by Gaelen Foley
She looked him over with a guarded glance from the corner of her eye and continued to stew. Bad enough that he had called her a whore, but he had no right denouncing Papa as an irresponsible fool, she thought as she removed her gloves with a resentful jerk. The worst part was knowing that the insufferable beast was right on both counts. Setting her gloves aside, she took off her bonnet and shawl.
Hawkscliffe had thrown his top hat on the round table and was drawing off his driving gloves. Tossing these on the table, as well, he began to pace. For a man of such imposing stature, he had an elegant way of moving in his expensive clothes, she thought as she sat down on the couch and watched him, waiting to hear him out.
With a musing expression, as though weighing each word before broaching his subject, he took off his excellently cut tail coat and threw it over a chair, shrugging the tension out of his wide shoulders.
Bel scowled. If she had been a lady, he probably wouldn’t have even considered such shocking informality as taking off his gloves, let alone his coat. On the other hand, she could not help but admire the perfection of his herculean torso, like the model for one of the Elgin marbles. She let her gaze travel over the sinuous curve of his strong back. His snug waistcoat accented the sweeping breadth of his shoulders and the tapered leanness of his waist and hips; his loose white sleeves only hinted at the sinewed brawn of his arms. She found herself wanting to touch him.
Scandalized by the impulse, she lifted her furtive study from his powerful body to his strong, square face. He went over to the bow window where the mellow, late-day sun illumined his bold profile, that aquiline nose that gave him a look of such stark, brooding intensity. His mouth seemed hard and grim, but she remembered his kiss—soft, satiny warmth. Devil take him, but he was a beautiful man, sleek and fierce as a bird of prey, with his raven hair and burnished skin.
Devotion, Bel thought with an inward snort of skeptical disdain.
Hands on his waist, Hawkscliffe glanced restlessly out the window as though waiting for someone to arrive. “I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending I like your line of work, Miss Hamilton. Nevertheless, I consider myself a good judge of character and I find you sensible, strong willed, and capable of discretion. While I am not in the habit of exposing my jugular to anyone, it seems I have no choice but to confide in you and hope that you will help me. What I have to tell you cannot leave this room.” Tensely he moved away from the window and sat down beside her. “Do you recall Dolph Breckinridge ever mentioning a woman named Lucy?”
Bel searched her memory then shook her head. “No.”
“How about Lady Coldfell?”
“I know that Dolph’s uncle is the earl of Coldfell, but he never mentioned the countess.”
“Tell me this. Has Dolph ever threatened you with violence? Have you ever felt yourself to be in direct physical danger from him?”
“Not until last night.” She hesitated. “He said if I don’t quit my search for a protector, I would be sorry. Why do you ask about Lord and Lady Coldfell?”
A bolt of pain flashed through his dark eyes like lightning. “I believe Dolph might have harbored a similar obsession for her before he became fixated on you. Miss Hamilton, Lady Coldfell is dead. There are those of us who think Dolph may have murdered her.”
Her eyes widened. She stared at him in shock.
“That is why I’m here. I want to hire you to act out a kind of charade with me. I need to find out the truth about Lady Coldfell’s death, Miss Hamilton. You are the key to controlling Dolph. With you in my keeping, I can drive him to the breaking point and wring the truth out of him about what he did to her.”
“And then what?” she asked faintly.
Lethal wrath smoldered in his gaze. “Then I will call him out and kill him.”
Kill Dolph? Staring at Hawkscliffe in amazement, the first thing she realized was that this Lady Coldfell must have meant a great deal to him. Lovers, she thought. Of course. Then it registered in her mind that his sole motive in pursuing her was to solve his ladylove’s death.
Disappointment nearly stole her breath. She lowered her head, careful to hide the twist of hurt inside her behind a faint, bitter smile. Of course. He had made his opinion of her clear enough.
