“So you’ve been plotting all these months to reunite the long-separated lovers?”
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Yes—but I have gone as far as I can on my own, which is why I need you, my lord. Someone with your particular skills will have a much better chance than I of locating a fugitive wife after all these years. The midwife could only recall the first name of the lady’s relation in Ireland, not the surname or the county she fled to. I understand that you know Ireland fairly well, since you often purchase horses there.”
“Ireland is a large country,” he parried.
“But since you are a master spy, surely you can find her. And the trail is not entirely cold. Along with the letters I found a miniature portrait of the lady, commissioned by my uncle. Her daughter is her spitting image, except for the eyes and hair, so you would have a likeness to go on. I have the miniature here in my reticule, if you care to see it.”
Hawk deliberately ignored her offer. “Even if I were inclined to help you, I haven’t the time just now.”
Lady Skye nodded sagely. “My aunt told me why you returned to England. You are preparing to make a marriage of convenience.”
“Is there nothing Bella kept to herself?” Hawk murmured, his tone halfway between exasperation and annoyance.
“I told you, you should not blame her,” she replied amiably. “I had to worm the information about your secret organization out of her.” Her smile was rueful, almost apologetic, and completely charming. “When I am determined, I usually get my way.”
Hawk made a scoffing sound, which Lady Skye ignored in turn. “Aunt Isabella is very fond of you, Lord Hawkhurst, and believes you will help me, in part because she says you enjoy a good mystery as much as a challenge.”
Hawk glanced down at the letter on his desk. Bella had indeed predicted that he would relish the challenge and said he would be doing her an immense favor if he were to help her niece.
Amazingly enough, he was actually tempted to agree, and not simply for the enjoyment of testing his skills. He wanted an excuse to delay his courtship. He had no desire to ever marry again, especially to a shy young lady barely out of the schoolroom. Yet he ardently wanted to ensure the league’s future, as well as to fulfill an obligation to Sir Gawain Olwen, the aging leader of the Guardians who hoped to retire shortly.
There was no one Hawk esteemed more. The baronet had not only revived the clandestine league to its original purpose and steered it with a steady hand in the decades-long fight against French domination, he’d become mentor, guide, and fatherly role model to numerous members over the years, particularly Hawk.
Sir Gawain had been his salvation when he was mired in grief, giving him a reason to live by bringing him into the order and training him to be one of its most effective agents. He would have gone half-mad otherwise.
It irked Hawk that Isabella had disclosed so much about his private affairs to Lady Skye. The Guardians’ secrets were not his to share. He’d sworn an oath of allegiance many years ago. Nor could he reveal the real reason he’d chosen to court this particular young lady—because he needed a bride of Guardian lineage in order to take over leadership, as required by the charter. Headquartered on the Isle of Cyrene off the southern coast of Spain, the Guardians of the Sword was centuries old.
Sir Gawain’s great-niece was a blood descendant of one of the original founders, but while she fit the necessary lineage requirements, she was only nineteen and a quiet, gentle girl who seemed afraid of her own shadow and tended to swoon at the slightest provocation. Wedding her was purely a cold-blooded proposition. But to carry on the work of the Guardians, he was willing to sacrifice for the good of the organization. Hawk would be named Sir Gawain’s successor and would lead in his wife’s name and those of his future children, if any.
Therefore, he’d decided to wed the girl, despite his personal disinclinations. Moreover, he had already set events in motion, Hawk reminded himself as he reached for his glass and took a swallow of brandy. He had a path to follow for the immediate future, and it didn’t involve haring off to Ireland, chasing after someone else’s fugitive lover who may or may not still be alive.
“I’m afraid I cannot help you. I can’t spare the time.”
Skye did not seem distressed by his answer. “I thought that might be the case. I suppose you must effect repairs to your house in order to welcome a new bride and offer her a worthy home.”
Hawk’s gaze narrowed on her, but he shrugged. “I cannot bring a bride to a mausoleum.”
