The Smuggler and the Society Bride (16 page)

‘I would be grateful for anything you could do to help secure Laurie's safety. And now, I suppose I ought to return home,' she concluded with a reluctance that seemed as sincere as his own, easing his fears that he might have inadvertently frightened her away before he'd been able to determine how long he wanted to keep her close.

Certainly he wished to delay her now. He was casting about for some plausible excuse to achieve that when a brilliant idea occurred.

‘Eva showed you her favourite place on the coast yesterday. May I show you mine? 'Tis on the way back to Foxeden, so will not delay your return overmuch, and it's at least as lovely as Eva's. I think the location would make a wonderful subject for her landscapes. I know I would purchase a likeness to remember it by.'

The shadow of a frown crossed her face. ‘When you leave here, you mean?'

‘Yes,' he replied, pleased to have this opening to assure her
that he didn't plan to remain a free-trader forever. ‘My tenure as skipper of the
Gull
was intended from the first to be limited, until the permanent skipper recovered from injuries suffered during a previous voyage. And you?' he added, thinking he might as well try to discover more about her plans as well. ‘Do you expect to make a long stay with your aunt?'

‘I'm not sure,' she said evasively. ‘I really should be getting back.'

Very well, no more probing,
he thought, alarmed by the abrupt chill in her manner. Determined to lure her back before she could retreat too far, he said, ‘Why don't I ride with you and point out the spot on your way home? 'Tis quite close to the main road, which isn't surprising, since it features a very early Celtic church.'

She'd seemed on the verge of a refusal, but at the mention of the ancient dwelling—and perhaps its purpose, for one would have to be a very great rogue indeed to try to seduce a maiden in a house of God—she hesitated.

‘It won't take long,' he coaxed. ‘The church, though no longer in use, is surmounted by an ancient Celtic cross. The inlet beneath it, concealed behind a tumble of boulders, leads through a narrow passage to a small beach overhung by lichen-covered crags. Up on the cliff, I feel as though I can see to Ireland and the New World beyond, while when one is seated on the beach, one can almost breathe in the peace and tranquility.'

She gave him that sceptical look he so loved that said she suspected his eloquent description might be a trifle overstated. ‘Very well…if it is indeed on the way.'

An upsurge of delight washed through him. ‘Excellent. Give me just enough time to obtain my horse from the inn and we'll be off.'

She agreed, and after chatting with Mrs Kessel over a mug of cider while he fetched his mount, they rode out in the direction of Foxeden. Some half an hour later, the road curved
around some granite boulders, beyond which a track led out to the rocky promontory.

‘We go the rest of the way on foot,' he announced, pulling up his mount. He tried to keep his touch as impartial as a groom's as he helped her down, despite the tingling surge of warmth in the fingers that held her.

‘I discovered these cliffs soon after arriving,' he continued, forcing his mind back to the view he'd brought her to witness. ‘As the rocks face north, toward Ireland, rather than west to the ocean, I called them my Irish Cliffs. But now, you must see the church.'

After tethering the horses to a bit of gorse, he led her to the low, round-roofed structure perched near the cliff edge. Built of irregular, un-mortared stone that looked as if it might come apart any moment, it had been constructed with enough care to have withstood the gusts and storms off the sea for some seven hundred years.

‘What a marvellous vista!' she cried, gazing out over the magnificent expanse of sea. ‘You are right; with the church, the cliffs, the view, it is a most impressive spot.'

He gestured toward the path. ‘Wait until you see the cove.'

She set off; he followed, then stood expectantly as she halted where the rocky trail spilled out onto the sand.

‘It is lovely—almost enchanted!' she cried. Pacing down the pristine pale expanse, she stopped near a large, sea-smoothed boulder to gaze through the needle of inlet out to the sea. ‘'Tis almost as I'd imagine a beach in the Caribes; waves lapping a golden shore, water a brilliant azure-turquoise. How I should love to have Eva capture the scene! I'd like a drawing of it myself.'

