Читать книгу The Smuggler and the Society Bride - Julia Justiss - Страница 10

Smiling, Gabe watched the shapely sway of Miss Marie Foxe as she entered her carriage. She was a little too deliberate about not even glancing in his direction as the vehicle set off.

He was reasonably confident she liked him. She most definitely responded to him, he thought, absently rubbing the hand that had been shocked by touching hers. She might not want to admit the attraction, but he was experienced enough to read, in the silent gasp that escaped her lips and the shudder that had passed through her body, that his touch had affected her as strongly as hers had him.

He grinned. Armed with that knowledge, he hadn’t been able to refrain from provoking her a bit. It was much too enjoyable to watch her face burn as he let his gaze linger on those parts of her body he’d almost seen that day on the beach.

Parts he’d like to see much more clearly…and touch and caress and kiss.

Her face had crimsoned as if she knew what he’d been thinking. Had she been wishing it, too?

He sighed. Such contemplation set off quite a conflagration within him as well. What a shame Miss Foxe was not Sadie, the barmaid at the Gull whose amorous advances Gabe was having increasing difficulty dodging.

Not that he was at all adverse to the pleasures offered by an ample bosom and hot thighs. But living in an inn operated by a friend of Sadie’s father, in a village where practically everyone was kin to everyone else, a maid who had three stout brothers to guard her virtue did not inspire a man to succumb to her blandishments. Even if she tempted him, which, in truth, she did not—particularly not since he’d had his first look at the lovely Marie Foxe. In any event, the enjoyment of a quick tumble with Sadie could not compensate for the trouble it would certainly cause.

Trouble or not, were Miss Foxe the lass making advances, he suspected he wouldn’t resist.

He did ache for the sweetness of a woman, the bliss of release and the satisfaction of pleasing her in an intimate embrace. As he set off walking to the Gull, his thoughts drifted to Caitlyn back in Ireland, the knowing widow who’d been happy to ease the pain and boredom of his recovery with a little discreet dalliance.

He’d be better able to keep his unruly urges under control—and resist tempting young ladies he shouldn’t even approach—if he paid her a visit. But he didn’t want to risk having his brother discover him and piece together exactly what he was doing in Cornwall. Nor did he want to involve that lovely, compliant lady in what might be a damaging association if he were apprehended—or worse—during his sojourn in Cornwall.

With a smile, his thoughts returned to the lady who had been anything but compliant. He didn’t know how well-connected the Foxe family might be, but from the arrogance of the niece, it was apparent she considered a smuggling captain to be vastly beneath her. Her irritation at his effrontery in approaching her was obvious in her haughty tone and elevated words, both of which, he felt sure, were designed to put him off.

They hadn’t, of course. He found it amusing to reflect that unless the Foxe family were very well-connected indeed, by birth if not current occupation, he was probably her equal. Even more gratifying was the knowledge that, hard as she’d been trying to resist him, she hadn’t been able to mask the fact that she found him attractive.

What was such a lady doing in Sennlack? It was hardly the sort of place a lovely, unmarried miss would linger longer than the few days necessary to pay a call on a beloved aunt. Indeed, his memory was vague on the point, but wasn’t the London social Season still in full cry?

He walked into the tap room and motioned Kessel to bring him a mug. Why, he continued to muse as he dropped into a seat, would a young lady whose family—if not the lady herself—should be concentrating on catching her a well-breeched husband, be wasting her beauty and her wiles on brigands like him, rather than in London, enticing more eligible gentlemen?

Perhaps her family, unable to afford the dowry necessary to marry her off, had sent her to be her aunt’s companion.

Recalling her haughty demeanor—the attitude and bearing of someone accustomed to having her own desires catered to, rather than catering to others—Gabe had to laugh. She was hardly the meek, biddable sort able to adapt to living her life at the beck and call of some richer relation.

If she had been sent here by a family needing to reduce expenses, Gabe thought, frowning, they could have at least given her a maid to accompany her. Sennlack was a law-abiding town, but a luscious lamb like that needed some protection from the wolves of the world.