“No, certainly not.” She hesitated before saying softly, “Your return to Hawkhurst Castle cannot have been easy for you.”
No, indeed. Hawk took another long, burning swallow of brandy. Facing his desolate, long-shuttered house had been far harder than he’d anticipated. He’d thought time had dulled his pain, but since his arrival, there had been long spells when grief gripped him as fiercely as ever.
Even though he had avoided the family wing altogether, especially the nursery where the fire had started, he couldn’t escape the unbearable memories. In fact, that afternoon he’d been drinking to drown out his dark reflections.…
At his grim silence, Lady Skye reverted back to the topic of overseeing repairs. “What arrangements have you made for rebuilding the castle thus far?”
It was a benign subject, so Hawk was willing to reply. “I’ve engaged an architect who has commissioned workmen to demolish the burnt rooms and restore the damaged wing. Construction is to start at week’s end.”
“From the brief glimpse I had, there is a great deal of other work to be done as well. You will need to hire a full-time staff and clean away ten years of dirt, then inventory the contents of the house.… What of the rest of the estate?”
He couldn’t see the reason for her leading questions but saw no harm in answering. “The stables and tenant farms are in much better condition than the house. I have grooms to look after the horses and a steward who takes good care of the land.”
He would never jeopardize the countless lives and livelihoods that depended on his land. It was only the house he’d let go to ruin.
Lady Skye started to ask yet another question but Hawk interrupted her. “It isn’t just the house repairs that will occupy my time. I will soon be engaged in a courtship.”
“Of course, you must woo your bride. I have not met Miss Olwen yet as she is not out in society. I understand she lives a retired life in the country.”
Lady Skye was nothing if not persistent, Hawk acknowledged with more than a tinge of exasperation. But if she thought he would allow her to quiz him about his prospective bride, she could think again.
When his gaze narrowed on her in disapproval, she went back to drying her pale hair and seemed content to let silence fall between them again.
Watching her over his glass, he couldn’t help comparing her with Sir Gawain’s niece, Amelia Olwen. Lady Skye Wilde was most definitely not shy and retiring. Instead, she was a vibrantly sensual woman. Sitting there bathed in the soft glow of firelight, she was having a profound effect on his senses.
It had been a very long time since he had shared this room with a beautiful woman, Hawk was aware. But her entrancing loveliness was weaving a spell over him.
Or perhaps he was dreaming the entire unusual episode. If so, it was the most pleasant dream he’d had in a long while.
He wasn’t imagining the fierce attraction between them, though. When he met her gaze again, a charged silence suddenly enveloped them.
He wanted this woman, and she wanted him, too.
He could easily envision taking Lady Skye to his bed. Hell, he could imagine taking her right there in his study: Slowly removing her damp clothing. Easing her down on the carpet before the hearth fire. Spreading her silken hair around her face. Parting her thighs and slowly plunging inside her.… He had a suspicion her passion would match his own—Hawk grimaced, annoyed at himself for dwelling on forbidden images and increasing the already painful ache in his loins. He had d
efinitely been without a woman for too long.
On the other hand, making her the object of his sexual fantasies was a good way to divert his mind from the dark memories that haunted his house.…
Cutting off that line of thought, Hawk drained the last of his glass and gave his final, curt answer. “I understand your desire to help your uncle, Lady Skye, but, regretfully, I must decline.”
He expected a protest or more argument, but she merely smiled and said pleasantly, “We can discuss it further again in the morning, my lord.”
Skye was unsurprised when the earl’s eyes narrowed. “In the morning?” he repeated.
“Yes. I have hopes you will allow me to stay the night.”
“That isn’t possible.”
Skye pointedly glanced at the now-dark windows being pelted by rain. “There is a storm raging outside. You wouldn’t send me out in this dreadful weather, would you?”
He ignored her perfectly reasonable question. “You are not staying here tonight.”
