No sooner had they reached the edge of the largest pool when Deverill drew her close.
Under the pretense of kissing her, he raised the hem of her gown and slid a hand up her stockinged calf to slip one finger inside her. When she gasped, he drew back. His dark eyes seared her, conveying the promise of mindless rapture. “You’re so wet for me. So hot and tight. Let me pleasure you, lovely Kate….”
They both knew how this encounter would end—in her seduction. But vowing again that she would not make it easy for him, she danced away.
“All in good time,” she said, flashing a teasing smile.
After undressing, she scooped up a cake of soap, then carefully descended a flight of stone steps and slipped into the pool. The water was pleasantly warm, the surface a little higher than waist deep.
She had begun soaping herself by the time Deverill shed his own clothing and stood on the bank, preparing to enter. She stared, enrapt. He looked like every woman’s most wicked dream.
Out of self-preservation, Kate turned away. She heard a slight splash as he joined her. Then he came up behind her and slid his arms around her.
When his thighs brushed hers, she could feel the firm, purposeful nudge of his swollen manhood against her buttocks. Heat surrounded her. Her breasts felt heavy and full and throbbed for his touch.
“We are supposed to be bathing,” Kate managed to say rather weakly.
“I know. Allow me to help you, angel.”
The caress of his voice was so enticing, she could almost taste the pleasure he promised, could almost feel his lengthy shaft gliding between her feminine folds.
She protested no further when he took the soap from her. With a delicate touch, he soaped her breasts, then her belly. The drift of his slick hands on her bare skin felt so divine….She was already breathless by the time he reached her woman’s mound. Kate leaned back against him as he continued, closing her eyes against the exquisite sensations in her breasts, in her loins.
When he finished washing her front, he attended her back, then rinsed her entire body. To her surprise, he drew her toward the edge of the pool, then tossed the soap upon the ledge and turned her to face him. He was staring at her breasts, she realized—like a man hungry for a taste of her.
Her hands rose to press against his chest, yet she didn’t really want to stop him. She could feel the hardness of his corded muscles beneath her palms as he bent down to trace one areola with his tongue. When his lips closed over the pebbled nipple and suckled, Kate responded with a revealing whimper that spoke of desire and want and need.
For a long moment he aroused her that way, licking and laving and savoring her…before apparently deciding it wasn’t enough. With his hands at her waist, he lifted her to sit on the stone ledge and stepped between her thighs.
“What do you mean to do?” Kate asked.
“You’ll see.”
How he managed to invest so much beguiling promise in so few words, she couldn’t begin to comprehend. And his gaze…His half smile reflected in his intent gaze, capturing her completely. He knew she couldn’t look away.
Those eyes held hers, hot and dark and bright with challenge as his fingers parted the folds of her sex to lightly stroke. The erotic caress made her breath catch.
“Sit back, sweetheart. Just relax.”
Biting her lip, Kate obediently braced her hands behind her, suddenly needing the support.
To her disappointment, his fingers moved away from her thighs—but not far. As his hands began to work a wicked sorcery over the rest of her body, sensations flooded her, leaving her trembling and weak. He touched her everywhere, teasing, seducing, kneading, pulling at her sun-warmed flesh, plying her nipples with his fingers.
His gaze returning with relentless precision, he pressed her thighs wider, baring all her secrets. Then positioning her as if she was there strictly for his pleasure alone, he lowered his head.
When she felt his warm breath stir the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs, Kate quivered at the erotic shock of it.
Then his mouth moved closer to kiss her there. The caress shuddered through her. And when he found the taut bud of her sex with his tongue, her hips arched.
“Easy…” His voice was low, vibrant, stroking her like rich velvet.
One more tender lash of his tongue, and her head fell backward. His hands held her steady, anchoring her while he continued his tender assault with his mouth. He went on tasting her, tormenting her, his tongue probing her folds. Then he drew the swollen bud into his mouth as his middle finger slipped inside her.
The sensation was incredible—his hard finger sheathed in her flesh, his scalding mouth working its spell on her sex.
With a moan, Kate reached down to grasp his sable hair. His mouth was magical, and so was his touch, but she wanted more of him.
“Deverill, I need…” she whispered urgently.
“I know.” His own voice was a smoky rasp.
He was waiting for her sighs, her little cries, her signs of surrender, she knew. And soon Kate complied. She trembled violently, her whole body coiled unbearably tight. She lost touch with everything but her own frantic heartbeat.
He wasn’t willing to permit her release just yet, though. Instead, he urged her to join him in the water, drawing her against him, her legs wrapped around his waist.
“Tell me what you want, Kate….”
“You. I want you….” Her fingers clutching his hair, she strove to get even closer, overwhelmed by the sheer, overpowering need to be one with him.
“Then you shall have me.”
He watched her steadily, knowingly, as he lifted her slightly, then lowered her onto his shaft. It was the most glorious sensation. Kate relished every slow inch, the bliss of having him fill her so utterly and completely.
The power in his arms intensified her sensation of thrilling weakness. She gave another moan, full of awe at her own helplessness as she clung to him.