Like him, he thought with a grin.

Or had some mishap left her with no family but Miss Foxe? From some hitherto unknown place deep within him, an unprecedented sense of protectiveness seeped out.

The first day they’d met, he’d found the idea of pursuing the water sprite diverting. Tempting her with the attraction that ran so strongly between them might be more satisfying still.

Gabe sensed snobbery rather than fear in her reluctance to associate with him; even for diversion, he’d never pursue a truly unwilling lady. If his instincts were mistaken and he was unable to melt that frosty demeanour, after a few attempts, he’d reluctantly abandon the game. Until then, however, he meant to apply his not inconsiderable charm into getting her to lower that ferocious guard and allow her true partiality to emerge.

He pictured her countenance, the silken texture of her face that begged for the touch of his finger, the large, expressive blue-grey eyes that could mirror the sky when she exclaimed over the roses or turn storm-cloud grey when she sought to depress his pretensions. The velvet look of those plump lips that seemed to just beg for a kiss—or two or three.

The desire she’d incited from first glance spiked, tightening his body and making sweat break out on his brow.

Just a kiss, of course, for she was a maid. Still, when the maid in question was the tantalizing Miss Foxe, even a simple kiss was a prize worth savouring.

Instead of chafing, as he usually did, at having to kick his heels in port until it was time to pick up the next cargo, now he had the charming Miss Foxe and an irresistible challenge to distract him. In these next few weeks, could he charm her out of her resistance…and into his arms?

As she’d spent the evening playing backgammon with her aunt, Honoria had tried to convince herself she had banished the dashing Captain Hawksworth from her mind. Though she was moderately successful at pretending that he was not always teasing just at the edge of her thoughts, the subject of the handsome free-trader was dragged forcibly before her the following morning when Tamsyn, who’d gone to visit her family Sunday evening, brought in her chocolate.

‘Dickin tells me you met the Hawk after services yesterday. That he even walked with you in churchyard!’ she said, reverence in her voice at being accorded such a high honour. ‘Isn’t he just the most handsome, charming man you’ve ever met?’

Knowing of the girl’s obvious infatuation, Honoria might have expected to hear jealousy in her voice, and was struck to realize she heard none. Perhaps to Tamsyn, her brother’s friend—a man with whom Lady Honoria Carlow might disdain to associate—seemed a personage too elevated to pay attention to a mere maid from a tiny village like Sennlack.

And perhaps Gabriel Hawksworth wasn’t the only one who needed a lesson in humility.

‘Yes, he is both handsome and charming. Though I suspect his design is to bedazzle every maid in Cornwall.’

‘I figure he’s already done that! He’s greeted me polite enough, coming or going with Dickin, but I done never had all his attention fixed just on me. I’d probably swoon straight away!’ Sighing, Tamsyn stared dreamy-eyed as she extracted Honoria’s gown from the wardrobe. ‘Do…do you think he might call on you?’

The tightness in Honoria’s chest eased. If the maid thought he might, her deception must be safe. Even a girl from a small Cornish village, her head filled with a romantic vision of the dashing captain, would know a common smuggler would never have the effrontery to call upon someone as far above him socially as Lady Honoria Carlow.

Though still bold, for such a famous local personage to pay his respects to ‘Miss Foxe’ was not beyond possibility, particularly after having been introduced by the lady’s own aunt.

Honoria was not sure whether to be relieved or alarmed by that fact.

In an urgent, low-toned discussion during the carriage ride home from church, her aunt had already assured her that her true identity was unlikely to be discovered. The conversation with Tamsyn had sealed her relief. She’d feared the rash announcement of a false name might backfire if the servants around whom she’d lived for the last month told a different tale.

However, as her aunt had reminded her, with her arrival being unexpected, Miss Foxe had not primed the servants to prepare for ‘Lady Honoria’s’ visit. And having learned immediately upon her arrival of the delicacy of her situation, Aunt Foxe had been careful to refer to her as a niece or kinswoman, and to address her simply as ‘my dear.’

