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 the door 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 su
re.’ 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 from his belt. ‘This is loaded. Hold it.’ Reluctantly she curled her fingers round the butt. ‘You cock it—go on, it won’t bite you—that’s half cock, now fully back. Keep it pointing at the ground—no, not at your foot!—until you are ready to fire, then point it out to sea and pull the trigger.’
‘Ow!’ The bang made her jump, the recoil hurt her wrist. ‘Won’t that have been heard?’
‘The wind is to us.’ Luc produced a box from his pocket. ‘Here’s how to reload—you may need more than one shot.’
He showed her how to reload several times, more patient with her initial clumsiness than she would have expected. When he was satisfied at last he walked with her back to the hut and saw the pistol and ammunition safely stowed on the shelf.
‘But you have no handgun now,’ Averil realised. ‘You will need one.’
Luc was already removing a stone in one wall. ‘I have two.’ He stuck the spare pistol in his belt and pushed the stone back.
‘You would have taken two if it was not for me,’ she said, worry fretting at her conscience. ‘Here, take this one back, you’ll need it. I can attract attention without it, I am sure.’
‘I would feel more comfortable if you were armed.’
‘Couldn’t Dawkins sail your little skiff across to St Mary’s? Oh, no, I suppose if you do not come back then he needs to be able to disappear and never to have been here. I see.’
Luc stood frowning at her, thinking about something else and not, she thought, listening to her work it all out aloud. ‘There are papers in that cache. You just need to prise the stone out with a knife. If you have to leave without me, take them to the Admiralty when you reach London. Don’t give them to the Governor, I am not certain about his loyalties yet.’
‘But you will come back.’ It mattered, he mattered, she realised. Half the time Luc was autocratic and cold as though he was not prepared to let another human being touch his feelings, yet he was fiercely protective. Was that simply the male need to dominate, to fight for possession of anything in his territory?
He could make her so angry—and she was never angry usually. And when he touched her, she wanted him. He had made her want him in a shameful, physical way. And that was not like her either; she had never had any trouble at all being perfectly well behaved and not flirting, not allowing stolen kisses.
‘Ah! You care, chérie.’ He grinned at her, an infuriating, cocky smile that took years off his apparent age and made him look completely French.
Yes, I care, she wanted to say. ‘Do you want me to?’ she countered. I am betrothed. You seek a French wife. I am not thinking about friendship. This is impossible … or sinful. What on earth was the matter with her? Averil found she had stopped breathing, waiting for his answer.
‘I want—yes, what is it?’ The bang on the door made him turn, the teasing young man gone, the captain back again.
Harris’s head appeared round the door. ‘Potts says, do we need to take any provisions with us?’
‘Water, some ship’s biscuit and cheese. I’ll come and sort out final positions.’ As the door closed behind Harris, Luc turned back to her. ‘I’ll be with the men now, up until it is time to go. I don’t want to leave them on their own and they need to keep busy. Will you be all right?’
What kind of question was that? Averil thought with a spurt of resentment. All right? No, she was not all right, and she wondered if she ever would be again. The wretched man had made her care about him, so she would worry—and she would worry about that rabble of a crew of his. He had made her think about her marriage in a whole new light and to worry about a lot more than whether Lord Bradon would have a sense of humour, or whether she would remember all her lessons in the duties to be expected of her. Now she was thinking about kissing her betrothed and comparing him with this man who should never have touched her, let alone have lain naked with her in his bed.
But she could say none of that. ‘Of course I will,’ she said with a smile that was supposed to be confident and which obviously did not deceive Luc for a moment.
‘Oh, hell.’ He dragged her into his arms. ‘One last time, damn it. The Fates owe me that, at least.