out in his head. Bradon did not believe her; in fact, he thought she could well be lying. He deserved to be called out for that alone, Luc thought as he drained the tankard.

Getting changed, visiting the Admiralty, had distracted him not an iota from the anguish and confusion that morning’s encounter had caused, but he had not had time to think too deeply about the workings of Bradon’s mind.

Damn it, Averil was so patently honest, he thought now. Didn’t the fool realise that she could have spun him any number of yarns—with the full support of Sir George and his sister? Bradon did not deserve her, but the very fact that he was keeping her, for a month at least, proved that he wanted her, or her dowry, more than he cared about her maidenhead and his own honour.

In a month, possibly much sooner, he would realise that she was not with child and then the marriage would go ahead. She would become Lady Bradon and be lost to Luc for ever.

The fantasy that had been sustaining him since he had sailed from Scilly, of Averil spread beneath him on a wide bed, gasping his name as he drove them both to ecstasy, gripped him afresh, only this time not with a wash of pleasurable anticipation, but with claws of frustration. He snapped his fingers for another tankard. Frustration and loss, if he was to take her at her word and leave her to the other man. Damn it, but he needed her. Where else would he find that enticing mixture of courage and sensuality, beauty and honesty, innocence and spirit?

A group of clerks came in, loudly discussing a prize fight, and called for ale and food as they settled at the next table. Luc nursed his beer and let their argument wash over him until the arrival of their pie reminded him that he had been up since dawn working on his notes about the Scillies traitor. Then he had found his feet leading him to Bruton Street to watch for Averil and to try to find out what had happened with Bradon.

Now he knew. Bradon would marry her and she had accepted that, and his lack of trust in her. The meek
way she had stood there just now, her hand on his arm, ignored by the men, waiting to be acknowledged, made his blood boil. Bradon would be satisfied with his bargain, that was for sure, but he doubted it would give Averil any joy.

But her joy, or lack of it, was no longer his business, it seemed. He ordered pie and told himself that he had to stop thinking about her. He had a wife to find. A home to build. Somehow it no longer seemed so straightforward or desirable.

For two days Averil shopped, with Finch the stiff-backed dresser at her elbow and Grace, almost bursting with the effort to behave with as much decorum as Finch, at her heels. She wrote to Mrs Bastable, her chaperone on the
Bengal Queen
and another letter to her father. She wanted to write to Dita, who must now be safe at home in Devon with her family, recovering from her ordeal. But she could not risk to writing what she had to confide to her friend; she must just hope Dita would come up to London soon. She needed her so much.

She took delivery of her new clothes and supervised her borrowed ones being cleaned, parcelled up and returned to Miss Gordon along with a letter of thanks and the assurance that her banker was dealing with the money she owed Sir George.

She arranged flowers for Lady Kingsbury and suffered her purchases to be examined and approved. She thanked her future mother-in-law for the loan of a pearl set and some garnets and sat and addressed invitation cards for a
soirée
in a week’s time and she felt as though
her heart was weeping in sympathy with the rain that was pouring down outside.

As they drove back from church on Sunday Lady Kingsbury was graciously pleased to compliment her on her walking dress and bonnet. ‘You dress with taste, Miss Heydon.’

There was no sign of the earl—he appeared only at dinner and then left. The countess did not appear remotely discommoded by his neglect. Perhaps she was glad of it, as Averil might become glad of Bradon’s absence once she was married to him. She shivered.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘You will accompany me to the Countess of Middlehampton’s reception on Tuesday evening. That will introduce you to a number of people of influence without the necessity to concern ourselves with dancing yet. You can dance, I trust?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I enjoy it.’

‘Excellent. Tomorrow I will review your new wardrobe with you and give you some guidance on who you will meet in London this Season. Do feel free to ask me any questions about matters of etiquette—I am sure things are different here from what you are used to.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ So, she was to be assessed to make certain she would behave the right way. Averil had no way of telling whether Bradon had told either of his parents the shocking tale of her rescue. She saw virtually nothing of the earl, and Lady Kingsbury, she suspected, would remain poker-faced and cool if she found herself in the midst of the Cyprians’ Ball.

Her spirits rose despite the thought of Lady Kingsbury’s critical assessment. It was frivolous, but a reception would mean new people to meet, entertainment,
a change of scene, noise, human contact, warmth. She needed warmth as a drooping flower needed water. She needed, more than anything, someone to put their arms around her and simply hug her.

T
he Middlehampton reception delivered as much noise, heat and distraction as Averil could have hoped for. For the first time since the
Bengal Queen
had entered northern waters she felt warm enough.

Lady Kingsbury introduced her to a number of other young unmarried ladies and drifted off to gossip with her own cronies while Lord Bradon vanished in the direction of the card rooms. That suited Averil very well indeed. She smiled and chatted and one young lady introduced her to another and so on until her head was spinning with the effort of remembering names. Many of them had beaux and the young men flirted with Averil and the girls wanted to know about Indian silks and they all wanted to hear about life in the East and she found herself laughing and talking as if she was back in Calcutta with her friends.

She turned, gurgling with laughter over Mr Crowther’s tale of how he had encountered an elephant at some eccentric house party in Hampshire and had
been prevailed upon to mount on to its back—’Into a howdedo’—and had fallen off and his hat had been eaten by the elephant. ‘They brought it back to me three days later,’ he finished mournfully. ‘But it was never the same again.’

There was an elegant girl reflected in one of the long mirrors, her face alight with amusement, her gown just like Averil’s.
It is me! My goodness. How very
au fait
I look.
And then a figure in a blue tailcoat with gold lace and white collar tabs appeared in the glass behind her and the laughter fled, leaving her wide-eyed and breathless.