Jerking her thoughts back to the girl’s question, Honoria realized the maid’s tone this time did hold a bit of an edge. Perhaps Tamsyn was not totally without hope in the captain’s direction after all. Was she trying to determine whether Miss Foxe intended to set herself up as a contender for the rogue’s attentions?

If so, she could speedily disabuse Tamsyn of that notion. ‘I hardly think he will call,’ she replied. ‘He wished to politely welcome a newcomer, but I expect he enjoys feminine attention far too much to show partiality to any one lady.’ Though she was piqued to discover she’d be a bit disappointed if the first assessment were true, she was quite certain of the second.

She’d met enough rakes in London to recognize a man who enjoyed and understood women. Gabe Hawksworth possessed that certain appreciative sparkle in his eye, along with an almost uncomfortably intense focus that, for the time it lasted, made a girl fancy he saw her as the most attractive and fascinating being in the universe.

Indeed, his gaze might be the most discerning she’d ever encountered. She shifted uncomfortably, hoping the rogue hadn’t been able to tell just how attractive she found him.

Apparently she’d said the right thing, for the maid brightened. ‘Pro’bly true, miss. Well, that gives me hope to keep trying to find the courage to flirt with him.’

Tamsyn finished helping her dress and went out. Honoria followed her, pausing to sniff appreciatively at the primroses Eva given her, displayed in a crystal bowl. She’d not seen any in Foxeden’s herb garden and wondered if the plant might grow somewhere on the property. Aunt Foxe would probably enjoy having some of the fragrant blossoms in her rooms. Perhaps Honoria would go search for some.

She sighed. It wasn’t as if she had any more pressing matters to attend to. But after the interlude at the beach and the excitement of meeting Mr Hawksworth, having nothing more stimulating to look forward to than picking a few posies made the day seem rather flat.

Good Heavens, why was she repining? She rallied herself immediately. Had Aunt Foxe not taken her in, she’d be at Stanegate Court, being viewed with pity or reproach by the staff and the neighbours, to say nothing of the lectures she would likely endure from Marcus each time he visited the estate. She couldn’t bear to think about hearing what Mama, Papa—or her younger sister—might have to say to her.

Unexpected tears stung her eyes. How arrogantly sure she’d always been of being so much more worldly, knowledgeable and competent to look after herself than Verity! Pride goeth before a fall indeed.

No, she should sink to her knees and bless a kind Providence that she was here in Cornwall, under her aunt’s benevolent eye and free to go gathering spring flowers.

After a solitary breakfast, her aunt keeping to her chamber as she usually did, Honoria went to consult the housekeeper, whom she found in the stillroom, hanging herbs to dry.

‘I wanted to gather some primroses, Mrs Dawes. Are there any on this property?’

‘I don’t believe so, miss. If there are, they’d be growing down by the old stream bed near the copse. I’ve always thought one could plant a pretty wet garden there, with mints, foxglove, monarda and such. But the herb and kitchen gardens keep the boys busy enough, so I never tried anything there. The best place to find some, though, would be next to the brook that runs behind St Christopher’s Church.’

That must have been where Eva Steavens had picked hers, Honoria thought. ‘Thank you, Mrs Dawes. If there aren’t any in the copse, perhaps I’ll ride into the village and ask Father Gryffd if I might dig up a few plants from beside the brook to bring back.’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t object. It’s quite an interest you’ve taken in the plants, miss. Made some very pretty bouquets, too. The whole household is enjoying them. Now, let me find you some trugs to hold the flowers.’

After thanking the housekeeper and fetching a cloak, gloves and pattens to keep her hem and shoes dry, Honoria set out. She had a pleasant walk down the lane past the stables, its sheltered roadbed winding between lichen-covered stone walls, but upon reaching the lower meadow where an occasionally overflowing brook left the ground soggy, found no primroses. Heading back, she decided to ask Aunt Foxe if she might borrow her mare and pay a visit to St Christopher’s.

