Deverill shook his head. “You need to continue a little longer so you end on a successful note—it’s like getting back up on a horse after you’ve fallen. But you can have a moment to rest if you wish. Now, relax and keep hold of my neck. I won’t let you go under again.”
He swam slowly backwards toward shallower water, towing Antonia with him. When his feet touched bottom, he stood and lifted her with his hands beneath her buttocks. Reflexively, she clasped her legs around his hips and held on as he waded toward shore. She could feel the hard, throbbing outline of his arousal through their wet clothing, even though she strove to ignore it.
He set her on her feet on the sun-warmed beach, yet she continued to cling.
“You can let go of my neck now,” Deverill urged.
She couldn’t force herself to release him, however. Antonia stood there dripping, incapable of movement, swaying on suddenly weak limbs.
The yearning sensations strumming through her body were powerful enough to make her dizzy. The trembling hunger that filled her made her breasts swell against Deverill’s chest, made her lower body ache to press harder against the straining bulge in his breeches while her fingers longed to stroke the broad expanse of naked, bronzed chest.
Of their own accord, her hands slid slowly over the wet surface of his arms, feeling the smooth contraction of sinewed muscle.
Deverill’s breathing quickened in rhythm with hers. Yet he obviously had more willpower than she, for he reached up to clasp her wrists and draw her hands away.
A sprightly breeze wafted over her soaked clothing, making Antonia feel a bit chilled despite the afternoon’s bright warmth; they had been in the water for nearly an hour, after all. Yet it was the sudden heat in Deverill’s gaze that made her shiver.
He stared into her eyes for a long moment before his gaze dropped to focus on her breasts, where her chilled nipples had tightened to hard points, the dusky tips clearly visible beneath the damp linen.
At the sight, his green eyes flared beneath spiky clumps of wet lashes.
Watching him, Antonia couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. She had never been more conscious of Deverill, of the hot pounding of her blood. She could almost feel the sizzling flame of his mouth as he suckled her nipples. . . .
Deverill felt the same consciousness, his awareness of Antonia so razor-edged, he could almost taste the salty moisture on her damp skin. The savage knot of lust inside him was a vicious reminder of how difficult it was to fulfill his vow to keep away from her. He desperately wanted to touch her, to kiss her.
Hell and the devil, he couldn’t stop himself. With a muttered curse, he bent his head and captured her lips beneath his.
She tasted of cool seawater and warm summer sun, but the effect was much more stunning . . . like a bolt of lightning that seared them both.
He deepened the kiss urgently, his tongue mating with hers, feeling her body shudder against him as he splayed his hands over her sweetly curved buttocks.
When she moaned and molded herself against him, however, Deverill regained his senses and abruptly broke away.
Without looking at her, he pointed toward the rock cave, gruffly saying, “You are right, that is more than enough lesson for one day. Now go dry yourself off in private and put on your own clothing.”
Mutely cursing herself, Antonia stood staring at him as she raised her fingers to her burning lips. She should have known better than to kiss Deverill. She’d thought it was the wild beauty of the cove that was having such an uncanny effect on her senses. The unaccustomed freedom that stirred her blood so. But it was Deverill himself.
She squeezed her quivering thighs tightly around the hot ache that burned there, and forced herself to turn toward the rock cave, where towels and dry clothing awaited her.
It had been a mistake to come here alone with Deverill, Antonia acknowledged, even for something so innocent as a swimming lesson, for her physical attraction to him had become almost painful. The constant feeling of desire he aroused in her was inescapable.
She had no idea how to combat it, except to keep away from him entirely. She wanted to learn to swim, but not enough to risk another tormenting encounter with Deverill like this one. When he accompanied her back to the castle, Antonia vowed, she would make up some excuse to put off her lessons until sometime in the distant future. She had no intention of ever again swimming alone with Deverill—not if she hoped to retain any semblance of control over her traitorous senses.
