“I see you have made yourself at home,” he added, glancing around at her preparations. She had laden a tray with china and cutlery and set tea steeping in a pot.
She flashed him a rueful smile. “I might seem like a damsel in distress at the moment, but I detest being helpless.”
His expression turned wry. “I would guess that you are rarely helpless. But it is unusual for a lady to know her way around a kitchen.”
“My cousin Jack is frequently hungry. Growing up, I often kept him company in the kitchens in the middle of the night, so it seemed wise to learn to cook at least simple things.” Skye gestured at the teapot and plates of toasted bread and cheese. “I wasn’t certain if anyone would prepare your supper, so I made enough for both of us. Will you join me?”
“I am not hungry.”
She hesitated, wondering how much to press. She wanted to ply him with food and warmth, but she doubted he would allow it unless she disguised her intent. “Then will you please stay with me for a while? I would rather not eat alone.”
Lord Hawkhurst gave her a long look, as if questioning her motives. But he shrugged and murmured, “Very well,” much to Skye’s gratification.
“Will you take the tea into the servants’ dining room and bring the tray back to me? I want the cheese to melt a little more.”
When he did as she asked, she piled the rest of their meal on the tray and let him carry it to the long dining table while she lit another lamp. Skye served the food, then waited until they were settled before commenting in a conversational tone, “I thought you would be glad I am staying overnight. If nothing else I will provide you company.”
“I am in no mood for company.”
“It is no wonder, shut in like this in this gloomy castle. It cannot be enjoyable living here practically by yourself. But some hot food and tea should improve your mood greatly.”
His reply was another wordless utterance of disagreement.
“You tend to growl a great deal, don’t you?” Skye asked.
“What do you mean, ‘growl’?”
“That low, grumbling sound of displeasure you make. It makes you seem excessively grumpy.”
Hawkhurst raised an eyebrow at her frankness.
“Fortunately I have had ample practice dealing with grumpy men. Especially Jack when he is starving or in his cups.”
She gestured at the earl’s untouched plate. He had taken a drink of tea but hadn’t touched the food. “This cheese with a bit of apple is quite delicious, my lord. Won’t you try a bite?”
“I don’t need you to feed me, Lady Skye. In fact, I can prepare my own meals if need be.”
Skye nodded sagely. “You must have learned as a spy.”
His brows narrowed on her again. “What is this obsession of yours with my career?”
She kept her expression innocent. “I cannot help but be curious.”
“Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied.”
“I understand completely. Aunt Isabella said all your secrets must remain shrouded in mystery.”
He gave something like a snort. “She has already revealed far too much. I intend to throttle her when I next see her.”
“You need to forgive her, my lord. Moreover, I hope you will forgive me for wanting to cheer you up. It is long force of habit, dealing with my brother and cousins. And I know from their experience, vast quantities of brandy won’t settle well in an empty stomach. You can drink more if you eat something first. So if you wish to drown your sorrows, you would do best to take at least a few bites.”
Hawkhurst stared at her for a long moment. She thought he might growl at her again, but he smiled unwillingly, as if he was amused in spite of himself. With his knife, he cut a piece of softened cheese and laid it on a piece of toast, then chewed quickly. “There, are you satisfied?”
“It is a start.”
Her desire to comfort him was only natural, Skye reflected. She wasn’t imagining the lines of sadness etched into his handsome face. Once more she noticed the burn scars on his hands. The sight deeply stirred her compassion. By all accounts the Earl of Hawkhurst had lived a fairy-tale existence until fate had intervened so cruelly to shatter his life.
In truth, they had that much in common at least. Fate had taken her beloved parents from her. But she’d had her brother and cousins and uncle to help alleviate her grief. He had to be lonely, living in near solitude in this enormous house, dwelling on his tragic memories—a situation she could help rectify if she was allowed to stay.
Her fair hair and delicate features made her appear angelic, but she was far from an angel. Her sense of mischievousness had gotten her into trouble more times than she could count. A dose of mischievousness might be precisely what Hawkhurst needed to enliven his dour life, although tonight was likely not the most appropriate time.
Still, she could attempt to put him at ease and coax him to lower his guard with her. Her best approach might be to ask him about his breeding stables, Skye decided. “Aunt Isabella says you raise magnificent horses—that you have crossed Thoroughbreds with Barbs for stamina and speed.”
“Yes. This past week I purchased two broodmares and a stallion.”
“I should like to see them. I am very fond of horses myself.”
His gray gaze found hers across the table. “You won’t have time. You will be leaving early in the morning.”
“You know, I don’t have to leave. If you are concerned about propriety, I could ask Aunt Isabella to come here to act as my chaperone.”
Hawkhurst shot down her suggestion with a curt word. “No.”
“There could be some major advantages to having us both here for a time,” Skye continued, still hoping to convince him to let her stay. “A great deal more work needs to be done on your house beyond construction and repairs. If you want to impress your new bride, you could use a woman’s touch.”
Silence was his only reply, although he did swallow a slice of apple.
Skye pressed on. “You said you have only an aging caretaker and some women from the village to cook and clean for you. At the very least, I could aid you in hiring a full-time housekeeper and other household servants. For that matter, I could ask my cousin Katharine to hire staff from an employment agency in London.”
