‘Yes. Yes, he did.’ So, Bradon was not taking on the responsibility of repaying Sir George. Was he mean, penny-pinching or seriously short of money? Her eyes strayed over the ornate furnishing, the silk curtains, the yards of leather-bound, gilt-embossed books. An aristocratic family wealthy in land and property and possessions without a silver shilling to spare, no doubt. The expensive father out pursuing his pleasures while the prudent son ensured the family finances.
Averil tried to keep the judgemental thoughts from her mind. It was not her business how they came to this. It was up to her to try and make sure they were towed out of the River Tick before her children reached their majority, that was all.
‘Papa’s bankers and lawyers are in the City. May I have a carriage to call on them?’
‘Of course.’ He got up and came around the desk to stand beside her. Averil felt compelled to stand, too. ‘I will accompany you. I assume you will need someone to vouch for you, with all your possessions and papers gone.’
‘Yes. I suppose I will. Thank you.’
He took her hand, lifted it, then brushed his lips over her knuckles. She forced herself to stand still and accept the caress, if that is what it could be called. ‘We will set out after luncheon. The sooner you can replace your trousseau, the better. Mama will lend you her dresser to guide you to all the best places once you have some money.’
Averil spared a fleeting thought for the silks and muslins, the jewellery and shawls, the piles of linens that she had painstakingly monogrammed as they sailed across miles of oceans. All gone, all lost, along with her dreams.
‘Thank you. I will go and put on my bonnet.’ He released her hand. And put any hopes I ever had of love and romance firmly in a box and throw away the key.
Chapter Sixteen
Luc strolled up Bond Street and turned left into Bruton Street. He had no convincing excuse for coming this way, he admitted to himself. Yes, he was intending to visit Manton’s to pick up some new pistols and try a little target practice, but this was a roundabout route by anyone’s calculation. He could tell himself he was getting some exercise, but that was purest self-deception. He was worried about Averil and he was missing her like the devil.
He should walk on past and go about his business; there was nothing he could do in any case unless she appeared here and now on the pavement in front of him. However much he wanted her, he had given her his word that he would not turn up on the doorstep and precipitate a crisis.
But despite his resolve some demon had him turning right and then right again into the mews that served the smart houses. He had promised nothing about watching the house and now he grabbed at the loophole. Damn it, but this obsession hurts. Where’s your will-power, man? He didn’t seem to have any, only a sick fear that he was not going to be able to bear it when she married Brandon.
An English gentleman would cut her out of his life: it was, after all, the honourable thing to do. A Frenchman, hot-blooded and passionate, would ignore his own promises and snatch her. But he was neither. God, was he ever going to find where he belonged? What if Napoleon was never defeated and he was stranded here, belonging to no country?
Stop it! Luc exerted years of hard-learned discipline and got his thoughts under control. Just deal with it, day by day, just as you always have. Concentrate on Averil and whether she is all right. He forced his attention back to the mews.
It was quiet, so presumably the carriages had gone out for the morning. A man whistled as he came out of a stable with a bucket, nodded to Luc with no sign of curiosity, and strode off.
Luc walked along, counting until he got to the back of the Bradons’ house. Where was she? He leaned a shoulder against the wall and eyed the gate that led into the garden as though it could answer the questions that so preoccupied him.
Averil would not be installed in Bradon’s bedchamber yet, of that he was certain. The family would do this properly, although without any great fuss, given the bride’s connections. But the man might be making love to her even now. What was there to stop him? And unless Bradon was made of stone, he would want her. Jealousy lanced through him. The bastard would take her innocence and that belonged to him, no one else.
As he watched a window opened on the second floor and there was Averil, as though he had called to her. She leaned her elbows on the sill and leaned out, a most unladylike thing to be doing. Luc smiled, the dark mood evaporating like mist under sunshine, and lifted a
hand.
For a moment he thought she had not seen him, or perhaps did not recognise him in civilian dress, then she made a flapping gesture with her hand as though trying to shoo chickens. Amused, Luc stayed where he was. He could almost hear the huff of exasperation as she slapped both palms down on the sill and stared at him across the length of the garden and the low roofs of the mews buildings. Now what would his Averil do?
Her face changed and he realised she was mouthing something, although from that distance it was impossible to tell what. Go away, probably. They stared at each other for a while, then she ducked back inside and pulled down the window. Luc grinned; she was wearing a pale gown and the glimmer of white behind the glass showed clearly that she was standing watching him. He tipped the brim of his hat down, shifted his shoulders more comfortably and set himself to look like a man with nothing better to do than prop a wall up and watch the world go by for the rest of the morning.
It took ten minutes before the gate opened and Averil appeared. ‘Go away! What on earth are you doing here?’
Luc straightened, came across and stood next to her under the shelter of the garden wall. No one looking out of the windows in the house could see them there. ‘I wondered how you were.’ I needed to see you so much it hurt. No, he could not admit his weakness to her. Instinct warned him to hide his vulnerability.
‘I was perfectly all right until I saw you,’ she retorted. ‘I almost had a heart stroke.’ She was looking delightfully flushed and flustered, but he saw the dark smudges under her eyes and wondered how much sleep she’d had the night before. Had she been thinking about him, or worrying about Bradon?
‘You recognised me.’
‘I could think of no one else your size who would be lurking in back alleys.’ Despite her tone he suspected she was glad to see him. He hoped she was.
‘How was it? What is he like?’
‘Lord Bradon is perfectly charming and his parents are delightful. I could not be happier.’ Her green eyes were dark and shuttered.
‘Liar,’ he said. ‘Something is wrong. Tell me the truth. Did you confess what had happened?’
‘I told Lord Bradon this morning. About the shipwreck and being washed up and being in the hut with you for those days and nights. I did not tell him I was naked, or about … about the summer house in the Governor’s garden. He was very calm about it. He is—oh, I don’t know!’ She threw up her hands and for a moment Luc thought she was going to cry, then she tightened her lips and controlled herself. ‘He is very emotionless, very cool. They all are. There is no feeling or warmth. But I expect we will get used to one another soon.’