Skye wasn’t deterred by his adamancy. She had vowed to help her uncle and she wouldn’t give up. More important, she wouldn’t abandon her pursuit of Lord Hawkhurst when she had barely begun.
She put on her most expressive face and softened her tone to a plea. “My lord … I have traveled a long distance to speak to you. My grooms and coachman are wet and cold and hungry. Surely you will give us shelter for one night?” When he remained silent, Skye added for good measure, “If you make us leave now, my horses could be hurt.”
She could see him wavering and persisted in laying out more arguments. “I suspect you are too much of a gentleman to expel us.”
Her claim elicited a curt response from Hawkhurst. “I am too much of a gentleman not to expel you. You cannot sleep here alone, overnight, in a deserted bachelor’s abode.”
“What is the harm? You are a dear friend of my aunt. It isn’t so shocking that I would seek refuge in your home until the storm passes. Besides, no one will even know I am here.”
“The servants will gossip.”
“You said you have very few servants employed here, and mine are completely loyal to me.”
“I have few servants employed in the house, but I brought half a dozen grooms from my home on the Isle of Cyrene.”
“Why so many?” Skye asked curiously.
“Because I breed horses. Purchasing blood stock in conjunction with this trip is an efficient use of my time and keeps me occupied.”
And is a way to distract yourself while repairs are under way, Skye thought to herself, feeling another keen pang of sympathy for him. “My aunt tells me you possess a superb stable, and you said the buildings are in better condition than the house. Would you have room for my coachman and two grooms?”
“Yes, my stable hands have their own quarters behind the barns, and there is ample room for visiting servants, but the issue is not space but your reputation.”
“I am not worried about that.”
She was almost certain any potential damage to her reputation could be contained. Her advantages of breeding, family, fortune, and high-ranking connections would largely shield her from society’s condemnation if word got out about her brazen actions. And risking scandal was well worth the chance of finding her soul mate in Lord Hawkhurst.
As for her family, her aunt and cousin Kate wholeheartedly supported her plan to pursue the earl but hadn’t accompanied her because she needed privacy to conduct her evaluation.
Wisely, she hadn’t told the rest of her family. Since she was female and the youngest Wilde, her brother and uncle and male cousins were overly protective. And she had only prevaricated a little when she’d claimed her brother was too occupied to help her. Quinn had indeed made himself scarce recently, but less out of contrariness than to avoid Kate’s matchmaking schemes.
Quinn outright laughed at the notion of legendary lovers. Skye, on the other hand, had embraced the possibility, even one as far-fetched as a fairy tale about a beast who was not truly a beast and the beauty who freed him from an evil spell. Her cynical brother didn’t understand her deep-seated desire to find her own true love. Quinn often accused her of being too idealistic, of constantly dreaming of what could be, and he wasn’t mistaken.
“Please, my lord,” Skye tried once more. “You may send me away tomorrow, once the storm subsides.”
Thankfully, the earl’s reluctance gave way to reason. “Very well. But you will leave first thing in the morning, storm or no storm.”
Skye hid her vast relief. “Thank you. You are very generous.”
“No doubt I will regret it,” he muttered.
Before he could change his mind, Skye rose and went to the hearth to don her damp cloak.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to tell my servants we are staying and to make certain they have food and beds for the night.”
“I am not letting you go out to the stables.”
“Then perhaps your caretaker could go for me?”
Hawkhurst frowned. “I told you, he is elderly. He’s so frail, he might be blown away by the wind. I will go myself.”
It was another sign of his uniqueness, a nobleman volunteering to perform menial tasks in place of his elderly servant.
“That is kind of you to spare him,” Skye replied. “But I should go. I am already half soaked.”
“Did you bring a valise with a change of clothing?”
“Yes, but I can sleep in my shift if need be.”
For a moment his gray gaze drifted lower over her body, as if he were imagining her in her shift. “There is no need. I will fetch your valise.”
