My Fair Lover

by Nicole Jordan

  Tomorrow he would present his case to her uncle and aunt. He’d already had one private discussion with Lord Cornelius. In the morning he would have a second and persuade them to let Kate continue the journey alone with him, so he could pursue his courtship without restrictions.

  He could count on their support, he suspected. They already knew he was fiercely protective of Kate, that he would never willingly let any harm come to her, and that he intended to win her hand in marriage.

  The way to win her hand, however, was not through passion, he’d learned. Somehow, he would have to keep his hands off her—a supremely difficult task after tonight. He wanted Kate to hunger for him, to want him for far more than solace, but he was determined to woo her properly, without seduction.

  More than merely wooing her, though, he had to prove a deeper bond was possible beyond mere carnal pleasure. He had to make her realize that no other husband would do for her. And most of all, he had to show her that he was committed to becoming her chosen mate, love or no love.

  Kate woke to the gentle surge of the ship plowing through much calmer waters. Blinking at the bright sunlight shining through the porthole window, she glanced around her small cabin. There was no sign of Deverill. He had left her bed sometime during the night, to spare her reputation, no doubt. But as she lay there, his scent lingered on her skin—and in her mind.

  She couldn’t regret her rashness last night in pleading that he take her. Her fierce yearning to be with him was initially driven by fear—she had craved the vital, life-affirming intimacy of his lovemaking. She had known their joining would be remarkable, but she’d vastly underestimated how wonderful, how intensely glorious it would be. After the first moments of physical discomfort, there was only overwhelming pleasure, and not just of the physical kind. Kate hugged herself as she thought back on those precious hours with Deverill. The incredible feeling of intimacy—the bond they had shared—had felt deeper than mere carnal relations.

  Yes, she ought to have heeded the nagging voice warning to protect her heart. It would have been wiser to wait until she could be assured of winning his heart. But she’d been following blind instinct.

  A rush of warmth washed through her now as she remembered his tenderness, his sensuality, his skillful, careful arousal of her uninitiated body. This morning not only were her breasts swollen and the hollow between her thighs keenly sensitive, she felt a sweetly aching awareness in all the places he had touched.

  Briefly she closed her eyes as memories cascaded through her. His powerful body moving over her, pressing into her…bringing her alive, setting her on fire.

  For years she had built implausible fantasies around Deverill, but he had lived up to every single one. He hadn’t just made love to her; he had joined with her on some deep unspoken level. And she couldn’t help but believe he, too, had wanted, even needed, that perfect closeness between them.

  Bestirring herself, Kate rose to wash and dress. As she began pinning her hair into a chignon, she recalled how his hands had tangled lovingly in the abundant mass.

  Lovingly. Wishful thinking, perhaps?

  Yet this morning it was easier to rekindle her hope for the future that she’d once envisioned with Deverill. The hope that passion could someday spark the flame of love.

  She tended to believe that only one person in life was your soul mate. Whether or not that was a fallacy, last night she had felt as if she was meant to be with Deverill. And she longed to fill the same need for him. Perhaps now that she’d been given a privileged insight into his life and the reasons for his determined detachment, she stood a genuine chance of making her dreams come true.

  Kate smoothed her gown and took a steadying breath, preparing to face him with renewed resolve. First, however, she needed to check on her aunt Rachel.

  Cornelius answered her soft rap on their cabin door. After greeting her in hushed tones, he said with concern, “Rachel did not fare well last night, but she is sleeping soundly now.”

  Kate nodded regretfully. “Is there anything I can do for her?”

  “Not at the moment. The sooner we reach land, the better.”

  “I will let Deverill know.”

  Feeling more urgency, Kate climbed the companionway ladder. When she stepped through the hatch, the sea air that greeted her was cool and crisp, washed clean by the storm. The crew was hard at work mending canvas and overhauling the rigging, but otherwise the schooner appeared back to normal: tall, raking masts swaying in rhythm against the June sky, sails billowing gracefully on the breeze. On her port side, the coast of France was much nearer than expected.

