Hawk pulled Alex from her knees, and brought her astride him. He wrapped her hand around him and gave her the rhythm. Then he played the same cadence, slow and easy, at her center.
Damn Chesterfield to hell. She was his.
Her head went back and she pulled air from her lungs. When he could tell from her moist, swollen bud how ready she was, as swollen and ready as he, Hawk shouted for Myerson to take them home.
Alex whimpered, she was so undone, as he redressed her. She laid her cheek against his shoulder while he put himself away, something of a challenge.
“We have arrived,” she said when they stopped.
“Not quite,” he said, and then he carried her from the carriage, and up the stairs.
The black lace corset was shed in a flash and Hawk laid Alex atop the covers, where he could devour the sight of her. Then he lay beside her to free himself and urge her astride him, but this time he rocked her and inflamed them both, until they reached a modicum of satisfaction.
Alex wept. Hawk understood. It was not enough, yet it was the best he could give her.
They were doomed. Whichever direction they went with their lives, together or separate, would be the wrong direction.
For days, Hawk rose before Alex and went up to bed after her, as well. He was confused, his mind filled with either taking her to bed, or murdering her lover.
Because he was thinking of returning to the country, he asked Reed and Gideon to join him in taking Beatrix, Damon and Rafferty to Astley’s Royal Amphitheater in Lambeth, as he had promised.
While Reed did not consider taking children anywhere a good idea for any reason, Gideon thought it a splendid notion and readily agreed. Eventually, so did Reed.
Hawk had not given his niece and nephews much attention since returning from Belgium. Besides, he desperately needed to turn his thoughts to something, or someone, other than Alex.
Beatrix was the daughter he never had, and he adored his nephews, scamps that they were. He had missed them all, and spending time with them held the promise of a certain peace.
Gideon generously procured a private box on the arena level, though the children might have swung from the rafters, as sat on their bottoms, they were so excited, making Hawk question his notion of peace.
Damon favored the performing monkeys, but Rafe much preferred the equestrian showmanship for which Astley’s was famous. Beatrix adored the bespangled dame who performed with a broadsword, cutting and slashing her way across the arena, though later, she said she saw Baxter across the way kissing that lady. Hawk stepped between Bea and the view, concerned that Baxter was slipping into his old ways.
Not even the boys were fond of the thunder, lightening and hail spectacle, and when the reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo began, the three men regarded each other with disgust, and left without another word. Hawk was glad, however, that they attended, almost as glad as the children, though Reed ended the evening more skittish about children than ever, after Bea vomited in his lap.
They got home late, and by the time Hawk got Claudia to help clean Bea up and put her to bed, he found Alex asleep, or so he thought. He had no sooner pulled the covers over himself, than she came and burrowed into him.
Hawk sighed with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration, and a need to speak, as he placed his arm about her, so as to pillow her head on his shoulder. “Why did you borrow five thousand pounds from Chesterfield?” There, it was said.
Alexandra’s sigh was impossible to gauge, though bowing to the inevitable seemed a good interpretation. “I did not borrow the money. I was never supposed to return it. We were supposed to be married.”
“Ah. But what did you use it for?”
“I cannot tell you that.”
“Why can you not be forthcoming with me?”
“I am being as forthcoming with you as you have been with me.”
“We are talking, again, about my not contacting you upon my return, are we not?”
“You are.”
“Imagine that.” Hawk sighed and tried to curb his irritation. “Alexandra….”
“Yes, Hawksworth.”
“Gambling … while seeming to be the answer to acquiring vast sums of money with little or no effort—”
“How did you guess?”
“Brilliant deductive powers … and a hot fire.”
“What?”
“It does not matter. Simply give me your oath that you will never gamble again and I will say no further word about it.”
“I can honestly say that I have not placed a wager since I asked Fitzwilliams to pay the vouchers, nor will I gamble in the future.”
“Thank you, I—”
“Will say no further word about it.”
“Right.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Why are you still awake?” he asked, barred from probing further into her gaming. “Are you unable to sleep?”
“I have been thinking.”
“Come to any conclusions?”
“Not a one.”
“I have,” Hawk said.
Alex rose and leaned on an elbow to regard him, though the light cast by the moon shone too pale to read her.
“Tomorrow, I am going home to Huntington Lodge.”
“You are leaving me?” … again, Alex thought.
His turn to raise himself. Had she sounded regretful? “Leaving you? Nonsense. I need to speak to the estate manager, or he needs to speak with me, I should say, judging from his letter. And I would like to check on the property, the progress of repairs, visit the new tenants, see how they get on, and make certain they have enough to eat.”
“You are a better man than the one who went to war.”
“Balderdash. Quicksilver is due to foal any day, and if the new cottages are coming along, I thought I might start the men on enlarging the stable. Gideon has offered me the pick of his breeding stock, you know, with the excuse that I would not have lost my inheritance, if I did not watch his back and die in his place.”
“And you are willing to accept his offer?”
“Of course not, but I am considering borrowing his best stallion to cover Quicksilver next spring. There is pride rooted in honor, but there is also a point where pride becomes stubborn and foolish.”
