She held out her right hand, proud it wasn't trembling. Proud also of her command over her voice. To her own amazement, she'd sounded relatively calm. Her heart still thundered in her ears.
'Miss Summers has been kindness itself since I moved to Bath,' Admiral Pullen declared. 'I would have been lost without her advice, and lonely without her friendship.'
'Oh, no!' Abigail protested, at the same moment the piratical gentleman shook her hand. 'Oh, my,' she added involuntarily. The first time she'd seen him he'd been holding a dagger in the same hand which now held hers.
He gripped it with just the right amount of pressure, as if he were so confident of his own strength that he felt no need to draw attention to it by unnecessarily exaggerated gentleness. His touch was very stimulating. She felt acutely conscious of her own body as she remembered how he'd looked without his clothes.
She'd been sitting in the dark, she thought desperately. He couldn't be certain she was his unintentional eavesdropper. If only she could keep her wits about her he might never be sure.
'I trust my appearance doesn't alarm you, Miss Summers,' he said bluntly. 'It may be more suited to the quarterdeck than the Pump Room.'
She recognised his voice. She liked his voice. It was deep and a little gravelly. In keeping with his distinctive personality. She heard it not just with her ears but her whole body.
'Oh, n-no, sir! Not your appearance...!' she stammered. 'Or rather...I was daydreaming, and when the admiral spoke to me, I j-just naturally assumed he was alone. So your presence surprised me. That's all. I d-do assure you.' She nodded emphatically, then burned with embarrassment. She wanted to appear serene—not flustered and inappropriately forceful.
'Well, you have some interesting arrivals to tell Miss Wyndham about today!' Admiral Pullen declared. 'Miss Wyndham is a fine old lady, but sadly no longer strong enough to leave her house,' he explained to the two men. 'Miss Summers here is her companion. I tell Miss Wyndham she is fortunate to have such a loyal and caring friend.'
Abigail's cheeks burned even more fiercely at this forthright praise. 'Miss Wyndham has always been very kind to me,' she said breathlessly. 'Will you be staying long in Bath?' she asked, dividing her question between the visitors. She wished she'd paid attention when the admiral had introduced them. She still didn't know their names.
'A month,' said the black man. She recognised his voice as well. He was as well dressed as his friend. His manner was quietly self-assured.
'But you both look so healthy !' she exclaimed, unable to forget her first impression of both men. It took no effort at all to recall the lean, muscular body concealed by the pirate's blue coat.
Both men laughed and her own clothes suddenly felt too tight for her to breathe.
'Oh, forgive me!' she burst out. 'You've come to see the admiral, of course! Not drink the waters.'
'Strong as a bull, this young fellow!' Admiral Pullen clapped his piratical friend on the back. It was clearly a hearty buffet, but the pirate didn't budge an inch, proving the accuracy of the admiral's claim. 'A fine figure of a man. He's survived everything the French could throw at him—and more besides! Hill's the same, I don't doubt—though I never had the privilege of sailing with him.'
Hill?
Abigail wished desperately she'd paid attention to the introductions. She glanced involuntarily at the black man, an unconscious query in her eyes, and he nodded imperceptibly, as if answering her unspoken question. He didn't look as dangerous as the pirate, but he was definitely amused by the situation.
'When you wrote to tell me you were coming to Bath, I immediately thought of Mrs Chesney,' said the admiral to the pirate, though from the way he smiled at Abigail it was obvious he still considered her to be part of the conversation. 'I was commissioned to find suitable quarters for these two gentlemen,' he explained to her in an aside. 'They have made a foolish wager with each other over whether it is possible to spend a month in Bath without having an adventure!
Can you believe such a thing! But I digress. When I received my commission I knew the perfect billet! They have leased Mrs Chesney's house. Miss Wyndham and Miss Summers have the house immediately opposite! Miss Summers has been kindness itself to me. I knew she would be equally welcoming to you!' he concluded triumphantly to the pirate.
Abigail wanted to die. She wanted to fall through the floor and vanish from human society forever. Her eyes flew to the pirate's face. She saw he was looking at her searchingly, his interest in her obviously intensified by Admiral Pullen's revelation.