Hawkhurst drained his teacup. “Has anyone ever told you that you are excessively meddlesome?”
“Oh, yes. It is one of my many failings.” She offered him a self-deprecating smile as she poured him another cup. “But I truly wish to offer my help. It is only fair if I can repay you in some small measure for aiding me in my search.”
His gaze turned thoughtful. “There is no need for my involvement in your search. I know someone in London who may be able to help you locate your uncle’s former lover.”
Skye felt a twinge of unease. She didn’t want help from anyone else. “But I want you, my lord. I prefer to keep Uncle Cornelius’s story as private as possible. By all reports, Lady Isabella is almost like an older sister to you. She will be terribly disappointed to learn you are not the gentleman she believes you to be. Will you honestly let her down so cruelly?”
His mouth curved at her question. “What are you about? Playing on my guilt?”
“But of course.” She was prepared to use whatever leverage she had to persuade him. “How else am I to convince you?”
He chuckled, a low, reluctant sound. His laughter sounded rusty from disuse, as if he was long out of practice, which no doubt he was. “There is no way you will ever convince me, Lady Skye.”
“I know you feel that way now. My unexpected arrival surprised you. But I believe—at least I sincerely hope—that when you’ve had time to consider, you may change your mind. I assure you, I am not giving up.”
Hawkhurst shook his head in evident disbelief at her persistence.
“Just think on it, my lord,” Skye added. “It will be far more discreet if I stay here at the castle. I inquired thoroughly. The village of Hawkhurst has no inn, and the nearest
posting house where I could find lodgings is on the London–Hastings Road in Robertsbridge, over a half dozen miles away. It will cause less gossip if I remain here rather than travel back and forth all that distance each day in order to see you. There you go again, making that growling sound,” she pointed out, although she smiled sweetly to take the sting from her observation.
Skye was not as sanguine as she tried to appear, however, and Lord Hawkhurst remained stubbornly unyielding as they finished their meal in relative silence. When they carried the remainders to the kitchen, his orders were curt.
“Leave the dishes for the day servants to wash. I will show you to your room now.”
He was clearly impatient to be rid of her, but Skye bit her tongue. Although it was far too early to retire to bed, she could hardly complain. At least she had brought a novel with her to read and could entertain herself until she was sleepy. Remaining awake would be better anyway, since she would have less chance to dream unsettling dreams.
Hawkhurst turned out all but one of the lamps and carried it with him as he left the kitchens. Once again Skye hurried to keep up with him.
He picked up her valise by the back servants’ staircase, then escorted her up two flights of stairs, explaining as he showed her to her room: “The family wing was damaged and is boarded up now, so I sleep in the guest wing. My bedchamber is down the hall from this one.”
Opening the door, he preceded her inside the dark room, where he set down her valise. “You can see that we are unprepared for guests.” Dusty holland covers swathed the furniture, and the air was cold and damp.
“If you will light a lamp, I will build a fire.”
“I can make do without a fire,” Skye offered. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“We are long past that point,” he said dryly. “Give me a moment and I will fetch some logs for you from my rooms. There should be clean linens and blankets in that cupboard there if you care to make up the bed. And at the end of the corridor is a housekeeper’s pantry, where you will find towels and fresh water so you can fill a pitcher for washing.”
“Thank you. I am certain I can manage.”
The moment he left, Skye found herself wishing he could have stayed. A flash of lightning lit up the bedchamber with a bright glare, and was soon followed by another clap of thunder. The storm seemed just as ferocious as before. It would not be easy, sleeping there in the strange bedchamber in the eerie house. At least Lord Hawkhurst would be nearby if her dreams grew too terrifying.
Chiding herself for her missishness, Skye distracted herself by pulling the holland covers off the bed and folding them neatly, then sorting through the linens and pillows in the cupboard. She was glad when Lord Hawkhurst returned, however, with an armful of logs.
Depositing his burden beside the hearth, he knelt to begin building a fire. It still astounded her that a nobleman of his caliber was willing to perform such menial tasks for her sake. Most aristocrats wouldn’t deign to dirty their hands with servants’ work.
When he glanced over his shoulder at her, he seemed rather surprised as well that she was capable of making up her own bed. He used a tinderbox to light the fire, and by the time she finished her task, flames had started to lick the logs.
He watched his handiwork for a moment, while Skye found herself watching him. Firelight poured over him, highlighting the sculpted bones of his face. Carved in simple planes, it contained a stark beauty that held no trace of prettiness but was striking all the same.
Feeling enchanted, Skye held her breath. The spell remained as he rose to his feet and brushed his hands against his breeches.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, unconsciously moving toward him.
“Is there anything more you need tonight?” he asked.
I need you, was her unbidden thought. “No. You have done more than enough.”
Realizing her voice had instinctively turned husky, Skye cleared her throat and halted a few steps from him. “I am sincerely grateful.”
“Then I will leave you now.”
For a moment, however, he remained unmoving as he stared down at her. The dark fringe of his lashes defined eyes that had turned to silver—a look that was spellbinding.
