Seduced by the Scoundrel by Louise Allen Page A

he said. ‘At least, if you did, he hadn’t kissed you.’
    Averil glared. ‘It was a gift from a woman, my best friend. Just because you appear to place little importance on fidelity there is no need to assume everyone else is the same.’
    ‘I am always faithful,’ Luc protested, all injured innocence, she thought resentfully as he cocked a hip on the rock and made himself comfortable to watch her fiddle the pieces back into place.
    ‘Serial fidelity to a succession of mistresses, I presume?’ She could imagine Luc selecting a mistress, negotiating—he would be reasonably generous, she guessed—then … Enjoying her, she supposed, was the phrase. She would not let her imagination go there.
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘Disgraceful!’ She secured the lid of the box and stood up.
    ‘How so? I am generous, I provide well for the woman when the liaison is over, she appears satisfied with the arrangement.’
    ‘There is no need to be smug about your sins,’ Averilsnapped. Even to her own ears she sounded irritable and stuffy. ‘I hope you are not going to tell me you are married
and
keeping a string of mistresses.’
    ‘A succession, not a string,’ he said. He appeared to find it mildly amusing, curse the man. ‘And, no, I am not married. If I get my head out of this noose then I shall devote myself to finding a well bred, virtuous young lady of an
émigré
family.’
    ‘Really?’ Distracted from her anxieties, Averil turned back. ‘Not an Englishwoman? You intend to go back to France one day?’
    ‘Of course.’ He stared at her as if she had suggested he go to New South Wales instead. ‘I have responsibilities in France—that is where my title comes from, where my lands are. Obviously I need a wife who understands that. Once the war is over there will be nothing for me here.’
    ‘Oh. I see. It is just that … you seem so English.’ But he did not, somehow. Despite the completely perfect pronunciation there was something under the veneer of the English gentleman and officer, something foreign and unsettling and different.
    She pulled herself together. Luc’s marriage plans were no affair of hers. ‘What will happen to me tonight?’
    ‘You stay here, of course.’ He was frowning again. Perhaps it was tactless of her to have mentioned his marriage when he must have feared all that was lost to him. ‘There is ample food and water. I will collect you tomorrow. I don’t think you need worry about Dawkins. With that foot you can outrun him easily. And I think he knows he is in your debt, although I would lock thedoor at night, if I were you. Reform is likely to last only so long.’
    ‘And if you do not come back?’
    ‘I always come back.’
    ‘You are not immortal, even if you are arrogant,’ she retorted. ‘Don’t tempt fate by saying such things.’
    ‘I hadn’t realised you cared.’ Luc stood up and caught her in his arms. His eyes were dark and warm and his mouth was curving and he was just about to kiss her, she was certain.
    Averil let herself sway closer, let herself absorb, just for a moment, the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his body, the tempting lines of his mouth that gave such wicked pleasure. ‘I do not. Naturally I wish the mission well and that you all return safely, but I am worried about what happens to me if you get yourself killed,’ she said, stepping back out of range.
    ‘You wish the mission well?’ he mocked, mimicking her starchy tone. ‘That is enough to send us all off with a patriotic glow in our breasts, I am sure.’ The satirical light in his eyes died and he became serious. ‘If I do not come back by nightfall tomorrow, then light a fire on the beach outside the hut and discharge the pistol I will leave with you. I’ll show you how to fire and load it now. That will be enough to attract interest from the nearest frigate.’
    ‘A gun?’ She had never touched one before and was not at all sure she wanted to start now.
    ‘Here.’ Luc pulled the pistol