‘Miss Heydon. Do you remember me? We met in the City five days ago.’ Luc stood there,
chapeau bras
tucked under one arm, dress sword at his side, the picture of the perfect naval officer.
Which he is,
she thought, her stomach swooping.

‘Of course. Captain d’Aunay, is it not? May I make you known to Miss Langham and Miss Frederica Arthur? And Mr Crowther, who has had much more exciting experiences of elephants than I ever had in India.’ She had an instinct to hide him in a mass of other people, even though she wanted him all to herself, alone. If Bradon saw them together he could find no blame if they were part of the crowd, surely? After all, he had introduced them himself.

Lady Kingsbury walked past as the two of them stood talking to half-a-dozen others, separated by the vivacious Miss Langham. She scanned the group with a critical eye and inclined her head in approval.

‘That’s your mama-in-law to be, I gather.’ Luc had come back to her side.

‘Yes.’ There was so much noise that although they
stood just a few paces away from the nearest group they would have had to have screamed before anyone would have picked up their words.

‘She looks a cold fish.’

‘She is.’ Averil shivered. ‘They all are.’

‘I still have trouble realising that he proposes this month’s trial to make sure no little mistake is in the offing.’ He sounded comfortingly outraged on her behalf.

‘Yes. I was … surprised. I thought that if he did not believe me, the fact he thought I was not … you know … that would be enough to reject me.’ Part of her, madly, wished he had. Then she could be with Luc. And ruined, she reminded herself. ‘I suppose I have too much money for that.’

‘And yet you stay.’

He sounded cold and angry and she bit her lip against the hurt of it. ‘Of course. There is an agreement. Why did you follow us into the City? Do you want to risk everything?’

‘I had to see you with him. You looked beautiful, but you are unhappy.’ Luc moved a little closer, his back to the room, and she found herself in an alcove. It was all right, she told herself, there was no curtain, she could be seen by anyone who looked and all they were doing was talking.

‘I never expected happiness exactly. I did not know him after all, let alone love him. Contentment will come—it must. But, oh, I long for some warmth, to be held.’ Her voice trailed away. Luc stood like a statue and then reached for her hands. ‘No. I cannot. We must not. If there is the slightest suspicion of us, it would be
a disaster. I am simply being feeble, I think.’ She put up her chin and smiled a determined smile.

‘Feeble? My God,’ Luc said with a sort of suppressed fury. ‘I could shake you, you idiot girl.’ He spun on his heel and stalked off. Averil followed the dark head until it vanished through the double doors that opened on to the hall. He had gone and he was obviously angry with her, which was so unreasonable of him. She was doing her best to be brave and dutiful, although that appeared to anger him, and he must realise that she could not flirt, let alone permit anything more intimate.

She had thought that he cared for her, wanted what was right for her, but it seemed that all he wanted was her in his bed until he tired of her and frustration was making him irritable.

Well, she was frustrated too. She almost wished Andrew Bradon would take some liberties, just so she could be held and kissed. But she wanted Luc and it was so unfair of him to teach her to feel passion and then … Then what? He had done what she asked of him and let her go to Bradon instead of abducting her in a thoroughly shocking and romantic manner. Which is what, she very much feared, she had wanted him to do.

Thoroughly exasperated with herself and Luc, and Bradon, Averil swept out of the alcove and rejoined the party. Frederica Arthur came over and linked her arm though hers. ‘Oh, has that handsome naval captain gone already?’

‘You think him handsome?’

‘Well, not conventionally, perhaps.’ Miss Arthur lowered her voice. ‘But he is very manly, do you not agree?’

‘It is the uniform,’ Averil said repressively.

‘Perhaps.’ Her companion’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘And I do so enjoy flirting and making my poor Hugh jealous.’

‘You are betrothed?’

‘To Sir Hugh Malcolm—see, over there, the tall man with blond hair by the potted palm. We will be married next month. I cannot wait.’ The mischief left her face to be replaced with a tender look. ‘I want to start a family as soon as possible. I love children, don’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I do.’ Averil realised she had never thought much about the matter. Children were part of family life, part of her obligation to Bradon. But, listening to Frederica’s happy plans as the other young woman chattered on, she realised that just because she had taken the idea for granted did not mean it was not important. The abstract concept of children became an image of a real child, a baby. How wonderful. Andrew Bradon seemed steady and responsible, even if he was not demonstrative and his approach to their marriage was coldly practical. He would be a proud father, she thought. A good father.

‘There you are, my dear. I was looking for you to take you in to supper.’ Andrew Bradon was looking positively animated.

‘You have had luck at the card tables?’ Averil enquired as he steered her towards the supper room. She realised now that his father was a serious gamester and that was where much of the family fortune had gone. She was not pleased at the thought that her dowry, and their children’s inheritance, might be frittered away by her husband.

‘Very gratifying. I only play for low stakes, you understand. My father is the gamester in our family.’
He found a table and pulled out a chair for Averil. ‘You do not play cards, I trust?’

‘No, I do not.’ She smiled up at him and saw a glimmer of answering interest. ‘I am so glad you only play moderately.’

He was still unusually animated when he returned with food for her. ‘You look very well, this evening, my dear. In excellent health and looks. Your appetite is good, I trust?’

‘Oh, yes, I feel very well, thank you.’

For a moment she did not understand, then he patted her hand and said, ‘Excellent’, before attacking his own selection of patties, and she realised he thought her robust health indicated that she was not in a delicate condition.

Perhaps he is just shy and hides it behind a façade of indifference,
she thought and watched him from beneath her lashes. He would never be Luc—that was wishing for the moon—but perhaps she had misjudged him.
I will be happy. I will forget Luc,
she vowed, and smiled at Andrew again.