My Lord Beaumont Read online

  He raised his head again and looked down at his boots. Now there was a clear indication of the panic of the moment, a stroke of idiocy that had very nearly cost both him and Danielle their lives. He wasn't in the habit of behaving with such a total lack of common sense. Even under pressure, he'd always before remained cool and level headed. What the hell had possessed him to dive in, not only fully clothed, but wearing boots of all things? And with a brace of pistols tucked into his waistband? For he saw that he had them still. Christ! The sheer idiocy of it!

  Dismissing his uncomfortable thoughts abruptly, he turned to study Danielle, raising up on one elbow and propping his head on his hand. She was lying on her side facing him, one arm beneath her head, a knee drawn up for balance. He allowed his eyes to wander her length to the indentation of her waist and over the swell of one hip. Her clothes were still damp and clinging, and his eyes moved upward to study the semi-transparency of her damp shirt with interest.

  They'd dressed after their last bout of love-making, having no desire to be caught with their pants down, literally, should the ship sink. But Danielle had not bound her breasts, he saw now with heated interest. He felt himself go hard and tense with desire as he studied the swell of breasts exposed by the open neck of her shirt and the taut peak of hardened nipples, faintly pink through the damp fabric. He knew a sudden urge to lean forward and cover the nearest impudent bud with his mouth. His mouth went dry with the thought, and he frowned slightly with self-derision. Christ! He was a randy bastard to have such thoughts at a time like this!

  He dragged his eyes from temptation with an effort and discovered that she was awake, studying him with an intensity that set the blood pounding in his body. He gazed deep into her eyes for a long moment, then allowed his eyes to drop to her soft lips, realizing with a touch of astonishment that Danielle was the first woman he'd woke beside in the morning and was pleased that he had.

  "Where are we?" Danielle asked, breaking the silence, and Adrian sat up and looked around, brushing the sand from his hair and clothes.

  "I haven't the faintest idea," he replied finally, after surveying the beach and the forest that rose up behind them like an impenetrable wall.

  Danielle sat up and looked around also. A shiver raked along her spine as she took in the verdant tangle of raw nature. She turned from it, drawing her knees up and clasping them as she stared pensively at the waves breaking gently now against the shore. "Why did you do it?" she asked in a husky voice. "You might've been drowned yourself, you know."

  Adrian turned to her, regarding her in silence for several moments, and, quite suddenly, he was irritated, remembering his uncomfortable thoughts of before. What did she expect? Some passionate declaration of undying love? Only because she'd shared her body with him? Offered her love, when he hadn't asked for it, and didn't want it?

  But that wasn't strictly true. In fact, it wasn't true at all, he realized uneasily. The truth was, he coveted her devotion, reveled in it. He hadn't cared, before, for the emotion, hadn't been particularly perturbed that it was missing from his life. One didn't miss what one had never had, after all. He admitted to a good bit of surprise that Danielle seemed capable of feeling it towards him, knowing him as well as she did, when no one before had considered him particularly deserving of either loyalty or affection. The fact that she did, without any apparent reservations, made it a thing to be coveted. It was an unpleasant introspection, and it annoyed him further.

  He shrugged it off, and, remembering the comment she'd thrown in his teeth the last time he'd helped her, seized on it with a strong sense of relief. "I had to protect my investment," he replied coldly.

  She swallowed convulsively. "Oh," she said. "It's that important to you, then?"

  Why did it irritate him that she didn't sound surprised in the least? That she didn't even question it? He'd made the brutal statement. Could he quibble now that it was insulting that she believed it? He could and did. He was well aware that he was generally considered arrogant, opinionated, and domineering. But, could she not credit him with an occasional act of selflessness? Was he so lacking in fundamental goodness that she couldn't credit him with some sense of honor and chivalry?

  He slanted her a narrow eyed look. The brown eyes that studied him were troubled and without a spark of either contempt or malice. It dawned on him suddenly that she honestly believed he'd expended so great a sum upon her that it was of the utmost importance to him to protect that investment. Whereas, the truth was, it was so paltry a sum to him that he was a little ashamed he'd allowed himself to feel so righteous about it.

