Surrender To A Scoundrel (10 page)

While his valet struggled up the steps behind him with the heavy bags, Hatfield huffed at the earl’s sour mood on this promising day and started up the slip toward him.

“What took you so long?” Breckinridge asked without offering a proper greeting. “You were supposed to be here yesterday.”

Hatfield removed his hat and ran a hand over his balding head. “What the devil is wrong now? Has the damn boat sprung a leak already?”

Breckinridge shifted impatiently. “The
Endeavor
is still floating. It’s Lord Martin who needs to be sunk.”

Hatfield’s thin lips twisted into a pained grimace, which only reduced what little appeal he possessed, for he was a perpetually sluggish man and boorishly indignant.

“What’s he done now?” Hatfield asked.

The valet stumbled past them, carrying the bags to the Globe Hotel, but the two gentlemen remained on the street.

“He’s taken an interest in the widow. She’s missing today, and so is he.”

Hatfield turned and looked out at the water, searching the Solent for the
Orpheus
. “Surely they’re not together. You must be mistaken.”

“I make no mistake.”

He faced Breckinridge again. “But he doesn’t need her money. His brother the duke is richer than Croesus, and it certainly can’t be her looks.”

The earl spoke in a hushed tone. “You’re right on that point. She has the wit and charm of a tick, so the only conclusion to be drawn is that he wants her simply because I do, as I am his greatest threat. The man’s a competitor through and through. He reminds me of my godforsaken brother. It irks me to no end.”

Hatfield was well aware of the earl’s feelings toward his younger brother. William had always been the handsome one, the smarter one, the more charming one. Their parents had made no
secret of the fact that they found it quite regrettable that George had been born first.

Hatfield and Breckinridge paused and nodded politely at a passing couple. As soon as they had gone by, Breckinridge ground words out through clenched teeth. “Damn him, Hatfield, I spent every last farthing I had on this boat to win this race, and I’m kicking myself for it now because I’m in debt up to my eyeballs and Mother is furious and wants to call William home from Europe.”

“Ooh,” Hatfield said.

“Precisely. Which is why we can’t let Martin win the widow because I need her fortune. I need it to shut Mother up.”

“There are a few American heiresses here…” Hatfield suggested.

“
No,
” Breckinridge firmly said. “I’ll be damned if I’ll marry some passionate American girl. I want an Englishwoman, and she must be proper. A mute would be nice, so she wouldn’t argue about the money or nag me like you know who, but we can’t have everything.”

“If it’s a mute you want, Mrs. Wheaton is the closest thing.”

“Indeed. With that in mind, we must crush Lord Martin in the race.”

Hatfield thought about Martin and all his successes, then withdrew a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. He wiped the greasy film off his forehead and sneered. “Don’t worry, Breckin
ridge. Now that I’m here, everything is going to change. Rest assured, we’ll crush him long before the race even begins.”

“I’m listening,” the earl slowly said.

Hatfield started off toward the yacht club. “Good, because I have a few ideas. Let us go and have a drink, shall we? The sun was bloody scorching during the crossing, and I’m parched.”

M
artin steered the
Orpheus
up alongside the private dock, then hopped down and tied the lines. As soon as that was done, he returned to the boat and lowered the sails.

“You might wish to leave your coat here,” he said to Evelyn as he coiled a line around his arm. “It’s warmer on dry land.”

“Thank you, I will,” she replied with a smile.

He’d certainly seen a different side of her today, he realized with pleasure, recalling the sight of her standing on the bow of the
Orpheus,
holding on to the shrouds with the wind in her face and a look of pure delight in her eyes. She’d been a vision with those skirts flapping wildly around
her legs, so different from his long-standing perception of her. And when they rounded the point, something had awakened inside him. An emotion he’d not felt in a very long time—a deep, genuine affection that reached beyond the surface thrill of the conquest. It reminded him of the feelings he’d known only once before in his life, when everything was different in America.

Feeling a sudden knot in his stomach at the inadvertent direction of his thoughts, he turned his mind to other things as he always did and hopped down into the cockpit to set back to work. He secured everything on the boat, then went below to fetch the lunch sack, returned to the deck, where Evelyn was waiting, and offered his hand. “Shall we?”

She accepted his assistance, and soon they were away from the dock and venturing along a gravel road. They reached a sandy cove where the waves lapped gently on the shore. Martin stepped over some rocks, then turned back to offer his hand to Evelyn once more. Together, they carefully picked their way down.

He found a good spot on the beach to sit, then pulled a blanket out of the bag and spread it out on the sand. He knelt to withdraw the lunch he had packed, along with a bottle of wine.

“Thank you for all this,” Evelyn said, sitting back on her heels.

“It is entirely my pleasure.” He uncorked the
bottle and looked straight into her eyes as he handed it to her. She hesitated before she took it.

“Did you want me to pour?” she asked uncertainly.

For a moment he wondered if he should be so bold, then decided that yes he should, because there was little to be done about the situation. “I didn’t bring glasses.”

