Seduced by the Scoundrel by Louise Allen Page A

him.’ Luc kept his voice carefully neutral. ‘I do not know the son.’ If Bradon was a spendthrift gamester like his father, then Miss Heydon was in for a most unpleasant shock. What was her own father thinking of? ‘Your family are distant relatives of Kingsbury, perhaps?’
    ‘Oh, no.’ She smiled brightly.
On the defensive,
Luc thought, wondering what was coming next. ‘My father, Sir Joshua Heydon, is a merchant.’
    So this was becoming clearer. Kingsbury was doubtless securing a substantial dowry with his new daughter-in-law, money he could well do with. What, he wondered, was Sir Joshua gaining? Influence at court, perhaps, for the earl was one of Prinny’s cronies. It was a trade deal, in effect. Luc revised his prejudicesa trifle. He had not admired those daughters of cits he had come across so far, not that he had paid them any attention. A d’Aunay did not marry trade. Averil, however, seemed mercifully free of vulgarity.
    ‘Lord Bradon will be anxious when the news reaches him that the ship has gone down,’ she said with a frown. It did not seem to occur to her that he was going to be more than
anxious
when he got her back and discovered that his betrothed had been missing, unchaperoned, for several days. Miss Heydon could well have made a long sea voyage, survived a shipwreck and yet find herself rejected and unwed.
    But that was not his problem.
She
was not his problem. He had to capture two brigs, against unknown odds, with the crew from hell, and then pray that with the ships he secured the evidence to expose a traitor and to restore his own career.
    Chaperoning an innocent young lady under those circumstances was impossible—from the moment that he had made the decision to take her into the hut and not signal for a navy boat she was as near ruined as made no difference. Averil Heydon was no longer an innocent in the eyes of the world and, if he did not keep a tight rein on his desires and instincts, she would not be one in fact either for much longer. After all, once she was ruined in theory, that was it. She might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
    He looked at her, thinking about it, his body becoming hard and heavy. She was temptation personified and he was in no mood for self-sacrifice.

Chapter Seven
    ‘W hat are you frowning about?’ Averil asked. Lord, but he had to get her dressed again—that blanket was driving him insane. Last night he had been too tired and too distracted to take much notice, although his body had been sending him frantic signals. Now, with it sliding off one shoulder and her hair clean and dry and waving from its tight braid and her face flushed with colour, she was beginning to exude a powerful femininity that he was convinced she had no conscious control over.
    ‘Frowning about? Life,’ he said, with perfect honesty. He wondered how much of a bastard he was. Enough of one to ruin this girl in reality? ‘And, yes, I have no doubt that your betrothed will be anxious. He will doubtless give you up for dead. Managing your resurrection is going to need some care.’ Her expression changed, lost some of its determination, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth as though to force somecontrol over her emotions. Perhaps she could sense his desires—his thoughts were clamorous enough.
    ‘What is it?’ He knew he spoke abruptly, and disregarded it; he could not afford to involve himself too deeply with the problems of a young woman who had nothing at all to do with his mission, he told himself. If she thought she had been rescued by a man who was forming some sort of attachment to her, she was mistaken. He had learned not to care the hard way. Averil was a casualty of war and lucky to be alive. ‘This can all get sorted out later,’ he added. ‘A few days is not going to make any difference now.’
    ‘It isn’t that. I try not to think about my friends on the
Bengal Queen,
’ Averil said. ‘But you speaking of resurrection made me think of the