Page 40 of The Smuggler & the Society Bride

The Indian shrugged. ‘The Sahib may try to have a look. And I will stop him.’ He moved one hand to the hilt of his dagger.

The butler appeared well-conditioned, light on his feet and looked as if he knew how to use that dagger. All the irritation, impatience, fury and despair churning in Gabe’s gut fired him to enthusiasm at the prospect of a good fight. The blood lust roaring through his veins, his fists tingling, he could almost taste the satisfaction of letting fly.

But his cause wouldn’t be advanced by having the constable called on him for brawling at a gentleman’s home, nor would it recommend him to Miss Foxe’s—he really must stop thinking of her as Miss Foxe—distinguished family, if he ever met them, which didn’t appear likely.

Regretfully, he made himself step back. ‘When do you expect your master to return?’ he bit out, irritated further at having to deny himself a good, satisfying row.

‘I do not know, Sahib,’ the hulk responded.

‘You must have some indication,’ Gabe responded angrily. ‘Later today? Tomorrow? Not until next week?’

Totally impassive in the face of Gabe’s anger, the turbaned man simply shook his head. ‘I do not know, Sahib,’ he repeated.

‘Or more likely, you will not say,’ Gabe muttered. It would be useless to leave a message; if he wished to confront the Gypsy, he would have to return and try to catch him later.

‘Very well,’ he told the man. ‘But I will be back.’

The Indian gave him a glimmer of a smile. ‘You would be a worthy opponent, I think, Sahib. Perhaps another time?’

‘Perhaps,’ Gabe said, amused despite himself, and he turned to walk away.

He’d accomplished a great deal today: discovering that the woman who fascinated him was far above his station, that her ruin might have been engineered by the half-Gypsy bastard of a long-dead English lord, and that a dagger-wielding Indian servant considered him a suitable opponent.

But despite all his anger, impatience and urgency, he was not going to be able to solve today the mystery of Lady Honoria’s disgrace.

Chapter Eighteen

A week later, Honoria set out in the morning for Father Gryffd’s school. She ought to be excited and hopeful, and truly she was, for Eva was making great progress with her pastels and Honoria was finding working with the girls to be quite satisfying.

Who could have imagined such a thing? she asked herself wryly. The impatient Lady Honoria, who’d been barely able to tolerate a two-hour session with her governess, spending her mornings as school mistress to a handful of village girls. If any of her London acquaintances heard of it, they’d dismiss the account as sheer fabrication.

Still, a restless dissatisfaction and a deep yearning she couldn’t seem to conquer kept crowding in on her determined cheerfulness. A restlesness and yearning that was directly connected to the absence of one Captain Gabriel Hawksworth.

Though she knew after their discussion at the cove that he intended to do some investigating, she’d been surprised and dismayed to discover he’d left Cornwall without a word of goodbye. She’d been even more dismayed—and just a tad jealous—when Aunt Foxe revealed that he had, however, called upon her before his departure.

Her aunt had quickly reassured her that she had not divulged Honoria’s identity, even after the captain stated that he meant to go to London. Her real name, Aunt Foxe asserted, was a fact that her niece probably should have revealed to the captain at the same time she trusted him with the other details about her circumstances. Since she had chosen not to, Aunt Foxe had not felt it her place to enlighten him.

However, as he sought information about the old family scandal, she had referred him to her friend Lady Alicia. By now, most likely he had learned everything there was to know about those events—and been given Honoria’s real name.

Aunt Foxe had added that she would not be at all surprised if the young man were angry and perhaps hurt, injured by Honoria’s failure to trust him with that final bit of information. For she was certain the captain had a decided tendre for Honoria.

Did he? Honoria wondered for perhaps the thousandth time as she urged the mare to a canter down the road toward Sennlack. And if he did, would that warmth of feeling survive discovering she had been less than honest with him about her status?

Her uncertainty over that answer added another layer to the growing sense of impatience and anxiety she was trying to suppress. She kept thinking back to that moment in the cove when, after revealing everything else about that most shameful episode of her life, she’d teetered on the brink of giving her name as well.

