She had no difficulty picturing Hawkhurst as her husband now, just as she’d done numerous times in her romantic dreams these past few months. If he were her husband, though, she could have removed her gown instead of standing there shivering in her clammy one. If he were her husband, she could have undressed down to her shift and moved into his arms. Indeed, she could have bared her entire chilled body to him and shared his warmth.…
The alluring image dissolved when he took her dripping cloak and spread it near the hearth to dry, then went to his desk without another word.
As she removed her wet gloves, Skye could tell Hawkhurst was clearly displeased to have her in his home. She ought to be intimidated by his surly manner; any normal young lady would be. But few gentlemen had the power to shake her, perhaps because she was accustomed to handling the strong-willed men in her family.
She usually was able to bend them to her own will with sweet reason. She suspected in this case, though, it would take a good deal more than reason to sway the earl. Indeed, the sheer size of her task daunted her. But if Lord Hawkhurst was looking for a wife, it might as well be her, Skye judged. At the very least, she wanted to see if they were a compatible match. And regardless of her romantic hopes, she needed a hero just now, and he was a genuine hero.
Skye drew a steadying breath to bolster her courage. She had contrived to land on his doorstep, and now she had to capitalize on the opportunity she had created for herself.
“Will you please read my aunt’s letter, my lord?” she asked.
Obligingly, he turned up the flame on the desk lamp, then held the letter nearer the light. It was then that Skye really saw the burn scars marring the back of his hands.
A sudden lump formed in her throat. Hawkhurst was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen, but also the most deeply scarred. Not just on the outside but on the inside, if her information was correct. After all, he had crawled through fire to save his wife and young son, futilely as it happened. With his life shattered, he’d exiled himself to a distant Mediterranean island and spent the past decade engaged in dangerous deeds, not caring whether he lived or died.
Skye’s heart went out to him. Perhaps that organ was too tender, but as the youngest Wilde cousin of the current generation, she was known for being the sensitive one, in addition to being the most mischievous.
Mentally chiding herself for staring at the earl’s scarred hands, she busied herself spreading her gloves on the hearth. Then she settled into the wing chair and began to remove the pins from her chignon, since her damp hair would dry more quickly if down.
For a short while as he read, the silence in the study was broken only by rain spitting against the windowpanes and the occasional snap of a log in the hearth fire.
When Hawkhurst absently reached for a snifter that was almost empty, Skye noticed the crystal decanter half-filled with what appeared to be brandy. Evidently he had been drinking, which partially explained his morose mood.
It was not surprising that he would be sitting alone here and brooding. She would have brooded also if she’d had to face the ghosts of her dead family, as he doubtless had upon his arrival at the castle after a decade of being absent.
In fact, it was his castle that had made Skye wonder if the earl might be her ideal match. According to her cousin Kate’s matchmaking theory, the five Wilde cousins—Ashton, Quinn, Jack, Katharine, and Skye—could find true love by mirroring legendary lovers in history and literature.
Skye hoped that her romance would follow a French fairy tale written nearly a century ago, where a beautiful young lady had been delivered to a beast whose lair was a palace.
Of course, Lord Hawkhurst was not a beast in the literal sense, but a scarred recluse somewhat fit the role. And this gloomy mansion could be a beast’s lair, Skye thought with a shiver.
Just then Hawkhurst looked up from the letter. His gaze narrowed on her as she combed her fingers through her tangled tresses. Then he said rather brusquely, “Lady Isabella’s missive falls far short of the explanation you promised. She says only that you have a request to make of me. So what do you want, Lady Skye?”
Skye hesitated, knowing she had to choose her words carefully. Naturally she could not tell him her true reason for being there for fear he would think she was stalking him. Her purpose had to remain her secret for now. Therefore, she would employ an entirely different excuse to ensure her chance to pursue the earl.
“I need you to find someone for me.”
“Who?”
“My uncle’s long lost love.”