'Well...well...well...' she stuttered, remembering what she'd seen—and what he knew she'd seen...
'I hardly like to impose on Miss Summers,' said the pirate, drily courteous.
'Not at all, not at all,' the admiral assured him. 'Miss Summers has a taste for stories of the sea. A fair exchange is no imposition. And you have scores of adventurous tales to tell. Miss Summers will show you around the Pump Room this morning. And on your next meeting you will tell her of your hi-jinks when I sent you off in command of your first prize. A gentle promenade around the Room will suit you both.'
They'd been given an unmistakable order.
'Aye, aye, sir,' said the pirate, surprising Abigail with his easy acquiescence. He seemed amused rather than affronted by the admiral's high-handedness. 'Miss Summers.' He offered her his arm. 'It's twenty years or more since I was last in Bath,' he said conversationally as they strolled away from the others. 'And
hardly at an age to appreciate its more sophisticated attractions. But—'
'It was me!' Abigail interrupted hastily. 'You know it was me. I didn't mean to s-spy on you, but I was just so hot!' Though not as hot as she felt now! She was sure there was a furnace raging beneath the Pump Room floor! 'And then you shouted and I thought someone was going to be murdered! And I was trying to work out what to do next...I truly didn't mean to spy on you. I will always keep my curtains closed in future. I am so very sorry.'
They'd stopped walking as she made her confession. Now she stared up at him in an agony of anticipation over what he might say to her.
'And I wasn't paying attention when the admiral told me your name,' she added, deciding to make a clean breast of all her failings. 'So I don't even know who you are. I was so very startled, you see.'
'Gifford Raven,' he said.
He'd looked rather startled himself when she'd begun her confession, then uncomfortable, and finally amused.
His smile changed his whole aspect. The danger Abigail had sensed in him was still a tangible part of his personality, but it was balanced by the kindness she now saw in his expression.
She sighed, feeling weak with relief. He didn't seem either offended or angry with her. No doubt it had been a very minor incident for someone who was used to having dangerous adventures. 'I'm afraid Bath can be a very boring place,' she said, following up on her
thoughts. 'Particularly in the summer. I'm sure it will answer your purpose perfectly.'
'My purpose?' He gently encouraged her to start walking again.
'Not to have an adventure,' she said. 'Oh!' She suddenly realised she'd now admitted not just to seeing him, but also overhearing his conversation with his friend. 'Oh, dear!' She pressed her hands against her fiery cheeks. 'I w-wish the floor would open up!' she muttered. 'I am so mortified. I assure you, sir, I am not usually so—'
'What a very handsome clock,' said Raven smoothly. 'Do you know anything of its history?'
Abigail took a deep breath and managed to gather up some of her tattered composure. He probably thought she was a complete ninny. She was surprised he was so patient with her.
She pulled a fan out of her reticule and opened it with trembling hands. She avoided Raven's gaze as she fanned herself briskly. She was grateful for the cooling breeze over her crimson cheeks. Her whole body was on fire. Even though it was still only mid-morning, the Pump Room was already uncomfortably warm. It was going to be another sweltering August day.
She turned back to
the longcase clock, determined to prove to Raven that she wasn't entirely lacking in address.
'It is a fine clock, isn't it?' she agreed. 'I think...that is, I believe it was made by Thomas Tompion. He gave it to the city in...oh, in 1709, I think,' she recited from memory. 'And this is a statue of Beau Nash. From the days when Bath was a truly fashionable place.'
She finally dared to risk a wary glance at Raven.
'Perhaps you would do me the kindness of forgetting your first sighting of me,' he said.
'Kindness?' She was surprised.
'My conduct was hardly appropriate for my surroundings,' he pointed out stiffly.
Beneath his calm demeanour Abigail thought she detected a hint of discomfort, possibly even self-disgust. She had been so caught up in her own feelings of mortification she hadn't given much thought to how he might feel about the situation. Perhaps he was as embarrassed as she was at being caught in such an unusual situation. He was the one who'd suffered the nightmare.
'I thought you were very brave,' she said, instinctively responding to his unspoken mood rather than his actual words.
'Brave!' He looked dumbfounded by her assertion.