But a caution forged of painful experience had restrained her. Would time show that to have been a dreadful mistake? If she’d known he’d be leaving immediately for London, would she have had the courage to confess her deception?

Far more important to her now than solving the mystery of her ruin was retaining the good opinion of the man who had held her so tenderly and kissed her with such fierce passion in the crystalline cove beneath the stone church.

She’d had more than a week to ponder the nature of her feelings for the captain and realize how very unique and powerful they were. Never had she felt so strong a connection to any other man.

Never longed for his company. Never sat dreamily recalling an expression, a word, a smile. Never woke in the night with the memory of his mouth on hers making her whole body tingle with awareness and need.

Never wanted to put into practice the instructions she’d been clandestinely reading in books slipped out of Aunt Foxe’s library.

Though even as recalling those suggestions set desire coiling in her belly, a troubling doubt hovered at the back of her mind. If she ever had the opportunity—and could summon the boldness—to touch him in the manner those books suggested, would the fear and distress burned into her soul by Lord Barwick’s attack recur and strike her unawares, as it had the first time she’d kissed him? Make her shrink away from him again, embarrassing, disappointing and frustrating them both?

Well, she concluded testily as the vicarage appeared in the distance, at this rate she’d probably not need to worry about that. The captain must not be missing her as keenly as she was missing him, for he’d already been gone nearly two weeks, ample time to have posted to London and back, and there was still no word of his return.

In fact, Tamsyn had confided to her this morning that the Flying Gull had left her moorings over three days ago. Which meant the captain must have quit London to meet his ship at some other port. To make another smuggling run? she wondered, anxiety of a different sort filtering through her pique.

Tamsyn had brushed aside her inquiry about what might happen if his ship were captured, saying there weren’t no way the Hawk could ever be taken by sea, such a fearsome good sailor he was. However, Honoria’s experiences having taught her even the powerful could be brought low, she couldn’t share the maid’s blithe optimism.

Oh, enough! she told herself as she rode into the stable yard at the vicarage. After putting off the expedition in order to wait upon the captain’s return, she’d decided to take Eva to Captain Hawksworth’s cove to sketch today. Hopefully the fresh sea air and the beauty of the spot would inspire not only Eva’s drawing, but she herself to a more positive frame of mind.

Though how that could be possible, when every colour and wave, boulder and crag would remind her of the intimacy they’d shared and the kiss that had rocked her to her soul, she wasn’t sure.

A kiss that, given his long absence, obviously hadn’t had had the same world-shaking effect upon the captain.

With a sigh, she dismounted, handed the reins to the waiting servant and paced to the classroom.

She checked on the threshold, for the room was deserted. Surprised and a bit alarmed, she proceeded on to the vicarage, where the housekeeper answered her rap.

‘Good morning, Mrs Wells,’ she began. ‘Did I forget today was to be a holiday?’

‘Oh, miss, you ain’t heard the news? Let me call the Father, then, afore he sets out!’

Even more alarmed now, Honoria paced the parlour while the housekeeper fetched the vicar. He hurried in a few moments later, an anxious expression on his kind face.

‘What’s amiss?’ she cried. ‘Has something happened to the children?’

‘No. One of the miners rode down from the coast to say he saw free-traders transporting a cargo this morning in broad daylight! I thought after the last time, when there was that altercation with the new revenue agent, the local entrepreneurs had agreed ’twas too dangerous to do so during the day, but certain of them must have decided to proceed anyway. I’m very much afraid the riding officers may have caught wind of it and there might be a confrontation.’

He looked at Honoria apologetically. ‘So many of the families, men and women, are involved in carrying the cargo off the beach that the girls stayed home this morning.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Although that doesn’t explain why Eva has not come. Perhaps she heard of the excitement and wanted to go watch.’

‘Might that not be dangerous?’ Honoria asked. ‘Especially if the riding officers do turn up?’

‘Dangerous indeed,’ the vicar replied. ‘That’s why I intend to ride out. If it appears there might be bloodshed, perhaps I can try to prevent it.’

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