Page 35 of The Smuggler & the Society Bride

And after all their discussion, the only clue she had produced to find the perpetrator of that scheme was a Gypsy gem trader who probably couldn’t be traced. Her initial excitement fading, she admitted, ‘I have a hard enough time giving it credence myself, and I know absolutely it is true.’

He nodded, smiling wryly. ‘Sometimes the truth is incredible.’

Was he speaking of her or himself? she wondered. ‘In any event, I don’t fault Marc for sending me away. He was justified in being ashamed of my conduct and in chastising me for the damage it could do my sister’s prospects.’

His arresting blue-eyed gaze holding her own prevented her from dropping her eyes. As the embarrassment of having admitted her shortcomings reddened her cheeks, the captain shook his head.

‘Heedless in your behaviour or not, your brother should have trusted more in your honour.’

His confidence in that honour touched her deeply. Blinking back a sudden burn of tears, she said, ‘I was not unwilling to leave London, if doing so quickly would help contain the damage. My sister is so earnest and proper, she often drove me to distraction, but she is also loyal and sincere. I recognize now that I never valued her as I ought.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps one must lose something before one appreciates what one had.’

‘Like place and privilege?’ the captain said, an odd faraway look in his eye.

‘If you only knew how little I value those! But one’s honour, one’s secure, familiar place in the world, things one has taken for granted all one’s life…You cannot imagine beforehand what a blow their loss will be.’

He looked struck by that comment, as if realizing for the first time its simple truth. Giving his head a little shake as if to clear it, he said, ‘I suppose you will not tell me the name of the rake?’

‘I will not. Despite my earlier words, what good would it serve to try to punish him? Not that his behaviour was any less offensive, but in this scheme he was just as much a pawn as I was.’

‘Except he got away unscathed.’

‘Such is the way of the world,’ she replied with a shrug, too conscious of that truth to feel more than a brief flare of resentment. ‘The lecher escapes, for to prosecute him would only further publicize the scandal, without bringing to light the one who is truly guilty.’

‘I suppose,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Though a hard-fought match with a foil would do a great deal to relieve one’s frustration with that truth.’

She smiled. ‘If this mystery is ever solved, I might claim that prior right you mentioned and avail myself of one.’

She lifted her face to see his sombre gaze still on her. And then, as if by her confessions she’d peeled away the ragged, frayed edges of her anguish just as she’d stepped out of her ruined gown that infamous night, the sharpness of her sadness and despair eased. Rising above the diminishing distress, she felt the renewed physical pull of his nearness—and a new, fragile sense of trust.

Here was a man who had listened to her most shameful revelations and not turned away. A man who appeared to believe in her more completely and resent the wrongs done to her more ferociously than any of her blood kin, save her aunt.

A man who had held her as implacably as Lord Barwick in the garden—and desired her no less, but who had released her from an embrace she had invited without a word of reproach. Who had offered comfort, holding her close, his embrace gentle and devoid of any hint that he might try to take advantage of her distress and proximity.

As she gazed up at him, his face once again so near hers, desire coiled in her belly. This time, however, trust and a sense of gratitude augmented the affection she already felt for this man, intensifying the sensual tension between them with a complex emotional layer.

Suddenly she wanted to kiss him again. Not just to savour the feel of his lips on hers, though most assuredly she wanted that, but even more to prove to herself and to him that she could give herself into his arms without fear.

‘Thank you for believing in me,’ she said softly.

Lost in the mesmerizing sparkle of those blue, blue eyes, at the last moment, she leaned up until her mouth met his.

Chapter Sixteen

Though all his instincts assured him of the truth of it, at first Gabe couldn’t quite believe, after the distress she’d so recently suffered, that Miss Foxe would once again offer the kiss he’d been burning to give her. Even after the first soft contact with her lips sent a glorious explosion of sensation racing to his every nerve, it required an instant for his jangled brain to conclude that what he was experiencing was real and not just a vivid fantasy.