“I am pleased you finally realize it for the most part. You are going to make the estate profitable, are you not?”
“I certainly hope so. Will that please you?”
“Only if you are the one managing it.”
What a remarkable statement, Hawk thought, disturbingly intuitive. “Go to sleep.”
“How long will you be gone? Do not forget that we are invited to remain through Christmas. Gideon and Sabrina will come to stay as well.”
“I shall be home in plenty of time for Christmas.”
“Oh, Grandmama’s birthday celebration is the week before. Perhaps you can be home in time for that?”
“We will see.”
Alex wanted to weep. She wanted to beg him not to leave her again, but she could not bring herself to do so. He was sorry he had married her; she knew he must be.
His father had been right. She had never been good enough for Hawk
* * *
The Huntington Lodge estate might not be thriving, but it was a beehive of activity and progress. The most important repairs on the house were done, inside and out. No more roof-leaks, broken stairs or drafty windows. The house, itself, was still plenty ugly, but warm and dry and infinitely more livable.
Aunt Hildegarde and Uncle Gifford were not only grateful for the improvements, they were downright agreeable, so much in complete agreement, as to make Hawk almost as suspicious as he was pleased to see them.
The new cottages stood two stories high, thatched of roof and simple of design, but warm and cozy. The soldiers and their families worked hard—clearing land on the home farm for a larger spring planting, digging foundations for more cottages, repairing and whitewashing the old, building the new—whateve
r his manager set them to.
Most of the tenant cottages now housed only two instead of three families. Several of the male tenants, members of his old unit, could not seem to break the habit of saluting him, but Hawk was working on that as well.
Mrs. Parker baked bread and made soup daily to keep everyone fed, which Hawk had asked her to do, to see their tenants through the winter, until they could begin to plant their personal gardens and fend for themselves.
Hawk either observed the daily activity from atop Alexandra’s horse, or on foot, or he got right down and worked beside his tenants. Sometimes Giff rode with him.
Hawk spoke with everyone, man woman and child, alike, listening to their ideas to improve the estate. The fact that he was nearly as penniless as they were made them seem to want to work the harder.
One soldier’s wife suggested a pottery, and Hawk thought that might be a good idea, given the clay on the land. Another suggested a weaving loom or two, given the sheep, for blankets and wraps for winter. If they kept this up, Huntington Lodge would become a community unto itself.
Four soldiers brought horses they could barely afford to keep, so they were happy to lend them to the breeding pot, up at the stable, for winter hay and feed. Not that Hawk would use all of them, but he would make use of at least one.
Through all the positive progress, however, Hawk worried … about his marriage, about Alex, for he saw her everywhere. He worried about how he was going to repay her debt to Chesterfield. Five thousand pounds might as well be fifty thousand right now.
Why did she love Chesterfield?
Did she love Chesterfield?
A prosperous Huntington Estate would be an excellent gift with which to leave Alex. But working beside her for a lifetime, to turn it into a successful venture, would be the greatest gift of all.
But a gift for whom? Him? Or her?
He wanted to make their marriage work, but he did not want to assure his happiness at the cost of Alexandra’s. Except … how could she have gone from Chesterfield’s arms that night at the ball to practically mounting him ten minutes later in the carriage?
Which of them did she love? And was he an idiot for imagining he might be counted as a possibility?
His uncle approached him one day as Hawk was fretting over the problem and pacing the winter-barren orchard. “Would you like to talk about whatever is bothering you?”
Hawk shook his head. “I suppose it would be useless to say nothing is?”
Giff chuckled. “Sometimes I think you favor me in temperament more than you favor your own father.”
“Thank you. That is the nicest thing you could say.”
“You still ache to please him, though, do you not?”
“How did you guess?”
“I never succeeded, either, and as old as I am, a little part of me wishes I could do more than please him. Just once before I die, I would like to best him.”
Hawk nodded his understanding.
“Let me just say,” Giff continued, “that you did not fail your father. He failed you … with his inability to love. Do not make the same mistake.”
Hawk faltered in his steps then stopped altogether. “I want to do what is best for Alex.”
“It seems to me that you are already doing that.”
“But suppose she still loves Chesterfield.”
“If you do not know who the lass loves, you are a blind man.” Giff put his hand on Hawk’s shoulder. “The demons of war can distort even the obvious good in life. Do not let war win, Bryce. Open your eyes and see what you have. Do not let your father win, either. You are a good and worthy man, worthy of Alexandra’s love, and of so much more.”
Hawk swallowed, nodded and walked on, his uncle lending his silent support beside him.
“Uncle Giff,” Hawk said after a bit, stopping again. “You bested him years ago.”
Giff chuckled at the jest. “How’s that?”
“You have always been a better father.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
After nearly three weeks at Huntington Lodge, Hawk could not stay away from Alexandra one day longer. So he packed his bags, talked Hildy and Giff into coming with him for Christmas, bid his tenants farewell, and set off.
As their carriage approached London, Hawk fingered the carved acorns atop the small wooden casket Chesterfield had returned with his clothing. The cask contained Hawk’s father’s wedding band, signet ring, and a gaudy diamond he acquired on his grand tour.
