"Open up!" It was Remy's voice.

"Fuck off," he muttered, the sound half swallowed, his body convulsed, caught in an undertow of sensation.

A vigorous brisk tattoo punctuated the rhythm of heated breathing in the small cabin.

Serena shifted minutely, unnerved by the interruption. "The food," she murmured.

Her voice, wispy with apology, registered through Beau's fevered sensibilities.

Inhaling deeply, he opened his eyes and gazed down on her. "Damn."

"I don't think he's going away," she whispered. "You weren't finished, were you?"

Grimacing, he blew out an exasperated breath. "I am now."

"I'll break the door down!" Remy shouted.

"Fucking calm down," Beau growled, rolling off Serena. "I'm coming."

Serena giggled at the unintentional pun and when he glared at her, she apologized so sweetly, he decided he wouldn't actually throw Remy overboard after all. "I'll make it up to you," she said, pink and warm and unutterably cheerful.

His heavy black brows met in a scowl. "Damn right you will."

"You needn't frown so. I really will. But I haven't had coquilles St. Jacques since ..." A fleeting poignancy trembled in her voice. "For a very long time," she quietly finished.

He sighed. "Then I'd be an ogre to refuse you."

"Which you're not," she softly said, understanding even in the brief time she'd known him that he was more compassionate than he appeared and infinitely indulgent.

Heaving himself from the bed with another sigh, he stalked to the door, threw it open with a resounding crash, and standing stark naked and aroused on the threshold, ushered his chef in with a tightly restrained, "Don't ever do this again, Remy, or you won't see Naples."

"It's a mortal sin to let these go to waste," Remy retorted, undeterred by Beau's threat. "Are you eating on the bed?" he calmly went on as though he'd not interrupted them in flagrante delicto, as if he'd simply brought morning chocolate and brioche to the breakfast room. Motioning a serving lad forward with fresh table linen and two more chilled bottles of Champagne, Remy stood with the covered platter of scallops held aloft while the young boy-careful to avert his gaze from Serena draped in a quilt-spread the tablecloth on the bed.

"Perfect," Remy pronounced when the last wrinkle was smoothed away and he placed the silver platter on the bed with a flourish. "For your pleasure, mademoiselle," he offered, grandly whisking the cover off.

A luscious scent perfumed with the merest hint of shallots wafted upward from the plate of plump scallops swimming in a creamy veloute sauce. Tantalizing bits of mushroom peaked through the sauce; a delicate sprinkling of bread crumbs browned in melted butter embellished the whole.

"Bon appetit," the chef crisply pronounced, and with a graceful bow he turned on his heel, walking past his nude employer without a glance.

"No point in locking this again," Beau dryly said, pushing the door shut behind Remy and the serving lad.

"Uh-huh," Serena replied, her mouth full of scallops and white sauce.

"Don't let me keep you," Beau sardonically murmured.

Quickly swallowing, Serena looked up and smiled. "Remy's right. It would have been a sin to have these go to waste. Taste them," she suggested, making room beside her, offering him a scallop on her fork.

"I hope we have enough food to last till Lisbon," he muttered, moving to the bed and sitting down.

"You needn't be grumpy. I said I'd make it up to you. Now taste this. There, isn't it perfect?" she said, watching him chew the morsel she'd put into his mouth. "Do you know I've never seen Lisbon? Do you suppose we could sightsee?" she asked, selecting another savory portion for herself. "I'd love that. It's supposed to be ever so much warmer than England," she added, the rhythm of her words punctuated by an occasional appreciative gustatory sigh. "After this last winter at the Tothams'," she said, chewing, "I swore I'd never be cold again. You're doing a marvelous job of keeping me warm, by the way."

His searching gaze arrested her monologue.

She swallowed. "Don't you like women who talk?"

It took him a moment to answer; the women he amused himself with were not primarily interested in conversation. "I hadn't thought about it," he finally said.

"Which means you don't. What a shame. I love to talk, although the last four years haven't offered much opportunity, as you probably can tell. Oh, dear, there I go again. Forgive me. I'm sure I can be quiet if I try." Pantomiming, she locked her lips with a key.

This young miss was a true novelty in his life, he decided, amused at her undaunted cheer. "By all means talk," he graciously offered. "You haven't been to Lisbon before?" he asked, politely encouraging her to continue.

"You're sure now?" she said. "You don't mind? You see, I don't know exactly how to behave after ... well, ah, after ..."