“I don’t want to put you to so much trouble. If you have some extra dry clothing for me to wear, I could make do.”
Hawkhurst hesitated, then shook his head and stood abruptly. “No, I have nothing for you to wear.”
The gruff note had returned to roughen his voice. He took up the lamp on the desk and moved toward the door.
“Do you mind if I find something to eat in the kitchens?” Skye asked.
“I have no cook to prepare a meal for you.”
“That is no matter. I’m sure I can manage on my own.”
He looked skeptical but shrugged. “I will show you to the kitchens.”
Quickly gathering the rest of her things, Skye followed him from the study and attempted to fall into step beside him. She had to hurry to match his long stride as he moved along the corridor.
He was at least a head taller than she, with a commanding demeanor that shouted nobility and a powerful, athletic build that made her feel intensely feminine and protected. His authoritative presence was rather comforting when the lamplight cast dancing shadows all around them. Hawkhurst Castle was more elegant manor than keep or fortress, but so dark and gloomy, she could easily believe it haunted by the ghosts of his late family.
Because the estate was entailed, it could not have been sold, but with his wealth, Hawkhurst had the means to purchase another home for his new bride—which made it all the more admirable that he had returned to face his past.
A shiver ran down Skye’s spine at the thought of ghosts, and she moved a little closer to Hawkhurst. When her arm accidently brushed his, she felt that fiery jolt of awareness again. Her startled glance upward at his strong profile caught a muscle flexing in his jaw, as if he, too, had felt the heat.
He led her down a flight of stairs, deep into the bowels of the castle. When they finally reached the kitchens, which comprised several large rooms, Skye was relieved to see a fire going in both the hearth and the cookstove.
Hawkhurst indicated the door to the pantry and spoke tersely. “I will leave the lamp with you.” Then he flung a cloak around his broad shoulders and left by way of a rear entrance.
Before the door shut behind him, Skye could hear the rain drumming against the pavement outside. She regretted making him brave the storm for her sake, but she hoped to repay him by preparing some hot tea and a meal for him.
; Skye rummaged in the pantry awhile, then busied herself putting a kettle on the stove and slicing some bread and cheese to toast over the fire, then paring apples.
She also lit two more lamps to chase away the shadows. It was a bit unnerving to think of staying at the castle overnight. She did not like sleeping in unfamiliar places, for strange beds usually brought on disturbing dreams about the deaths in her own family—her parents’ and those of her cousins in the same tragic shipwreck. But she was determined to make her own destiny and not let her future be tossed around like a rag doll by fickle fate.
Thus far her plan was on course, Skye reflected as she speared a thick piece of bread on a knife to hold over the fire. Indeed, her first encounter with Hawkhurst had left her feeling absurdly hopeful and that she could move on to her next step—rapidly improve their acquaintance. Regardless of whether their relationship could be based on a fairy tale, in order to decide if they would make a good match, she had to know Lord Hawkhurst much better.
Yet he had countless secrets he was unwilling or unable to share. And even though she much preferred honesty to subterfuge, she had to keep her legendary lovers theory secret for now. She would constantly have to pretend disinterest and hide the yearning inside her, for Hawkhurst would surely evict her if he knew of her romantic interest in him.
It would be odd playing the aggressor, Skye knew. She had been pursued by countless gentlemen but had never been the pursuer herself. Thankfully, she had priceless advice to rely upon. Aunt Bella had wed three husbands and knew how to win a man if it came to that.
Skye was melting a wedge of cheese when a soft footfall sounded behind her. The earl’s sudden appearance from out of nowhere made her jump, and she barely managed to bite back a cry.
“I did not hear you come in,” she murmured weakly, raising her hand to her throat.
“I returned through another entrance. Your servants are settled in,” he said as he hung his drenched cloak on a wall peg, “and I set your valise by the rear stairway.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said earnestly.
Secrets of Seduction Page 3