The Smuggler and the Society Bride (6 page)

A
fter spending the morning supervising the crew repairing rigging on the
Flying Gull,
Gabe walked into the inn to find the very woman whose voice and image had been teasing his thoughts.

She'd been playing an active part in some very lusty dreams, too, he thought with a sigh, but he'd do better to suppress those memories, particularly if he wanted to beguile her into speaking with him. Since he had nothing better to do the rest of the afternoon than read the week-old London papers, attempting to charm this luscious and resistant lady would be a welcome diversion.

Obviously not aware that he resided in one of the inn's bedchambers, as he addressed her, she gasped in surprise. He had to give her credit, though, for she quickly recovered her countenance and assumed the faintly haughty air she'd employed in the churchyard.

He barely suppressed a grin. Her reaction was like the dropping of a handkerchief at the start of a race: he couldn't wait to charge forward.

‘Mr Hawksworth,' she replied with a regal nod. ‘Aren't you supposed to be off somewhere robbing someone?'

‘Nay, lass, 'tis full daylight. I endeavour to constrain my nefarious activities until after dark,' he replied.

She stiffened when he called her ‘lass,' and he could almost see her rapidly reviewing phrases to find one biting enough to put him in his place. She looked so intent—and so indignant, he was hard put not to laugh.

He hadn't encountered a chick with feathers this easy to ruffle since leaving his brother's home.

Before she could unfurl her blighting phrase of choice, he continued, ‘Mrs Kessel brews a superior cider. Won't you share one with me before you leave? It would be entirely proper, I assure you.' He gestured around the room. ‘We have the whole inn to act as chaperones.'

‘There is such comfort in numbers,' she replied, irony in her tone as she nodded toward the currently deserted tap room.

To his disappointment, their tête-à-tête ended practically before it began as Sadie rushed in. ‘Mr Hawksworth, sir, what can I do for you? Some ale? The missus be cooking a fine roast. If you've a mind for a bite, I'll see if I can persuade her to fix you a plate now.'

Gabe suspected the persistent tavern maid had been lolling about the corridor, watching for him as she'd developed an irritating tendency to do—and was not at all interested in assisting the inn's other customer. ‘Just a mug of your finest, Sadie. And a bit more cider for the lady.'

The distinctly unfriendly look Sadie cast at Miss Foxe confirmed Gabe's suspicion. ‘Think she was about leaving, weren't you, miss?'

‘Nay, no one could resist a wee bit more of Mrs Kessel's excellent brew. Why, 'twould be near an unforgiveable insult to that good lady's skill, and I'm certain you wouldn't wish to insult the innkeeper's wife, would you, Miss Foxe?'

The girl's expression said she was about to do just that when the lady herself walked in. ‘Welcome, Mr Gabe, and you, too, miss! How go things with the
Gull
?'

‘Tolerable, ma'am. She'll be ready to hoist sail by nightfall, should it be needful.'

Mrs Kessel nodded. ‘Dickin said his ship'd be ready any day now and he just awaiting word. What can I get you?'

‘Some ale, please. Mrs Kessel, have you met Miss Marie Foxe, Miss Foxe's niece?'

‘Why, no! Excuse me, miss, I had no idea—' Breaking off hastily, the innkeeper's wife dipped her a curtsy, clearly distressed at having perhaps given offence to the relation of such an important area resident. ‘A pleasure to welcome you! Your aunt's always been good enough to honour us with her custom.'

‘I've just been telling her she needs another mug of your cider, which is the best on the coast. Did you not find it so, Miss Foxe?' Gabe looked at her, grinning.

‘It is excellent, ma'am,' she allowed, darting him a dagger glance.

‘Why, thank ye kindly, miss. Sadie,' Mrs Kessel called to the girl lounging near the bar, a sullen look on her face. ‘Another cider for Miss Foxe, and be quick about it!'

There was no way now she could politely refuse, a fact of which she was well aware. Gabe watched her almost grind her teeth in frustration before her expression cleared and she gave the innkeeper's wife a smile, so unexpected that its warmth and brilliance dazzled him.

‘Thank you, ma'am. I should enjoy one very much.'

Still bedazzled, he scarcely heard her reply, his brain unable to progress beyond thinking that he'd never seen her truly smile before and that, when she smiled like that, half the gentlemen on the Cornish coast would fight each other for the honour of throwing themselves at her feet.

How had she ever escaped London unwed?

Along with his realization of the feet-worshipping power of that smile came a wholly unexpected flash of emotion that felt uncomfortably like jealousy. Quite understandable, he told himself: he had seen the goddess first, and it was only natural to dislike the notion of other acolytes trying to join the procession.

Fortunately, he reflected, after mentally ticking off the possibilities, only a handful of gentlemen resided in the area, half of them already married and the other half attending the Season in Penzance or London. Unless, like some Lady Bountiful, she liked to cast her lovely smiles like coins to the poor, his only competition hereabouts for the pleasure of crossing wits with her would be fishermen, farmers and day labourers.

From Sadie's expression as she returned with their mugs, the barmaid didn't like Miss Foxe sharing her brilliant smile with him any more than he liked the idea of some other gentleman basking in its glow. The barmaid tossed Miss Foxe's mug on the table, splashing a bit of cider on her gown, then sidled up to Gabe and bent low to give him a good view of the assets bulging out the top of her tight bodice as she carefully placed his mug before him.

‘Here ye be, Mr Hawksworth. Anything else you be needing, you holler.' Slowly she traced her lips with her tongue and smiled. ‘Just…anything.'

Gabe might be sitting across the table from a lovely lady who possessed the most dazzling smile he'd ever beheld; he might be mindful that three strapping brothers with strong protective instincts stood between him and accepting the invitation the wayward Sadie had just tendered him—which truly didn't interest him in any event. But he was still man enough to enjoy the hip-swaying show Sadie put on as she sashayed back to bar.

He looked up to see Miss Foxe rolling her eyes. ‘Don't let me keep you from pursuing more satisfying company, Mr Hawksworth,' she said sweetly.

Her knowing expression said she'd understood perfectly just what sort of offer Sadie had laid on the table with his mug. Whatever her past, she was not a total innocent, then. Her aunt might receive such information with alarm, but for Gabe, interest—and a significant part of his anatomy—stirred at that pleasing conclusion.

‘What could be more…satisfying than having congress with a lady as lovely as you?' he countered, wondering whether she would catch the double meaning of those words.

Her immediate flush informed him she had. Gabe bit back a grin, certain now that some gentleman—or rogue—somewhere had played a part in her education. A reprobate brother, perhaps? Or some more intimate acquaintance? Ah, the prospect of dalliance was looking better and better!

He must have rattled her with that slightly risqué comment, for the haughty expression she'd been trying to maintain disappeared completely. ‘I cannot imagine why you bother wasting your pretty words on me when there are others about so obviously more desirous than I of receiving them,' she retorted acerbically.

As blighting went, that was pretty good, Gabe thought. ‘Since you have chosen to accept another cider, so as not to wound Mrs Kessel's feelings, you might as well chat with me,' he pointed out reasonably. ‘By the way, it was kind of you
not
to wound her feelings, although I know you would have much preferred to depart immediately.'

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.'