Her eyes darted around at the empty bag and everything on the blanket, and there was a hint of confusion in her voice as she slowly took the bottle from him. “But how will we drink it?”

Martin made a drinking motion with his hand, then stretched out on the blanket beside her.

“Are you insane?” she asked.

He smiled. He wasn’t sure why he took such pleasure in shocking her whenever the opportunity presented itself, but there it was. He couldn’t help himself. “You’ve never drunk out of the bottle before?”

“I most certainly have not.”

Leaning on an elbow, he softened his gaze. “Evelyn, I realize we are not presently on my yacht, but we are still enjoying today’s voyage, so the statute still applies.”

“What statute?”

“No rules. Remember?”

She stared down at the bottle. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Why ever not? There’s no one here to see.”

She looked back at him and seemed to be turning all of this over in her mind, then at last she placed her soft, alluring lips on the bottle, squeezed her eyes shut, and tipped it up. She guzzled far more than a genteel sip, and after she was done, she wiped her mouth vulgarly.

Martin threw his head back and laughed. “That’s my girl!”

She laughed, too, although she appeared to be having some difficulty recovering from what she’d just gulped down. “Lord Martin, you’re a very bad influence!”

He sat up and smacked her on the back. “We’ll make a drunken sailor out of you yet, Evelyn.”

“You beastly man.”

He sat back again, still laughing. “Indeed I am beastly, and I make no apologies.”

He offered her an egg sandwich and admired the generous curve of her hip as she settled into a comfortable position on the blanket. They ate in silence for a few minutes until he reached for the wine and winked at her while he guzzled, then reclined on his side.

“So tell me, Mrs. Wheaton, is it true you’ve come to Cowes to find a husband?”

She finished chewing, then swallowed. “Yes, it’s true. I wish to have children and a family of my own, and like you, I make no apologies.”

He gazed out at the sea. “I applaud your practicality.”

“You applaud it, but you would never dream of being so practical yourself.”

Her tone was playful and teasing, and he was glad. The same words spoken in a different tone could take the pleasure out of the whole day.

“Indeed you’ve got me pegged,” he said. “I have no intentions of becoming a husband. I’m quite happy with my life as it is.”

“And all the women in it,” she said quite daringly, surprising him yet again as she reached for a pickle and took a crunchy bite.

He gazed at her face, at her smooth, clear complexion and the adorable dimple on her chin. “Yes,” he replied in a casual, relaxed voice. “Though only one woman is holding my interest today.”

She narrowed her gaze at him from behind those round spectacles, as if he were a child trying to get away with stealing a cookie before dinner. “You don’t really think I’m going to fall for that do you? I’m not so gullible, Lord Martin—or so easily deluded.”

He sat up. “What makes you think I’m deluding you?”

“Because I know I am not a beauty, but I make no apologies for that either.”

He stared at her, stunned.

“I came sailing with you today,” she continued,
“to learn what it is like, not to be a part of your conquest in this race, so you might as well give up using that famous charm on me because it’s not going to work.”

He scoffed. “Good God, woman! Can you not take a compliment?”

“Perhaps not,” she replied, but he detected a note of indecision.

That was all he needed. He leaned closer. “You should learn how to take one, my dear, because I could shower you with them if you would only say the word. And I truly wish you would.”

Evelyn swallowed apprehensively, for no one had ever wished to shower her with compliments before, and she was quite frankly unwilling to believe any of it. She had to remain on guard where her passions were concerned, because if she gave in to them, God help her, she’d be done for. “I don’t want, or need, your flattery, Lord Martin.”

“Oh, but I believe you do. I also think you need to be kissed. Quite
thoroughly
kissed in fact.”

Her head drew back in shock. Remaining on guard against her passions was one thing, but resisting his advances was quite another.

“I can assure you I need no such thing, and certainly not from a scoundrel like you.”

“A scoundrel like me. Indeed.”

He leaned closer and cradled her chin in his hand, and heaven help her, just the heat of his touch melted what ever resolve she had left. It kept
her from retreating into that guarded fortress again—the place where she would only try to reject him before he had the chance to reject her.

He leaned closer, still, and the instant their mouths met, she felt with shock the soft, hot texture of his tongue sliding into her mouth. Her breasts rose and fell with the quickening pace of her breathing, and unfamiliar shivers of delight coursed through her body. She had never been kissed like this. Ever. She closed her eyes and could do nothing but surrender to the burning heat of it.
Was this real?
she wondered in a love-struck haze she would surely chastise herself for later.
Was Martin truly kissing her? And was she letting him? Yes, yes she was
.

She reached up to rest her hands on his broad shoulders while passion raced through her veins. She felt a throbbing sensation between her thighs from the chaos of vibrations in her body, and it sent her head spinning.

Slowly he drew back, and she opened her eyes. He was regarding her closely.

“Was that necessary?” she asked with breathless, lingering desire, knowing she wasn’t fooling him for a second with that feeble attempt at hauteur. She’d just dissolved into warm putty in his hands, and he knew it.