  It occurred to him then to wonder how it was that she could so easily provoke him to run the entire gamut of emotions with so little effort, and so quickly that it made his head spin. Danielle had managed to fracture his hard shell of indifference with their very first encounter aboard ship. She'd been steadily chipping away at it ever since . . . to great effect, he realized now, certain hat he disliked it intensely.

  He wasn't accustomed to self-analysis. He'd never before cared to examine his motives for any deed. He was mildly annoyed when things didn't go his way. Never furiously angry. He simply set about to change the outcome to suit himself. Or he discarded the notion as not being worth the effort it would take to change it. He was coolly analytical, not emotional. He was never particularly happy, nor particularly unhappy. He was comfortably indifferent.

  He had the appetites of a normal, healthy male, but he was never driven by lust. He never pursued a woman. He wasn't a huntsman. If a woman played coy or hard to get, he simply looked for someone willing. Or, he always had before. He saw now that Danielle had a way of bringing out aspects of his personality he'd never even been aware of before, much less experienced.

  Quite suddenly, he realized he'd stumbled unwittingly into a trap he'd avoided all his life. It was a trap that always caught someone else, never him, so that he could look down upon them with a touch of pity and contempt. He'd succumbed to the ultimate failing of finding himself dependent on another in a very emotional sense. He hadn't simply become interested in her welfare in a purely altruistic way, as he'd convinced himself he had. He cared what became of her. Her opinion of him mattered. He didn't just want her affection. He felt, somehow, that he needed it.

  "You're a fool," he muttered, half to himself, and half in response to her question of before, wondering how she could possibly believe she meant no more to him than a monetary investment. Surely she couldn't believe that, had it been his diamond stick pin that had gone overboard in her stead, he would have risked his life to retrieve it?

  "You don't have a very high opinion of me, do you?" he added dryly.

  Danielle looked at him questioningly but said nothing. He studied her in irritated silence for several moments, then sat up and pulled off his boots, setting them to one side. "I find I have a strong desire for breakfast and a bath," he said and rose to his feet, extending his hand to help her rise as he shrugged off his irritation determinedly. "Since the first is unavailable at the moment, I believe I'll settle for a bath, and then we must see if we can't discover some of our fellow travelers."

  Danielle studied him doubtfully for a long moment, then glanced up and down the deserted beach. She felt a strong desire for a bath herself, but she wasn't crazy about the idea of walking around afterwards in sodden clothes. And she was even less enthused about the idea of someone stumbling upon her unclothed. She sat back down, brushing at the clinging particles of sand in an effort to remove as much of it as possible from her person, studiously ignoring Adrian as he undressed.

  "You're not going to bathe?" Adrian asked after a moment, both surprise and disapproval in his voice.

  She looked up at him with a touch of irritation. "It ain't that I don't think it'd be charmin' playin' water sprite with you or nothin', but it occurs to me that some of our fellow travelers might decide not to await our convenience, an' I ain't got no burnin' desire to be caught bare arsed. I'll admit they ain'
t none too bright, but they're bound to notice I ain't no boy if they run up on us."

  Adrian surveyed her slender form appreciatively. He hadn't really considered that possibility, he realized, being more concerned with ridding himself of the sand that was irritating him. But then that was because he strongly suspected, though he didn't care to point it out to Danielle at the moment, that there were no other survivors. Moreover, a number of very intriguing possibilities came to mind at her mention of water sprites. Unfortunately, she was entirely right about her other observations, however, and while he would very much like to test the interesting possibilities that had come to mind, he wanted no one else eyeing his prize. Another thought occurred to him then, and he frowned in sudden vexation. "If I know Lavinia Johnson nearly as well as I believe, I'm very much afraid they already know you're no boy," he returned wryly.

  Danielle frowned at him questioningly.

  "I'm afraid I gave you away last night. Stupid slip of the tongue, but I had other things on my mind at the moment, and I don't doubt Lavinia heard it all. In fact, I know she did," he added with a touch of disgust. "I can well imagine she filled their ears with all sorts of interesting information once she recovered from her fright. If she made it, that is," he ended after a fractional pause.

