Page 14 of A Perilous Passion

“You think not?” he growled.

She held up a hand. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just meant that smugglers have mouths to feed, as do all men. Though, I don’t suppose an aristocrat like yourself would know anything about deprivation.”

“Don’t presume to lecture me,” he warned, “or I’ll be tempted to carry out my threat of exposing you to ruin.” He closed his eyes a moment and took a deep breath. “I can say no more. It might be dangerous for you to be caught up in my affairs.”

Ah, the irony. “Too late for that,” she pointed out. “My face is known here, and I’ve been seen in that cave. With you on top of me.”

He hissed softly through his teeth. “True. But they’ll assume you were far too preoccupied to see anything but me. And with any luck, they didn’t get a good look at your face.”

“But what if they did recognize us? Won’t they be suspicious if we’re never seen together again? Not that I’m implying,” she added quickly, the heat rising in her cheeks, “that I particularly wish to see you again.”

“Be that as it may, we must appear strangers from now on. There may come a day when it’s dangerous for anyone to admit acquaintance with Rafe Seabourne. Or even, God forbid, with the Earl of Beckport. Your mother and aunt must be sworn to secrecy. Swear to me.”

She was about to protest when he reached out and placed a finger under her chin, silencing her most effectively.

She gazed into his dark eyes as his gaze roved over her face. He was waiting for her assent, but his light touch had robbed her of all thought. Somehow, she managed the tiniest of nods.

He nodded back, but continued to appraise her, his expression turning nearly as befuddled as she felt.

“Lord Beckport?”

“Hmm?”

“You can stop touching me now.”

“I just…”

He seemed to be in a daze, gazing at her mouth. His thumb came up and stroked along her lower lip, sending flickers of excitement up and down her spine. She parted her lips in surprise.

Abruptly, he stiffened and pulled away.

Had he been thinking about…kissing her?

Good heavens. Had she been about to let him?

“I should leave now,” he said. “Please accept my apology for using such crude methods to persuade you, but lives could be at risk if you reveal what you know of me. It might, indeed, be safer for you to go away until the danger is past. If you have family you could visit, I strongly advise you to do so.”

He kept speaking of danger. What danger? She wasn’t afraid of smugglers, although she daren’t tell him why. But before she could frame her next question, he stood up and blew out the candle.

His voice sounded like velvet in the darkness as he said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Allston. Mayhap one day we’ll meet again under better circumstances. I’m going to close your window behind me, in case someone less gentlemanly should notice it open.”

“I can’t think of anyone less gentlemanly,” she muttered, but the window had already closed. She climbed out of bed and padded across the room to look outside. Nothing moved in the garden, not even a shadow. The man was certainly good at passing unnoticed.

Should she lock the window, lest he return? Heaven knew what might happen if he did. She was far too easily affected by his touch and the nearness of his body. Good lord, the thoughts she’d entertained! The only protections she had against him were carefully chosen words, a detached expression, and keeping at a considerable physical distance.

None of which she’d managed while sitting next to him on her bed.

She’d trembled…and not from fear.

Lying back on the sheets, she pondered over what he’d said and done—and not done. Like that kiss. She was sure he’d been looking at her lips and thinking about kissing her, the shameless rogue. Now there’d always be a question in her mind, and almost certainly some feverish imagining of what it might be like to be kissed for real by a far more experienced man than Justin.

She punched her pillow in frustration. What was she supposed to do now, after all his dire warnings? Infuriating man! Was she expected to lock herself in, with a knife under her pillow and the copper warming pan within easy reach, in case the smugglers took it into their heads to climb the creeper in the middle of the night and put an end to her?

Unacceptable.

It simply wouldn’t do. Her freedom had already been curtailed once, for far too long, and she wasn’t about to let that happen again. She would be the one to decide if it was safe to walk around Fortuneswell, not Lord High-and-Mighty Beckport.

Besides, it would be interesting to uncover more about the free traders working this little piece of the Dorsetshire coastline. And maybe by doing that, she could find out what exactly Rafe Seabourne, or rather, Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, was up to.