Excitement fluttered in her chest at the realization that she could go there without fear of unpleasantness. Although she loved the cliff walk, she had confined her explorations to that solitary trail mainly because there was little chance of encountering anyone.

But as far as this community knew, she was not the disgraced Lady Honoria Carlow, but simply Miss Marie Foxe, kinswoman to a well-respected local gentlewoman. She might walk where others gathered, encounter villagers or fishermen, or converse with the vicar or the shopkeepers, safe from the dread of discovery and embarrassment.

After a month of living burdened by the weight of scandal and disapprobation, a giddy sense of freedom made her spirits soar. Laughing, she ran in circles about the meadow, whooping with the sheer joy of being alive and startling a peregrine falcon into taking flight in a reproachful flurry of wings.

Of course, she couldn’t remain here hiding under a false name forever. But that harmless bit of subterfuge would provide a welcome respite, allowing her to move about freely while she figured out what to do next.

Even if ‘next’ was returning to Stanegate, being pressed to marry some obscure connection in the farthest hinterlands who could be induced to take a woman of large dowry and stained reputation, or living quietly on her own somewhere, forever banished from Society.

She shrugged off those dreary possibilities to be dealt with later. For now, it was enough just to anticipate the simple pleasure of a ride into town and the paying of an uncomplicated call upon the vicar.

Her buoyant sense of optimism persisted as she returned to the manor to seek out her aunt, whom she found bent over a book in her sitting room. ‘Aunt Foxe, might I borrow your mare? I’ve so enjoyed the primroses Eva Steavens gave me yesterday, I thought to go ask the vicar if I might transplant some from a patch Mrs Dawes tells me grows by St Christopher’s.’

‘Of course, my dear. The ride would do both you and Mischief good. I’m so glad to see your spirits reviving! While in the village, you should shop for some trifles and stop for a glass of Mrs Kessel’s cider. It’s not right for a lovely, lively young girl to live in a hermit’s isolation.’

Her aunt’s words made Honoria wonder again why Miss Foxe—and at an age not much older than her own—had chosen to live in just such isolation. However, the inquiry still seemed too invasive of her aunt’s privacy to pose at present.

‘“Miss Marie Foxe” need not fear visiting the village,’ she said instead. ‘Thank you for allowing me that little deception.’

Her aunt nodded. ‘Your name will still be yours, once you’ve decided how and where you wish to resume it.’

‘May I ride into village immediately?’ A sudden thought struck her and she frowned. ‘Although I suppose I shall have to wait until later. The footmen are all occupied, and Tamsyn has not yet finished her duties.’

‘Even Lady Honoria need not worry about riding unescorted here,’ her aunt said. ‘Especially not on my mare, which is everywhere recognized. I wouldn’t advise that you ride alone after dark, or even in daylight past the kiddley winks—the local beer halls—down by the harbour, where the miners congregate. ’Tis a hard life, and many seek to soften its edges with drink. Men whose wits—or morals—are dulled by spirits are unpredictable and possibly dangerous.’

‘I shall go at once, then, and take care to avoid the harbour.’

‘Could you discharge some small commissions for me? I’ve an order to deliver to the draper and several letters waiting at the post.’

‘Of course, Aunt Foxe.’

‘Enjoy your ride, then, dear. I will see you at dinner.’

Honoria set off a short time later in high good spirits. Her aunt’s equally spirited mare, once given her head, seemed as delighted as Honoria to begin with a good gallop. Urging the animal on, revelling in the sweet, sun-scented air rushing past her, Honoria savoured the simple joy of being young and outside on a glorious early summer day as if she’d never experienced it before.

Perhaps, in a way, she hadn’t. Until a month ago, a carefree canter through the countryside had been so ordinary an event she would never have thought to take note of it. How short-sighted she had been to prize it so little!

She slowed the mare to a trot along the route the carriage had followed yesterday, her anticipation heightening as she approached the village. Though she tried to tell herself she was only mildly curious about him, she found herself hoping that during her time in Sennlack, she would encounter one charming Irish free-trader.