'When I have a nightmare I'm too frightened to move,' she explained. 'I'd never be brave enough to jump up and fight back.'
Raven stared at her so long she was afraid she'd offended him.
'I didn't m-mean to be impertinent,' she assured him anxiously. 'We will never talk of this again.'
In the silence that followed her words she cast around rather desperately for another topic of conversation. It suddenly occurred to her that there was no need for her to feel embarrassed at knowing Raven had come to Bath to avoid adventure. Admiral Pullen had told her the self-same thing only a few minutes ago.
'Are you—are you prone to having adventures?' she asked courageously, hoping Raven would not consider her question impertinent.
He laughed, some of the tension easing from his body.
'I'd like to deny the charge. Unfortunately it was my own lack of self-restraint that provoked Anthony's ridiculous wager,' he admitted. 'Only days after returning to England from our last voyage, the mailcoach Anthony and I were travelling was held up by highwaymen—'
'You didn't kill them!' Abigail exclaimed in horror, remembering the deadly knife she'd seen him brandish.
'No, I did not!' Raven said forcefully. 'Good God! What a flattering opinion you have of me. Surely it would be more conventional to enquire after my safety and that of the other passengers—rather than the fate of highway robbers!'
'Well, well, well...' Abigail stammered, dismayed that she had ruffled Raven's temper.
'They are now awaiting transportation,' Raven said stiffly after a few seconds of awful silence. 'But Anthony was most amused that I couldn't even reach London without an adventure overtaking me. So I am now obliged to spend the next month proving that I can be as sedate as a becalmed merchantman.'
'Oh. I see.' Abigail looked at him warily. It seemed to her that he was not as insulted by her earlier comment as she had first feared.
'I would be happy to tell you anything I know about Bath,' she said, remembering the admiral's request to her. 'I'm sure you understand my duties to Miss
Wyndham must always take priority—and I think Admiral Pullen exaggerates my helpfulness to him. If I can be of any assistance...but please don't feel obliged...'
'When the admiral gives an order, he expects it to be obeyed.' Raven smiled slightly. 'And as a stranger to Bath I'm certainly in need of friends here. I'd be honoured if you would consider me your friend.'
Abigail fanned herself diligently. 'The admiral is a very kind man,' she said. 'Oh, sir. You didn't tell me...I'm sure the admiral did so. Your rank? He'll notice if I get it wrong—it would be most embarrassing. Even more embarrassing,' she corrected herself.
'Yes, he's having enough fun at our expense as it is,' Raven agreed, surprising her. 'I was beginning to feel a little like his prize pig at one point. "Strong as a bull" indeed!'
Abigail was startled into laughter by his unexpected comment. There was no venom in Raven's tone, simply good-humoured exasperation.
'He introduced me to you as Captain Sir Gifford Raven. My cousin is Mr Anthony Hill.'
'Cousin?' Abigail was startled into an unwary question.
Gifford tensed as he looked down at her. But he saw only puzzlement in her eyes. She did not seem shocked by his statement, nor did he detect in her the repulsively prurient curiosity about his family he'd sometimes encountered. She simply appeared bewildered— and now perhaps a little embarrassed by her question.
For once in his life Gifford was disposed to offer a fuller explanation for his relationship to Anthony.
'My uncle was Anthony's father,' he said coolly. He felt under no obligation to tell her that his uncle had never married Anthony's mother, nor that both of Anthony's parents had died when his cousin was a baby. Gifford's father had raised Anthony along with his own sons.
'Oh?' Abigail glanced at Anthony again, then back up at Gifford. Then she smiled at him. He was surprised at how relieved he was by her easy acceptance of his relationship to Anthony. He was usually indifferent to other people's opinions.
'I'm honoured to meet you both,' she said. 'Will you...that is, I'm sure Mr Hill knows it was me at the window. I wouldn't want him to think...'
'I'll explain to him,' Gifford assured her.
'Thank you. It has been so very hot recently,' she said feelingly.
Her face was flushed and, despite her best efforts to appear composed, Gifford could see she was still very agitated.