  The only trouble was, her plan to remain composed splintered the instant she spied Deverill across the main deck. He was speaking to Captain Halsey, but he looked up and froze when he saw her.

  Was she imagining it, or was his look more tender than ever before? More admiring? Was the faint smile that touched his lips a sign of welcome or self-directed irony? Was he feeling an inkling of the renewed warmth that flooded her and made her limbs weak?

  At his intense look, she felt uncertain, awkward, shy…which was absurd. She had seldom experienced shyness in her entire life.

  Suddenly vexed with herself, Kate shook off the uncommon sentiment and went to stand at the railing. Deverill shouldn’t have the power to make her feel skittish as a day-old filly. His scrutiny shouldn’t turn her breath ragged.

  Yet she was very glad he was occupied with the captain, and that by the time he did join her, she had herself under control.

  “You survived the night, I see,” he murmured.

  Instantly Kate felt herself blushing. So much for being in control, she thought, remembering his naked body. “Yes, thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure. Have you breakfasted yet?”

  There was an underlying warmth in his words, but his manner was amicable, easy.

  Kate decided it best to emulate his lead and act as if nothing had changed between them. She wanted to give no reason for her family or his crew to suspect she had spent the night in Deverill’s arms.

  “Not yet. I thought I should check with you first to discuss the plans for the day.”

  “You have ample time. We should reach the port of Royan in a few hours. See the break in the coast there up ahead? That is the Gironde estuary.”

  Kate’s gaze followed to where he was pointing. She could indeed see the mouth of the estuary where the Gironde River flowed into the sea. The Zephyr had tragically sunk near there after sailing from Bordeaux farther upstream.

  “What happens when we reach Royan?”

  “Our priority should be to settle your aunt at an inn where she may rest comfortably. After that, I plan to hire a carriage to convey us around the district for the next week or two.”

  “Good. Aunt Rachel will likely be too ill to travel any farther today.”

  “I also want to track down Louvel this afternoon and perhaps open negotiations to search for the shipwreck. But I presume you would first like to visit the church and see the site where your mother is buried.”

  Kate suddenly felt as if a shadow had passed over her, depleting her previous warmth. But it was time to turn her attention to the real purpose of their voyage.

  Squaring her shoulders, she glanced up at Deverill. “Yes. Will you come with me?”

  “Of course, if you wish.”

  “I do wish it,” she said solemnly.

  She couldn’t help feeling more able to face her mother’s grave site because Deverill would be by her side.

  —

  The morning proceeded much as he predicted—and as a fair wind propelled the schooner into the estuary, the scenery surrounding Royan matched what Kate expected.

  Sheltered from the harsh Atlantic gales, the coast was sprinkled with wooded, rocky headlands and sandy coves, while a castle fortress guarded the entrance to Royan’s harbor. The climate here was far warmer than England, she’d been told. And like many coastal seaports, the town boasted buildings of light-colored
stone with red-tiled roofs, accented with pine trees and splashes of newly budding bougainvillea.

  As Kate watched from the railing, they sailed into the harbor, which was dotted with vessels of various sizes. Dazzling sunlight reflected off the white sails and blue water so intensely that she had to shield her eyes.

  Shortly after Captain Halsey dropped anchor, a rowboat ferried out to the Galene, carrying the harbormaster, who boarded and conferred with both Halsey and Deverill. Within the hour, Kate was settling her weary aunt into rooms at a local inn while Deverill hired a carriage from the nearby livery stable.

  Rachel felt too weak to accompany them to the church but urged them to proceed without her. But, of course, Cornelius wouldn’t leave his wife’s sickbed. Instead, he decided to wait for their valises to be delivered from the ship, professing that he would be satisfied to have Kate report back to him about the condition of the grave.

