Page 29 of The Scholar’s Spy

Abigail leaned back against the wall, at least five feet from him, her left hand lifting to tentatively touch her lips. Her mouth twisted. Robert needed to know more than anything else in the world what it was she was thinking.

“Does that satisfy your curiosity?” he forced himself to ask. An earnest hope beat in his chest, although he made sure his voice was steady and measured.

She moved forward, stepping closer until she reached the table and the opposing armchair to his own. “I have read about relations between a man and a woman.”

This reveal did not surprise Robert. After all, Abigail would have read about everything else. Why not this? It might not be deemed suitable for young ladies, but when did Abigail give a fig about this?

“Indeed, and how did the reality compare to your books?”

“The scientific monographs and studies…they did not…compare.”

Robert could not help smiling at this.

She added, “Of course, they went a great deal further than we did.”

“A gentry bred—”

“I know there would be a risk of pregnancy were we to continue,” Abigail cut him off. “In fact, they stated that was the primary function of the…activity.”

Clearly, her books had not detailed any means of preventing such an outcome, and somehow Robert did not think now was quite the time to bring up such information. If nothing else, his own surging desire was only just starting to decline. Having an in-depth discussion did not seem wise.

“Were you to engage in such activities,” Robert forced himself to say, “There would be an expectation on my part of proposing marriage to you.” In fact, he rather fancied most gentlemen of his acquaintance would have already offered. Of course, given his lies so far, it would be not possible. Besides, he might have belatedly realized his attraction, his burning desire for Abigail Fossey, but that did not mean he wished to marry the woman.

“Oh,” Abigail said, as she sank into the nearest armchair. “No, you’re quite right. I wouldn’t want to marry you.”

Despite himself, Robert felt a start of annoyance. He was playing an eligible young gentleman. Who’d boasted of a tidy fortune. With good connections. He would have been seen as a far greater marital opportunity than Miss Fossey. “Is that so?”

“Oh, quite. How am I to continue my work if I am married? No, no, no. I don’t want that.” Abigail smiled brightly. “I very much liked the kiss. The kisses I suppose would be a better summary. I thank you for the experience. But no, I would not marry you.”

“I did not ask.”

“I am saving you the trouble,” Abigail said. “Besides, my sister has already told me she wouldn’t approve of the match. So, it would never work.”

Robert, who felt as if his head was spinning, tried to cling to the knowledge that this was at least what he wanted. He hardly had a desire to be berated by the shrewish Miss Fossey into wedding her younger sister. Besides, if he were to, he would have to reveal his true name and intentions in coming to Lyme, thereby ruining any chance of catching the smugglers. It would never work, if he had any interest in marrying Miss Abigail Fossey. “I suppose that settles the matter entirely.”

Abigail suddenly put out her hand and grabbed his fingers, giving him a pat as if he were a dismissed animal. “I am glad we can remain friends.”

She shot to her feet as soon as Robert turned his hand over and tried to interlock their fingers. In great haste, she rushed toward the door.

“I hope we can remain friends, no matter what. As it is important we continue our search tomorrow.”

“Surely your injuries—” Robert knew her ankle must have been sore, although in his rush of desire, it had been forgotten. Abigail had made no mention of it.

“If I can kiss you, I can certainly search the site, especially given what the landslip may well have turned up. Goodnight, Robert.”

And then she was gone, leaving Robert with a muddled mind, a body desperate for release, and no idea what his next steps should be.

Chapter Eleven

Abigail now knew of the sort of excitement that the other girls whispered about when they used to speculate about boys and kissing. Of what married ladies obliquely referred to as the marriage act. Her mind was a whirl, difficult to settle down, no matter how she paced, and wished for clarity.

Abigail tried her best to stay as quiet as she could. She tiptoed, as she had as a child, through the front door and up the stairs. She was certain she had managed it until she pushed her own bedroom door wide open and saw Judith sitting patiently by the fireplace. A low gleam came from the embers. A book was propped open on her lap, but she did not seem to be reading. Her eyes lifted and locked on Abigail.

“You went out to see him.”

For a moment, Abigail considered lying but she reminded herself that her sister always seemed to know when she did this.

Judith got to her feet, abandoning her book. “I have tried my best not to mind about your antics. Father taught me that.”