Trevor's Truth [Lords of Hawskfell Manor 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)
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Lords of Hawksfell Manor 7
Trevor’s Truth
Trevor Hawk has everything he desires. His Hawk curse gives him the excuse to take his pleasure where he likes. What more could he want? He goes to Hawksfell Manor and discovers Hawks who have love, too. But love isn’t meant for him.
Ivy Billings, lady’s maid at the manor, is lonely. She has a crush on the earl’s valet, Grayson, but he’s so cold. When Trevor arrives, it’s like sunshine breaking through the gray January. Grayson Emmett values his position. But he’s removed from the other servants. He’s secretly drawn to Ivy and can’t help but be drawn to this newest Hawk, too.
Trevor wants them both, and he always gets what he wants. As their passion escalates he begins to think he might want them forever. Will he admit the truth and confess his love? Or will he cling to his belief that he can’t have real happiness?
Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 26,666 words
TREVOR’S TRUTH
Lords of Hawksfell Manor 7
Josie Dennis
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
TREVOR’S TRUTH
Copyright © 2014 by Josie Dennis
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-224-7
First E-book Publication: February 2014
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
TREVOR’S TRUTH
Lords of Hawksfell Manor 7
JOSIE DENNIS
Copyright © 2014
Chapter 1
Yorkshire, England 1913
Trevor Hawk, Viscount Heatherton, gave a lusty yawn as he pulled up his trousers. His head nearly brushed the ceiling of the attic room as he straightened to tuck in his shirt. He should remember how low the ceilings were here at Heatherton House. He’d fucked half the maids and several footmen over what felt like forever.
He looked at the red-haired maid sprawled naked on her back across the bed. “Thank you for the ride, miss.”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “My name’s Rosy.”
“Lovely.” He gave her what he knew was a charming grin. “As rosy as that pert little ass of yours.”
She giggled, and he knew he wouldn’t have a worry from her. The staff knew what he was. What he’d needed since reaching manhood. He usually got whatever he wanted, too. Given with a smile and a kiss and an expression that said they were ever grateful to serve him. Even his mother and her sisters took prodigious good care of him, though in a decidedly different manner.
He’d been raised by a house of females dedicated to his every need. His Hawk father, a bastard by all accounts, had left soon after Trevor was born. He’d legitimatized him before disappearing, which was apparently a tradition long held by Hawk men. They would sire any number of heirs, make them legal Hawks, and then disappear.
He’d heard rumors over the past few months that there were some Hawks in Yorkshire breaking with tradition and actually marrying. Marrying! Just the thought caused a chill to freeze his bits. He enjoyed letting his beast take over. Fucking anything and everything whenever he fancied. But marriage? God, no.
He left the servants’ quarters and went down to the family bedrooms. His own room was large and luxurious. His mother’s family was wealthy and his own Hawk gift with money made sure he could take care of her and his aunts long into the foreseeable future. After stripping, he tucked himself at last into his very large bed. The maid had sucked him until he’d nearly turned inside out, then spread herself for a ride that almost sent her through the thin mattress on her bed. His cock was pleased. His beast was quiet. Yet sleep eluded him.
He’d never had to work for a thing in his life. For twenty-six years now he’d been the center of the universe at Heatherton and he had no cares in the world. He ate and drank what he wanted. He rode and played what he wished. He fucked wherever his cock took him. Again he thought about the other Hawks in Yorkshire. Men who had, somehow, found something more than easy sex meant to assuage the curse. He couldn’t believe it was possible, though.
His mother had told him time and again that all the Hawks were rutting bastards who littered Yorkshire with offspring legitimate in name only. She claimed she knew this before she took up with Trevor’s father but it had been too hard to resist those dark Hawk eyes. Eyes Trevor had inherited even though he had his mother’s sun-streaked hair. Since she always said this with a tender look for her only child in her blue eyes, Trevor didn’t believe she had any regrets. So now his mother and his two spinster aunts showered him with all the love they had and he knew he w
as one lucky bastard.