“I believe so.”

He leaned into her again, kissing her deeply a second time. She let out a whimper, a sound she’d
never heard herself make before, and reached out to hold his face in her hands, to run her fingers through his beautiful thick hair. A symphony of little sighs poured out of her.

Oh, she had definitely made the right decision to come sailing today, she thought with a rapturous smile. Think of what she was learning. It was all truly sublime.

“You’re delicious,” he said, kissing down the side of her neck until she could barely breathe inside her tight bodice. His fingers played in the upswept hair at her nape. “You’re beautiful, Evelyn. You must know it. Look at me. I want you like a schoolboy.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pressed his mouth firmly to hers again, and she met the kiss eagerly with lips parted, fists gripping his lapels. She could barely comprehend the ferocity of her desires.

He eased her onto her back and rolled onto her. His gaze lifted briefly to ensure they were still alone, then he settled himself between her thighs and slid a hand down her leg. Slowly, he lifted her skirts, and her heart pounded an erratic rhythm as he slid his hand up her thigh, then across to the slit in her split drawers. He found the damp center between her legs.

She let out a gasp of both shock and delight. He stroked her with his open palm, and she became intoxicated by the hot, searing motion of his hand.
She opened her eyes and looked up at his handsome face against the blue sky, and discovered he was intently watching her expression.

“My husband never did anything like this to me,” she told him, certain she had surprised him with the confession, which came completely unbidden.

“Then he didn’t know how to love you properly.”

He kissed her again and twirled his tongue inside her mouth, then kissed down the front of her gown to her quivering stomach.

“Oh, this is wicked,” she whispered, knowing she should put a stop to it, but how could she when it was all so new and daring and exciting?

He grinned and slowly slid his finger inside her. She sucked in a breath and writhed with pleasure on the blanket, then groaned on the outstroke and licked her lips voraciously.

“It feels good,” she whispered. “
Too
good.”

For a moment more, she basked in the erotic splendor of what he was doing to her, but then her heart began to pound with uncertainties. She knew where this was going, but wasn’t sure she could manage the emotions. She opened her eyes and stared up at him.

Martin stilled his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I think perhaps we should stop,” she said.

He paused a moment, then slid his hand out from under her skirts and discreetly tugged
them back down to cover her legs. “You’re not enjoying it?”

“Of course I am,” she replied. “I just don’t want to be toyed with, Martin. I don’t want to be hurt.”

“I’m not toying with you,” he insisted.

“Yes, you are. You do this all the time, and it’s nothing to you, but it’s not nothing to me. I never do this kind of thing. I’m not like your other women.”

“My other women? What could you possibly know about them?”

“I know I’m different from them.”

He rested a hand on her hip. “Yes, you are, and I assure you that is a compliment.”

She covered her forehead with a hand and shut her eyes. “Maybe I just don’t understand why you’re here with me when you know that I came to Cowes looking for a husband. If you are not here looking for a wife, then it can’t be my inheritance you’re after, unless you’re trying to trick me into thinking you don’t want it.”

“Trick you? That’s ridiculous, Evelyn. And I’m not after your inheritance.”

“Then it must be the fact that Lord Breckinridge is pursuing me. He is your rival, and you wish to triumph over him in one way or another.”

“No,” he firmly said, but she had seen the competition between them more than once and he seemed to know it. “Well, yes,” he amended, “I do
want to beat him in the race.” She was relieved he was being honest about that at least. “But that has nothing to do with this. I assure you, I was not thinking of Breckinridge just now when I kissed you, and most certainly not when I was sliding my hand up your skirt.”

God help her, she found the words tremendously erotic. They caused a pleasurable little quivering in her core.

“But why did you kiss me?” she asked, fighting to stay focused on the subject at hand. “Because I
needed
to be kissed? I’ll have you know, I don’t need your charity or pity, nor do I want to be a joke among your crew.”

He got to his knees and sat back on his heels. “What are you speaking of, Evelyn? What joke?”

She pushed her spectacles up her nose. “Me. I’m the joke.”

“How so?”

“You’re going to tell all of them how you seduced the unseduceable. How you conquered the virtuous widow, and they’ll all slap you on the back and congratulate you.”

He collapsed back down and raked a hand through his hair. For a long moment, they kept their eyes locked on each other.

Martin finally spoke. “I hate to be the one to inform you, Evelyn, but you are not what you think you are. You are neither dull nor plain, and you are
completely
seduceable.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, then felt the tension in her body unravel slightly. She managed a smile. “I suppose I am, aren’t I?”

“Quite,” he replied with a chuckle.

She laughed, too. “Perhaps there are some benefits to being a trophy between competitive men.”

“Benefits for the gentleman who wins you, Evelyn, because you are a beautiful, fascinating woman, and that is no lie. What happened just now had nothing to do with my desire to win any race. I was simply mad with lust for you and couldn’t keep my hands to myself. I had to have you because I found you irresistible.” His expression grew curious. “Did your husband never say such things to you?”