Seduced by the Scoundrel by Louise Allen Page B

burial service at sea. A sailor died during the voyage and the words are different from the words they say on land. But of course you know that …’ Her voice trailed away and he saw she was looking back into nightmare.
    ‘When the sea shall give up her dead,’ Luc quoted. He had said it more times than he cared to remember as the weighted canvas shrouds were tipped overboard.
    ‘Yes, that is it. And I wonder how many from the
Bengal Queen
died, and how many of those the sea will give up so that families will have the comfort of being able to bury their loved ones.’
    ‘Thinking about it cannot help,’ Luc said. ‘It will only weaken you. Time enough to mourn when you are safe.’
    ‘And I am not safe now. I understand that,’ she said, her voice cool. ‘I will try not to bother you with my inconvenient emotions.’
    Luc experienced a sudden and quite inexplicableurge to put his arms around her and hold her. Just hold her tenderly to give her comfort. He tried to recall the last time he had comforted a woman and realised it must have been when he had come home on leave after his father had been executed and his mother had finally given up the battle to be strong and had wept in his arms.
    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 andfelt 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