Page 110 of A Perilous Passion

Which…wasn’t easy because she had no idea what the real thing entailed. Justin had never, ever taken such bold liberties with her person.

Forcing her hands to stop shaking, she eased them out of Seabourne’s grip and ran them over his broad shoulders, down his back, and back up to tangle in his abundant dark hair.

Unexpectedly, a flame of need sprang to life in her belly. She’d felt something akin to it before when Justin kissed her, but this was of a completely different intensity—sharper, deeper.

Hotter.

A sigh shuddered out of her, and she trembled beneath Seabourne’s body, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling.

“Are they gone yet?” he whispered in her ear.

The amount of daylight had increased again, so she croaked, “I think so.”

Withdrawing from her, he gave a leisurely stretch and glanced behind him to the cave’s opening. “Thank Moses. I’m so sorry I had to resort to such a ruse, Miss Allston.”

What did one say in such circumstances? The etiquette books at finishing school had not prepared her for this eventuality. “Apology…accepted,” she somehow managed.

“Believe me,” he went on, “I’d never have subjected you to such humiliation had it not been a matter of the utmost importance.”

It was almost laughable to be so politely addressed after what had just happened. This man’s body had rested against hers in places Justin had never dared look at, let alone touch. Seabourne had seen her bare legs—a sight most stringently denied to Justin—and taken liberties way beyond proper.

He helped her up, but his eyes never left the cave mouth. Apparently, her own body didn’t merit his particular notice. Which was a good thing, she told herself when she was tempted to feel slightly insulted.

But the fact that the men were somehow known to Seabourne, and weren’t out to kill her, had the relief pushing through her pique.

“Who were they?” she asked, accepting his helping hand. “Why did they panic you so?”

“I did not panic. The men who followed us may well be blockade runners, and this cave makes an excellent hiding spot for contraband. Slipping away to make love would be the most plausible excuse for us to be here. I’d be obliged if you’d stand watch by the entrance while I scout around. Try not to look too obvious.”

He’d said “make love” as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He was clearly no gentleman. Mama would be shocked if she knew what Mr. Seabourne had said—and done—to her. Charlotte was shocked.

Shocked that she’d enjoyed it so much.

She swallowed. “If they are smugglers, we shouldn’t interfere. They won’t like it.”

“Felons cannot go unpunished,” was his terse reply as he headed deeper into the cave. “Go keep watch as I asked.”

Definitely not a gentleman. Quite rude, in fact. Was it any business of his what the free traders did?

Most folk just turned their backs or closed their shutters if they got word a run was in progress. Their temporary obliviousness was usually rewarded with whatever small luxury the smugglers could spare.

What was so bad with smuggling, anyway? Papa had always said the duties just went into greedy officials’ pockets. What was right and just about that?

With a sigh, she left the cave, stepping out onto the jumble of broken limestone beyond. Curling her bare toes over a thick shelf of rock, she gazed lazily around her and raised a hand to smooth her hair into place, looking as nonchalant as she could. Good lord. How was a woman supposed to behave after a man had made love to her? It would have helped if Seabourne had given her some clues.

She scanned the area. No one appeared to be nearby. Far down the beach, the children were tiny dots dashing around the sand like ants from a disturbed nest. People waded in the shallows and the rock pools at the distant edge of the beach, collecting shellfish. Just in front of her, a gull balanced on the wind, keening.

When she ducked back inside to say the coast was clear, Seabourne was examining the walls where the cave narrowed at the back, a squat stump of lighted candle in his hand.

The candle jerked up as she made a slight noise, and she got the distinct feeling he would have wrestled her to the ground again, had she been one of the free traders. Did he carry a weapon? She hoped not.

“There’s a tunnel back here,” he told her. “There have been ponies in here, too.”

“How can you know that?”

“I’m…sensitive to the presence of horses.”

“So, this place is used by smugglers?” How exciting! Had she met any of them in the village without knowing?