Lucky and lonely, he could admit to himself in the quiet of the night. As a child he’d run with the children in the nearby village but he’d always felt set apart. Even though they lived in modest homes nothing like Heatherton House, Trevor had still envied them a little. They had brothers and sisters to play with, not just aunts. They had fathers, too. Not just a mother who sometimes got a look of sadness in her eyes even when she was smiling.
With a grunt, he turned on his side and squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t think about those faceless happy Hawks, settled into a life he’d never considered. He wouldn’t think about the endless years stretching out in front of him, caring for his family and going on as he had been. He knew he was damned lucky.
If he felt lonely once in a great while, that was a burden he could easily bury.
* * * *
“So another Hawk has flown,” Mrs. Holmes stated.
Ivy Billings, lady’s maid to Lady Hawksfell, raised her head before she could stop herself. She only hoped her emotions didn’t show on her face. They usually did, and that had always been a nuisance in her opinion.
“Is that so?” she asked, keeping her voice even.
She really wanted to know more but doubted Mrs. Holmes would elaborate. The housekeeper of Hawksfell Manor did not tolerate gossip and the tale of Victor Hawk, his third cousin Violet and the pretty footman Cabot would surely qualify as such.
Mrs. Holmes just nodded as she took her place at one end of the table in the servants’ hall. Dinner service was over and the rest of the staff filed in to take their meal. Mr. Carstairs, the venerable butler, sat across from her at the other end of the table as the rest of the staff filed in.
Ivy didn’t have to serve abovestairs, so for the past hour or so she’d occupied herself with her mistress’s mending as the footman and maids saw to the family in the dining room. It was true that the countess was supremely undemanding. She was effortlessly beautiful and a pleasure to dress and coif, so it wasn’t difficult for Ivy to do very well in her position.
As the kitchen maids served the simple meal of stew and bread to the staff, Ivy tried to focus on the food and the company. True, Cabot was gone from Hawksfell and living with his Hawk and his lady now. Oh, but she missed gazing at his pretty face. And his fine figure in his livery! She’d all but thrown herself at him time and again, but the truth was she really didn’t know what she would have done had he decided to catch her. He’d really just been a flirtation to fill her lonely hours.
“Good evening, Ivy,” Grayson said as he sat himself across from her.
Ivy’s heart gave a little flip and she made a point of breathing slowly in and out of her nose. Why couldn’t she flirt with this particular gentleman? He was the earl’s man, his valet and equal to her in servant status. Yet there was something about Grayson that made her tongue feel too thick in her mouth. He was just so…serious. Nothing like the bright and charming Cabot. Nor like the intensity of the few Hawks she’d seen over the past three months she’d been at the manor. No. Grayson was different. Set apart. Almost stern.
When she only nodded in answer, he raised a black brow, his gray eyes intense. Honestly, he scared her a bit. As he bent his head to eat his meal, she studied his glossy black hair. His broad shoulders. He was very tall, too. And his hands were very graceful. A tingling started in her belly and she forced her eyes shut. She couldn’t give in to her attraction to another man. Not after what had happened six months earlier.
Later that night, after she’d seen to the countess’s needs and readied her things for tomorrow, Ivy climbed the stairs up to her attic room. She had the room to herself as a lady’s maid, and she was alternatively pleased and saddened by that. She had no friends here at Hawksfell, and didn’t expect to make any. She’d overheard them talking the first day she’d arrived, and gathered that no one expected her to last in the position. Why, she wasn’t exactly sure.
After her indiscretion, her previous employers hadn’t wanted her under their roof any longer but the recommendation the Penningtons had given her served her well. Within two weeks she’d been hired by the earl’s man of business, Mr. Grantley. He was much like Grayson in demeanor, actually. Stern and almost morose. But there was something more she’d heard belowstairs in the servants’ hall. Something about Mr. Grantley’s connection between another Hawk and one of her predecessors. That couldn’t be, though. A maid wed to a nobleman? And involved with another man as well? No.
Yes, Victor Hawk and his Violet had Cabot, but Victor and Violet were quality. They took their pleasure where they found it with little care to the consequences. Well, she knew plenty about consequences. If you believed a man’s sweet words, you left yourself open to heartache and ruin.
She unbound her hair and slowly ran the brush through it. Her hair was thick and could be unruly at times, but she took pride in making it shining and smooth. There was something soothing about the action. Once her hair was fashioned in a thick braid she set the brush aside.