To Deverill’s relief, any lessons were precluded during the next two afternoons by the social events Lady Isabella had planned—specifically a garden party and a shopping expedition to Falmouth in preparation for a levee to be held in Antonia’s honor by a local dowager duchess.
And on the day of the levee, Captain Lloyd returned with Deverill’s ship, bringing a report from Macky that contained encouraging news. As Deverill expected, Antonia was far more interested in discussing the report than in swimming, and she peppered him with questions when he called as promised to inform her of the details.
The first was that Ryder had located the apothecary who normally sold medications to Lord Heward’s physician. The second, that Macky’s informants had spied the ruffian with the scarred face in the stews of London’s Seven Dials district.
Both pieces of intelligence could possibly advance their case against Heward, Deverill knew, but Antonia expressed disappointment that there wasn’t more. The uncertainty and impotence, he could tell, were nearly as frustrating for her as they were for him.
At least his schooner’s return allowed him to escape his social obligations in favor of patrolling the coast in search of a murderous smuggler. And once on board, he was better able to quell his feelings of lust and attraction for Antonia.
It felt damned good to be working again, Deverill admitted. He was glad to have a swaying deck beneath his feet once more, gladder still to at last be making progress in their investigation.
If they continued at this rate, it wouldn’t be long before he could return to London and escape temptation altogether by leaving Antonia behind.
Antonia hoped her sojourn in Cornwall would soon be over. Perhaps she was enjoying the charm of the countryside and the rugged wildness of the seashore. Certainly she relished the sense of freedom she had found here. But despite the enchantment, despite all the pleasant diversions, she was anxious to return to London. She wanted justice for her father and craved to see his shipping empire in better hands.
Even more, she wanted to see Deverill exonerated. She couldn’t forget that he was accused of murder, and that to clear his name, he needed to identify the true villain who had orchestrated the crime. She was fairly convinced now that Heward was the culprit—and that he had likely poisoned her father also—even though they had yet to garner any real evidence. If so, she was determined to see him punished.
She couldn’t quell her apprehension, however, when she considered what might happen to Deverill when he returned to London. If he couldn’t prove his innocence, he could very well hang. And if he confronted Heward . . . who knew how the baron would respond?
Antonia suspected her disquiet was also caused by guilt. She was the reason Deverill was in this dreadful dilemma in the first place. She couldn’t let him face it alone. He had brushed aside her repeated entreaties to be involved, claiming he didn’t want her interference or help in discovering the truth.
She was determined to return to London with him, though, even if she had refrained from arguing the point. She was willing to let Deverill think her amenable to remaining in Cornwall. When the time came, however, she would not let him leave without her.
She spent the time while Deverill was away attempting to work off her restlessness with her bow and arrows. Isabella had permitted her to set up a practice target at one side of the castle, as long as she kept a groom with her at all times. During his absence, Deverill had left Fletcher with her for protection, and even though the old tar grumbled about having to act as lackey—and
worse, being kept away from his beloved sea—he provided exceedingly interesting companionship for Antonia by telling her more of his tall tales about their glorious adventures on the high seas. And she reciprocated by teaching him the principles of archery.
Thus, between Fletcher and Lady Isabella, Antonia’s days were quite full. The nights, however, were much harder for her to bear.
Unable to sleep, she took to watching the dark sea, wondering where Deverill was and if he might be facing danger. It worried her to think of him risking his life to end the actions of a vicious pirate.
She wanted Deverill to be safe—a thought that made her mentally scoff at herself. Who was she fooling? She wanted Deverill, period. She missed him and wanted him to return, even if she had sworn to drive him from her mind.
The difficulty was that when she was able to sleep, she found her dreams filled with memories of Deverill and his incredible lovemaking. Dreams that always left her writhing and aching.
One such warm summer night toward the end of the week, Antonia woke shivering with heat. After tossing and turning for another quarter hour, she rose and drew on a wrapper, then lit a candle and made her way downstairs. She left the candle on a table in the library and stepped through the French doors onto the rear terrace.
