The Smuggler and the Society Bride (24 page)

But this was the domicile of Lady Honoria. The room—nay, the entire building—had the look of understated elegance and impeccable taste that spoke of distinguished pedigree and old
wealth.
Here
she'd walked the halls; strolled in that garden, received her admirers—gentlemen of birth and fortune who had doubtless been escorted to the main reception rooms.

His certainty about the rightness of his bond with Honoria wavered. What made him think he could offer her anything to equal what he saw all around him, the opulence and comfort she'd enjoyed her whole life?

The door opened and a tall, well-muscled man walked in. Gabe scanned his face, looking for echoes of Honoria's countenance, and found little resemblance. Where in her eyes grey mingled with a laughing blue—like the sea in shadow and in sun—Lord Stanegate's were dark grey and cold. The golden strands that reflected the light in Honoria's hair were entirely absent in her brother's thick dark locks.

Gabe bowed stiffly, aware that those cold eyes were subjecting him to an equally intense and measured inspection.

His simmering rage revived. This tall, forbidding stranger was the man who'd compounded his sister's humiliation and anguish by refusing to believe in her.

Perhaps he had more to offer Honoria than the Carlows after all.

‘Captain Hawksworth,' Marcus Carlow said, his voice imbued with the authority of one born to privilege. ‘I don't believe I've had the honour of your acquaintance. I'm Stanegate, of course. Wellow tells me you've come on some matter regarding Lady Honoria? Just what are your dealings with my sister?'

Viscount Stanegate's forbidding manner might have cowed a lesser man, but four years of commanding soldiers through the blood, dirt, terror and danger of battle had forged Gabe into a man not easily intimidated.

‘More supportive of her than you, sir,' he replied. ‘I met your sister in Sennlack, where, by the way, she goes by the name Miss Foxe. Having become acquainted through her aunt, we developed a friendship. I soon came to greatly admire your sister's spirit and character.'

‘If this is a declaration,' Stanegate interrupted him, ‘you may spare your breath. I will not countenance—'

‘My lord, I would ask that you refrain from leaping to conclusions, apparently a frequent failing, and hear me out before you make a reply,' Gabe cut him off acidly.

Anger flared in Stanegate's eyes, but as Gabe expected, discovering the mission of someone who came bearing news of his sister was important enough for him to overlook, for the moment, Gabe's insolence.

‘Excuse me,' Stanegate replied, his tone irony dripping. ‘Pray, continue.'

‘As I said, your sister and I grew close enough that she confided to me the circumstances under which she came to be in Cornwall. Though her story apparently was not convincing enough to be believed by her immediate family, and despite knowing her but a short time, I was immediately certain that she had been the victim of a dreadful conspiracy. I set myself the task of uncovering the truth. And today, I accomplished that.'

Stanegate's expression went rapidly from irritation to surprise to avid interest. ‘Please, Captain,' he said. ‘Tell me everything you have discovered.'

‘At Lady Dalrington's ball, Honoria said she was approached by a footman who told her that her fiancé, with whom she had quarrelled earlier, wished to meet privately in the garden to apologize. Anxious to settle the disagreement, she hurried out—only to find herself accosted by an infamous rake, who bound her hands in a silk rope—'

‘A silk rope, you say?' Stanegate interrupted. ‘I saw nothing of the sort when I found them!'

‘Barwick untied her and tossed it away when he heard gentlemen approaching. Then asserted, worthless reprobate that he is, that he'd been invited to meet the lady in the garden. By Heaven!' Gabe burst out. ‘How could you let the man say such things of Honoria without blackening his eyes where he stood!'

‘She was terrified and trembling, her gown torn, her bodice gaping open!' Stanegate retorted. ‘At that moment, all I wanted to do was shield her from lecherous gazes and get her home. Of course I sought out Lord Barwick later, prepared to call him out! But though he apologized for embarrassing my sister, he protested his innocence most vehemently, declaring he had received a note from Honoria on paper bearing the Carlow crest, begging him to meet her in Lady Dalrington's garden. The note further instructed that she'd send a footman to alert him when she could slip away. At the ball, a footman did just that. Barwick may be a loathsome toad of a lecher, but he doesn't lie.'

‘Nor does your sister, Lord Stanegate,' Gabe said evenly.