Yet she wasn’t the only one affected. His dark eyes hot with need, Deverill gripped her buttocks. In response she ground herself against him, writhing helplessly against his delicious impalement. The frantic heat burned through her nerve endings. She was hot and only he could cool her; only he could satisfy the burning need inside her.
As if seared by the same heat, he captured her lips and kissed deeply, his tongue penetrating her mouth like his shaft was doing.
The taut, savage need was blazing between them now. Want had become craving, and Deverill’s own rough excitement was matching her frenzy. She welcomed the hard thrusting of his body as he took her, his tongue plunging in the same demanding rhythm as he filled her again and again.
In the next instant a low, rough groan burst from his throat. His control snapped, shattered, while she ignited with fiery urgency. His lips drank in her wild moans, and they came together in a firestorm of passion.
When at last it was over, Kate collapsed bonelessly against him, their breaths rasping in harsh gasps.
It was a long while before she felt Deverill lift his head and sensed him watching her. Aware of how wanton and thoroughly pleasured she must look, she raised her gaze to find him looking flushed and pleasured also.
Furthermore, he seemed as exhausted as she felt.
With effort, he lifted her onto the ledge again, then leveraged himself up and sprawled beside her on the warm rock.
Having no energy remaining, she crawled into his arms and curled against him.
With the soft breeze flowing over them, the splintering sunlight shining through the trees to glisten on their wet bodies, she felt a perfect sense of peace.
It was a very long time before Deverill spoke. “I am waiting for your concession,” he said weakly.
“Concession?”
“That I have proven my mastery. You consider me a splendid lover, admit it.”
Kate gave a muffled laugh against his shoulder. “What shameless arrogance.”
“It is not arrogance if it’s true.”
> “Your vanity knows no bounds, I see. But since I would not want to puncture your inflated male self-esteem, I suppose I must agree. You are a splendid lover.”
The accolade was indisputable, Kate thought lazily. Deverill had reduced her to a quivering thing, begging, pleading….And it was past time for her to attempt the same thing with him.
Rousing herself, she slid one leg over his thighs so that she lay astride him. “Now it is my turn to test the skills you have taught me,” she murmured against his neck.
He huffed in a weak chuckle. “I don’t know if I can survive any more pleasure.”
Kate raised her head to survey him. “Do you mean to cry pax, then?”
“Not on your life.”
The challenging glint in his eye belied his claim of weariness. Grasping her hips, he lifted her up, then lowered her again, easing his way into her cleft with superb skill. Kate bit back a soft moan at the fullness of his penetration. He had only been waiting until her nearness could make him hard and ready again, she realized.
Impaled on his hardness, she gazed down at him. Desire was thick and raw and powerful between them once more.
Then his hands reached up to cup her breasts, and Kate caught her breath. When his fingers tightened on her nipples, the arousing caress sent renewed spasms of pleasure shuddering through her—and just like that, she was blazing hot again.
Naturally, Deverill recognized her need. Still joined at the loins, he rolled over with her, pressing himself more deeply into the sensitive depths of her body. Then he bent to kiss the swollen tips of her breasts, sucking each throbbing nipple in turn, making fresh desire twist inside her.
“Deverill…”
“Hush, love. I want you panting and mindless beneath me,” he murmured.
“I thought,” she said hoarsely, “this was my time to arouse you.”
His tongue licked a slow, tormenting path up her throat to her ear. “Oh, you will arouse me, my sweet witch, believe me. This is merely something new to add to your repertoire.”
His lips tugged suggestively on her earlobe. “What you require is a lesson in self-control,” he whispered, devil soft. “The delay will make the consummation all the more stunning, I promise you. Now pay close attention….”
—
The remainder of the week sped by for Kate. Deverill seemed determined to set her free, to make her into the passionate lover he claimed she could be.
On her part, Kate knew that the heady, intimate passion was changing her. She’d become addicted to his touch and scent; she craved him. She wanted to touch him a hundred times a day. Indeed, she had only to look at him and her body responded. The desire he ignited inside her was like wildfire, fierce and hot, and that left her unable to breathe.
As for Deverill, sometimes he was driven, intense, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. At other times playful. He would pretend to be tamed—or allow her the illusion that he had let her tame him. He also acted as if he was set on learning all her secrets, yet shared few of his own.
Kate was thrilled to be wanted by him. His obvious ardor was highly gratifying to her own self-esteem. And yet she yearned for so much more.
That was doubtless why at week’s end, when Deverill returned to report that the searchers had discovered the wreck of the Zephyr, she was not as gladdened as she should have been. She had hoped the endeavor would take longer, to allow her more time with Deverill in the temporary paradise they had made together.
“How do you know it was the ship that belonged to my parents?” she asked.
“Because we found the name emblazoned in the wood. I swam down to verify it myself.”
The wreck, he told her, was located partway across the estuary, within sight of the shore, in water no more than twenty feet deep so that there was enough light to aid in excavation. Some large sections of the hull were still intact, with pieces of burnt timber and iron half buried in the sandy floor.
“If you would like to visit the site, you can sail out with us in a day or two,” he added.
