Page 50 of The Smuggler & the Society Bride

The season’s surge into summer only emphasized her stationary position, frozen in time between who she had been and who she might become. As the days dragged on, frustration was increasingly tinged with fear and a touch of despair.

She tried to tell herself it was only natural that it would take time for the captain to run down the Gypsy and wrench out of him the truth about that dreadful night. Then he would return and tell her what he’d learned.

Whether he felt more for her than a friendship compounded with lust, he would return, at least long enough for that.

While she waited, she was discovering that seizing what you want is not always wise. She’d been drawn to Gabriel Hawksworth already, but having tasted his body, experienced with him the indescribable pleasure and intensity of union  , she couldn’t see ever giving herself to any other man.

Even if he managed to redeem her reputation, making her Lady Honoria of the large dowry and important family connections once again. Even if her brother were horrified at the notion of her misalliance with a free-trader. She’d rather remain here, living in a cottage, tending vegetables in her garden, waiting for him to return from the sea, than marry some titled lord and live in ease without the man who had now left his mark upon her body as well as her soul.

She only wished she knew how the captain felt. Surely he didn’t now see her as a wanton, a loose woman to be enjoyed and then left behind?

Her trug full of dried pansies and wilted weeds, she got to her feet. Anxious as she was, would she really prefer to have behaved with the circumspection of a Verity, restraining her passion and waiting until her brother awarded the captain her hand, something Marcus was very unlikely to do? Prefer to have never experienced the joy and ecstasy Gabriel had given her on the mossy ledge beneath his Irish cliffs?

No, she rallied herself. Despite the passage of nearly a month, she would not be so weak-spirited as to doubt the strength and purity of what she felt for him. Of what she was nearly certain he felt for her.

She would just continue to wait, trusting in his affection, confident of his return.

She sighed. Patience had never been one of her strong suits.

Then a thought occurred that sent excitement licking through her veins. If the long delay meant he was finding it difficult to find the Gypsy and impossible to prove their suspicions, retrieving her position might be impossible. And that could be a blessing.

Gentleman of character that he was, he might possess some foolish but noble scruples that said a union   between himself and Lady Honoria would diminish her. But there would be no impediment to a union   between him and a mere Miss Foxe.

And if he were still uncertain, teetering on the brink of deciding whether to claim her or continue his solitary bachelor ways…she’d found the role of siren most satisfying. Since she was a fallen woman in truth now, she might as well make the most of it. Rather than waiting on the gentleman, she could make the first move.

She recalled the heady sense of literally having him in her hands, at her mercy, trembling and needy before her. She smiled, letting her mind recall in loving detail every glorious, wonderful moment of seduction and surrender. If keeping him at passion’s edge would keep him near her, with or without marriage lines, would that be enough?

Sighing again, she continued on toward the manor. She must put on a good front for her aunt—though from the sympathetic looks and attempts to engage her in cheerful debate, and the appearance at meals of all her favourite dishes, she suspected Aunt Foxe knew exactly what had recently transpired.

Oh, would he never return? she thought, kicking an unoffending pebble out of her path.

As she exited the walled kitchen garden, Myghal, her aunt’s old gardener, shuffled toward her and doffed his cap. ‘Beggin’ pardon, miss, but there be a gentleman to see you.’

Her heart flew straight to her throat. ‘Captain Hawksworth?’ she demanded.

‘Dinna say, miss,’ the man replied. ‘He’s awaiting you in the south parlour, Dawes told me.’

Gabe! It must be Gabe. Joy and anticipation streaked through her, launching her spirits skyward like the spray from storm-swollen breakers colliding against the cliffs. And goodness, here she was in her oldest gown, dirt smudging her cheek and under her nails, her hair thrown up carelessly under an ancient chip-straw hat, looking like a milkmaid after an overlong encounter with her herd!

Before going to the south parlour, Verity would have washed her face and hands, tidied her hair and had Tamsyn lace her into her prettiest dress.

Honoria picked up her pace, ran up the entry stairs and headed straight for the south parlour.

