My Fair Lover

by Nicole Jordan

  She expected to hear him making his own bed on the floor, but silence filled the small room. After a moment, she felt the mattress give way as he joined her beneath the covers.

  Before she could react, he inched up her nightdress to her hips, then slid his arms around her and pulled her back into the cradle of his body.

  At the shock of heat against her skin, Kate caught her breath. “What are you about, Deverill?”

  “I have reconsidered.”

  “You said you wouldn’t make love to me.”

  “I won’t. I am making you ache, just as you’ve done to me. Let’s see how well you handle temptation while I sleep beside you.”

  Kate clenched her teeth. He was fully aroused, his member swollen and hard against her buttocks, and he was making her equally aroused—no doubt to remind her of what she was missing by refusing to wed him.

  “Sometimes,” she stated in a barely restrained voice, “you can be the most irksome, contrary man of my acquaintance—which is saying a great deal considering the men in my family.”

  “I won’t argue with you.” He brushed aside her hair and pressed a kiss in the curve of her neck, eliciting a responsive shiver from her. “Now go to sleep, love. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  His tone was easy but resolute. She wouldn’t sway him, she knew he was saying. Until she gave in, he would sleep in the same bed with her but go no further.

  More infuriatingly, she was pitifully glad he had relented even that much.

  Despite his advice to sleep, Kate remained awake for a long while. The wash of sexual heat flushing through her body made her restless and on edge, while images of them together naked and wicked and intensely passionate kept assaulting her.

  Eventually his body relaxed and his breathing slowed. Kate lay there, listening to his heartbeat. The undercurrent of tension kept her senses tinglingly alive, yet it felt so good to be here with Deverill, sweeter than the sweetest wine.

  No doubt such enforced celibacy would be beneficial to the growth of their relationship, but she didn’t like it at all. Not when she wanted to melt into his arms, to savor his hard strength, to explore the explosive magic that he’d only given her a taste of before. Even with the frustration of unfulfilled sexual arousal, though, lying in Deverill’s embrace was far, far better than sleeping alone.

  And that realization was the most infuriating of all.

  When Brandon woke at dawn’s first light, he lay next to Kate, burning. He relished sleeping with her, but sharing her bed, being unable to satisfy his fierce desire for her, was sheer torment.

  Indeed, last evening had strained his willpower to the breaking point. He’d spent much of the time fighting his natural inclination to overwhelm her with passion. He could easily imagine kissing her awake now and arousing her silken body, guiding her to unlock her wildest self. He craved feeling her body respond with ardor.

  Even so, he was fully committed to winning Kate—which meant striving to romance her as she wanted, without relying on physical seduction. He needed to show her what it would be like to be his wife, the simple pleasure they could find together.

  Even more than pleasure, he wanted to make her happy. Thus for her sake he would try to be the man she wanted him to be, Brandon vowed. If it meant having to explore his long-buried feelings, well then, he was willing to concede.

  Just then Kate rolled over onto her back. When her thigh brushed his swollen cock, the contact sent a jolt of pure pleasure rocketing through him.

  Sucking in his breath, Brandon raised himself on one elbow to gaze down at her. Her disheveled auburn hair glowed richly in the rays of sunlight filtering through the lace curtains.

  He brushed some errant curls from her face, marveling at the effect she’d had on him in the short weeks since his return to England. Already he could feel his emotions softening, his rigid guard dropping. He was losing his strict detachment. And the restless dissatisfaction that had gripped him had eased significantly. Even better, the sharp emptiness he’d known for years was gone entirely.

  Kate had given him a taste of an intimacy he’d never known, a tenderness he’d never thought he would experience. Without question, the prospect of creating something deeper didn’t alarm him as it once had, nor did building the kind of bond he’d always avoided. Perhaps with time he could even permit himself to feel stronger emotions, like love.

  If anyone could show him how to love, it would be Kate.