In the last bits of lucidity before his brain switched off and he gave himself up to pleasure, a profound sense of awe and gratitude suffused him at the trust she displayed, a tribute to his honour more profound than any he’d ever before received.

This time, he would not betray that trust. He would handle her with so light and undemanding a touch that the nightmare of struggling to escape another man’s unyielding grip would remain buried in the past. He’d make new memories to replace the old, memories of such purity and tenderness that she neither could nor would ever wish to forget them—or the man who created them.

So, though she’d initiated this embrace, this time he held himself rigidly still, hardly daring to breathe, locking his fingers together behind his back to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer. Robbed of the feel of her against him, he concentrated all his passion and artistry instead on that single point of contact: his lips against hers.

He brushed them softly, nuzzled their fullness, alternating between a feather-light slide and a warmer, deeper pressure. Delight as well as desire expanded in his chest, set his heartbeat roaring in his ears. But though he was as achingly hard as he had ever been, he found himself strangely content with this limited, leisurely exploration, able to hold the ravening need for fulfilment under control with unexpected ease.

Dimly, he noted her breathing coming more quickly, saw that luscious bosom rising and falling so temptingly close to his chest. Encouraged by her response, he allowed himself to open his mouth and apply a wetter brush against her lips, then used his tongue to trace their outline from one dimpled corner to the other.

Though his arms shook with tension in their locked position, he told himself he could go on kissing her forever, taking no more than she was willing to offer, the poignant sweetness of her response enough in itself, though he knew he would not be able to fully slake today the desire she enflamed.

Then she moaned and opened her mouth to him.

He groaned as well, almost overwhelmed by the need to plunge his tongue inside and plumb that velvet softness. Sweat breaking out on his forehead, he probed just a little deeper. Just to give her a taste and a promise of how much more there could be.

Gradually he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth and enticing her with light, teasing touches of his tongue. To his delight, she joined in, pursuing his tongue with her own, engaging it in a delectable series of thrusts and parries that pushed him almost to the brink, though still they touched only with their lips.

Until she leaned close and wrapped her arms around his neck. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he brought his own arms around to cradle her against him. Though his heart was thumping against his ribs with the force of the waves slamming his ship’s hull in a gale, he made himself keep each movement slow and gentle.

Then, with a breathless sigh, she fitted herself against him, and he knew he must move away or be lost. His body screaming in protest, trembling all over, he forced himself to step back.

To his gratification and delight, she looked as confused and bereft as he by his retreat, her eyes glazed and uncertain, her mouth lush and red from his kisses. It took all the will he possessed not to succumb to his body’s demand that he resume kissing her—and this time, take her all the way to completion.

Instead, his breathing ragged, he leaned over to nuzzle the tip of her nose. ‘Now ’tis my turn to thank you,’ he said, his voice as unsteady as his breathing.

‘I think that thanks should be mutual,’ she replied in a shaken voice.

‘You cannot begin to imagine how much I’d like to persuade you to remain here with me, but you should get home before your aunt begins to worry.’

‘I suppose I must,’ she said on a sigh, looking gratifyingly regretful. ‘Thank you again for being so kind—and so prudent.’ She laughed. ‘As you’ve just learned, prudence has not previously been a virtue of mine.’

‘Nor of mine. Perhaps we can improve each other.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

He offered his arm. ‘Shall we get started, then?’

Still bound in the intensity of the moment, they climbed back up the path to the stone church in companionable silence—if one could term companionable a state in which every instinct screamed at him to halt, pull her back into his arms and resume where they’d left off. But for now, restraint was preferable, until such time as Miss Foxe herself indicated she was ready to lead them further.

Reaching the tethered horses, he helped her up. Ah, how he savoured the zing that raced through him when his hands clasped her waist, lifting her slight weight!

‘You intend to investigate?’ she asked as she wheeled her horse toward Foxeden.

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