  Danielle gaped at him, feeling the oddest thrill at the indifference in his voice. Up until she'd gone over the side, it had seemed to her that Adrian's only concern had been in seeing to Lavinia's safety. But, if he cared so much for the widow Johnson, would he have abandoned her in favor of a mere servant? A nobody like herself? "You mean you don't know if she made it?" she asked in surprise.

  He frowned at her. "How the devil would I know that? I jumped right after you fell in. If I'd waited till I lowered her over the side, there wouldn't have been much point in going after you," he ended with a touch of exasperation.

  "Oh," she said and grinned.

  His eyebrows rose. "Now, what was there in that to please you?"

  She shrugged and abruptly changed the subject. "It ain't none of my business of course, an' I appreciate the lovely view, I do, but ain't you just a bit chilled standin' there in the altogether?"

  He grinned. "Hardly. I don't think anyone could get chilled in this heat. I expect we'll be roasting before long," he paused and studied her a moment, then reached down and picked up his shirt and extended it towards her. "Here. You can bathe in this."

  She looked at it dubiously. "Where am I supposed to change?"

  He gestured towards the forest behind them, and she glanced from him to the formidable aspect and back again. "Bloody hell!" she snapped, feeling a sharp stab of fear. "I ain't goin' in there! What if I was to run up on one of them bleedin' savages?"

  "Then wear what you've got on," he returned irritably. "But let's have done with it. We've a lot to do."

  She looked up at him with a touch of surprise, wondering what their pressing business was since it didn't seem to her that there was much they could do about their situation. But she lifted her chin stubbornly at the order. "I ain't exactly thrilled with the notion of running about in soakin' clothes neither."

  His eyes narrowed. "You will, however, take a bath. It's entirely up to you, what you wish or do not wish to wear, but you will bathe regardless."

  She glared at him, but after a moment she snatched the proffered shirt from his hand and began to strip quickly, jerking his shirt on as soon as she'd dropped hers and fastening it before she removed her breeches. "Bleedin' sod," she muttered under her breath. "Expects me to ask how high every time he says jump! Caterin' to him all the time just because he's a bleedin' lord, like they made one an' quit. Orderin' me about! Acts like I oughta bow down an' kiss his feet when he kicks me an' say, ‘Please, Mr. Lord and Mighty, kick me again!’"

  Adrian jerked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, then turned and strode purposefully towards the water, his face set grimly.

  "What are you doin'?" she gasped when she recovered her breath somewhat.

  "You have a very short memory, infant. I'm going to see if I can stimulate it."

  "Bloody hell!" she snapped, struggling frantically when she realized his intent.

  He ignored her struggles, waded out till the water was waist high, and dropped her. She came up spluttering, and he dunked her again. She resurfaced, coughing and choking, and glared at him through tearing eyes. "Is your memory improving?" he asked calmly.

  "Blee . . . ," she broke off on a gurgle as he pushed her under again. The fourth time she broke the surface, she scrambled up him to perch atop his shoulders, wrapping her arms around the top of his head to keep her balance.

  Adrian staggered blindly, trying to remove her arms. "Christ! What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, torn between amusement and exasperation.

  "I don't like the water, and I ain't fixin' to stay down there if you have it in mind to drown me," she cried, clinging tightly.

  Adrian chuckled and promptly fell backwards in the water. When he resurfaced, she was half way to shore. He cut through the water in swift, easy strokes, dove, and grasped her ankle, jerking her off her feet. She came up coughing, sputtering, and swinging blindly. He jerked her against his chest, pinning her arms to her sides, chuckling when she struggled frantically to free herself from his steely grip. She quieted finally, tossing her hair back from her eyes to glare up at him. "Blee . . . ."

  The rest of her words were muffled against his mouth as he bent his head and captured her lips in a kiss that seemed to turn her bones to water. He lifted his head and gazed down at her a moment, his eyes gleaming with amusement and a spark of smoldering fire. "Still angry, infant?"

  She opened her eyes and glared at him, gritting her teeth. "Don't have a very high . . . ."

  His lips came down over hers once more, moving gently over the soft contours as he fitted them to his own, coaxing yet gently insistent, and a shudder went through her as his tongue darted between her slightly parted lips, touching off shock waves of pleasure. She went limp against him, and he raised his head and gazed down at her once more. "Forgiven?"