"Sex?" he amiably supplied.

She nodded, "I haven't actually ever said that word."

"You have a natural talent then, kitten."

"And I expect you know you're excellent. Not that I have any means of comparison," she quickly noted, "but in terms of satisfaction, I couldn't be more pleased."

She was astonishing, he thought, to accept her denouement so openly and buoyantly. Although he had no means of comparison either, never having deflowered a virgin.

"I don't want to become pregnant though, because I'm going to be working hard at my studies in Florence," she went on, causing him to choke slightly in midthought. "Are you all right?" she solicitously inquired as he swallowed hard. "I suppose it's not a man's concern, but Maman died when I was young and Papa naturally didn't discuss such things with me, so I feel ill equipped to deal with the practicalities. But I thought you'd be sure to know because courtesans aren't forever pregnant or they wouldn't be able to, er, do their ... job and I expect you know one or two with your reputation, so naturally, I mean, if anyone would know ..." Her voice trailed off.

This too was outside his area of expertise; pregnancy was not a bachelor's concern in his privileged world. Mentally running through the possibilities available out in the middle of the Atlantic, he gamely said, "I'll see what I can find on board. Would you like something right now?"

"Oh, no," she quickly replied. "Sometime later will be fine. Surely a few hours can't hurt. Do women become pregnant on their very first time?"

A gambling man, he calculated the percentage of risk with her innocence so newly lost and uttered what he considered a benign lie. "Never," he said. But later he'd have to have Remy find him some of the sponges that had been brought on board for the kitchen.

"Oh, good," Serena cheerfully pronounced, "then, once we've finished eating, I'd like very much if you'd-that is-I mean-"

"Make love to you?"

"I didn't know if I dared use that particular phrase, love having so many other connotations, and I didn't suppose rakes actually believed in love or they wouldn't be rakes, now, would they?"

He laughed. "No need to mince your words, darling. Say anything you want."

"Anything?" Wide-eyed, she seemed fascinated by such newfound possibility, her years at the Tothams' having instilled an unnatural caution.

"Anything. I'm not easily shocked."

"I like that most about you ... well-second-and I shouldn't say it, but then I've drunk a good deal of Champagne, which is probably why I'm talking so much, but I like that best." She gestured shyly at a point between his legs. "I never knew there could be such pleasure."

Her sweet confession had a predictable effect on his libido, and glancing down at his rising erection, he lightly said, "He must have heard you. Come, give us a kiss, lollipop." Moving the tray of food aside, lust warming his blood, he gently added, "And then we'll see what we can do about expanding your horizons."

And when she climbed into his lap and threw her arms around his neck, all open warmth and affection and artless delight, he found himself experiencing profoundly new degrees of pleasure himself.

6.

Those blissful early hours of their voyage south set a sybaritic pattern of gratification and delight for the days to come. A connoisseur of sophisticated women, Beau found himself in the novel position of tutor to a newly liberated innocent intent on trying her wings. Skilled beyond the finesse of most men, he was perhaps the most sensually gifted of all the dissolute young bloods in London. And also extravagantly indulgent to a young lady with a passion to learn.

Remy and the crew took bets on when the young couple would first emerge from their stateroom. The estimates ranged from twenty hours to three days, with much ribald comment defining the various calculations. Remy simply said, "Not before Lisbon." He knew his master well and lengthy sexual marathons weren't without precedence. What was, however, was his benevolent accommodation to Miss Blythe. While always generous to his lady loves, Beau St. Jules was rarely accommodating beyond the needs of his own selfish interests.

And he was never benevolent.

Miss Blythe was charmingly different, Remy realized. And if he wasn't aware of Beau's orders to lie in at Lisbon, he would have considered extending his estimate to Minorca at least.

When the Earl of Rochefort and Miss Serena Blythe first came up on deck six days later, it was a blustery sunlit afternoon with the capital of Portugal rising into view like a heavenly city gleaming white and pristine on the hills bordering the Tagus River.

"What do you want to do first?" he asked as she surveyed the approaching port, wide-eyed with wonder.

"I want to see everything," she softly said, her body warm against his side, the wind blowing tendrils of blond hair across her rosy face.

"Greedy puss," he murmured, dipping his head down to brush a kiss over her cheek. "You always want everything."