  Kate was anxious to begin. She and Deverill ate a quick luncheon, and soon he was driving her to the ancient church on the southern outskirts of town.

  The elderly priest had anticipated Kate’s arrival, due to several recent correspondences with the Wilde family. After kindly welcoming them, he showed them to the cemetery at the rear of the property, then led them through a squeaky gate into an overgrown section—where paupers were buried, he apologized in French and broken English.

  “We felt certain,” Father Ramonde explained, “that your maman came from a good family since she wore a gold locket with a crest etched on the face. But we had no way of learning her identity. She spoke only her given name before succumbing to her injuries.”

  Proceeding down an unkempt, grassy path, he halted before an aged wooden marker bleached gray by years of sun and rain.

  Kate hesitated, feeling her throat constrict. It had been many weeks since her family learned the truth about the Zephyr’s sinking—and of Lady Beaufort’s brief survival after washing ashore, half-drowned and in great pain. In that time Kate had obsessively focused on finding her mother’s burial site. Now that the moment was at hand, however, she braced herself for the blow.

  The priest quietly withdrew, providing privacy for her and Deverill. Clenching her hands together, Kate stepped forward, staring down at the simple wooden marker. She could barely make out the name carved there.

  “Melicent,” she whispered. Her voice was tight with tears while her eyes stung. Behind her, Deverill brought his hand to rest lightly on her shoulder.

  Conscious of his silent offering of comfort and strength, she bowed her head. She was profoundly grateful for his presence, for she hadn’t wanted to brave this emotional moment alone.

  “She died far too soon,” he murmured.

  “Yes…”

  Suddenly swamped by the old grief, Kate began to cry softly, which made little sense. How could she hurt so badly when it had been many years since the tragedy?

  In response, Deverill pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her and pressing her head into his shoulder, as if to absorb her pain. Desperately wanting the solace he offered, Kate leaned into him and let the tears come.

  Even after her sobs lessened, he continued holding her. She stood there pliantly—until she felt the light pressure of his fingers on her cheek and heard his sympathetic voice. “I can only imagine the sorrow you suffered, losing both parents you loved.”

  Feeling the sharp ache again, Kate blindly lifted her face and locked her mouth on his. Her kiss must have caught him off guard for he tensed. When she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck and tried to intensify their kiss, Deverill stopped her and pulled back.

  “This isn’t the time or the place, sweetheart,” he said gently.

  Kate stared up at him. There was something unbearably intimate in his dark gaze, as if he could see past all her defenses.

  Suddenly she felt oddly vulnerable and exposed and embarrassed by her lapse. As she searched in her reticule for a handkerchief, she forced a watery laugh, trying to make light of his rejection. “I know. This is getting to be a burdensome habit—you consoling me when I act like a weakling.”

  The slight scoffing sound he made held only a little humor. “I’m well aware your weakness is only temporary, but I won’t take advantage of it again as I did last night.”

  “You didn’t take advantage. I offered myself to you.”

  His jaw flexed, as if he was about to contradict her, but he settled for saying brusquely, “When you want me for more than comfort, pray let me know.”

  She thought she understood his unspoken message. He wanted her, perhaps even badly, but not when she was so emotionally fragile and vulnerable. She needed to be willing and eager and fully in control of her faculties, not driven by fear or sorrow.

  “Meanwhile,” Deverill continued, “we still have a great deal of work to do this afternoon. At the moment, we should return to the church and speak with Father Ramonde.”

  “Yes.” Chastened, Kate swallowed and used the handkerchief to dry her eyes. She should be glad Deverill had given her direction, stability, focus. And she resolved to be stronger in the future. A man like him most certainly wouldn’t want a sniveling watering pot for his bride. If she hoped to win his love, this was not the way to go about it, and she very much wanted to be the kind of woman he could love.

