Page 13 of The Smuggler & the Society Bride

She raised her eyebrows sceptically, but Gabe meant the compliment. He’d had enough dealings with the Quality, in Ireland and in the Army, to know many of them—men like his brother and the high-born witch he’d married—wouldn’t have hesitated a second in refusing Mrs Kessel’s offer in order to snub the man offering it. The idea of refraining out of consideration for the feelings of a lowly innkeeper would never even have occurred to Sir Nigel or Lady Hawksworth.

The sensitivity she’d just shown, along with her unusual daring in going to the rescue of the foundering sailor, her daze-inducing smile—and her obvious desire to keep him at a distance—only sharpened his interest.

Receiving honest praise rather than extravagant gallantry threw her off-stride as well, he noted. A slight blush coloured her cheeks when she realized he was sincere, and she said finally, ‘Thank you. I should hope I would never wound someone merely for my personal convenience.’

‘Which makes you kind as well as lovely—a rather exceptional combination, Miss Foxe. As exceptional as your swimming ability. How did you acquire the skill? That is, I’m assuming you swim, or you’d not have dared venture so far from shore, even in the cove. There’s a fierce undertow.’

Wanting to encourage the sort of frank speech she’d just given him—perhaps the first uncalculated comment she’d made to him today—Gabe was careful this time to avoid needling her by making a reference to her state of undress at the time, though he pictured it lovingly as he waited for her to reply.

Miss Foxe fiddled with her mug, as if uncertain whether to snatch back her mantle of haughty reserve or simply give an honest response. Finally, with a small, wary smile, she said, ‘I swim well enough. And I didn’t know about the undertow.’

Miss Foxe was unquestionably one of loveliest ladies Gabe had ever seen, and he’d seen some dark-eyed charmers in Spain and Portugal. In England and Ireland, he’d witnessed many a beauty toss her perfectly coifed head, flash her luminous eyes and utter icy snubs—or come-hither comments—depending upon the social position of the gentleman addressing her. As, until now, Miss Foxe had been doing with him.

Perhaps that was why her tentative, almost shy smile struck him harder than the dazzling sunshine of her fully curved lips. Like a whaler’s lance, that hint of vulnerability in so otherwise confident a lady penetrated his massive outer defences, cutting through the teasing barrier he’d donned to amuse himself and bedevil her, to strike him right in the heart.

For a moment he felt dizzy, his world knocked off-kilter, as if the Gull had been swamped by a rogue wave striking from out of a black night. His protective instincts began sounding like the drum beating sailors to battle, but heart-stirred and shaken, he ignored them.

‘Would you have gone in anyway?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. I thought he was drowning. It seems strange to me that so few sailors learn to swim. Perhaps their clothing would pull them under in any event, were they to fall from the rigging? But it seems for those who pursue a life on the sea, swimming is not a simple pleasure.’

‘Is it that for you?’

‘It was. My older brother taught me—I used to trail after him when we were growing up, wishing I’d been born a boy who could share in all his adventures. Taking pity on me, he let me join in some of them. On a hot summer day, a dip in the pond was most refreshing.’

‘I imagine your mama didn’t think so.’

She laughed, and Gabe almost fell out of his seat at the electrifying flash of joy that sound radiated. He wanted to hug her and tickle her and make her laugh all day long so he could revel in the sound.

‘She did not, indeed! After sneaking off, I’d invariably return with telltale mud on my stockings or a bit of weed stuck in my hair, earning me a severe scold from Mama or my governess. But you swim much better than I. You must enjoy it as well. It seems an unusual talent for an Army man. Tamsyn tells me you were an officer in the Army with her brother, Dickin.’

Ah, so she had been asking about him! Gabe couldn’t help the gratification that swelled his chest. ‘I was raised on the southern Irish coast and have been piloting small and large boats—and swimming—since I can remember. I love the majesty of the sea, the freedom of its vast expanses, with nothing around for miles but your ship and the elements.’

‘And danger.’

He looked up sharply. Was he that easy to read? ‘Yes, danger, too.’