"And you always give it to me," she whispered, warmed by the heated look in his eyes, beginning to feel the familiar melting warmth pervade her senses. And then a man stepped into her line of vision. "The crew," she nervously noted, her gaze shifting to the men busying themselves on the deck where they stood.

"I can kiss you if I wish," Beau casually said, immune to mannered limits. "Although I'm sure they'd like to too."

"While I have a distinct partiality for you, Rochefort." But she shifted her position, as if a few more inches between them eliminated censure.

"Damn well you better," he softly said, pulling her back. "I'm not in the mood to share."

She wasn't likely to win a tug-of-war nor was propriety of much consequence at this late stage, she decided. "This is silly, isn't it?"

He nodded, his grin boyishly sweet. "I'll let you know when appearances matter."

"Does that happen in your life?" she ironically queried.

"Not often," he said. "But consider, darling, this is backwater Lisbon. You're safe from scandal here."

And, she thought with resolve, entirely free from the Tothams. Which put society's strictures in a decidedly more trivial perspective.

"It's not a concern at all, kitten," Beau said, assured of his ability to protect her.

"How clever you are," she genially said.

He gazed at her for a moment, her sudden mood shift disconcerting. "Are you all right?"

"I'm very much all right," she pleasantly said. "I'm blissfully free, financially stable, thanks to you, and about to embark on a new and independent life. And it's not as though I've always lived in a thoroughly conventional manner anyway. Papa rather did as he pleased." Her smile was open and warm. "Now then, what are we going to see first in Lisbon?"

They took a short detour to the harbormaster's office first because Serena was eager to recover her luggage in the event the Betty Lee was in port.

Since the British had a large trading and political presence in Lisbon, the warrant for Horton's arrest was treated with considerable respect. The Betty Lee had docked early yesterday, they discovered. In fact, it was being unloaded now.

"Why don't you wait here?" Beau suggested, shifting slightly in his chair to gaze at Serena, who sat behind several stacked cartons in the small, cluttered office. "Or if you like, I'll have you escorted back to the Siren."

"You don't know what my luggage looks like. I'll come along."

"No," he said, scowling faintly. "Just describe it for me."

"They're plain brown leather portmanteaus, two of them, and they're featureless. I'll come along," she firmly replied.

"It's too dangerous." His voice had suddenly turned cool. He wasn't in the habit of arguing with ladies.

"Perhaps Miss Blythe could wait in the carriage when we board the ship, my lord," the elderly official politely interposed. The set expressions on the lord's and lady's faces presaged a lengthy disagreement. "It would be safer, my lady, with a felon on board. We'll require an escort to bring in this Horton fellow to the authorities," he added. "I'll need fifteen minutes to assemble the guard. Would that be satisfactory?"

He was a diplomat, with the art of compromise well honed in his years of authority at a port dominated by English traders.

She would have appeared childish to refuse. "Yes, of course," Serena said.

"We'll need a man left at the carriage as well," Beau declared.

"Certainly. Could I have coffee brought for you in the interim, or perhaps ginja?"

"No," Serena abruptly said, chafing at what she considered Beau's ill-advised autocracy.

"Yes, please," Beau replied, his tone cordial.

But when the door closed behind the harbormaster, Beau came to his feet and fixed a cool gaze on her. "This Horton fellow has killed a man-and very brutally." His voice was brusque. "I don't know why you insist on coming along. Be sensible, stay here."

"It's broad daylight, Rochefort," Serena impatiently retorted, her annoyance no less than his. "The docks are abuzz with people. You be sensible. And surely now that I'm relegated to the carriage with a guard," she went on, a touch of acid in her tone, "I should be subject to a minimum of danger."

He shifted on his feet, his temper held tightly in check. "I'm surprised you kept your position for four years, Miss Blythe," he crisply said. "You're very outspoken."

"It appears you're only familiar with women saying yes to you, milord. However, you have no authority over my life. As for my position at the Tothams', I wasn't halfway to Florence at the time, nor so full in the pockets." Her smile was oversweet. "For both of which I thank you."

A muscle twitched along his clenched jaw. "You could thank me with some obedience."

Her brows rose. "Is that what you want in a woman? I'm surprised. I rather thought you liked more spirit."

"Jesus, Serena," he murmured, exhaling in a long, low sigh. "We're getting way the hell off tangent here. The man's a brute. Let's not argue about this."

"I should simply acquiesce, you mean." Her voice was equally soft. "Even if I disagree."

"It's only a precaution."

"Then maybe it's not necessary."