  The thought lingered on his mind as she stirred awake and slowly became aware of her surroundings. After a moment she turned her head and focused her warm, sleep-drugged eyes directly on him.

  When she offered him a soft smile that was part shyness, part siren, the sharp pleasure of it stabbed him in his midsection, in his loins.

  Brandon swore under his breath and determinedly reined in his baser instincts before they bolted. He couldn’t lie here any longer, though, with Kate firing his blood. Nor could he possibly touch her and remain unmoved.

  So he planted a light kiss on her temple and slipped from the bed. A bracing bath in the sea would help temper his explosive lust.

  “I am going for a swim,” he announced, bending to pick up his breeches. “My absence will allow you some privacy.”

  She blinked at the suddenness of his decision, but without waiting for her to respond, he gathered up the remainder of his clothing and quit the room.

  —

  When Kate recovered from her speechlessness, she stretched languidly. She’d been having the most pleasant dream, indulging in the fantasy that Deverill was her husband, her lover. It was quite a delicious feeling, waking to the feel of a hard, very male body beside her. And the sight of his nude form—so tanned and solidly muscled—made her recall how he had made love to her the night of the storm. At the memory, she could feel her nipples harden.

  Painfully aware of her breasts and the hollow between her thighs, Kate bestirred herself to rise.

  As she washed with water from the basin, she longed for a bath herself. Gabrielle had shown her the small copper tub in a closet off the kitchen, but there was likely not enough time to build a fire in the stove and heat enough bathwater. And most certainly she didn’t want to be caught naked when Deverill returned from his swim.

  After dressing, she brushed her hair and wound it back into a tidy knot, then went to the kitchen to consider what could be prepared for breakfast.

  She had her longings under better control by the time Deverill entered by way of the back door, but her resolve to appear casual instantly deserted her. He was clad in only breeches, his torso glistening with moisture, hair slicked back from his face. Her mouth went dry at the sight of so much warm, bronzed skin, and she was glad when he announced his intention to dress and shave. With a shadow of stubble darkening his jaw, he looked ruggedly handsome and more than a little dangerous, like the pirates he meant to consort with today.

  While he disappeared, Kate busied herself putting together a breakfast of bread and jam and slices of ham from the loin stored in the pantry cooler. She craved a cup of hot tea, but settled for cider.

  Deverill appeared a short while later and joined her at the kitchen table. When he complimented her resourcefulness, Kate demurred. At Beauvoir in Kent where she had grown up, she commanded an enormous staff, and a smaller one at the mansion in London, but she had learned enough to get by in a pinch.

  “I should go to the market and purchase food,” she said. “And perhaps I can hire a servant to help with the cleaning and cooking.”

  Over their meal they discussed the plans for the day.

  “From the beach you can see the small harbor of St. Georges,” Deverill told her. “Louvel’s men will gather there to begin the search while he and I interview the villagers who witnessed the Zephyr go down, according to Macky’s investigation.”

  “I wish I could accompany you,” Kate said, “but Louvel and his fellow pirates will not appreciate my tagging along. And my time will be better spent cultivatin
g an acquaintance with Gabrielle.”

  When a companionable silence followed, Kate once again was struck by the simple domestic scene and couldn’t help wondering if this was what their marriage would be like.

  All too soon, however, the peaceful interlude ended, for Deverill gave her a pistol to carry in her reticule, as well as a sharp-bladed dagger, reminding her how serious their situation was, facing a band of potential cutthroats. She and Deverill would need to work together and keep their wits about them if they hoped to prevail without major consequence.

  When they were finished eating, Deverill retrieved the horses and carriage from the local livery and delivered Kate to the pirate’s house. Before they parted ways, she managed to divulge her misgivings. “I admit I am worried for you.”

  “I am more worried for you,” he replied. “I don’t like the thought of leaving you alone—although I suspect you can fend for yourself,” he quickly added. “I know better than to question your courage.”

