A Regency Rake's Redemption: Ravished by the Rake / Seduced by the Scoundrel

‘Have you no self-control?’ she snapped, then threw up her hands. ‘I am sorry. Doubtless you are right. It was both of us, I know that. Can we not forget it?’

‘We could pretend to forget it,’ Alistair said, watching her. Could he sense how aroused he made her feel, just standing there? She had kissed his mouth, just there. Those long, clever fingers had touched her there and there and. ‘Would that do?’ he asked. Something in his expression made her doubt he intended pretending for very long.

‘It will have to, I suppose.’ Dita brought her hands out from behind her back to reveal the box. ‘This is for your birthday. It is quite useless—its only purpose is to make you smile.’

‘That seems a good purpose.’ He reached out and took it, his fingers scrupulously avoiding touching hers. ‘Local work?’

‘Yes. Best to open it over a flat surface and out of the breeze, I think.’

It was reward enough, just to sit and watch his face, intent over the box, his fingers delicately lifting each tiny creature on to the table, arranging them in pairs, finding the miniature gangplank that could slope up to the box. ‘Here is Noah.’ He lifted the final piece out and looked up at her, smiling. She swayed towards him a little, drawn by the curve of his lips.

‘Thank you, this is exquisite.’ He lifted a finger and touched her cheek. ‘It makes you smile, too. I hated that I killed your smiles, Dita.’

‘You did not,’ she said, stiffening. He had only to touch her, it seemed, and her self-control wilted. Attack seemed the only defence. ‘You have an exaggerated idea of the influence you have over me. If I have seemed sombre, it is no doubt because I have been reflecting on the folly of allowing myself to be attracted to a personable rake.’

‘Attracted?’ That smile was back. He must practise it to have such a devastating effect, she thought, fighting down equal measures of panic and arousal.

‘Do stop fishing for compliments, Alistair.’ Dita pushed back her chair and stood up and he rose, too, the movement of his linen coat scattering the tiny animals across the table. ‘Of course attracted. I would hardly make love with a man for whom I felt no attraction.’

‘Wouldn’t you? I really have no idea what you might do, Dita, if the fancy took you.’ The amusement had drained out of his expression, leaving it bleak and arrogant.

‘You are suggesting that I would—’ What? Sleep with any man I fancied, on a whim? She almost asked the question, then bit it back; she did not want to hear him say yes.

‘That so-called chaperon of yours, sweet lady though she is, just isn’t up to your weight, Dita.’

‘I am not a damned horse! ‘

Alistair’s eyes narrowed into an insolent scrutiny that had her balling her fists at her sides in an effort not to slap him. ‘No. You don’t need a jockey, you go fast enough as it is. What you need, Perdita my love, is a husband.’

‘Perhaps I do,’ she said with every ounce of sweetness she could get into her voice. ‘Perhaps, somewhere, there is a man who is not patronising, arrogant, domineering or interested only in my money or my body. On the evidence so far, however, I am finding that hard to believe.’

Behind them the door opened, bringing with it the sea air and the sound of shouted orders to the men in the rigging. Dita whirled round and walked out, almost colliding with Dr Melchett on the threshold. She managed a thin-lipped smile as she passed, intent on reaching the prow of the ship before anyone, anyone at all, spoke to her.

Chapter Ten (#ulink_ca8689c0-17be-5712-9160-14c0f34d696a)

‘Happy birthday, my lord.’

Alistair looked up from collecting up the tiny animals. It took steady fingers and had to be done before they were scattered and damaged, whatever else he wanted to do. Like kicking the panelling or getting drunk. ‘Doctor Melchett. Thank you, sir. How did you—? Ah, yes, you knew Lady Perdita bought the Ark for me, I assume.’

‘I went shopping with her yesterday,’ the older man said as he sat down opposite Alistair. ‘Charming young lady. Intelligent, lovely and high spirited.’

‘She is certainly all those things.’ Alistair continued to slot each fragile piece into place.

‘You did not like her gift?’