  As they retraced their path to the church, however, all thoughts of love and romance fled Kate’s thoughts, for Deverill was all business when he outlined his intentions. “We need to discuss delivery of the headstone you had commissioned. And more pressing, I want advance information about Louvel and advice on approaching him. I don’t want to give him any warning about our arrival.”

  Kate nodded in agreement. Questioning Father Ramonde was more prudent than making inquiries about town, since a priest would be less inclined to be in league with pirates and could better be trusted to keep confidences.

  They met with the priest, who provided answers to many of their questions.

  “Oui, Capitaine Jean Louvel is headquartered nearby in St. Georges, several miles south of Royan. But perhaps it is unwise to walk into a pirates’ den, given Louvel’s unsavory reputation?”

  When Deverill acknowledged his concern, the priest gave specific directions.

  Kate was also able to question him about a subject more dear to her. “Might there be a way for me to recover the locket my mother wore?”

  “Je ne sais pas—it has been such a long time. I believe it was sold to pay the physician’s cost to care for your mother’s injuries. I shall make inquiries.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully.

  In all likelihood the crest on the locket belonged to the Marquesses of Beaufort and not some other noble family, and finding it would prove beyond any doubt that her mother was indeed buried there in the pauper’s grave. Yet Kate knew in her heart that their suppositions weren’t wrong.

  Shortly afterward, they took their leave. Once in the carriage, she wondered why Deverill turned the horses back the way they had come rather than toward St. Georges. “We are returning to Royan?”

  “Temporarily. In addition to the element of surprise, I want an armed escort when I confront Louvel. I arranged with Halsey to provide several of his best men who are skilled in hand-to-hand combat.”

  Kate frowned. “Do you expect violence from Louvel?”

  “No, but it would be unwise to underestimate him. Our last encounter was less than amicable.”

  “What happened?”

  “He believed, falsely, that I had stolen the affections of his lover.”

  Her eyebrow shot up. “Your conflict was over a woman?”

  Deverill grimaced. “Regrettably, yes. She approached me, though, and when I rebuffed her advances, she grew vindictive and claimed I had violated her. Louvel and I ended up fighting a duel with swords, which is how he obtained the scar on his cheek.”

  During the first part of the drive, Kate quizzed him about his plan to meet Louvel, and Deverill explained.

  “I could
hire men and boats in Royan, but it’s better to involve Louvel and secure his collaboration than have him as a certain enemy. If we can come to terms, I intend to stay in St. Georges to supervise the salvage effort. He is fairly honorable as far as pirates go, but given our history, I don’t wholly trust him. As for you, I want you to remain in Royan.”

  “You must be jesting.”

  “Not in the least.”

  “I did not come all this way to be useless or play a passive role. If you think to leave me behind—” Kate began, only to bite her tongue as she realized a sweeter tone would go further to change his mind. “Only a short time ago you challenged me to become more wild and adventurous. Well, this is a prime opportunity.”

  “I was speaking of carnal adventures. And I never meant to encourage more risk-taking at the price of your safety.”

  Kate eyed him in consternation. “You expect me to let you face danger alone? When you are acting on my behalf? What kind of coward do you take me for? No, don’t answer that,” she hastened to add, remembering how she had quailed during the storm.

  For a moment she sat there debating what to say. She was very grateful that Deverill had taken on her mission to properly lay her parents to rest, and even appreciated that he was willing to fight her battles for her. A part of her relished the fact that he wanted to protect her.

  Yet she wanted to protect him as well. More crucially, she simply could not allow Deverill to risk danger for her sake while she remained safely out of harm’s way. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him.

  “You aren’t certain Louvel will respond with anger,” Kate finally said.

  “I would lay odds on it.”

  “Have you considered that I might actually be of some use in negotiating with him? I have a great deal of experience handling difficult men.”

  “And you could be a liability as well. Louvel could see you as the means to enact revenge on me.”

  “If so, then we will deal with it. In any event…” Kate’s jaw firmed. “I am not remaining behind.”