A three-quarter moon hung low in the black-velvet sky, casting a shimmering glow over the surprisingly calm sea. Deverill was out there somewhere sailing his ship, Antonia reflected, keeping this stretch of Cornish coast safe from marauders.
Sensual images of him rushed through her mind. Deverill standing on the deck of his schooner, the wind rushing through his sun-streaked hair. Deverill naked, his bronzed body glimmering with seawater. Deverill kissing her, stroking her, filling her with ecstasy.
Longing swelled inside her, a fierce restless feminine need that whispered through her body like the quiet surge of the surf below the castle bluffs.
Shutting her eyes, Antonia swore a low, helpless oath. It was sheer lust that made her feel so hot and restless—
She was startled when Isabella spoke behind her. “It is hard when your lover goes away.”
Antonia felt herself flushing. “Deverill is not my lover, Isabella,” she prevaricated.
“No? But I think you wish him to be.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I have seen the way you look at him. And how he looks at you.”
Curiosity got the better of her. “How do we look at one another?”
“As if you wish to devour each other.”
She certainly couldn’t deny the fierce hunger she felt for Deverill, Antonia conceded, yet she hadn’t dared hope he might feel the same hunger for her.
“Truly, I understand your dilemma,” Isabella observed. “Deverill is irresistible, is he not?”
She couldn’t dispute that, either, for she did find Deverill irresistible. Managing a shrug, Antonia tried to keep her tone light. “It would be utterly inappropriate for us to become lovers. Possibly even ruinous for me.”
“Perhaps. Yet it is clear you have strong feelings for him. You have been fretting ever since he left.”
“I admit I miss his provocations and even his high-handedness. But as I told you, Isabella, my future has no place for a notorious adventurer like Deverill.”
Isabella smiled sadly. “That is such a pity, my dear. If I discovered one crucial thing in my three marriages, it is that true passion comes so rarely in life. And should it come, it is too remarkable to let slip away. I see the importance even more as I grow older. It is better to experience a single moment of passion than to live an insipid lifetime of virtue.”
Surprise held Antonia speechless. Was Isabella actually encouraging her to act on her longings? To pursue a liaison with Deverill? “Are you suggesting I indulge in an affair with him?”
The countess cocked her head thoughtfully, studying Antonia. “Why, I believe I am. What harm would there be, as long as you are discreet?” She gave a firm nod and continued. “If you are concerned about becoming enceinte, I know of a prevention . . . sponges soaked in brandy or vinegar, placed deep inside your woman’s passage to prevent your lover’s seed from taking root. You dare not risk bearing a child out of wedlock, Antonia, but there is no reason you should not enjoy intimacy. Particularly if the damage is already done.”
Now that I am no longer a virgin, Antonia knew Isabella meant. Her cheeks warmed to realize that her wanton secret was out. The countess was discerning enough to guess what had happened between Deverill and herself on board his ship.
In the silence, Isabella reached up to cup Antonia’s cheek. “Think about it, my dear. A discreet liaison. Memories to last a lifetime. You deserve a moment’s happiness before you do your duty and honor your father’s wishes for a noble marriage. But only you can decide what you truly want. If it is Deverill, then I will do everything in my power to help you.
“Now,” she added brightly, “I shall go to the kitchens and make myself a cup of brandy-laced milk. It is the perfect remedy for sleeplessness. I would be pleased to have you join me, if you care to.”
With a final tender pat, Isabella turned away and disappeared into the library, leaving Antonia alone on the moonlit terrace to brood over the advice she’d been given.
An affair with Deverill. Did she dare attempt it?
Did she dare not?
She couldn’t deny that she wanted to experience passion, particularly since true love was likely beyond her grasp. Given her circumstances—her loss of virginity and her newfound wariness about trusting any future suitors—it was doubtful she would marry for love. Rather, the odds were much greater that she would wed a man who wanted her mainly for her fortune.
