Gabe tried to keep his mind from imagining how her hands might feel against his bare skin.
All he knew thus far about his Aphrodite was that she was unconventional and courageous enough to try to swim out and save a stranger.
He intended to learn a great deal more.
Chapter Two
Shivering in every limb, Honoria rang for Tamsyn to help her out of her clinging wet clothes before hurrying to huddle over the remains of the morning fire. Some time later, no maid having yet appeared, she rang again and began divesting herself of as many garments as her reach and the numbness of her fingers permitted. After wrapping herself in her nightgown, too chilled to care if she soiled it with damp and grit, she strode to the bell pull. She was about to ring once again when, after a short knock, the housekeeper entered.
‘What be you need—’ the woman began, before halting abruptly, her eyes widening as she took in the heap of wet clothing, Honoria’s robe-clad form and her damp, wind-tangled tresses.
‘I know ’tis an odd time to request one, Mrs Dawes, but could I have a bath, please?’
After a quick roll of the eyes at the vagarities of the Quality, the housekeeper curtsyed. ‘I’ll have a footman bring up the tub and water, miss. I’d best add some chamomile to it to warm your joints and send along some hot tea with horehound to ward off a chill.’
Smiling through what were probably blue lips, Honoria nodded. ‘Thank you, Mrs Dawes, that would be most welcome.’
Without further comment, the housekeeper withdrew. Accustomed to receiving swift chastisement for her impulsive actions, she blessed the fact that Mama and Marcus were far away in London. One—or both—of them would have had far more to say about this latest exploit than the disapproving housekeeper.
She refused to acknowledge the pang of distress and grief that thrummed through her at the thought of the family that had banished her.
She didn’t need their censure—or Dawes’s unspoken disdain—to realize she had once again failed to act like the gently-born maiden she was supposed to be. Honoria doubted her younger sister would ever have stripped down and flung herself recklessly into the sea, emerging later with her dripping chemise clinging to her body, a spectacle for the locals to gawk at. No, Verity would have fluttered a handkerchief and tried to summon some gentleman to come to her assistance.
Honoria smiled bitterly. Her own experience had robbed her of any belief in the existence of noble knights ready to gallop to a lady’s rescue. But Verity was still naïve enough to hold tenaciously to the idea.
Nor would her paragon of a sister have been out walking the beach on a blustery day, getting her hem sandy and her curls windblown. Her sister would have remained at Foxeden Manor, her gown immaculate, nary a speck of grit marring her lovely face, decorating some altar cloth with her perfect tiny stitches and driving Aunt Foxe mad by offering, in a voice overlaid with solicitous concern, to pour her tea or fluff her cushions.
After her own disaster, she hoped Marc would keep a closer eye over her much-too-innocent sister, who would probably not recognize a sweet-talking villain for what he was until after he’d carried her off to ravish. Especially since Honoria, who had prided herself on her ability to accurately assess the character of the gentlemen she encountered, had barely escaped that fate.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold shook her. Verity might be a pattern card of perfection, Mama’s darling who was repeatedly held up as the repository of all the feminine virtues Honoria lacked, but Honoria would never wish any harm to befall her.
She’d probably like the girl better now that she didn’t have to live with her. Honoria smiled without humour. The parish priest at Stanegate, who’d often counselled her to charity during her growing-up years, would doubtless consider her exile a blessing, if it led her to think more tenderly of her sister.
Dismissing both the idea of improvement and Verity, Honoria turned her thoughts back to the scene at the beach. On the walk home, once she’d mastered her irrational reaction to the villagers’ understandable curiosity, she’d begun to feel rather proud of her efforts, despite the embarrassment at the end. After drifting aimlessly this last month, trying to find something to replace the continuous round of rides, calls, teas, routs, musicales, balls and other amusements that had defined her life in London, it had felt…liberating to throw herself heart and soul into some useful endeavour. Though if the stranger had not intervened, she doubted she could have reached the struggling mariner in time.
As she brought to mind that gentleman’s handsome countenance, another knock at the door interrupted her. Expecting the footmen with the tub, she was surprised when her Aunt Foxe walked in.
Looking her up and down, her aunt smiled. ‘I was coming to see you when Dawes told me you’d gone bathing! I’d have judged it a bit early yet; ’twill be equally invigorating but much more enjoyable in a month. Though one must take care to bathe in a sheltered spot. The tide in some of the coves is quite strong…nor would one wish to provide a show for the fishermen.’
Wincing at the reminder of her folly, Honoria said, ‘Actually, I didn’t set out to sea bathe.’ In a few short sentences, she described what had transpired at Sennlack Cove, then braced herself for her aunt’s reaction.
‘Admirable of you to attempt to help the man,’ Aunt Foxe said, and Honoria felt herself exhale the breath she’d not realized she’d been holding. ‘Though by the sound of it, you tried to assist a revenue agent—not an action that will win you the approval of the residents hereabouts.’
Honoria waited a moment, but her aunt added nothing else. Scarcely believing there were not to be any further recriminations, she said, ‘You aren’t angry with me?’
Aunt Foxe raised an eyebrow. ‘Heavens, no! Why should I be? The rescue of one revenuer is scarcely going to destroy the local economy.’
The lack of criticism was so unusual, Honoria felt momentarily disoriented. As her world settled back into place, a rush of affection for her aunt filled her. Oh, her instincts had been right when they urged her to come here, rather than retreat in humiliated disgrace to Stanegate Court!
While she stood silent as this succession of thoughts ran through her head, her aunt’s expression turned to one of concern. ‘Is something wrong, child? Are you feeling ill?’
Impulsively, Honoria ran over and hugged her aunt. ‘No, everything is fine! I’m just so glad I came here to you.’
‘Heavens, you’re getting salt all over me.’ Her aunt laughed, gently disentangling herself from Honoria’s embrace. ‘I’m glad you came, too, though I might wish for you to refrain from such tender gestures until you have bathed. By the way, Dawes tells me you created the flower arrangements in all the rooms today. Thank you, my dear; they are lovely.’
‘I’m glad you like them, for preparing the bouquets required such massive effort on my part.’ Shaking her head, Honoria laughed ruefully. ‘You were wise to have Mrs Dawes introduce me to the gardens. I do find it fascinating to study all the herbs’ uses, and picking, drying and arranging them and the flowers helps occupy my time. I wish I might do more for you. However, I’m hopeless at mending and needlework. I could do some sketches of the coves and meadows, though, if you like.’
‘I’d be delighted to have your sketches.’ Her aunt paused, looking at her thoughtfully. ‘It’s no wonder an energetic young lady like you finds herself