Stanegate flushed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I know,' he admitted. ‘The whole affair was a disaster! Even you must admit how bizarre it sounded. My wife was in a delicate condition, my father's health dangerously fragile, my innocent younger sister has yet to contract an eligible marriage. Having Honoria spring another of her ill-judged, crack-brained schemes upon us at just that moment…well, I lost my temper. Almost immediately I regretted the immoderate manner in which I'd addressed her. I intended to beg her pardon, but with Parliament in session and the press of estate business, by the time I came to see her, she'd already left London. When I discovered she'd gone to Cornwall instead of Stanegate Court, I knew she was seriously angry with me. I've written her since, but received no response.'

‘But now,' he said, turning back to Gabe, ‘you tell me you have
proof
that someone deliberately set up the rendezvous in the garden to ruin her—and have discovered the identity of the person who perpetrated this outrage?'

‘I've just come from speaking with him. He admitted—nay, he
boasted!
—of concocting the whole elaborate ruse, showing not a particle of remorse for the harm he'd done. In fact, he seems to see himself as a sort of instrument of fate.'

‘Stephen Hebden,' Stanegate said quietly. ‘If there was a silken rope involved, it must have Hebden. Or was he calling himself Beshaley?'

‘He goes by both. He has attempted to harm your family before?' Gabe asked. When Stanegate nodded, he said, ‘Then by Heaven, why have you not had him clapped in irons?'

‘We hoped we had seen the last of him. And in Honoria's case, on what grounds could we press charges? Barwick told me he burned the incriminating note as soon as he'd read it. What would be the point of trying to bring him, or Hebden, to court in a case which I doubt any solicitor could win, at the same time reviving a scandal best buried and forgotten as quickly as possible?'

‘You'd rather save the family embarrassment than vindicate your sister's honour?' Gabe spit out contemptuously.

Fury hardened Stanegate's face. ‘You obviously know nothing of London Society, sir, else I should call you out for such an insult! Have you no idea what a trial would mean to Honoria? Seeing her caricature in every press-shop window, hearing herself the focus of scurrilous speculation by every rogue and reprobate in London? Blackening her reputation so thoroughly in polite Society that her chances of returning there would be ruined, even were she proven innocent!'

‘I'll allow you know the probable reaction of the London Ton better than I,' Gabe replied, somewhat mollified.

‘If you have proof of Hebden's involvement, I can try to restrain him, though I shall probably have to operate outside the law. Where did you meet with him?'

‘He keeps a house in Bloomsbury Square,' Gabe replied.

Stanegate nodded. ‘I shall check with my contacts at Bow Street and get some men on it immediately.'

‘Once you've dealt with him, I hope you intend to make every effort to restore your sister to her rightful place.'

‘Despite what you seem to think, that has been my intention from the beginning. I've only been awaiting the best
moment to start.' Fixing Gabe again with that intimidating stare, Stanegate said, ‘Just what is your interest in this, Captain?'

‘I'm a friend of your sister's. I'm also outraged by injustice and would like to see it punished.'

Stanegate raised an eyebrow. ‘And that's all?'

It was all Gabe intended to reveal to her brother, at least at this point. ‘That's all. Can I trust you to do the right thing by her?'

‘I give you my word.'

Gabe stood and offered Stanegate a bow. ‘Then I have accomplished all I set out to do.'

‘Thank you for efforts on her behalf,' Stanegate said as he walked Gabe to the door. ‘And you're right. You have been more a friend and protector to my sister than I. For your care of one whom, though you may not believe it, I cherish, you have my eternal gratitude.'

With a stiff nod, Gabe went out.

Suddenly, the fatigue of his many days and nights on the road swamped him. Bone weary, he mounted his horse and rode to the Clarion, where he bespoke a room and some dinner.

He'd rest, then return to Cornwall and report to Lady Honoria. The idea of seeing her again sent a heady, reviving flush of warmth through him.

What would he do about her? Much depended on what action her brother took. Gabe would say and do nothing until Stanegate had time to make good on his word.

Well, maybe he'd do one thing. Since he was in London anyway, he might as well return to Cornwall prepared.

Pulling his horse up in front of the hotel, he half fell from the saddle, handed the reins off to a waiting groom, and stumbled inside.

