‘No.’ But he stood up anyway and she found her feet were on the ground, even though she had to hold tight to Luc’s lapels. Her legs had no more substance than a rag doll’s, her pulse was beating wildly and she wanted to do it all over again. Everything, and in a bed this time. But, of course, she could not. This had been once, and never again.
Averil stumbled as Luc helped her outside, his hand under her elbow. ‘That was good?’ he asked. Somehow she could not resent the thread of amusement in his voice.
‘Amazing,’ she said honestly. ‘What was it?’
‘An orgasm,’ he explained, still managing to stay serious, although she guessed her ignorance was a novelty for him.
‘Don’t you need one, too?’ Thank goodness it was dark so her crimson cheeks were not visible.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Luc said. ‘It will be all right.’
‘Oh.’ Presumably that meant he would seek out whatever women in Hugh Town made their living seeing to the needs of the gentlemen of the island. At least they would not ask him foolishly naïve questions.
‘You are naturally very passionate,’ Luc said, his voice low. They were walking up and down a path parallel to the house; some sense of reality was returning to her. She could make out the shape of Miss Gordon strolling on the terrace, out of earshot: their tactful, ineffectual, chaperone. Was that deliberate on her part?
‘You don’t really want me to be your mistress,’ Averil murmured back. ‘I am ignorant and inexperienced.’
‘And sensual and natural and very lovely. Of course I want you.’ He began to make his way back to the house. Averil dragged her feet—what if the others knew what they had been doing? He seemed to guess at her reluctance. ‘Don’t worry, it will not be branded on your forehead I had an orgasm in the summerhouse.’
‘Don’t say such things!’ she whispered, agitated.
‘Pretend to be angry with me,’ Luc said. ‘That will convince Lady Olivia that we have been discussing the question of marriage and are set against each other and it will explain any colour in your cheeks. If you are determined to go through with this madness, then go to Bradon. I will give you an address. If you need me—when you do—send me word.’
‘You really expect me to turn up on your doorstep asking to become your mistress, don’t you?’ she said, reaction turning into something very like anger in reality.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I look forward to it.’
Averil whirled out of his light grip and half ran down the path to Miss Gordon. ‘It is quite impossible, ma’am, we should never suit, even if it was right that I should break my contract with Lord Bradon. I beg you, please help me to make my way to London.’
‘Of course.’ The other woman looked past Averil to where Luc stood on the path. ‘My brot
her will advance the money for a chaise from Penzance and your lodgings on the way. You had better take Waters with you as your maid. We will give you instructions to my brother’s agent in the port—he will find you respectable lodgings and then hire a chaise and reliable postilions. You must spend at least two nights on the road, I fear, for it is over three hundred miles. Do you think you can manage by yourself?’
‘Thank you,’ Averil said with real gratitude. The thought of dealing with the practicalities of travel sounded blissfully straightforward after the emotional turmoil of the past week. ‘I am used to long journeys in India and a chaise with postilions sounds much easier to deal with than ox carts and elephants!’
Miss Gordon laughed and urged her inside and towards the stairs. There were footsteps on the terrace behind her, but Averil did not turn around.
*
‘Good morning, miss.’ The curtains swished back with a rattle of rings.
‘Good morning, Waters. Hot chocolate? How delightful.’ To wake in a soft bed with light streaming through a wide, clean window: luxury. Lonely luxury. Averil curled her fingers around the cup and inhaled with a shiver of delight as the aroma banished the lingering memory of Pott’s evil tea.
‘Miss Gordon says, will you come down for breakfast, miss, or would you like to take it in bed?’
‘I will come down, thank you.’ She slid out of bed, still cradling the chocolate cup, and went to the wash stand. ‘Miss Gordon said you might be willing to come with me to London, Waters.’
‘Yes, please, miss. I’m a London girl myself, you see, and I came down here because my young man got a job as a footman, but we fell out and I miss my mam and the young ones something awful. And I miss London, too.’
Averil dipped the toothbrush in the pot of powder. ‘I can’t promise there will be a permanent position for you—that depends on what Lord Bradon, my betrothed, says.’
‘That’s all right, miss. I can always stay with Mam in Aldgate until I get a new post. Miss Gordon’s given me a good character.’
Averil paused at the landing window and looked out over a view of rooftops, then sea and scattered islands with white sand beaches glittering in the sun. Shifting sands. If the Bengal Queen’s anchor had not dragged on the sandy seabed, if she had not hit the rocks before the crew could get her back under control, Averil would have landed in Penzance, would have waited patiently until Lord Bradon sent an escort for her and would, even now, be preparing for her marriage.
She would not have met Luc, she would never have discovered the delights of physical love in his arms, she would not have had to make difficult choices. No, I would still be the nice, well-behaved, dutiful young lady I always was.
She smiled absently at the servants who met her at the foot of the stairs and directed her to the breakfast room. Was I always so dutiful? Because if I was, where did this wanton creature come from who only desires to be in Luc’s arms and in his bed? Would she have stayed buried for ever if he had not summoned her?