A wistful look replaced her initial expression of delight. ‘You were right; it would be restful to linger here.' She patted the rock beside her. ‘Far from observing eyes, lulled by the warmth of the sun and the murmur of the surf while a gentle breeze blew all the cares from my mind.'

The melancholy chord in her voice touched him.
What troubles did she wish to commit to the wind?
he wondered. That powerful need to comfort and protect stirred in him again.

‘Have a seat now,' he invited.

She smiled at him. ‘Perhaps I will.'

And she did, scrambling onto the rock, seating herself with her skirts tucked around her knees, even removing her bonnet and angling her face into the wind and sun.

Gabe levered himself up beside her, content for the moment, since her eyes remained closed, just to stare at her.

But as his eager gaze examined her, more elemental needs began rising. He struggled against the burgeoning lust, reminding himself that he'd promised if he managed to get her alone, he would not try to seduce her.

But the scent of her, that alluring line of bare skin from neck to throat as she arched her head back, the pert tip of her nose, the bits of burnished-wheat hair pulled loose by the wind…all of it made his hands itch to touch and his lips burn to nuzzle, as desire chipped away at his noble intent.

What would be the harm in one simple kiss?
a little voice argued. Kiss her, as he'd longed to since forever, and he might discover if her taste, her touch affected him as profoundly as it had when he'd licked the drops of orange from her palm.

Probably it wouldn't. Probably he'd discover his long time without a woman and the heightened sense of anticipation built by his continual teasing and tempting of her had exaggerated his previous response all out of proportion. One little kiss would set things back in perspective, would demonstrate that her effect on him was no more unique than that of anyone before her, that there was no need to change his life and rush a decision about his future, in order to make a place for her in it.

If during the kiss, he forgot himself and became overzealous, she was perfectly capable of slapping a sense of propriety back in him.

And if she didn't…

The reasons he'd previously enumerated against taking her here and now were growing dimmer by the second.

Suddenly he realized, as his eyes traced lovingly down the line of forehead, nose, lips, that he'd unknowingly leaned so close that his face was mere inches from hers. He continued to watch her, mesmerized by the play of light and shadow over her lips.

Sunlight gave their perfect rounded surface a sheen like the satin of a lady's gown, while when the sun retreated behind a cloud, the appearance changed to a velvet plush.

Which texture would their touch more resemble?

He felt the warmth of her breath on his cheek and realized he'd placed a hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes opened in a flare of surprise, then comprehension—before she leaned up to receive his kiss.

As his mouth touched hers, cider and sweetness and warmth exploded upon his senses, sending a stab of desire straight to his loins. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, his hand clutching her shoulder while he wrapped an arm around to bind her closer, intoxicated by the feel and taste of her, wanting more.

Suddenly, she was pushing violently against his chest. It must have taken a few seconds for that reality to penetrate the rampaging lust dulling his brain, for when he finally realized her invitation had changed to resistance and he let her go, she leapt away from him as if scalded.

She landed on the sand and stumbled a few steps backward, hands to her lips, trembling all over.

The sight of her retreating from him dispelled the warm sensual haze like a slap of cold seawater. After promising himself he'd make no attempt at seduction, had his impetuous action made her fear he intended to force himself on her? The idea filled him with horror.

Before he could order his incoherent thoughts enough to apologize, she burst out, ‘Sorry! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to
tease! But when you pulled me close, it brought back memories. D-disturbing memories.'

Her eyes focused on the distant horizon and a tremor went through her. Shaking her head, she laughed a bit hysterically. ‘I'm so sorry,' she said again. ‘You must think me a complete bedlamite.'

‘Not at all,' he assured her, concern and regret pulsing through him. ‘'Tis I who am sorry. Never would I wish to frighten or repulse you!'

Her attempt at a smile didn't convince him, given the distress that still clouded her eyes. ‘You didn't. Indeed, it is my fault entirely. I wanted you to kiss me! I've been wanting you to kiss me practically since the afternoon we met. And when you did, at first I was ecstatic, but then…I never expected…oh, forg-give me!' Her voice breaking, she turned and walked away from him.