Hawkhurst appeared dubious. “Why the devil do you think I could help?”
“Because you are an expert at solving puzzles and finding missing people. Two years ago when Lady Isabella was abducted by a Berber sheikh and carried off to the mountains near Algiers, you found her and rescued her, to her immense gratitude.”
When the earl was silent, Skye offered absently, “I will pay very generously.”
That was obviously the wrong approach, for he shook his head. “My services are not for hire.”
“Then do it as a favor for my aunt.”
That argument did not appear to sway him, either.
At his reticence, Skye gave a soft huff of exasperation. “You are a hero, Lord Hawkhurst. You should want to help me.”
Her claim brought a flash of genuine amusement to his features. “I am no hero.”
“You are indeed. And you belong to a secret league of heroes called the Guardians of the Sword. In fact, you are the league’s most renowned member.”
His expression suddenly became enigmatic, but his tone revealed his displeasure that so much had been disclosed about him. “I expected more discretion from Bella.”
“You ought not blame her. I was quite persistent.”
That was certainly true. She had quizzed her aunt at great length about every facet of the earl’s past. Isabella had a long relationship with the Guardians, having first encountered them many years ago through her first husband, a Spanish nobleman. And after knowing Hawkhurst for the past ten years, she thought of herself much as an older sister to him and yearned for his happiness.
“But don’t fear,” Skye added quickly. “She told me little more than the name of your alliance of spies and that it exists as a clandestine branch of the British Foreign Office. I know, however, that you have a long list of commendable qualities. You are honorable, supremely clever, and a leader of men. Before the tragedy struck, you were a devoted husband and father. And since then, you have risked your life countless times over and saved numerous lives.”
His answer was gruff, almost harsh. “That still does not make me suitable for your task.”
Skye eyed Hawkhurst in frustration. She was not about to admit failure, not when she felt such great urgency to act. His spy career might still be shrouded in secrecy, but her aunt had been completely frank about his unromantic affairs. Hawkhurst soon intended to wed the great-niece of his superior and mentor—a cold marriage of convenience strictly for political purposes.
He had not begun his courtship yet; he was merely readying his house to receive a new bride. But given his plans, Skye had little time to discover if she and Hawkhurst were a match and, if so, to somehow prevent his betrothal and marriage to another woman.
She was never one to turn away from a challenge, though.
Tamping down her frustration, she offered the earl her most winning smile. “Just hear me out, my lord. Please. It is the least you can do, given your friendship with my aunt.”
Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms over his chest. “Very well. You have five minutes.”
Waiting for her response, Hawk watched Lady Skye, unwillingly entranced. Even wet and bedraggled, she was lovely. Her face was fine-boned and classical; her hair a shade of champagne silk; her wide eyes the vivid blue of a cloudless summer’s day, a reflection of her uncommon name.
Contrarily, she didn’t reply to his decree at once, merely leaned closer to the hea
rth to dry her damp tresses. The firelight behind her rimmed her ivory profile and shimmered through the curtain of her hair as she used her fingers like a comb.
Her movements were unconsciously sensual and made Hawk swear an oath under his breath. Granted, he’d gone too long without female companionship to satisfy his carnal needs, but why this particular female roused such a powerful ache in him, he couldn’t say.
The impact had begun the moment he opened his front door to her. Lady Skye caught him completely off guard, a feat even his worst foes rarely managed. And when she’d fallen into his arms, his baser instincts had taken control, instantly hardening his loins.
It was his body’s unwanted reaction, in addition to learning her identity, that had made his tone gruffer than normal.
She was still affecting him painfully now. If he were to conjure up a sexual fantasy, Lady Skye Wilde would fit the role exquisitely: lithe figure, ripe breasts, feminine grace, enticing warmth. Not overly tall, she looked somewhat delicate, like fine crystal, but he suspected her fragility was an illusion.