He wasn't feeling particularly calm himself, though he'd done his damnedest to hide his discomfort. This was the woman who'd seen him make such a fool of himself last night. She must think he belonged in Bedlam! No wonder she'd been so flustered when the admiral had forced his company upon her.
She must have recognised him immediately. Gifford knew his appearance was distinctive, and Anthony had been brandishing that damned candelabrum right in his face.
She was a pretty woman, though by no means outstandingly beautiful. He'd had only a few moments to
appreciate her clear, creamy complexion before her face had become hot and shiny with embarrassment.
He couldn't see her hair. It was hidden beneath her plain straw bonnet, but he could see her eyes. They were a soft jade green, except for small gold stars which circled her pupils, like tiny sunflowers—and they revealed exactly what she was feeling. Shock. Embarrassment. Puzzlement. Compassion...
Her eyes were dangerous, he thought. She was dangerous. She'd noticed that he was embarrassed by his own stupid weakness and she'd tried to comfort him with praise!
He grew hot at the notion she considered him in need of such reassurance.
She was of average height for a woman, but that meant she barely reached his shoulder. She had to tilt her head back to look at him. It should have made her seem vulnerable, but her clear gaze left Gifford feeling that he was the one who'd been exposed. She wore a modest gown made of some kind of pale green material, decorated by an overall pattern of sprigs a slightly darker shade of green. Gifford didn't like green, and though he didn't know much about female fashion, he thought Abigail's clothes were plain to the point of being dowdy. But she had a trim figure, and her breasts were pleasingly full beneath her demure bodice.
Gifford rather wished that she had been the one who'd been careless with a bright light and open curtains. He wondered what she had been wearing when she sat at the window. Very little, he guessed, and immediately imagined her in a transparently thin muslin nightgown.
He cleared his throat as he realised the direction of his thoughts were hardly appropriate to the situation. He noticed that Abigail carried a furled parasol as well as her reticule in one hand, and that she continued to fan herself energetically with the other.
'Does the heat bother you?' he asked, remembering the fierce Caribbean sun under which he'd so recently sailed.
He suspected it might have been the oppressive warmth of the previous night that had provoked his nightmare.
'N-noo,' said Abigail slowly. 'Not usually. That is, I would enjoy it more if I was staying in the country, but even in town I prefer summer to winter. Sydney Gardens are very pleasant. Sometimes during the summer they hold concerts with fireworks and illuminations.'
'Do you attend?' By mutual, but unspoken agreement, they began to stroll back towards Admiral Pullen and Anthony.
'Miss Wyndham seldom feels strong enough to leave the house,' said Abigail. 'But Admiral Pullen kindly took me to a concert last summer. It was beautiful!' Her face lit up with remembered pleasure. 'He said perhaps he might take me to another one this year if Miss Wyndham can spare me. Please do excuse me,' she added as they rejoined the others. 'I've been gone so long. Miss Wyndham will be expecting me.' She smiled at them all with genuine friendliness. 'I'm so pleased to meet you, Mr Hill. Captain. Goodbye, Admiral.'
'A very fine girl,' said Admiral Pullen as the three men watched her hasten away. 'Always cheerful and
kind-hearted. Practical too. An excellent housekeeper by all accounts. Miss Wyndham gives her a free hand to run the household. Well, let's get out of this mausoleum and find something civilised to drink.'
'You don't favour the water?' Gifford said, falling into step beside the admiral.
'No. Only time I drank it I was bilious for two days.'
'But you still brought us to the Pump Room?' Gifford remarked off-handedly.
'Of course. Best place to meet people. Hear the latest news...'
Gifford exchanged a brief glance with Anthony. He was damn nearly sure the admiral had brought them to the Pump Room for the sole purpose of meeting Miss Abigail Summers.
Pullen had hastened them along the streets, one eye on his pocket watch, as if he were late for a meeting with the Board of Admiralty. Once inside the Pump Room he'd marched straight up to Abigail without a single deviation. Gifford wasn't surprised the poor woman had been startled into incoherence by the admiral's abrupt salutation. Then Pullen proceeded to puff off their respective virtues to each other with a stunning lack of subtlety. And he'd arranged for Gifford to lease the house immediately opposite to Abigail!
Gifford's Lady Page 2