  That dredged a smile from her, as she knew he’d meant to.

  Kate stood watching with Gabrielle as the men departed, then began asking questions. The Frenchwoman explained the layout of the village and led her outside at the rear of the house, which afforded expansive views of the sea. When she pointed out the harbor in the distance to their right, Kate could just make out a number of fishing vessels—sailboats and skiffs and dinghies—tied to the jetties. Along the coast to their left, Gabrielle said, were ample caves and grottoes and pretty beaches.

  Afterward, they returned inside to the parlor, where a tea tray had been delivered. When the conversation broadened, they both lamented having to remain at home while men did the real work.

  “Regrettably, it is the lot of women everywhere,” Gabrielle remarked. But then she described her situation, and it became clear that the Frenchwoman had far more freedom than English girls of similar station. The village of St. Georges was fairly poor but lively, and except for her lack of family and husband, she cherished living there. Furthermore, her position as Louvel’s mistress was seen as practical rather than shameful.

  “I confess I am envious,” Kate said honestly. “In my country, a genteel young lady must strictly adhere to propriety or risk causing a scandal.”

  From there the conversation turned to more mundane matters, beginning with care of the cottage. Gabrielle offered to accompany Kate to the market that afternoon, and to supply a servant to help with the chores. When Kate confessed that she was unaccustomed to boiling water for a bath, Gabrielle shared some welcome news.

  “There is a Roman bath not too distant from here. Since it was built many centuries ago, much of the building is in ruins. But the pools are supplied by a hot spring and are quite enjoyable. You might want to visit.”

  “That sounds heavenly,” Kate admitted.

  “I will draw a map for you with the direction.”

  All the while, Kate kept up a gentle probing of the Frenchwoman’s life and her relationship with Louvel. Additionally, she shared some of her own romantic history with Deverill. Confessing the humiliation of his rejection years ago went a long way toward gaining Gabrielle’s trust and convincing her to divulge her own confidences.

  “I fear to press Jean on marriage,” Gabrielle eventually admitted. “He is not the romantic sort in the least.”

  “Do you think he loves you?” Kate asked.

  A wistful look entered her eyes. “There are times when I believe so, but I cannot be certain.”

  “It would help if I could see the two of you together, to judge how he feels about you. We would be better able to determine a plan of action then.”

  Gabrielle sat more upright, looking eager and optimistic. “But yes. The opportunity could arise if you and Monsieur Deverill were to dine with us. Perhaps tomorrow evening? In the interim, I will seek Jean’s permission. I dare not invite you without it.”

  “I understand,” Kate assured her. “Dining together is an excellent idea.”

  “I will begin tonight.” A surprisingly impish gleam shone in Gabrielle’s eyes. “The boudoir is a prime place to persuade him. There, I have been able many times to sway Jean to my wishes.”

  Kate couldn’t help but smile. “What is your secret?”

  “Seduction of course.” Gabrielle studied Kate thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should plot a seduction of Monsieur Deverill. Lust can prove a powerful incitement.”

  Her smile turned to a frown. It was no more than she had advised many of her would-be matches, but even so, it would present a daunting challenge. He was an expert at seduction while she was a novice. “If I were to try, I could not be overt about it. I failed miserably once before….”

  Yet seduction might be her only means of making him abandon his vow of celibacy.

  Kate bit her lip in contemplation. It would be supremely fitting if she could drive Deverill wild with lust, as he was so clearly set on doing with her. She would derive great satisfaction from making him yearn for her, from making him want her madly. But far more important, by stoking Deverill’s desire, she stood a better chance of winning his heart.

  By the time they finished their tea, a plan was beginning to take shape in Kate’s mind. And by midmorning when they prepared to visit the market, her spirits had lifted significantly. Like Gabrielle, she felt more optimistic than she had in a great while.

  Now all she needed was to take the first step.