“Yes,” Kate replied quietly. “I would like to see it eventually.”
She couldn’t bring herself to ask just then about the remains of the passengers and crew. But as the divers began bringing up various artifacts in the following days, they found several skeletons amid the debris.
Deverill spared her the gruesome details. In fact, it was impossible to tell if any of the victims might have been her father or aunt or uncle. But now they had enough proof to plan a symbolic burial.
On his orders, the divers gathered up the bones, to be placed in a casket that would be interred in the churchyard, a show of reverence for all who had perished.
In the days that followed, a sadness weighed heavily on Kate. Not merely the lingering grief of a daughter who’d lost cherished family members, but also regret that the magical interlude she had treasured with Deverill was almost over.
The time to make him love her was running out.
Those were the moments when she felt overly fatalistic. Perhaps she should accept that Deverill might not ever change, Kate reflected. If so, she should end their betrothal before she irrevocably lost her heart to him.
There were also moments, however, when she was certain that she ought to see her dream to completion. When she believed that Deverill was fated to be her husband, that she was meant to spend the rest of her life with him.
Something about him drew her so powerfully, and always had. She wanted to fill that same need in him. She wanted to bring happiness to his life, to be part of something special. To find the magic that her parents had known.
She wanted a husband who adored her as her father had adored her mother. She wanted Deverill to look at her with hunger, not just for her flesh but for her heart and soul.
She would have to decide very soon whether she was willing to give up on her quest, Kate knew. And with the discovery of the Zephyr, the question of ending their betrothal was becoming ever more urgent.
The excavation of the sunken ship continued for several more days, a task made difficult by layers of sediment covering the site, a lack of light, and restrictions on breathing. Since it was often too dim to see inside the wreckage of cabins and companionways, much of the exploration had to be done by feel. More crucially, the divers could stay underwater for only a few minutes at a time, even using an apparatus designed to trap air near the seafloor to periodically spell their lungs.
Several small casks and wooden boxes were unearthed, but no jewels were found, much to Louvel’s regret, and eventually, Deverill judged it time to conclude the search.
When Kate agreed with his recommendation, they discussed how to handle final payment for the pirates’ services, and additionally, how to help Gabrielle. The best option, Kate contended, was to deposit some three hundred guineas—the gold remaining once she made the final payment to Louvel—in a Royan bank in the Frenchwoman’s name.
When Deverill questioned the wisdom of interfering with Louvel’s romantic affairs, Kate replied emphatically, “I want to do this for her. Besides the kindness she has shown us during our stay, she has become my friend. I hope to repay her in some measure by helping her secure a proposal of marriage from Louvel. But if he is too blind or stubborn to marry her, then she will have the means to be free of him should she choose.”
“You just cannot stop matchmaking, can you?” Deverill asked with cynical amusement.
Kate ignored his teasing. “That is not my sole reason. It is more because Gabrielle has no fortune and no family to rely on. I have never had to face being penniless and all alone in the world, dependent on the charity of others, but I fully comprehend the indignities women suffer as the legal property of men, subservient to their slightest whims. I am wealthy enough that I won’t miss the funds, and it will enable her to determine her own fate.”
“Very well,” Deverill finally consented. “I will instruct Halsey to convey the sum to the bank and establish an account for her. But I’ll wager Louvel will n
ot be pleased when he finds out.”
“No doubt,” Kate muttered. “But this step may prod him to treat her with the respect she deserves.”
On the following day, they held a small service and symbolic burial for the late Marquess and Marchioness of Beaufort, the Earl and Countess of Traherne, and the other shipwreck victims.
Kate was glad to have the presence of both Cornelius and Rachel, and of course, Deverill. She had vowed she would not cry, but as she stood beside the newly dug grave and traced the new headstone for her mother and father, she felt the sharp loss all over again and couldn’t hold back her tears.
Yet this moment marked the end of her mission to honor her parents and relatives. The company was subdued afterward when they discussed the plan to return to England and decided to set sail late the following afternoon with the tide.
Meanwhile, Kate and Deverill would return to St. Georges this evening, and in the morning, settle their business with Louvel and Gabrielle and gather their belongings from the cottage.
That plan also afforded them another visit to the Roman bath—which, Kate suspected, Deverill would use to ease her sadness.
Claiming a saddle horse from the livery rather than using the hired carriage, he mounted first, then took her up in front of him. He held her closely the entire way, speaking little while she leaned back against him, willing to let him take the lead.
When they reached the cove and brought the horse to a halt, Kate bestirred herself to observe their surroundings. The three pools rippled with silver light, possessing the same luminous beauty as the sea that shimmered beyond the bath.
The spellbinding scene held an aura of enchantment, as sensual as anything she had known before with Deverill. Yet the moment also held a special poignancy since it would be their last time alone together.
He helped her dismount, then led her to the edge of the center pool. When she started to remove her gown, he stopped her.
“No, allow me.”
He undressed her slowly, as if she were a helpless rag doll. His eyes were so soft. His touch so tender. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth with tantalizing gentleness before he lowered her into the heated water.
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