Page 27 of The Scholar’s Spy

Chapter Ten

There was little nowadays that could be said to shock Captain Robert Davenport. He was fairly certain he was immune to such trivialities that most in society would regard as surprising, or even scandalous. Surviving as best he could, the navy had hardened his skin and given him an expectation of attack. Witnessing the murderous and bloodthirsty tendencies of the smugglers at his post in Sussex over the last eighteen months had likewise given him a fairly cynical viewpoint on the world.

It was inevitable he reasoned that he be the way he was—doubtful, questioning, and prejudicial against the goodness of the world. Naivety, no, hope itself was dangerous, and trusting to the goodness of people’s intentions was a fool’s game.

After all, he knew the common sense of answering his door after midnight with a loaded musket, there was always something to be said for being prepared. It might have been the most successful of interludes subtly questioning the townsfolk, and now he was fairly sure there would be an attempted landing in a week, but he was still not going to lower his guard.

However, being around Abigail Fossey meant that shock was starting to take on new meaning. She was a constant challenge to his expectations.

Here she was in his chamber. She was completely different from any woman ever. Unable to follow or fit in with the rules. And he still was not entirely sure whether he trusted her or not.

But he most definitely did want to kiss her.

Abigail stared up at him, the moonlight playing over her features, her expression was firm, but he could spot the vulnerabilities which she would deny to her dying day. Here was the daughter of a gentleman. In his bedroom. At the midnight hour. Asking him to kiss her.

At the spring ball, he had considered seducing her with the hope she might be won over. With the vague idea that if he did, she might trust him enough to tell him more. He would never have imagined that it would be Abigail who might initiate anything. But he knew Abigail, and he would be willing to bet good money that if he did kiss her, it might well be her first kiss. That was why it was so out of character for her to be here, asking this.

And yet…

Pivoting away from her, Robert went and placed the musket on the bed out of the way, needing a few moments of space and time to decide on the next course of action.

Abigail had walked into the center of the chamber. When he looked back at her, she was watching him with an air of quiet calm, so much so that Robert resented it. He was the one with experience, and yet she was making him feel like the novice.

“Abigail—”

“I did not give you leave to use my name,” she snapped.

Robert immediately paused. He had called her name as he’d searched for her. It had been his talisman. Deciding against bringing this up, he said, “I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”

“I do.”

“Well, in that case, I think it is only right—even if it’s only for this interlude that we use our Christian names.”

“I don’t understand why that should be necessary.”

“It is.”

For a moment, he expected Abigail to continue to debate the matter, but instead she simply took a step closer toward him. She lifted her eyes to his and sighed. “I suppose it would encourage intimacy. Very well.” There was something so piercing in her gaze that Robert felt almost unmanned, confused…words tumbled out of his mind, and left him scrambling—and it annoyed him immensely. But it excited him too.

“Well then—do you go by Robert, or prefer a shortening of it?” She had recalled that he’d used his Christian name previously. For some reason, this pleased him.

“Just Robert.”

Abigail simply frowned. Her lips, which Robert had noticed before, occasionally chewed, twisted, quizzical… now seemed darker in the faint moonlight, perhaps a touch softer too. There was a pleasing quality to them, which he had not fully appreciated previously. Suddenly, he very much wanted to hear her say his name, whisper it as a form of encouragement, murmur it during kisses, gasp it as he plundered her willing body and—

Hastily, he glanced back up and smiled, hoping that she had not noticed where his attention had wandered off to.

They were a foot apart, still awkwardly not touching, hesitating as they surveyed each other. Before he kissed her, he wanted to know what her motivation was for seeking out such intimacy—there had been moments previously on the beach over the last few weeks where she might have initiated something. But coming to his bedroom, where he was the one susceptible to an attack, that had to mean something. “Is this your way of saying thank you?”

“For your act of saving me earlier, you mean?”

“Yes.” Could she be playing a game where he was some gallant knight, and his rescue today fit in with that particular fantasy? If so, Abigail was bound to be disappointed with the reality.

“No, it has nothing to do with that. Or least not entirely. I’ve never been kissed, and I am curious to know how it feels,” Abigail said. Most women might have blushed to say such things, but Robert figured he knew a little bit about how her mind worked. That Abigail would question and reason until she found a solution she liked. If he had heard this tale recounted from one of his men, he would have concluded that the ‘lady’ in question was one of loose character and even looser morals. She did not fit the mold he would have wished to dismiss her into—she was Abigail.

“Why?” He drew a little closer, giving her as much time as she might want to leave, to turn around and back off, but she didn’t. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he reached out and pushed a stray piece of hair off her face. The touch had not meant to be sensual, but the silkiness of her curl added a layer he had not expected, and breaking the contact was harder than he wished. When he did drop his hand, it was only to her hand, and gently he interlinked their fingers.

“For science.”