Yet she was not simply an heiress. She was a woman, with a woman’s needs . . . and the woman in her cried out for something more than the cold, colorless future that awaited her.
Her dilemma was even worse now that she had tasted Deverill’s lovemaking. She knew now what would be missing from the rest of her life.
She was prepared to give up any dreams of love to honor her filial obligations, certainly. Yet whatever regrets she had about forswearing love would be easier to bear if she had some treasured memories to look back on.
She would have to ensure any liaison never went beyond physical intimacy, though. She didn’t dare risk falling in love with Deverill, for he wasn’t the kind of man to lose his heart to anyone, and true love was the only reason she would ever consider forsaking her solemn promise to her father. But surely they could keep their relationship purely physical. . . .
An affair with Deverill. The very thought sent a thrill of excitement thrumming through Antonia’s body; excitement that caught and coiled inside her.
Few people, particularly women, were fortunate enough to live their dreams, to fulfil their deepest desires, to experience their most cherished fantasies. And this could be her one chance.
No, this could be her only chance for true passion. Before she settled for duty and an indifferent marriage of convenience, she could have a brief moment of ecstasy with Deverill. She could store up memories for the cold future ahead, when he would no longer be part of her life.
Antonia’s hand stole to her stomach, which had suddenly clenched in longing. When she put her choice in such stark terms, it really was no choice at all.
As soon as she awakened the next morning, Antonia sent Fletcher to the inn in Gerrans where Deverill was lodging, with a message requesting another swimming lesson at the earliest opportunity.
It was the following morning, however, before she heard from Deverill. He sent word that he had returned temporarily from his patrol mission but he intended to go back out that evening, and he would call for her at two o’clock that afternoon for a lesson, if that time was convenient.
Antonia’s heart started racing the moment she read his missive. She had never before contrived a seduction, but in this instance, she knew she would have to plan one if she hoped to convince Deverill that an affair was what sh
e wanted.
She sent the inn’s servant back with her reply, telling Deverill that she would meet him at the cove at two rather than waiting for him to call for her. Then she left the castle an hour beforehand in order to set the stage.
When he arrived at precisely two o’clock, she sat at the mouth of the rock cave, wearing a yellow muslin gown instead of her shapeless sailor’s apparel. She had also pinned her auburn hair up in loose curls in an attempt to look more feminine.
Deverill’s green eyes narrowed the moment he saw her, but he was evidently more concerned with her safety than her attire. “You came here alone?” he demanded.
Antonia rose to her feet, offering him a smile she hoped was seductive. “Fletcher accompanied me to the cliff, but I sent him away, since we needed privacy for my lesson.”
Deverill’s eyes narrowed even further when he suddenly noted the way she was dressed and that she had spread a blanket nearby on the sunlit beach. “I thought you wanted to learn how to swim.”
“I do . . . afterward.”
“After what?”
In answer, Antonia reached up to grasp the neckline of her gown. “After another kind of lesson.”
She had already unfastened the hooks of her gown, so it was a simple matter to draw the bodice down and let the garment slide over her hips and sink to the sand.
She stood there in her cambric shift and nothing else.
The summer day was warm with the sun beating down from a cloudless blue sky, but the heat that flared in Deverill’s eyes was far hotter.
“Antonia . . .” he said slowly in warning. “What the devil are you about?”
She took a step closer, deliberately staring up into his bright eyes. “I realized that this could be my last chance to truly know passion. I want you to teach me, Deverill.”
He stared at her for several ragged moments before finally saying, “You must have been touched by too much sun.”
“No.” She was absurdly nervous, however, despite the fact that she had expected exactly this reaction from Deverill. Antonia licked her dry lips and swallowed to calm her racing heartbeat. “I am entirely serious. I want you to make love to me, to teach me about passion, so I will have a memory to cherish in the years ahead.”
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