While she gave her garbled explanation, Gabe's mind, finally cleared of the last foggy bits of lust, had been racing faster than the
Gull
in a fresh breeze with her topsails set. All that he knew of Miss Foxe—her beauty, her innocent yet knowing allure, his suspicions about the reasons behind her sudden arrival at such an odd time of year in such a remote place, coalesced in one dismaying conclusion.

In two paces he reached her, halted her with a gentle touch to the shoulder. He swore under his breath as she flinched before turning back to face him.

‘Did he hurt you?' he demanded, the anger flaming up from deep within him making his voice rough. His rage intensified as shock, then shame, filled her eyes, telling him he'd guessed right.

For a long time she didn't answer, merely stared at him as if unable to break away from the fierceness of his gaze.

Then, after swallowing hard, she said, ‘N-no. Not really.' From the moisture welling at the corners of her eyes, a single tear spilled down her cheek.

This time he couldn't restrain an oath. ‘Damn the man!' he cried. ‘I'd kill him for you if I could.'

She uttered a shaky laugh. ‘That's very chivalrous of you, but as the damage done is irrevocable, it doesn't really matter any more.'

‘If remembering him makes you recoil at my touch, it matters to me,' Gabe answered hotly.

She gave him a short nod, as if in thanks. ‘Sometimes I think about killing him myself,' she said in conversational tones, strolling back from the waves toward the lichen-covered crags beyond.

She paused to pick up a driftwood stick; he trailed behind her. ‘Some moonless night,' she continued, ‘out the dark of some dim alley, I'd strike—' she brought the wood up like a sword and jabbed it against the rock ‘—like this. And this and this and this!'

Her voice rose as she jabbed the stick at the unoffending rock again and again, until the soft wood splintered into fragments. Letting go of the shattered hilt, she put her head in her hands, dropped to her knees in the sand and began to weep.

His first, masculine instinct was to retreat and give her time to compose herself. But the sheer anguish in her sobs stopped him in his tracks before he could flee.

Fury engulfed him at the thought that, indifferent to the consequences, some bored or unprincipled or careless rogue had lured her to some secluded place and forcibly seduced her, frightening and wounding that proud, fierce spirit, sending her into shame and exile. As deep and intense as his anger, but more unexpected, came an overwhelming need to offer comfort.

Halfway expecting her to strike at him, gently he gathered her in his arms. To his gratification, though, instead of resisting, she clung to him.

The warmth and scent of her plastered against his body was like the beginning of his favourite daydream, the one that con
cluded with him removing her garments one by one and gradually acquainting himself with her lips and limbs and breasts. He was rather proud that, except for the inevitable male response to the so-long-anticipated feel of her pressed against him, desire to console continued to triumph over desire of a more carnal sort.

To take advantage of her distress, regardless of whether or not his caresses ultimately gave her pleasure, would be an unforgivable violation, placing him on a level with the reprobate who'd trifled with her. Though while she was still too lost in weeping to notice, he couldn't restrain himself from stroking the silk of her hair and kissing the top of her head.

He wanted her no less than before. Indeed, after clasping the soft curved length of her against him, he wanted her all the more. But if he was to feel the touch of her lips or the intimate embrace of her body, he wanted that to be a choice she made joyfully, while in full possession of her usual high-spirited confidence. Not numbly allowing him to offer mindless comfort in the midst of despair.

So, when her wracking sobs eased to shudders and then ceased altogether, regretful but resigned, he let her go.

She rose on wobbly legs and walked away. He watched her, speculating that having admitted her shame and then lost her composure, she'd be embarrassed, his fierce lady. He'd probably need to reassure her that he thought no less of her for what she had revealed.

That speculation was confirmed when she turned back to him, shamefaced. ‘I beg you will excuse me. I suppose females always protest after such a display, but truly I don't normally weep.'

He thought of her flinging herself into sea, launching off to attack a lecherous drunk. ‘I know you don't. I feel…privileged that you allowed me to witness how deeply you've been wounded.'