She did pause by the hall mirror long enough to brush a dirt mark off her cheek. One glance was enough to conclude her hair was a hopeless tangle and nothing short of a stiff scrub brush could do anything about her nails. Her heart thudding against her ribs with delight and sudden shyness, she hurried to the door of the south parlour, threw it open and rushed in.

Her joyous words of welcome died in her throat. ‘Marc!’ she cried. ‘What are you doing here? Is Papa all right?’

‘That’s hardly the warm welcome I was hoping for after journeying all the way from London,’ her brother said, walking over to give her a hug. ‘All the family is fine. Are you?’

For a moment, she leaned into his embrace before stepping back. ‘You’d best keep your distance!’ she replied, ignoring his query. ‘You’ve caught me just in from the garden. I thought you were someone else, or I would have delayed meeting you until I made myself more presentable.’ With a bitter edge to her smile, she added, ‘So here I am, looking the hoyden as usual, I suppose you’d say.’

Marc sighed and shook his head. ‘I see you didn’t read any of my letters.’

Honoria thought of them, lying still unopened in her chamber. ‘No,’ she admitted.

‘If you had, you might have been happier to see me, for I apologized over and over. But since my sister declined to communicate with me, I realized if wanted to be reconciled with her, I’d have to come to Cornwall. So here I am. Will you forgive me, Honoria?’

Her heart squeezing on a tremor of pain and remorse, she realized all she really wanted was to have him say those words.

‘Of course I forgive you.’

‘Honoria, I’m sorry I doubted your word. I regret that I let you go away, still thinking me angry at you, still believing I’d abandoned you and your future. I’m sorry I lost my temper and wounded someone who’s been dear to me since the day she first opened her lovely eyes that, even then, looked on the world with passionate curiosity and determination.’

Honoria felt those eyes brim with tears. It meant more than she could put into words to learn that she had not, as she’d believed, forfeited her brother’s respect. ‘When did you decide I was not dissembling?’

‘Almost immediately. I intended to apologize at once, and had Papa not charged me with an urgent errand at the Home Office, would have done so first thing the next morning. By the time I returned, you had already left London. Once you were gone, there seemed no reason to recall you while I set investigations in motion. I questioned Lord Barwick that same evening, finding him much in his cups—doubtless worried I was going to put a bullet in him.’

Honoria shrugged. ‘Like me, he was only a tool.’

‘Tools have we all been,’ Marcus said soberly, ‘suffering retribution for crimes we never committed.’

Then his expression lightened and he laughed. ‘Speaking of retribution, your Captain Hawksworth came to see me. Gave me quite a bear-garden brawl for the way I’d treated you! He was so offensive, I would have challenged him to fisticuffs, if he had not been correct in almost all his accusations.’

‘Almost all?’

‘He seemed to think I’d done nothing about your situation, which is not at all the case! It would probably still be better for you not to return to London yet, at least not until Verity is settled. But even if you were at fault—’ he held up a hand ‘—and I don’t believe you were, you are a Carlow. London is your world and your right.’

Though warmed by her brother’s support, Honoria shook her head. ‘Not any longer. I should remain out of Society so as not to compromise Verity’s chances any more than I already have.’

‘She charged me to carry a letter to you, by the way,’ Marc said, pulling a folded missive from his waistcoat pocket. ‘She misses you, as I do. We want you to return, as soon as it is safe for you.’

She blinked, confused. ‘Safe for me?’

‘Yes. We need enough new on dits to occupy Society that the scandal sheets don’t go after you upon your return. Then, Mama will have Lady Jersey and some of her other friends quietly reintroduce…’

His words trailed off as she shook her head. ‘No, Marc, I don’t want to go back. I’m not the same girl I was last spring. Better, I hope. I want something different now.’

Marc frowned at her. ‘What?’

She looked away. More prudent not to tell him what he probably wouldn’t want to hear until she knew for sure what she meant to do—and that she wouldn’t know until she saw Gabe again. ‘I can’t speak of it yet.’

---