Chapter Six #2
“No, that was not my intention,” Abigail said.
She did not remove her hand but rather let him hold it.
Her fingers were gloved in a creamy material, but nonetheless, Robert could feel the heat of her through the silk.
Her tone was entirely sincere as she said, “I never give compliments unless I mean them.”
It was like seeing her afresh, anew in the world of flashing candlelight and the milieu of others giving the importance of her hand added significance.
He marveled at the strength of her fingers, at the skill he had witnessed her demonstrate over the previous week and now framed into its own newfound elegance.
If he were to peel the silk off her from her arm with his free hand, how would she react? What would happen if he did it with his teeth? If he used his tongue to touch the very tip of her arm, and then count the freckles he found lurking there?
God, I want to. I want to lean in, and yank down one of those gloves and kiss and lick the exposed flesh I find there. To peel the material over her fingers, and to taste each and every one of those shell-like nails. I want to see if it would shock her or thrill her.
Society misses would shriek, faint, cry out, and fuss, but would Abigail? Or would she continue to regard him with her grey perceptive gaze, a spark of interest lingering there, leaving him to question how far he might take things? How far would she let him go, and where did he wish to stop?
“I mean to see a great more of Lyme, to better understand everything I possibly can about the place, the people—”
“Our curios?” Abigail asked. Her use of the word ‘our’ had Robert grinning.
“Of course. That is of great importance to me. You have taught me so much.” It was the truth, although Robert doubted anyone would believe him.
He did enjoy their walks each morning, the discussion they shared over fossils, and their meanings beyond just the small finding in one of their hands.
The theological debates they raised about what her discoveries might mean.
Idly, he traced a small pattern, in a circular motion in the midst of her palm, pleased to sense the reaction to his touch as he did so.
“You are of great importance,” he added in such a quiet voice.
He knew only Abigail would catch the words.
To his surprise, Abigail pulled her hand away, took a step back and sniffed.
It was then that he saw there was another woman who had come to stand just a few feet away.
She was curvaceous, straight backed, and dressed in a more somber color than Abigail.
But there was a resemblance in their shade of hair color, their movements and mannerisms. This had to be Abigail’s oldest sister.
Robert hastily bowed to the oldest Miss Fossey with as much polish as he could manage. He did have to create the image of a visiting gentleman, a carefree wealthy bachelor, who no one would suspect of spying on the neighborhood.
“This is Mr. O’Sullivan, my sister Miss Fossey.”
Drawing closer, Robert could now see more of the similarities between the two of them.
From their shared high forehead, pale skin and dark hair, and likewise a look they both possessed—one of keen intelligence.
Abigail had a definitive cleft in her chin, her freckles dotted over her nose and cheeks from the length of time she spent outside, whereas the older Miss Fossey’s face was hard, with her strong cheekbones and an expression that brooked no argument.
The older sister was a spinster of formidable means and one who did not particularly like him, which was a shame since they had only just met.
“How do you do, sir?” She bobbed him the smallest of curtsies, barely polite.
Robert was made all too aware that he had not been behaving well in the light of the ballroom.
That Miss Fossey did not like his actions toward her sister, and she was here to protect Miss Abigail’s reputation.
It did strike him as a little strange that Miss Fossey had not done so previously—in allowing Abigail to spend as much unchaperoned time with him on the beach, coves, and knee-deep in the Blue Lias.
If she deemed herself a protector of her sister, then she was going about it in an unusual way.
“Well, thank you, madam.” Robert harnessed as much charm as he could, smiling in a winning manner, hoping to negate the negative impression Miss Fossey had of him. “Miss Abigail has been the most gracious of guides to Lyme. Her kindness toward me—”
“I am pleased my sister has been so kind.” Her emphasis on the final word did not sound especially convincing, and her smile was stiff.
“But perhaps it would be wise to part now, and see more of the assembly. I believe Miss Guthrie would enjoy your company, sister, and one of the Miss Costigans would presumably like a dance or perhaps a glass of lemonade with Mr. O’Sullivan. ”
“Of course, Miss Fossey—” Robert said. He turned toward Abigail, all smart manners, bowing to her as if they had not been caught and scolded. “Thank you again for the dance and your company. It was a pleasure.”
Moving away, Robert felt a pang of reproach, of annoyance, of a fresh emotion he could not entirely explain.
It was only when Abigail caught up with him, her hand briefly touching his elbow, and pulling him back to look at her.
There was a sensation of gratefulness that she had not let him go straightaway.
“I will see you tomorrow morning, if we are to continue our search.”
“Of course,” Robert said. He was more than willing, and if he was honest, it was not down to the hint of Abigail’s danger, but as much to do with that womanly blush she’d shown just moments ago.
“Excellent.” She was still hesitating, her hand close to his arm, and he could sense her uncertainty as if she wished to say more.
To question or dig deeper into his motivations, or what he wished from her—was its nervousness on her part of something else entirely.
It made him feel extremely masculine, and as he dwelt on what he might say next—and then Abigail spoke first.
“I have something most particular to ask you.”
It could easily have been a hint that a gentleman might say to his lady love. An inclination that he intended to propose. Yet it was said by Abigail, and she lifted her chin, drawing strength from ignoring the conventions that swirled around them in the ballroom.
Surprise dashed through him, her confidence danced behind her grey eyes as she raked her gaze over him, and the earlier rush to his own ego flipped, making Robert question whether it was Abigail or he who was the experienced one.
It was meant to be he who was in charge, who held the power, and yet as he looked back at her, gazing down into her face, Robert was far less certain than he could ever remember being.
“Then I look forward to our conversation.”
At least that was entirely true, Robert thought as he made his goodbyes to her.