A
week later, Honoria knelt in her aunt's garden, taking out her loneliness and frustration by uprooting weeds and savagely beheading the fading pansies. Captain Hawksworth had been gone nearly a month and she'd heard not a word.

Cornwall had slipped from late spring into glorious early summer, swept fresh by a brisk southwest wind, its moors covered with a colourful carpet of thrift, campion, gorse and squill, while playful dolphins chased each other in the turquoise waters, falcons and kestrels soared with gulls overhead, and finches chattered away in the newly leafed trees.

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 Hawks
worth 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.'

‘Am I correct in assuming it involves a certain impassioned young captain?'

She slid him a glance under her lashes, but his expression told her nothing. ‘And if it should?'

‘I'd never stand in the way of your happiness. Whatever you decide about your future.'

‘Thank you,' she said softly, another weight lifting from her soul. Regardless of where her path took her, she didn't really want to walk it estranged from her family.

‘Since you did mention it, I expect you will want to do some tidying up. I'll go settle into my chamber and then visit Aunt Foxe. Shall I see you at dinner?'

She nodded. ‘At dinner, then.'

He gave her a grin and a quick kiss on the forehead and walked out. Honoria drifted into the entry hall after him, but though reconciling with Marc had soothed some of the ache in
her heart, with dinner still hours away, she felt too restless to be cooped up in the house.

Since she was muddy and windblown anyway, she'd take a walk on the cliff path, read Verity's letter and mull over what Marcus had said.

Tucking the note in her sleeve, she fetched a cloak, slipped out the door by the kitchen and set off.

 

Some half hour later, Gabe rode up to Foxeden. He had extended his stay in London by another day in order to talk with investors about the buying of a ship and to consult Mr Avery at the gallery, who received Eva's new pastel drawings with all the enthusiasm he had hoped. There was still much to be done to launch himself upon a trading career, but it had been nearly a month since he'd seen Honoria and he couldn't wait a moment longer to be with her again.

His talk with her brother had convinced him Stanegate intended to restore her to Society. He was glad for that and wished the viscount success, but during the long ride back from London, he'd also decided he would not nobly stand aside and send her away. Though neither as smuggler nor as tradesman would he be considered remotely eligible as a husband by her family—or his—he would not let her return to her old life without trying to convince her to be his wife.

She might prefer a position in Society to embracing him and what he could offer. But he didn't think so. Filled with that hope, his last stop before leaving London had been at the office of the Archbishop of Canterbury, where he harried the poor clerk into issuing him a special license in record time. If he could persuade Honoria to have him—Gabe grinned, envisioning some of the spots upon which he would concentrate his efforts at kissing her into agreement—he intended to marry her at once and bring her with him as he embarked upon his trading enterprise.

Trying to master his nervousness at knowing he would soon
be putting his whole future happiness to the test, he knocked at Foxeden's front door. He was returning the greeting of the butler who admitted him when, to Gabe's astonishment, Honoria's brother strode down the stairs from the parlour.

Stopping short, Gabe bowed. ‘Stanegate. I didn't know you'd planned to come to Cornwall.'

‘Since my sister would not come to me, I was obliged to go to her,' the viscount said, bowing back. ‘Though I'm not at all surprised to see you here.'

Gabe looked squarely at Stanegate. ‘I intend to ask Honoria to marry me.'

‘And you seek my permission?'

‘No. I'm simply informing you, as a courtesy. She's of age and can wed with or without your leave. Though I've been a free-trader—'

‘I understand they are held in high esteem here,' Stanegate inserted.

‘I am gentry-born. My brother is—'

‘Sir Nigel Hawksworth, of Ballyclarig Manor. A magistrate who also sits at the Assises for County Cork. Married the Honorable Miss Chastain, daughter of Lord Chastain of Parnell Hall. You served for four years in the 3rd Regiment of the 27th Inniskilling Foot, attaining the rank of First Lieutenant, before being wounded at Orthes.'

Gabe stared at him. ‘How did you—'

Stanegate shrugged. ‘My secretary is very efficient. I know you think I'm a shabby sort of brother, but when an unknown young man turns up, rattling his sabre at me, ready to gallop off to defend my sister's honour, I do take notice.'