She was definitely a novelty, though, intruding into his bleak, nearly deserted house at this late hour and insisting he give her a hearing. Bold, yet charming as the devil … or a siren. For a brief moment he’d even wondered if she was part of an enemy scheme. In his profession, it wasn’t unusual to employ beautiful sirens to gain vital secrets.
Yet he did recall encountering Lady Skye a decade before. The enchanting girl was clearly a grown woman now, with her damp gown molding her elegant curves. She smelled of fresh rain and roses, a scent that wreaked havoc on his senses. And that smile of hers … That smile could slay dragons—or render a man witless.
Doubtless he was suffering the effects of too much brandy, but this was still the most aroused he’d been in years.
Hawk stirred uncomfortably in his desk chair, knowing he damn well needed to hold his lust in check. For one thing, Lady Skye was Isabella’s niece by marriage. For another, she was an unaccompanied female in his household. No honorable man would take advantage of her vulnerability, even if she had willfully orchestrated this compromising situation herself.
He had best be rid of her, just as soon as he heard the cursory details of her proposition—which admittedly had surprised him as much as her unexpected arrival.
Hawk shook his head to reduce the alcoholic haze and repeated his warning of a time limit, prodding her to get on with her explanation.
“I am not certain five minutes will be enough,” she replied easily. “It is a long story.”
“Then you had best begin.”
She did not seem at all intimidated by his abrupt manner. Indeed, just the opposite; her blue gaze seemed understanding and sympathetic as she launched into her tale.
“You may know that Isabella’s late third husband, Lord Henry Wilde, was the younger brother of my uncle Lord Cornelius.”
Hawk nodded, aware that the vivacious, half-Spanish widow had wed three times, the last to a British nobleman’s son. Bella was now in her midforties, but her beauty and charm were still turning male heads. “Go on.”
“Well, Lord Cornelius is only a distant relation to my branch of the Wilde family, but my brother Quinn and I think of him as our true uncle. He took over our legal guardianship when I was ten, along with that of my three Wilde cousins after all our parents perished when their ship sank at sea.”
Somewhat surprisingly to Hawk, she quickly glossed over her loss to focus on her uncle.
“At the time, Uncle Cornelius was a literary scholar of some note but gave up his bookish life to devote himself to raising five unruly children. He is over sixty now and a dedicated bachelor. Even though he is the dearest man imaginable, I have always thought him rather dull and a Wilde only by name. For generations our family earned a reputation for our passionate romances, but Uncle never followed suit—or so I thought until last spring, when I was helping to organize his library. I found a packet of letters hidden there. They were written some twenty-five years ago—his correspondence with a young lady from a nearby district. Imagine my surprise to discover that my staid, elderly uncle had experienced a tragic love affair when he was a young man.”
Lady Skye glanced at Hawk expectantly. No doubt she was counting on his natural curiosity to win her more time. When he gave her no encouragement, she went on doggedly.
“When I questioned Uncle about his thwarted romance, he admitted that his true love had died. Apparently, she’d been forced into an unhappy marriage to a baron, and after giving birth to a daughter, she became so despondent, she flung herself into a river and drowned. Her death left Uncle Cornelius heartbroken and is the reason he never married. Except that … only recently I learned she didn’t die after all. In fact, I was able to obtain proof that her drowning was a ruse.”
“I suppose you mean to tell me what happened to her,” Hawk said without enthusiasm.
Lady Skye smiled a bit triumphantly for dragging a response from him. “I admit I was so intrigued by the letters that I decided to investigate my uncle’s secret past further. His correspondence held several clues. The midwife who delivered the baby daughter also served as the go-between for Uncle Cornelius and the lady, and her name was mentioned frequently when arranging their rendezvous. The letters were franked from a village near Beauvoir, the family seat of the Marquises of Beaufort, where Uncle Cornelius grew up—and where he raised the five of us Wilde cousins. Beauvoir is not far from my home, Tallis Court. Two months ago, I went to the village to question the midwife. She is very old now and quite forgetful, but I managed to coax the story from her.”