  —

  As it happened, Deverill created the opportunity for her that very evening. Kate was waiting at the cottage when he returned from the harbor. Over supper, which she had prepared with the aid of two servants, he reported their progress—how they had assembled the necessary boats and equipment and sailors, and outlined a map of the area where they would initially concentrate the search on the morrow.

  Afterward, Deverill invited her for a walk on the beach.

  The day was fading as they made their way from the cottage along a sandy path flanked by scrub bush. Depositing a blanket and a bottle of wine in the sand, they removed their shoes and stockings and strolled along the shore.

  Much to Kate’s satisfaction, Deverill took her hand to help her over a clump of seagrass and never relinquished it. It was a perfect summer evening, with sunlight painting the water a rose gold and the music of nature serenading them: the call of seagulls, waves rushing gently at their feet, a soft breeze dancing over them.

  Dusk had fallen when they returned to their chosen spot and settled on the blanket. With a rising moon silvering the water, Kate thought the scene enchanting.

  “The view is lovely,” she said with all sincerity.

  “Yes, it is,” Deverill responded while gazing directly at her.

  Kate had begun to wonder what he was thinking, when he spoke again. “It might have escaped your notice, but I am making a romantic gesture, just as you wished. I still hope to persuade you to make our betrothal a permanent union.”

  And I hope to persuade you to love me, she thought.

  Aloud, she said, “It will take more than one romantic evening to convince me.”

  “But I haven’t begun to use all the weapons at my disposal.”

  Kate cocked an eyebrow at him. “Weapons? I did not realize it was a battle between us.”

  “Securing your hand in marriage is indeed a battle.”

  Determined to keep the conversation light, she refrained from commenting.

  A moment later he proposed a swim, then removed his shirt. When he stood and began to unbutton his breeches, she was pressed into asking, “You mean to swim naked in public?”

  “Certainly. There is no one here to see us. Come and join me.” When she hesitated, Deverill’s lips curved. “You are showing your craven side again.”

  Wisely ignoring his baiting, Kate politely declined. “I already washed at the cottage this afternoon, and the sea is a bit chilly for my taste. In fact, I would rather utilize a Roman bath. Gabrielle says there is one nearby, fed by a hot spring.”

  “We ca
n explore it some other time. Meanwhile, we have the beach all to ourselves.” At her silence, he prodded her further. “You wanted to become more adventuresome, did you not? I am only thinking of you, of broadening your horizons.”

  “How very obliging of you,” Kate said sweetly. “Thank you, but I will remain here and enjoy the view.”

  “As you wish.”

  He stripped off his breeches, but instead of leaving, he remained standing before her, entirely naked. Kate found herself studying him, thinking how bold and daring he was, how magnificent his body was—

  She brought her thoughts up short. No doubt Deverill was taunting her in an effort to rouse her desire, displaying himself in so brazen a fashion.

  Kate sent him a frown. “You are trying to tempt me, admit it.”

  Deverill shrugged, oozing innocence. Not answering, he turned and strode away.

  Without volition, she watched as he waded out a short distance, then dove into the dark waves and became lost to sight. Making a scoffing sound, she shook her head at her own frailty. As usual he had succeeded in making her blush, turning her entire body warm.

  But two could play that game. In truth if she had any hope of seducing him, she had to make him just as hot as she was. Recalling what she’d planned, she removed her gown and corset, leaving only her muslin shift. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and sat there sipping. A delicious anticipation crawled up her spine as she waited for Deverill to return.

  After a time, she spied him wading back toward her. Even in the semidark, she could make out his form. Ordinarily she was not easily awed by a man, yet she found herself riveted by the sight of a Grecian god striding from the water—broad shoulders, narrow waist, rigid belly, lean hips, long, sinewed legs…A god, indeed. His build and physical prowess set him apart from other mere mortals and he put the classical statues to shame.

  And when he drew close she could see his stark beauty: his curling locks wet with seawater, the clean strong lines of his face, the sheer power of his body. The display left her breathless.