She sighed. “A short distance from here.”
He took a misstep. “You came here unaccompanied?”
“My maid and footman aren’t far.” At his questioning look, she named the bookstore where they waited.
“That is a fair distance from here.” And his leg already ached like a bad tooth. He’d spent another restless night walking more than he should’ve. No doubt that added to the stiffness in his thigh. Why had this woman ventured all this way by herself?
“Who are you? And this time, I expect an answer.” She gave him a stern look, and for a moment, he wondered if she was a governess or the like.
“Nathaniel Hawke.” He decided against sharing more. After all, his brother was an earl and had no idea of Nathaniel’s activities. He’d prefer to keep it that way. He well knew Tristan wouldn’t approve.
“Well, Mr. Hawke, please advise why you felt the need to interrupt my conversation with those girls.”
“First, tell me what your purpose here is.” He was curious at the very least. And her answer would help guide him as to how much, if anything, he told her of his own mission. It had started several months ago and come at the perfect time, prying him out of the spiral of hopelessness gripping him after his forced retirement. The sense of purpose that now filled him was a reason to rise each morning and beat back the despair his empty and pointless future had threatened.
“I intended to aid one of London’s many neglected children.”
“By giving them the card of your dressmaker?”
“I understand factory jobs are less than desirable. Giving them money seemed too great a risk.” Something in her tone implied she’d given the matter considerable thought.
“Sometimes it takes more than money to truly make a difference.” He said the words quietly, wondering if she understood that. So few of the well-to-do did. His brother, for example.
They turned the corner of another street, and he paused to look back. There was no sight of the man who’d been following them. But that didn’t mean they were out of harm’s way.
He glanced in the opposite direction, spying his carriage. At his nod, it pulled toward them. “May I offer you a ride to your carriage?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m afraid I must insist.” He’d be damned if he’d risk her returning to the bridge where harm might befall her.
“You’ve ruined enough of my day already. I shall return of my own accord.”
“I can’t allow that,” he said, taking her elbow to make certain she didn’t attempt an escape. “I’ll escort you. For your safety.”
At last she looked up at him fully, her bonnet now serving to frame her heart-shaped face. That tiny dent in her chin appealed to him in the oddest way, as did her large eyes and long lashes. Eyes that were hazel. Or rather green. No, definitely hazel. Except for the inner ring of green. Perhaps hazel with gold flecks and a green ring would better describe—
He stopped short. What on earth was he doing? Since when did a captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy wax on about a woman’s eyes?
When they studied him with curiosity like she expected him to...well, he didn’t know what she expected. Nor did he care to find out.
Those full lips the color of a deep pink rose that begged to be kissed couldn’t be explored either.
“What is your name?” he asked gruffly. He shouldn’t have asked yet found himself holding his breath, awaiting her answer.
“I—” She dropped her gaze for a moment, the sweep of her lashes doing odd things to his chest. Those lashes lifted, and he was struck anew by her amazing eyes. “I shan’t tell you.”
Once again, she’d refused him. After commanding so many men over the years, he was used to being obeyed instantly. Yet he had no hold over this woman, nor could he force her to do anything.
He shook his head. It was best she didn’t tell him. He’d rather not have a name to put to her arresting face. After all, he would never see her again.
“Please accept my offer to drive you to your carriage.” That was as close to a request as he could manage. “These streets are perilous. Even in the middle of the day.”
He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d correctly guessed that she’d thought herself safe here at this time, for she opened those lush lips as though to argue, only to firmly close them again. He studied her brows, trying to guess what color her hair might be. No hint of it was visible beneath the ugly bonnet.
“How do I know you’re safe?”
Her quiet question took him aback. In truth, he wasn’t. Far from it. It was good that she’d inadvertently reminded him of that.
“I’m a better alternative than walking these streets alone.” That he could say with complete honesty. “I give you my word as a gentleman.”
She pondered his response then nodded. “Very well.” With a wary glance at his footman, she stepped up into the carriage as Nathaniel held open the door.
He advised his driver of their destination then took a seat beside her as she adjusted her skirts on the bench seat. It was such a feminine gesture, that adjusting of her skirts. After spending the majority of his time with men the past decade, the simple movements of women fascinated him. Her hands, encased in gloves that had the unfortunate aspect of matching her bonnet, were quite graceful in their movements as she drew her dark brown cloak over her fawn gown.
He didn’t realize that was such a popular color in fashion these days. He preferred the brighter, more vivid colors he’d encountered in his travels, especially in India.
Damn. What on earth was the matter with him? Why had he even looked twice at her clothes? He could only blame his behavior on the lack of women in his life for so many years. They were foreign creatures to him. Though many men in his position had mistresses, he’d avoided such commitments, unwilling to allow himself such an indulgence. Nor had he been overly tempted by a woman to bother. He pulled his thoughts back to the problem at hand.