Avoiding his gaze, she crossed her legs and smoothed her skirts over her knee. “Let me see if I have this right. You want me to be the bait so that you can prove Dolph’s guilt, then avenge your lover?”
“Lady Coldfell wasn’t my lover—but, in essence, yes.”
“Come, Robert, we need have no secrets between us. You can tell me the truth. She was your paramour.”
“No, she was not, Miss Hamilton. Lady Coldfell was a chaste and virtuous woman. It wasn’t like that between us. It was something higher, better than that. She was—pure.”
Unlike me, she thought, somehow holding her taut, forced smile as she lowered her chin and gazed at her clasped hands. Roiling shame churned inside her.
“My, you really are a paragon.”
“No, I merely saw how my mother’s flagrant adulteries unmanned my father. I would never inflict that on someone, especially an old family friend like Coldfell.”
“Admirable.” She sat back, folding her arms over her chest. She had to commend his devotion to his dead lady, but didn’t he see the insult he was giving her? Or did the insult not matter, since she was only a demirep?
“Perhaps you should have won me first before you told me your scheme.”
“I would never thrust you into a dangerous situation without your fully understanding the risks.”
“I’m sorry to say that Dolph didn’t do it.”
“What?”
“He didn’t do it.”
“Yes, he did.”
Bel rolled her eyes. Hawkscliffe knew what he knew and that was it.
“He has the motive and is the only person outside of Coldfell’s staff that has full access to the house and grounds, Miss Hamilton.”
“I know Dolph,” she explained in forbearance. “As much as I loathe him, even I can admit that he is brave. Insanely so. He prides himself on it. It’s not his style to murder a weak, defenseless woman. There’s no glory in that. He prefers bears and wolves and things that fight back. He prefers a worthy opponent.”
“He also prefers to live beyond his means. If Lucy had become pregnant and had given Coldfell a son, Dolph would no longer have inherited the title and fortune that he craves.”
She could not argue that point. Dolph was certainly fixed on coming into his rich inheritance.
“Or her death might have been accidental,” he went on. “Dolph could have been trying to have his way with her, resulting in a violent struggle.”
“Now that I could believe,” Bel said quietly. She looked away, going perfectly motionless. A sickening, all-too-familiar knot clenched in her stomach at the mere thought of the topic of her recurring nightmares.
Hawkscliffe got up and went to stare out the window.
Bel rubbed her crossed arms briskly with her palms, suddenly feeling icy cold and clammy, though the room was warm. She could not bring herself to look at the duke as she struggled with his request. If Lady Coldfell had indeed suffered as she herself had—and worse—didn’t she owe her fellow victim justice? Didn’t she owe it to herself? But she was not sure she wanted to get involved in this. It wasn’t good for her to think about it. The mere shadow of the memory made her feel dirty, battered, and ashamed. Best to forget.
“What if I refuse?”
“Refuse? Miss Hamilton, if Dolph did this to Lucy, doesn’t it seem logical, even likely, in light of his obsession with you, that you could be next?”
She flinched, still studying the floor, though she could feel his tumultuous stare.
“I can protect you. He’ll have to get through me to get to you. Do you really think you’ll be safer out there with some other man who doesn’t know what Dolph is capable of?”
“What exactly is it that you propose, Your Grace?” she forced
out coolly.
“Accept me for your protector. You will stay with me at Knight House, where I can keep you safe from any threat from him—”
“No, that is highly irregular. You can’t have me living under your roof. There will be talk—”
“I don’t care about scandal anymore!” he cried, raking his hand through his hair. “Who cares what they say? What right has anyone to say a word about what I do? I’m so sick of living under their tyranny and, by God, I will not let another woman die for the sake of my sterling reputation.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Clearly torn, he lowered his head. “I was worried that people would talk about Lucy and me. People sense things, you know, and I... I could tell she was not indifferent to me.”
What woman could be? she wondered.