Hawk hid a wry smile. Even on so short an acquaintance with Lady Skye, he could well imagine her ability to cajole secrets from her unwitting targets.
“I was shocked by the tale she told me,” Skye confessed. “The lady’s noble husband was beating her so badly, she feared for her life. To escape the abuse, she thought she had no choice but to stage her death with the midwife’s help. Once her daughter was born, she secretly fled to Ireland to live with sympathetic kin.”
“It is not so easy to fake a drowning,” Hawk remarked. “Her body would have been easily identified.”
“But it was not immediately found and was presumed to have washed away. Months later, when coincidentally a corpse was uncovered many miles downstream, it was thought to be the lady’s. So there was no further reason to search for her.” Lady Skye pursed her lips. “I don’t know for certain, but I think she may still be alive, living in Ireland.”
“And you wish to find her.”
“Yes. If it is at all possible, I would dearly love to reunite my uncle and his true love. But, actually, my goal is more complicated than that.”
Hawk raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Her charming smile flashed again. “I thought you would never ask. I believe the baby daughter was actually my uncle’s child and not the baron’s.”
“What makes you think so?”
“First, the timing of her birth. She was born barely nine months after the lady’s marriage. But there are other indications—certain of the daughter’s mannerisms and features. The set of her eyes bears an uncanny resemblance to my uncle’s, for instance. Her hair color also is similar, although his has turned silver by now.”
“You have met the daughter?”
“Yes. When I realized she was living in London, I searched her out. She is near my same age but has already accomplished a great deal in her life. She is a botanical scholar and a gifted artist, with an expertise on roses. When I read a scientific paper by her, I was surprised to find her writings have a literary bent like Uncle’s. Of course, I could not tell her the real reason for my interest in her work.”
Hawk was impressed by Lady Skye’s attention to detail, but still skeptical of her conclusion. “If the lady was carrying Cornelius’s child, why wouldn’t she have told him?”
“Because she was married to a wealthy, powerful nobleman and feared his retribution. According to the
midwife, she would not go to Cornelius for help, for she couldn’t bear for him to be hurt. She despaired of leaving her newborn daughter behind also, but the possible consequences would have been worse. Making her infidelity public would have caused an enormous scandal, and the baron’s violence against her would likely have intensified. And he might have taken his revenge on the child or, at the least, disowned her. Yet if she took the baby, she feared he would never stop looking for her. If she simply died, her daughter would have the possibility of a good life.”
“It sounds tediously melodramatic,” Hawk drawled.
“Indeed,” Lady Skye agreed. “But a scandal could still result if I go charging off, announcing my theory to the world. The baron remarried a year later, and if his first wife was still alive at the time, he would have committed bigamy. He is now gone, but his son inherited the barony, and there could be a question of his legitimacy. So you see if I am to investigate further, why I must tread carefully?”
Hawk did see the impediments Lady Skye faced, but she didn’t seem to expect a reply from him as she continued.
“Furthermore, until I know if the lady is alive, I don’t want to tell my uncle and raise his hopes. If she is not, there may be no reason to dredge up the painful past. Yet I cannot simply drop the matter or ignore my conscience. Uncle doesn’t know he might have a daughter. If it is true, he should know about her. And she should likewise know about him. As I said, he has been like a father to me, and he deserves every happiness.”
“Why haven’t you asked your brother or cousins for help?” Hawk asked.
“Because they are fully occupied at present. Quinn is something of a genius who occasionally dabbles in science, and he has disappeared from London, I presume to work on his latest invention, although he sometimes acts contrarily just to thwart me. My cousins Ashton and Jack both recently married. I don’t wish to intrude on their privacy with their new brides, particularly when a search might take them out of the country. Only Aunt Isabella and my cousin Katharine know about Uncle Cornelius’s woeful past, and they are both eager to remedy his heartbreak if possible.”
Secrets of Seduction Page 2