As she readied for bed, she tried very hard not to picture Grayson in his room across the hall from hers. He also slept alone and, from all accounts, never took his pleasure with any of the staff. Oh, but what did his body look like under that livery? She imagined he was quite impressive. He was a tall man, after all. She might not have experience beyond her one past lover but she guessed Grayson was very impressive beneath those creased trousers, too.
“Oh my,” she sighed. Her body flushed hot.
She had no cause to think of him that way. Hadn’t she learned her lesson from her liaison with the Penningtons’s first footman? Her traitorous body wanted Grayson, though. Perhaps more than she’d ever wanted Paul despite his sweet lies.
She would just perform her duties and put any wayward thoughts about indulging her fantasies with Grayson out of her mind.
* * * *
“That will be all, Grayson,” the Earl of Hawksfell said.
Grayson Emmett, the earl’s valet, inclined his head. “Very good, my lord.”
The earl smiled, looking very relaxed in his dressing gown. Grayson still marveled at that expression of contentment on the earl’s face, when taken with how his employer had been at this time last year. The household was run quite differently now, both above and belowstairs. None of that…business was going on between the staff and the earl, either. The man was happily wed, as astounding as that should be.
“Go find your bed, Grayson,” the earl teased.
Grayson stiffened at his light tone. He’d been with the earl for two years now, and was quite uncomfortable with this new demeanor. Giving a curt nod, Grayson turned and left the earl’s room.
“Do not tease Grayson, love,” the countess said as Grayson pulled the door closed.
The earl said something in answer that Grayson didn’t catch and his face heated. He knew without a doubt that the earl referred to his solitude. There had never been a whiff of impropriety where he was concerned either, despite the earl’s curse. Yes, the earl had fucked practically all of the maids and most of the male servants before meeting and marrying the countess. And the staff had spoken of it often within Grayson’s earshot.
Grayson had taken care of his lordship on a few rare occasions when the man had been in such intense need he couldn’t bear to wait. He knew the earl couldn’t ease himself so he’d stroked him to orgasm more than once. He hadn’t wanted Lord Hawksfell to fuck him, yet he still felt vaguely unsatisfied after his duty. It was that same tickling of sensual awareness he felt whenever he was near Ivy. Truth be told, he wanted her more than he’d wanted impersonal satisfaction with the earl.
She’d been so lovely in the common room, eating her meal so delicately across from him. In the short time she’d been at the manor, he’d watched her. How could he not?
With that thick shining auburn hair and deep brown eyes, she was easy to watch. She was slight yet shapely, her breasts and bottom drawing his notice when he should be minding his duties. She was beauti
ful, even in her somber uniform. Or maybe because of it, if he were completely honest with himself. It was passing strange, as he’d never felt that pull toward any of the other maids at Hawksfell, past or present. But with Ivy? He could smell her sweet scent anytime she was near. And more than his nose took note of it.
He reached his lonely room in the attics and stripped. God, he was hard again. Almost every night since Ivy had come to Hawksfell he’d been hard. For her. Well, he wasn’t cursed. He could bloody well touch himself and tonight he was finally going to do so.
He eased his drawers down as he settled on his narrow bed. His cock filled his hand and, while he might not be as impressively endowed as the earl himself, his flesh was hard and thick and long. Closing his eyes, he stroked himself from root to tip.
“Ah,” he breathed as he caught the hot liquid beaded at the top of his cock’s head. He spread it with his thumb and bit back a curse. His pulse pounded as he stroked himself faster and faster. In his mind it wasn’t his own hand easing his discomfort. No. It was Ivy here before him. Her tongue stroking again and again over his erection, her even white teeth nibbling beneath the head, her full lips closing over his cock as she sucked him.
“Ivy!” he gasped as he came with a shudder.
He fell back on his bed, still holding his cock in his hand. Aftershocks of his orgasm flickered through him as he began to breathe more slowly. The recollection of his most recent fantasy shocked him. What was he doing, imagining Ivy sucking him? He’d never come so hard by his own hand, though. Yes, he was still vaguely unsatisfied but his cock was happy.