“I avoided her at every turn. I wanted to do the right thing. But now I can’t help but wonder ... if I had given her a chance to speak to me privately, maybe she would have confided in me ... something that would have allowed me to save her.” His dark eyes were haunted when he looked at her. “Did she know Dolph was a threat? Did she know she was in danger? I ask myself these questions every night a thousand times, but I suppose I’ll never know.”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Robert,” she said softly. “Whatever happened, it’s not your fault. You did what you knew to be right at the time. No one can expect more than that.”
She watched him consider her statement then discard it.
“Maybe I wasn’t virtuous,” he said. “Maybe I was merely afraid.”
She gazed at him in compassion, but he turned away, scratching his jaw.
“I realize you could have your pick of any man in London and that what I ask of you is not without danger, so I am prepared to make it very worth your while, Miss Hamilton. What do you say to a thousand pounds for the whole project? It shouldn’t take more than two months at the most. You’ll also have your own carriage and saddle horse, whatever servants you need, theater boxes, an allowance for your clothing and so forth, and in addition to all this—” His posture stiffened slightly as he clasped his hands behind his back and inspected the street through the window. “I shall not require you in my bed.”
Bel stared at him, barely daring to breathe. “You’re joking.”
He bowed his head. “The woman I loved is dead, Miss Hamilton. I—just can’t. I hope you’ll understand.”
“Of course,” she breathed. He hoped she would understand? she thought wildly. A thousand pounds for two months of her time? It was a princely sum, a full third of Papa’s debt—and she wouldn’t even have to bed him!
Oh, to be exempt from the thing she feared most—and to see Dolph get his comeuppance to top it all off!
But then suddenly she noticed the grief so clear in his tanned, chiseled face and her triumph dissolved. Her heart went out to him. She rose and went to stand by his side. Taking his hand in both of hers, she gazed up at him in tender sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss, Robert, truly. At least Lady Coldfell is with God now, and at peace.”
He nodded grimly, looking down at their joined hands, his, large and bronzed, hers, small and pale. When he glanced at her his dark eyes brimmed with stormy sorrow and his voice was low. “Will you assist me in getting justice for her, Miss Hamilton? Please. You are the only one who can help me.”
Bel gazed up at him, thoroughly melted.
Oh, to be loved by such a man. His lady was dead and still he loved. She hadn’t known there were men like him in the world.
She hadn’t the power to refuse him, even though she was only to be the expendable bait while Lady Coldfell’s memory was to be held up as sacred. She longed to console him somehow, but he did not appear to want to be drawn out of his grieving.
“Two months?”
“If it makes you more comfortable, we can write in a date that our agreement will expire—say, the first of August.”
“All right. And... you really won’t ask me to come into your bed?” she ventured.
“I give you my word on it, but that will have to be our secret. The ruse is useless if Dolph or anyone else suspects the true nature of our arrangement. We’ll have to be convincing.”
“Well, then.” Moving closer, she lightly grasped the lapels of his waistcoat and tilted her head back with a wry smile, hoping to cheer him. “In that case, Hawkscliffe, you’ve got yourself a mistress.”
A rueful, almost shy smile spread across his face. “I shall be the envy of London.”
No, I will, she thought with a little laugh, her heart beating faster.
“There is one other thing, Robert.”
“Yes?”
“I understand you have a young sister who has not yet made her debut.”
“Yes, why?”
“Don’t let the girl come to the house while I’m there.”
“Ah, right. I appreciate your discretion.”
“We are paid to be discreet,” she said with a tight smile.
There was a clumsy pause.
“Well, I suppose I should write up the agreement, then.”
“There’s ink and paper on Harriette’s desk,” she said, nodding toward the escritoire.
He went to the desk and soon their bargain was spelled out, signed, and made legally binding by his ducal seal. Hawkscliffe blew the powdery blotting grit across the ink, drying it.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she mused aloud as she bent over and signed her name beside his.
“I always know precisely what I’m doing, Miss Hamilton. ‘Tis the plague of my existence,” he said wryly under his breath.
