Maman had not lived long after that and so he had lost everyone who had mattered: his father, his mother, the loyal servants—they had all died because, in their way, they had done their duty. It was safer not to care, not to form new attachments because they would only lead to pain and distract him from his own duty, to the navy, to his inheritance. Sometimes he thought that if he had allowed himself to form new attachments he would at least have some anchor, some sense of where he truly belonged.
Averil shifted uneasily and he was pulled back to the present. This was not his mother and he had no idea how to console Averil. He did not get involved with women who needed comforting or hugging or cheering up. His relationships were functional and businesslike and, he hoped, involved a degree of mutual pleasure. The women who had been his mistresses had not sat in front of him bravely biting on a trembling lip and making him feel their distress was all his fault.
Damn it, he had not conjured up the storm that sank the East Indiaman and she was not going to make him feel guilty about it. Miss Heydon would have to take him as she found him. He damn well wanted to take her.
‘Good,’ he retorted. ‘Emotions are dangerously distracting under these circumstances.’ He got up and felt the clothes hanging in front of the fire. ‘These are definitely dry enough now. Get dressed, the men will be wondering why we have not turned up for dinner.’
‘I should think their dirty little minds will supply them with an explanation.’ Averil did not stir from her chair. ‘I am not getting dressed with you here.’
Luc shrugged and got to his feet. It was a reasonable request and he had no need to heat his blood any more than it already was by being in the same room with Averil naked. Even with his eyes closed his recollection was too vivid. ‘Try to see, a trifle more affectionate when you appear,’ he said over his shoulder, halfway to the door.
‘I don’t think so.’ Averil stood up in a swirl of blanket that somehow managed to be simultaneously provoking and haughty. It was made worse by the fact that he was certain she had no idea of the effect she was creating. ‘I think a lovers’ quarrel will be far easier to sustain.’
Luc did not bother to answer her. He closed the door behind him, taking care not to slam it, then leaned back against the wind-weathered planks while he got his temper under control. One belligerent, emotional, virginal young lady was not going to get the better of him, he resolved. The trouble was, she had disregarded just about everything he had told her to do, or not to do, and he could not help a sneaking admiration for her courage.
Even if she could swim, to launch herself into the sea, so soon after being almost drowned, took guts and she hadn’t complained about the bruise on her back from the stone he had thrown either. It was the first time in his life he had raised his hand to a woman, let alone used a weapon against one, and it had made his stomach churn to do it. Which was another thing not helping his temper, he supposed.
Luc gazed at the horizon and focused his mind on the job in hand. He was a professional naval officer, despite everything, and he was going to overcome this, all of it, just as he had overcome the prejudice and the suspicion and the jibes that had followed him since he had come to England. The émigré community was wary because of his father’s political views, the English saw him as French and he had a suspicion that his father’s marriage had contributed to his troubles in France.
He was a half-breed and he was not going to tolerate it any longer. He would force the damn English navy to exonerate him, he would find a wife befitting a d’Aunay from the émigré community and when this war was over, he was going to take back what was his.
A flicker of movement broke his concentration. A brown sail on a small boat that tacked across the Pool as it headed for the narrows between St Helen’s and Teän. Now why, with the prevailing wind, was the skipper taking it that way to get to the open sea when the passage to the south, between St Helen’s and Tresco, would be so much easier?
Because it was coming to call on him, he realised. It was the expected messenger and that way round took it as far as possible from the navy ships. He felt his mood lift with the prospect of action at last as he strode away from the hut and up the slope, Averil forgotten.
Averil hardly waited for the door to close before she scrambled into the slightly damp, salt-sticky, breeches and shirt. Her shoulder protested with twinges before it settled down to a throbbing ache around the bruise, but she ignored it as she ignored her painful bare feet. She felt strong, she realised, despite the battering her body had taken over the past few days and the misery at the back of her mind that threatened to creep out and ambush her, as it had just now with Luc.
He thought her an emotional female. Well, there was nothing to be ashamed of in that. But she felt resilient and independent as well, and that was new. Always she had had people to tell her what to do: her father, her aunt, her governess, her chaperones. She had been good and obedient and she had been rewarded by the opportunity to become a countess and to advance her family’s fortunes.
And now, through no fault of her own, she was in the power of another man who expected her to do what she as told, and this time she was not inclined to obey him, not in everything—and that was liberating. In some things—kissing, for example—she was far too ready to give in to him and, of course, it was her patriotic duty to comply with Luc’s orders in everything relating to the reason he and his men were on the island.
But all in all, Averil thought as she whipped her hair into a firm braid, she was coping. And changing. Whatever happened, the Averil Heydon who left this island was not going to be the same woman who had been washed up on its sands.
She took care to slip out of the door and round to the back of the hut when she left, but there was no sign of interest from the ships riding at anchor in the sunshine. Her frantic dash for freedom and Luc’s swift recapture of her must have gone unnoticed.
But there was a strange boat drawn up on the beach below the camp and a stranger stood by the fire, a steaming mug in his hand as he talked. The men were clustered round and they were listening intently, but they were watching their captain. For all their apparent hostility it was clear they looked to him to deal with whatever was happening now. Averil felt an unexpected warmth, almost pride, as though he really was her lover.
She gave herself a brisk mental shake as she walked towards them. Luc d’Aunay was neither her lover nor her love, he was merely doing his job and if he happened to look confident and commanding and intelligent while he was about it, so much the better for the Royal Navy. There was no excuse for her to get in a flutter.
‘Who’s this? No one said anything about women.’ The stranger spoke with an accent that she guessed must be local. He looked like a fisherman, there were nets and crab pots in the stern of his little boat, and he seemed uneasy with her presence.
‘My woman,’ Luc said, with a glance in her direction. ‘Never mind her—are you certain of the times?’
‘I am.’ The man grinned. ‘Stupid beggar didn’t check the sail loft. Still can’t work out who he is, mind you. I can’t find out where he’s coming from and he wears a cloak and his hat pulled tugged low. He keeps his voice low, too—a gentleman, I can hear that much, but if it wasn’t for Trethowan not keeping his voice down I wouldn’t have worked it out.
‘He looked to see if he was being followed all right, but it didn’t occur to him that someone knew where he was going from last time and got up there first. It’s the same brig as before—the Gannet—but they’ve changed the sails, so someone’s had some sense. The patch has gone and they’ve a new set of brown canvas.’
He took a gulp from the mug. ‘They’ll be slipping anchor at eleven tonight so you’ll need to be in position off Annet. The tide’ll be right for you to get in behind the Haycocks rocks. I’ll signal from the Garrison when I see them leave. It’ll be clear tonight.’
‘How do we know we can trust ‘im?’ Harris said and the other men shifted uneasily.
‘Because I say so,’ Luc replied. ‘I know him and he’s good reason to hate the French.’
‘Aye.’ The man scowled at Harris. ‘Killed my brother Johnnie they did. And I don’t hold with them that’ll sell out their country to foreigners.’
‘Foreigners like Frenchy here?’ a voice from the back mut tered.
‘Don’t be more of a bloody fool than you can help, Bull,’ Luc said.