Page 47 of The Scholar’s Spy

“I was planning to call on you this afternoon to ask your mother for her permission to court you. With the intention that we could wed as soon as you wish. I want to marry you. I would never have set out to seduce you with dishonorable intentions, you must believe me. So, you might join me in London as my wife,” Robert said, hoping his words would convince.

How much he wished to take her in his arms, kiss her forehead, hold her and convince her physically that he was loyal, and true. Her dark eyes were watching him, moving with her normal wit, but they were forming into a realization he wished she did not snatch at, so hurriedly he carried on.

Her dark eyes were mutinous.

He carried on, “So might seek out your dreams as a respectable married lady with all of her wondrous discoveries, to the gentleman of the geological society or to Paris if you really wish. I have never been to France, but they might well be our enemy, yet I would happily go for your sake.”

Abigail bunched her hands into fists, her face twisting, “And quite how would you manage that whilst arresting our cook? Whilst introducing yourself as Mr. O’Sullivan but truly being Captain Davenport? What precisely did you envision saying to my mother and sister on that matter?” Abigail asked.

It was true Robert wished to say, it was true that his plan was poorly formed, and rushed, but he could not bear the thought of parting from her in such a manner. “Please believe me, that this is not what I set out to do.”

“No, you merely fell into my bed?” Abigail’s cheeks flushed at the intimacy, but she did not look away from him. “Was that simply a mistake too?”

“Of course not,” he said, jumping off the counterpane and approaching her, the passion he had forced down, swept through him, a strong desire to convince her of his deep feeling and yet an ignorance at how to do so. “I thought by us marrying—”

With a drawn in breath, Abigail shook her head. “You assume I would accept your offer. Despite being ignorant of the fact that I had no idea of your true name. When do you think you would make me aware of the truth? Would you leave me to style myself Mrs. O’Sullivan, when in fact it should have been Mrs. Davenport?” Robert stopped himself from speaking, but Abigail caught his expression of surprise at her reaction. “Oh, of course, no woman, no woman of my diminished prospects would ever refuse a gentleman. After all, what other man would ever propose to a ruined oddity like Abigail Fossey? That is what you thought, isn’t it?” Anger was spurring her on, and it kept Robert mute because she was entitled to her fury. He had earned it by lying to her. “Well, will you tell me?”

“You are determined to put words in my mouth.”

“You have said quite enough in your letter to condemn you entirely. I do not know if I can believe a word you say. I told you things I have never admitted to another soul, and I doubt if I will again, you have broken any trust I might have had.”

Her final utterance stretched between them, running the gambit of the six feet that separated them, painful and sharp.

“I did—I do wish to marry you, Abigail, please believe that. Not simply because of what occurred between the two of us physically, but for everything that has happened since I arrived in Lyme.”

“It is not enough,” Abigail said. “No.” She raised her hand as Robert tried to take a step closer to her. “No, please do not come near me. You have lied to me, from the very beginning. I fear, I think…” Her voice wobbled, and he thought she would cry. “I must go.”

“Here.” Robert walked to the desk and drew out a piece of paper, on which he scribbled down the address of the hotel in London he would be staying at. “If you need to reach me, I will be at The Fladong’s.”

“I cannot imagine why—”

“Should there be consequences from last night…” Robert made himself sound as cold as he was with a prisoner. He feared if he let the softer side of himself creep out, he might break, and fall down on the ground before her, pleading for her forgiveness—no, he was a fool to expect her forgiveness and he was far better to protect himself from such pain.

“We were safe…” she quavered as she looked up at him with uncertainty.

“Sometimes accidents can happen, despite our best intentions.” Robert suddenly wished he had been more cavalier, that he had tried harder to impregnate her. That desire might be selfish of him, but he had a sudden dark need to tie this woman to him, to stop her from leaving him alone in this room to face the consequences of his actions. But if she wished to go, he would not stop her—he was hers to command, to bend to her will, and he would never try to step in the way of her.

Abigail took the proffered piece of paper, slipping it into the top of her dress, hidden between her chemise he had seen her don this morning, and the grey day dress she wore. A gut-wrenching pain gripped him then when Robert realized he would never be as close as that piece of paper to her again.

“Will you marry me?” He forced himself to speak, to ask, even though he already knew the answer. For one wild moment, he wished he had bought a ring, a keepsake that one of them might treasure so if she were to reject him, at least she could have kept something that symbolized how loved she was.

Leaning forward, Abigail touched his face, her fingers light and curious. Her words were anything but. She made a small scoffing noise. “And to think that I was fool enough to believe I knew you better than anyone alive.”

Unable to resist, Robert closed his eyes at the feel of her fingers. He was grateful that he had done so, because when he opened his eyes, she was gone, and he was pleased he did not have to see her leave.

Chapter Nineteen

There were a few things that made Abigail feel angry. As she had grown older, she had learned to accept that a great many of them were never going to change—she could not snap her fingers and make her mother like her. She would never understand Sophia. None of those things were in her power, any more than she could bring her father back to life. Or the more comfortable existence all five of them had enjoyed before he had died and left them to struggle. However, with Robert—

“No with Captain Davenport,” she said, muttering away as she stormed away from the hotel, along the bustling Lyme high-street. At least it seemed that the townsfolk were far too happy and talkative to spare her a moment’s notice. They were busy with chatter, their eyes bright and excited.

Cynically she thought as she eyed her neighbors and friends, had they all been enjoying the fruits of smuggling—was that why Mr. Olwen looked so proud of himself? It was the reason Mr. Monaghan was flirting so cheerfully with Miss Costigan. It was the reason for the jubilant bounce that seemed to suddenly be in the air, alongside the stirrings of the coming summer.

In her black fury of a mood, Abigail stomped on back toward her home. She cut down one of the side streets, and reached the rear of the house, having a strong desire to avoid her mother, should Mrs. Fossey be in one of the front rooms of the house.

Winding her way through the garden, Abigail told herself perhaps she should go and start work on exacting her recent find, but the foul temper she was in was not how she wanted to approach her sea lizard. It was not the ancient creature’s fault for the lies Captain Davenport had told, and associating the two of them made Abigail even crosser than she had been.

“Mother’s gone out,” someone said from down in the kitchen as Abigail pushed open the back door and loudly dropped her hat and cloak. The anger was still fizzing through her making her movements erratic and her attention was snappy. There might well be smugglers who could make social calls on this very house, and Abigail now realized how vulnerable every one of the family was.