Just then a sudden burst of noise startled them both. They looked toward the closed parlor door as the sound of angry bellowing reached them through the house, a flurry of shouting and banging. Someone was pounding on the front door downstairs.
“It’s Dolph,” Bel said as a tremor of uneasiness ran through her. Instinctually she moved closer to Hawkscliffe.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “Stay inside.”
She nodded and stared after him as he prowled to the door.
Protector, her mind whispered.
“Be careful,” she called after him anxiously, only then noticing the menacing air of excitement that rippled through his big, lean frame.
Hawkscliffe paused in the doorway and slid her a dark smile. “Never fear, Miss Hamilton. Sometimes the bear wins.”
Hawk strode across the salon, perversely anticipating the prospect of toying with the frenzied Dolph Breckinridge. Dolph’s voice got louder as Hawk neared the top of the steps.
“Where is she? Where is the little strumpet?”
Whistling, Hawk jogged down the steps to the entrance hall, encountering Harriette Wilson on the stairs, a diminutive package of red-headed feminine fury.
“Get out of my house before I call for the constable!” she was yelling at Dolph.
The baronet, in turn, cursed at her as he tried to fight his way in past the two hefty footmen struggling to keep him out. He had one hand hooked inside the door frame, from which he refused to be pried. His face was scarlet with struggle, his short-cropped sandy hair in disarray.
“I’ll see to him, Miss Wilson,” Hawk murmured, politely setting the haughty little queen of the demireps aside.
“Yes, please, do something, Hawkscliffe! He’s making a spectacle in front of all my neighbors.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll soon be gone. By the way, I believe Miss Hamilton would like to speak with you.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, turning to him coyly. “Dare I hope you two lovely things have made an arrangement?”
Hawk gave her a narrow smile. “She’ll fill you in.”
“Splendid! Congratulations, Your Grace. I thought she would never make up her mind.” Harriette whooshed off to talk to Belinda.
“You!” Dolph roared when he saw him coming. “Treacherous, backstabbing villain! Blackguard! Snake! Come out here and let me have at you!”
&
nbsp; “My dear fellow, what seems to be the problem?”
Walking over to the door, Hawk nodded to the rough-looking footmen. They cautiously released Dolph and backed away. Immediately Dolph launched through the doorway, fists first, and tried to tackle him. Hawk, however, had not grown up as the sole disciplinarian of four rowdy younger brothers and raised them through their teenage years for naught. Innumerable sibling brawls, especially with Jack, who was bigger than he, had taught him to anticipate nearly every move in fisticuffs known to man.
He stepped nonchalantly out of the line of Dolph’s charge, grabbing his opponent’s right arm behind him and hoisting it up high and hard behind his back. Dolph barely had time to grunt before Hawk threw his left arm across Dolph’s throat in a neat choke hold.
“Can’t we settle this like civilized men?”
Dolph twisted and thrashed, to no avail. “Traitor! I knew you would do this! You told me you would talk to her for me, not court her for yourself! Today I wake up and hear about you kissing her!” he spat. “I suppose you were here all night?”
“Suffice it to say I’ve offered Miss Hamilton my protection and she has said yes, and that is the end of it as far as you’re concerned.”
Dolph howled. Hawk dodged the jab of an elbow aimed at his ribs.
“You can’t have her!”
“She isn’t yours to withhold or bestow.”
“Yes—she—is!” Dolph tore free of his hold. “I’ll kill you,” he panted, trying to circle him.
Hawk watched him in wily amusement. “My dear boy, you’ll do nothing of the kind. You really ought to learn to control your passions. They’ll get you into trouble someday.”
“You tricked me! You think you’re so smart and that I’m a fool, but whatever I am, at least I don’t go around pretending to be some kind of saint.”
“My goodness, such venom. It’s not good for the digestion, Dolph.”
“Belinda Hamilton is mine. Belinda!” he yelled toward the steps. “Get down here! You’re coming with me!”