Hawk kept his stickpins inside, as well as a few childhood treasures, like the Roman coin he and Alex dug up at Devil’s Dyke on the day they met, and the tiny alabaster bust they found near the water meadows sometime during the halcyon days of their childhood. Alex kept many more of their treasures, but Hawk had claimed only those two.
When they reached the outskirts of London, Hawk bade Myerson to take him to Bond Street, to Stedman & Vardon, Goldsmiths & Jewelers, and then to take Hildy and Giff on to St. James’s Street. Hawk would catch a hack home.
At the establishment of Stedman & Vardon, Hawk opened his cask and removed his father’s gaudy diamond, willing to sell every piece of jewelry he owned for the five thousand pounds needed to remove Alexandra from Chesterfield’s debt.
The jeweler was a jolly old man, bald of pate and cunning of brow. He popped in his jeweler’s eye and remained silent for far too long, examining the ring at every angle. “It is paste,” he said, tossing it Hawk’s way. “I hope it did not come dear.”
“It was my father’s,” Hawk said catching it. Perhaps the man thought to swindle him, though the establishment had a superior reputation in the ton.
Since Hawk knew what he had paid for his emerald stickpin, he offered that, as a test, for the man’s inspection.
“Seven hundred,” the jeweler said, which was honest, even generous, but not enough, and Hawk did not think the rest, together, would amount to that much again.
Nevertheless, he emptied the casket onto the glass case and pushed the jewelry forward, piece by piece. The childhood mementos, he tossed back into the box, but the man gasped and began speaking so fast, Hawk could barely understand him. “May I see them, at least,” he begged, and Hawk saw his gaze centered on the treasures in the cask.
Hawk relinquished the miniature bust, now lost in the man’s large hand, and the jeweler regarded it with awe, examining and running his fingers over all. “I will give you eight thousand pounds,” he said with nary a blink.
Hawk’s breath caught in his throat as he regarded the shrewd businessman. “Twelve thousand, cash, now.”
The man paled to the point that he placed the bust on a carefully-laid piece of black velvet, and took out his handkerchief to wipe his brow.
After a considering minute, he picked up the coin, rubbed his thumb over it, examined its surface, and narrowed his eyes. “Thirteen for both.”
“Sixteen,” Hawk countered, fisting his hands to keep their trembling from giving him away.
“Fourteen and a half.”
“Fifteen and not a penny less.”
The jeweler nodded and Hawk followed him into his back room.
Still quaking in reaction, Hawk went directly to Child’s Bank. After his business there was concluded, he went on to forty-six Berkeley Square.
Chesterfield entered his townhouse library less than five minutes after his butler had invited Hawk inside. “To what do I owe the honor, and all that rubbish?”
“Why did you not go back to the country, as Claude said you intended?”
“Excuse me?”
Hawk shook his head. “Sorry, I digress. Something in you gets me to bristling.”
“If you must know,” Chesterfield said. “I decided that, for the moment, the city has more to offer in the way of entertainment.”
“This should help finance your stay, then.” Hawk handed Chesterfield a bank draft for five thousand pounds and a receipt for same. “Sign the receipt, and Alex will owe you nothing more.”
Chesterf
ield nodded. “Come into some blunt, did you?”
“Just a deal of good luck. It started the day I met Alexandra.”
“I once thought the same,” Chesterfield said, handing him the signed receipt. “But a recent, interesting … diversion … is beginning to make me feel like a man of good fortune, once more.”
“I am glad to hear it. Good day to you,” Hawk said. “I hope that our paths shall never cross again.”
“I am sure you do.” Chesterfield followed Hawk down to the foyer and watched him make his way to the front door.
Hawk turned at the last. “You will notify Alex that she owes you nothing, but under no circumstances will you reveal that I paid you.”
“In that case, she will think I am being generous in forgiving the debt.”
“So be it, then.” Hawk tipped his hat and strode out the door, and Chesterfield’s respect for him grew tenfold.
Hawk arrived at Basingstoke House while the household was still in uproar. “They are getting married,” Claudia shouted from the stairs, as Hawk handed Myerson his top hat, cane and greatcoat.
“Who is getting married?”
“Aunt Hildy and Uncle Giff.”
“Good God.” Hawk made his way up the stairs to the drawing room and went straight to Alex. He squeezed both her hands, kissed her cheek and ached for her lips. “They never said a word to me.”
“Well, you were terribly preoccupied, dear,” Hildy said as she came and offered her cheek. “Wish us happy.”
“I do. Giff, you sly old bachelor. This will change everything, you know.” Hawk shook his uncle’s hand.
“It certainly will.” Giff coughed and leaned close. “I am too old for all this sneaking about.”
“We would like to lease the dower house, if you would allow us?” Hildy looked from Alex to Hawk and back, clearly unsure as to which of them she should ask.
Hawk looked to Alex for Hildy’s answer.
“You may have the dower house as a wedding gift.”
“I shall write today to have Davis set someone to doing the necessary repairs,” Hawk said. “When will you marry?”
UNFORGETTABLE ROGUE (The Rogues Club, Book Two) Page 19