Chapter Eighteen #2
Given the mutinous expression on Abigail’s face, Robert was fairly certain he had mere moments to explain his actions, and even then, it would do him little good. Abigail looked ready to murder him.
Lifting his hands off the doorway, he stepped away, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, hoping that by giving her space Abigail might feel safe to stay.
“This was not the way I meant for you to find out any of this. Please believe me.”
“So, you wished for me to continue as your ignorant fool?”
“No, I have never considered you a fool.”
“But of course, you have thought me ignorant. You have used me—did you ever care about our discoveries?”
What she wanted was honesty, that was what her grey eyes demanded of him, as they bored into his very soul. “Not at first. I thought you might be a member of the smuggling gang, and that your fossil hunting was a front to hide your identity as their leader.”
A snort of disgust issued forth from Abigail as she paced through the chamber, Robert forced himself to sit still and not go to her.
She passed by the bed, and desk, not able to keep still, before turning to face him.
His instinct, his desire cried out to hug her, to soothe her worries with tiny kisses and strong hands on her back, but he knew if he were to try Abigail would run from him. He did his best to practice patience.
“And when the townsfolk said I was an oddity? What did you think then? You believed them, didn’t you?
But continued with me, regardless because you wished to manipulate me?
” She let out a pained gasp, and then added, “Were you still set on using me when you kissed me—when you and I—when we were intimate?”
“I realized they were the fools—you might be odd to them, but you are the dear—the dearest to me. The hours and the days we have spent together has taught me that. I value every second more than I ever thought possible.” He had the speech laid out in only a rough outline, but now it came to admitting how he felt, how he cared—how he loved her, it was suddenly sticking in his throat, blurring words which made up an apology and a declaration all at once.
“So, it is only—” With a reddened face, Abigail started to say but Robert cut her off.
“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.