  She opened her eyes slowly and gazed up at him. "No," she said faintly.

  "Stubborn," he murmured, bending his head to nibble at her neck, then lifting his lips to tug gently at her ear lobe, trailing nibbling kisses along her jaw till he reached her lips and captured them with his own once more. He kissed her deeply then, his mouth sawing back and forth across hers in a demanding kiss that sent her senses reeling. His lips parted hers, and his tongue plunged inside, touching, stroking, entwining with hers in a fiery possession that set her to trembling with need. All conscious thought fled, and she lifted her arms, encircling his neck, sliding her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck as she molded herself against him.

  He lifted his lips from hers to gaze down at her, and her head fell weakly against his shoulder. "Still angry, poppet?" he murmured hoarsely.

  She looked up at him languorously. "About what?" she breathed faintly.

  His eyes gleamed triumphantly. "I believe I've forgotten myself," he murmured huskily as he lifted her against him and pressed his hard, swollen shaft against her femininity. She gasped, wrapping her legs about his waist. It was his undoing. "Danielle," he groaned hoarsely. His mouth came down hard over hers even as he plunged deeply inside her, and they were lunging with savage abandon, oblivious to everything but the taste and feel of each other, feverish with the wildfire that seemed to burst inside them, consuming them till their world exploded with ecstasy and they were falling, floating on a sea of exquisite pleasure as the waves lapped about them.

  They struggled back to shore and fell to the sand, and Adrian pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his length, nuzzling her neck as he caught his breath.

  Danielle chuckled huskily, and Adrian leaned back to look at her inquiringly. "Seein' as how we're all sandy again, I think we're gonna need another bath," she said, grinning impishly.

  Adri
an groaned and fell back against the beach, shielding his eyes with his forearm. "You may be the death of me, infant."

  She rolled atop him, straddling his waist as she sat up and splayed her hands across his chest, tugging gently at the curling hairs on his chest until he winced. "You give?" she asked, grinning mischievously.

  His lips twitched. "I think this is where you should kiss my feet and say, 'Please, Mr. Lord and Mighty, do it again.'"

  She struck him playfully with her fist, and he tossed her to her back and rolled over her, pinning her to the ground and grinning down at her. He lifted one dark brow. "No please?"

  She gazed up at him, the laughter slowly dying on her lips as she studied his handsome face, feeling her heart lurch painfully. She swallowed hard, reaching up to trace the dark stubble on his chin and jaw, then brushing the damp hair from his forehead. "Yes, my lord," she said softly. "Please. Do it to me any time you like. Keep me as long as you will . . . and remember me."

  Adrian swallowed convulsively against the hard knot that seemed to choke him, feeling his stomach muscles tighten reflexively as her words struck him like a blow. "Danielle," he said hesitantly, searching for words.

  She studied him a long moment, and the warmth in her eyes faded, pain, self-contempt, and finally cynical amusement flickering in them as she grinned up at him impishly. "And, please, get off me you big lummox! You weigh a ton!" she said, arching her back and wriggling out from under him, then jumped to her feet and ran towards the sea, splashing through the surf until it was up to her knees.

  He watched her pensively for several moments while she quickly washed off the sand that clung to her and finally rose and followed suit, splashing water up over his arms and back absently while he pondered her words, an uncomfortable tightness gripping his chest. She understood the rules that bound their relationship, the barriers between them that could never be broken. He should be relieved. He wasn't.

  He knew that it hurt her despite her understanding and acceptance, and he wished suddenly and with vehemence that he'd left her untouched. He should never have broken his rule against becoming involved with any woman who wasn't capable of holding her own in such a liaison, of conducting it with the same emotional detachment he did, and parting amicably afterwards to search out new conquests. It wouldn't be like that for Danielle, he knew. It would leave an indelible mark upon her soul, even if she pretended indifference when the time came for parting. And she would pretend, he knew, would very likely turn to a new lover, just as he did. He felt a sharp, stabbing pang at that thought, pain and anger mixed inexplicably, and he paused, frowning darkly for several moments before he forced himself to shrug it off.