Rake Beyond Redemption

‘Disreputable,’ she remarked immediately. ‘What are you thinking to allow this?’

He gave a crack of laughter at the directness of her censure. Then Zan sobered, frowned. ‘No money to spend on it.’

‘I was thinking soap and water, rather than money. What is your housekeeper doing? And is smuggling not a lucrative trade? I was under the impression there were fortunes to be made if a smuggler was not too nice in his choice of companions. We hear talk of the vicious rogues in the smuggling gangs even in London. I know all about rogues…’ She shivered as if a draught had touched her arms.

‘It can be lucrative, as you say, with the right contacts,’ he offered.

‘Are you a member of a smuggling gang?’

‘No. I am not.’

‘Forgive me. I did not mean to pry.’

‘I’m sure you did mean it! But I forgive you and I assure you I’m not a vicious rogue. When I organise a run, I use my own operation from the bay, and my own cutter.’ The door opened to admit the spare form of the housekeeper, bearing a tray. ‘And here’s Mrs Shaw with refreshment.’

Whilst Zan leaned his weight back against the edge of the desk, arms folded, Marie-Claude removed her gloves and took charge, murmuring her thanks despite the housekeeper’s chill disapproval of an unchaperoned female visitor, then proceeded to dispense tea with skilled assurance, measuring the amount from the inlaid box, pouring the pale liquid into fragile china cups. Zan took the cup offered to him.

‘I can at least guarantee the quality of this,’ he remarked drily.

‘I’m sure you can.’ She sipped. ‘And doubtless your brandy too. Has it paid any duty?’

‘Not that I know of!’

‘Tell me what you do when you are not smuggling.’

Zan cast himself into one of the chairs and proceeded, against all his good intentions, to tell her the trivial nothings of life on the run-down Ellerdine estate whilst Marie-Claude sat and listened, asking a question when it seemed appropriate. How strange it was. How surreal. There they sat and exchanged polite conversation as if they were in a London withdrawing room, certainly not as if an intense undercurrent throbbed on the air between them. Later Marie-Claude had no clear idea of either her questions or his answers. Only that he had not taken his eyes from her.

Mon Dieu. How confusing this all was. Marie-Claude felt like a butterfly on a pin. His replies were brusque, his dark beauty and stern demeanour never exactly encouraging, yet she felt astonishingly at ease in his company. Eventually she put down her cup. Replaced her gloves. Rose gracefully to her feet and held out her hand to him.

‘I must go. Morning calls should only last half an hour, should they not?’

‘So I understand. I’m sure you’re well versed in such social niceties.’ He bent his head in a formal salute to her knuckles, a glint of humour lighting his dark eyes at last. His lips brushed softly against her skin.

‘You have been most hospitable.’ She managed a smile as her heart jolted with desire. ‘Will you come to Lydyard’s Pride one afternoon? For tea?’

‘No. I will not.’

The humour vanished. The whole pleasant house of cards they had just constructed collapsed around them.

‘Why not?’

‘I would not be made welcome there.’

‘But why would you not? What on earth have you done to cause this impasse? Meggie will not say, and neither will you. How can I accept what I do not understand?’ She frowned at him, her dark brows meeting in frustration. ‘You don’t like the Hallastons, do you?’

‘No.’

‘There! Again! That’s no answer, Zan.’ Her fingers gripped hard when he would have released them. ‘Why won’t you tell me the truth?’

‘Because I choose not to. Goodbye.’ He kissed her fingers once more with an elegant little bow. ‘You have made your morning call and reprimanded me for my lack of duty in fulfilling my own obligations to you. You have seen and disparaged the way I live. Let that be an end to it. Whatever is between us—it can be explained away as a momentary foolishness. We should acknowledge it and bury it. It’s good advice, Madame Mermaid. I advise you to take it.’

‘No. I won’t.’ The frown became almost a scowl. How effective he was at dismissing her, at putting her at a distance. ‘Three days ago you called me Marie-Claude. Your told me I was beautiful and that you had known me all your life. And now you tell me to put it aside as if it had no meaning? Three days ago you kissed me.’

‘So I did and I should not have done so. Forget what happened.’

‘I will not.’ A determination stormed through Marie-Claude, to hold tight to what she believed might be if he would only allow it. ‘If you will not come to me at the Pride, then I must come to you. But you have to agree. I’ll not force myself on you or be a trouble to you.’

‘You don’t know what you’re stepping into. You don’t know me.’

‘I know what I see,’ she persisted. ‘A man who is brave, who risked his own safety to rescue an unknown woman.’

‘And kissed her in an inn parlour. Hardly a reputable act.’

‘Yes, you did. And then you took me home to save my reputation, from some ridiculous sense of honour!’

His lips twisted. ‘Don’t think too well of me.’

‘I’ll think what I like, what I know here.’ And Marie-Claude placed her palm flat against her heart.

For a long moment he looked at her as if he were reading her thoughts, considering an answer. Even searching for a decision. For the length of that moment Marie-Claude thought that he would dismiss her again.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

‘I am thinking that, almost, you persuade me, Madame Mermaid.’

And Zan Ellerdine, for better or worse, made a decision.

Drawing her close, he released her hands to slide his arms around her waist so that she fit perfectly against him, then lowered his head and laid his mouth against hers. Warm and firm, as was hers in reply. He deliberately kept the pressure gentle, seductive, tender even, sinking into her scent, her soft curves. Even when desire flooded through him, prompting him to pounce and ravage, he maintained the control to keep his demand light. His senses swam and he was suddenly iron-hard, but he lifted his head and smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll not come to the Pride. Come here if you wish. I’ll not turn you away. But you must take care—if you tell them at the Pride, they’ll try to turn you away from me.’

‘So will you meet with me, Zan?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Come to the cliffs. Tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Will you call me by my name?’

‘I will call you by your name.’ His lips, soft as a breath, devastating as a spear of lightning, a seductive promise on hers. Or was it a warning? Marie-Claude was not sure.

‘Adieu, Marie-Claude. Until tomorrow. If you dare…’

Chapter Four

She dared! Marie-Claude kept the assignation. Nothing other than the Crack of Doom would have kept her away. And now she found herself seated in the stern of the Black Spectre, fighting to catch her breath, racing with the waves and the wind towards the far headland, the sails taut and full.

‘Come with me, Marie-Claude,’ he had demanded. ‘We’ll launch the Spectre. Come and sail with me across the bay.’ There he had stood on the cliff top as if he would bar her way. He was impossibly, outrageously persuasive. And so splendid to look at, his even teeth glinting in a smile that challenged her mettle, his black hair shining, lifted by the relentless breeze. ‘I’ll make a sailor of you yet.’

Her heart had leapt, with fear, excitement, desire. ‘No, I can’t.’