‘Yet you joined the Army?’

He shrugged. ‘Having never been amenable to letting someone else command my vessel, I suppose I doubted I’d last long enough without being either flogged to death or discharged for insubordination to rise to the position of captain.’

‘So you’re more a pirate than mariner?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I may ignore the customs regulations, but I got my fill of seeing slaughter in the Army. The sea takes enough men; though you may not believe this, I do whatever I can to avoid a confrontation. I’ll not risk the safety of my crew—nor do I hold with inflicting injury upon the revenuers, if I can possibly avoid it—simply to land a cargo for profit.’

She stared at him, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. Finally, she nodded. ‘I suppose so, else you’d not have troubled to save that revenue agent. Despite those scruples, you’ve certainly won yourself a dashing reputation. One can hardly go anywhere hereabouts without hearing tales of your skill and daring.’

His gratification diminished a bit. Maybe she hadn’t specifically inquired about him; maybe she’d just been inundated with the sort of inflated tales that run rampant in a small town without a lot of news to occupy the gossips. ‘It’s good to be well thought of, I suppose.’

She chuckled. ‘Then you must be feeling well indeed, for you’ve quite a bevy of admirers—all seeming as ardent as the young lady who brought you your ale. Tamsyn said you came here to help her brother? I imagine the, ah, augmented income you’ve been able to earn must help those back at home, too.’

Gabe had a sudden vision of his brother’s perpetually disapproving face. ‘Not really. I don’t expect the proper home folk would be too happy if they knew what sort of business brought me here. In fact, it would likely create a scandal that would find me banished from the family forever!’

She’d been smiling at his merry tone, but at that last remark, the humour vanished from her expression as abruptly as if he’d tossed the rest of his ale into her face.

‘Thank you for conversation, Captain. Now, I must finish some commissions for my aunt. Good day.’

Before he could even rise to his feet, she sprang up in a soft swish of skirts and half ran out of the room.

Gabe stared after her, bemused. One moment it seemed he’d coaxed her into being more open and genuine than he’d ever seen her; the next, she’d bolted from the inn. Sipping his ale, he reviewed the last bits of their conversation.

It didn’t take long to pinpoint the turning point. His sister, now safely married to a baronet outside Cork, might accuse him of possessing the sensibility of a rock, but even he had noticed that ’twas after his mention of scandal—of being cast out by one’s family—that Miss Foxe took flight.

Suddenly her presence in Sennlack began to make more sense. He was already convinced that no one who knew her could have believed she’d be a success as companion to an elderly relative. Appearing hastily in the middle of the Season, with what Tamsyn said had been no warning—no bedchamber ordered to be prepared for her use, nor an extra maid hired—he could see no logical explanation but that there had been some sudden, catastrophic reversal of her family’s fortunes. Or a scandal.

One by one, Gabe considered the alternatives. Had her father lost all his money on the ’change, and shot himself, she might react with sensitivity to the idea of a scandal. But the remark that had turned her face pale and made her white about the lips had been his comment about being cast out of the family.

Which seemed to indicate some personal, rather than familial, scandal.

For a beautiful young lady like Miss Foxe, that could mean only one thing: involvement with some rogue and a loss of her virtue.

Might she have been sent here to rusticate after playing fast and loose with her reputation? Cornwall was certainly an ideal place to banish a young lady who had not been as prudent as she should. Gabe himself would never countenance the seduction of an innocent, be she kitchen maid or titled lady, but recalling Miss Foxe’s golden hair, rounded bosom, lush lips and satiny skin, he had to feel a certain sympathy for any man who might have been wooing her. With such a prize, intoxicated by her spirit and beauty, a man might forget himself and get carried beyond the bounds of propriety.

The real question was—had she forgotten herself?

His much-treasured vision of her at the beach surfaced in his mind again: body outlined by her soggy clothing, the transparent linen leading the eye from her bare, foam-kissed toes up her long, long legs to a rounded swell of belly above a sweet dewy triangle feathered with gold. He could just imagine those legs wrapped around him as he drove into those golden depths.

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