In response, Skye went totally still. Butterflies had suddenly returned to riot her stomach—a nervous agitation that had nothing to do with anxiety about the storm or fear of bad dreams. Rather, it was intense sexual awareness.
Being alone with Lord Hawkhurst in the bedchamber, with the golden glow of firelight highlighting his masculine beauty, sent pinpricks of lightning rippling over her skin to penetrate deep inside her.
It was amazing what this man did to her, how easily his nearness made her forget all about her alien surroundings. She had been kissed before by ardent suitors, passionately and at great length. But not one of them had ever affected her the way a simple look from Hawkhurst did.
She was not a complete novice about carnal relations, either. She had learned enough from her aunt about the arts of seduction to know theoretically what happened between a man and a woman during lovemaking. And she was prepared for resistance from Lord Hawkhurst to even her simplest advances.
Yet she wasn’t at all prepared for his impact on her. He made her pulse race and her body burn. Sensual images flashed in her mind, begetting a myriad of emotions … pleasure, heat, anticipation.
Skye took another step closer, drawn toward him like a helpless moth to a beckoning flame.
When his gaze dropped to her mouth, her own lips parted but no sound emerged. She could picture herself kissing him, embracing him. She could envision sharing this bedchamber with him, this bed … how it would feel if they undressed each other and lay side by side … bare, warm skin touching.…
She thought he might be sharing the same fantasies, for his hand started to lift, as if he might reach up and touch her face. But, just as quickly, the moment ended.
The delectable images abruptly faded when Hawkhurst stepped back and crossed to the door without another word. Turning back to her briefly, he sketched her a slight bow and let himself out.
Skye exhaled slowly, mingled disappointment and relief rushing through her. In the span of one more heartbeat, she would have walked straight into his arms. And all her careful plans would likely have been shattered.
This would never do, she warned herself. She had to conquer her intense attraction for Hawkhurst, for one false move could get her instantly banished from his castle.
With a grimace of disgust at her lack of self-control, Skye spun around and marched toward her valise so she could change out of her still-damp gown and prepare for bed, quite alone.
Hawk shut his guest’s bedchamber door with unintended force. Tearing himself away from Lady Skye had been supremely difficult when she was looking at him with desire written all over her beautiful features. The huskiness of her voice, the soft yearning in her wide blue eyes, told him clearly that he could have her if he’d wished to.
Actually, he did wish to, rather urgently. She was pure temptation. It was absurd, how fiercely she aroused him. When he’d locked gazes with her, sheer lust had blazed through him. He’d forced himself to leave before acting on his primal urges.
Hawk swore another low oath to himself.
It was even more absurd how a delicate-looking beauty had put him on the defensive so effortlessly. He couldn’t believe her audacity, barging into his castle, making herself at home, wrangling an invitation to stay for the night, threatening to complain to her aunt about his ungentlemanly behavior. It was a low blow, using Bella as leverage.
And then she’d accused him of being a recluse and a grump. No one until Lady Skye had dared confront him on his moroseness. He hadn’t always had a taciturn nature, Hawk reflected grimly; it had only developed so over time.
However, his surliness tonight when she’d asked if he had any dry clothing for her to wear was because she’d touched a still-aching wound inside him.
Perhaps he could have un
earthed some of his late wife’s gowns, but that would have seemed like a betrayal of Elizabeth. Fortunately avoiding comparisons of the two women was fairly easy since they were not much alike in figure or appearance. Elizabeth had been more solidly built with dark hair and more vivid coloring.
Not pale and delicate and sensual like Lady Skye.
Not annoyingly persistent or refreshingly bold, either.
Despite Hawk’s determination to remain unmoved by her arguments, Lady Skye had amused him and even made him laugh for the first time since leaving Cyrene for England three weeks ago. Conversing with her, sparring with her, had provided a welcome distraction from his depressing though elegant monstrosity of a house.
Especially on a night like this. The storm had dredged up too many excruciating memories, for this was much like the night his wife and son had died.
By then, he’d been working for the British Foreign Office for four years and married to Elizabeth for three. The hour was late and he was returning home from business in London when he’d ridden through the estate gates to see an eerie glow in the night sky. The fire had begun in the nursery and trapped Elizabeth and two year-old Lucas, Hawk later learned. A drenching rain had eventually extinguished the flames and spared the rest of the house, but he’d arrived much too late to help his family.
His failure to save them had changed him forever. He had survived when he hadn’t wanted to.
In fact, his grief and guilt were what had sent him to Cyrene in the first place. When Sir Gawain offered him membership in the elite league, exiling himself to a Mediterranean island nearly a thousand miles away had seemed a fitting punishment.
Instead, the Guardians had given him a fresh purpose. For the past decade, they had filled a huge hole in his life when he’d desperately needed it. And now, to return the favor, he’d come home to Hawkhurst Castle to court Sir Gawain’s niece.
He hadn’t slept much since his arrival. In truth, he’d deliberately remained awake each night for as long as possible, making himself utterly exhausted so that he could eventually close his eyes without haunting images preying on him, relying on copious amounts of fine liquor to help keep the ghosts at bay.
Secrets of Seduction Page 4