‘Very much; it is a work of art.’ Dr Melchett was silent. Alistair recognised the technique: keep quiet and eventually your opponent will start babbling. He considered playing the game and saying nothing, but that would be disrespectful to an old man. ‘Lady Perdita is not certain she likes me.’

‘Ah.’ The doctor fumbled in his pocket, brought out a snuffbox and offered it to Alistair. He didn’t use the stuff himself, but he recognised the friendly overture and took a pinch. ‘Difficult thing, love,’ Melchett mused.

‘What?’ A minute elephant went skidding out of his hand and across the table.

The doctor picked it up and peered at it. ‘Love. Old friends, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. Not lovers.’ He examined the last half-hour in painful detail and shrugged. ‘We were friends, as children, as much as one can be with a six-year age gap. We have apparently grown out of it.’

‘Love, lovers, in love, loving. So many shades of meaning to that word.’ Melchett sighed. ‘You were fond of her as a boy?’

‘She was a burr under my saddle,’ Alistair said evenly as he slid the box lid closed. ‘A pestilential little sister.’ He grinned reluctantly, remembering. ‘I suppose I was fond of her, yes.’

‘And you still want to protect her.’

No, he did not want to protect her—he wanted to make love to her for the rest of the voyage. ‘Lady Perdita requires protecting from herself, mainly,’ Alistair said as he put the box in his pocket. ‘But of course I keep an eye on her; she is the daughter of neighbours, after all.’

Melchett got to his feet. ‘That’s the ticket: neighbourliness. Now you know what it is, you won’t fret over it so much.’ He chuckled. ‘Nothing like a proper diagnosis for making one feel better. Don’t let me disturb you,’ he added as Alistair stood. ‘Have a pleasant birthday, my lord.’

What the devil was that about? Neighbourliness? Diagnosis indeed! He didn’t need medical assistance to know that he was suffering from a mixture of exasperation and frustration. And just a tinge of guilt.

He wanted Dita: wanted her in bed, under him, around him. He wanted her screaming his name, wanted her begging him to make love to her again, and again. Alistair took a deep breath and thought longingly of cold rivers.

He also wanted to box her ears half the time. That was nothing new—he had spent most of his boyhood in that frame of mind, when she wasn’t making him laugh. Not that he had ever given in to the temptation: one did not strike a girl under any circumstances, however provoking she was.

Unfair that, he thought with a slight smile. Spanking, now. The word brought a vision of Dita’s small, pert backside delightfully to mind.

Which brought him neatly back to the guilt. It was not an emotion he was much prone to. He certainly hadn’t felt guilt over leaving home. Since then he had done few things that caused him regret; all experience had some value. The problem was, he saw with a flash of clarity, he was not feeling guilty over wanting to make love to Dita, he was feeling guilty because he couldn’t be sorry about it.

Damn it. It would be a good thing when she was home safely, despite her best efforts otherwise, and when she was home he hoped she would do her utmost to find a decent husband, although her list of requirements from this paragon probably meant the man did not exist. He could watch this while he searched for a wife—who should be easy to identify when he met her. She would be precisely the opposite of Lady Perdita Brooke in every particular.

‘If I never see St Helena again it will be too soon,’ Mrs Bastable remarked as the island vanished over the horizon. ‘A more disagreeable place I cannot imagine, and the food was dreadful.’

‘There’s Ascension next; we can pick up some turtles and have splendid soup,’ Alistair remarked from his position on the rail, surrounded by a group of ladies, amongst whom the elder Miss Whyton was prominent. ‘And from there, if we have good fortune, perhaps only another ten weeks sailing.’

‘The Equator soon,’ Callum Chatterton added. ‘But no sport to be had there—we got everyone who had never crossed before on the way out from Madras.’

Alistair ducked under the sailcloth and sat down on one of the chairs under the awning that sheltered Dita, Averil and Mrs Bastable. He chose one opposite her and not the vacant one by her side, much to her relief. Then she realised that from where he was sitting he could meet her eyes. He seemed intent on doing just that. She held the amber gaze and her breath hitched, shortened, as his lids drooped sensually and the colour seemed to darken.