“Don’t return to this area,” he warned. “There are far too many undesirable characters lurking about.”
She looked up at him as the carriage eased forward, the horses’ hooves clopping along the street. “Yet those girls walk there every day unaccompanied.”
“True, but they are more capable of defending themselves than you.”
“What were you doing at the bridge?”
“Merely admiring the architecture of it. The five wrought iron arches are quite impressive. The ends of the bridge resemble pulpits just as I was told.” He glanced out the window, hoping they’d nearly reached their destination.
“Liar.” The word was said without any heated inflection. Just a mere statement of fact.
He couldn’t help but turn to look at her, shocked she’d say such a thing. The dim interior of the enclosed carriage created a cozy, private atmosphere that made him think of inappropriate things. Like how she might feel in his arms. How her lips might taste beneath his. What she might look like without the damned bonnet.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, forcing himself to look once more out the window, confused why this woman was such a temptation to him.
“Your accent doesn’t match your clothes. I don’t understand what a man like you would be doing near the bridge.”
“I fear it is a rather long, boring story, and we have nearly arrived at our destination.” He smiled to ease his rather terse explanation. “Do not return to that area under any circumstances.”
“You have no say over me, Mr. Hawke.”
“What would your father say if he knew where you had spent the luncheon hour?”
She gasped. “Are you threatening me?”
“No. I am trying to keep you safe.”
“You don’t know my name. Besides, I am old enough to see to my own safety.”
“And you obviously are quite good at it, since you are now riding in a carriage with a stranger un-chaperoned. Do you have any idea what happens to nice ladies such as yourself in situations like this
?” He leaned closer, hoping his presence was enough to frighten her into avoiding such trips in the future.
Her chin went up a notch as she met his gaze. With his next indrawn breath, her sweet scent that held a hint of orchids filled his senses. He’d grown fond of their heady fragrance during his time in India. Why couldn’t she have smelled of roses or something normal like other English misses?
“Nothing untoward ever happens to me.” She said the words with the utmost confidence. Yet they held an underlying hint of something he couldn’t identify. Was it regret?
His gaze dropped to her lips. He could tell the moment awareness of the danger she was in struck her, for she gave a tiny gasp. The pulse just visible at the base of her throat sped. His gaze caught on the dent in her chin before he stared into her eyes once more, telling himself he needed to back away before doing something he’d regret.
But those hazel-green eyes with specks of gold left him no choice. There was a question in their depths. He recognized it as he had one too.
“Damn,” he muttered then took her mouth with his. Any idea of intimidating her fell away the moment his lips met hers. A surge of desire took him under, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, swirling in its depths.
His entire body quivered at the spicy flavor of her. She tasted as good as she smelled, with a hint of cloves and cinnamon. Then her tongue hesitantly moved against his as though she was unfamiliar with doing so, and he nearly groaned. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
Her gloved hand fluttered up to the side of his face, whether to push him away or draw him closer, he didn’t know.
The knock on the carriage door had him jerking back.
“We’re blockin’ traffic,” his footman called out.
Nathaniel shook his head in an attempt to clear it. The woman appeared as startled as he. Indeed, she should be after that potent kiss. He quickly opened the door and exited to assist her in alighting right outside the bookstore she’d named, as promised.
Her hand trembled in his as she stepped down to the street. Rather than please him, as it had been his initial intent to frighten her, it angered him. Now that he’d been successful in scaring her, regret filled him. Somewhere deep inside, he’d wanted her to enjoy that kiss as much as he had.
“Do not venture there again,” he said then cleared his suddenly dry throat. “It’s far too dangerous. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” she answered as she looked up at him.
He stared hard at her. Surely that couldn’t be delight in the depths of her eyes or a hint of a smile on those luscious lips. Not when her hand shook so. She pulled it from his grasp.
“Good day, Mr. Hawke.” She turned and walked into the bookstore without a backward glance.
He stood staring after her for a long moment.
“Where to next, Captain?” the driver asked.
“Home. I’ve had enough adventure this day.” He stepped up into the carriage, rubbing his thigh even as he welcomed its pain, anything to quell his yearning to go after her.
He blamed his rash behavior on orchids. That was the only possible explanation for his outlandish conduct.
CHAPTER TWO
“It is scarcely less startling to learn that annually more than a hundred thousand criminals emerge at the doors of various prisons, that, for short time or long time, have been their homes; and with no more substantial advice than “to take care that they don’t make their appearance there again,” are turned adrift once more to face the world, unkind as when they last stole from it.”
~ The Seven Curses of London
“Lettie? Are you unwell?” Her mother frowned as Lettie sorted through the array of gowns her sister, Rose, had decided against wearing that evening. “I’ve asked you to fetch the blue ribbon from Violet’s room three times now.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll go find it.” Lettie felt her cheeks heat at her mother’s chiding tone, but her thoughts had been in a whirlwind since the events of the afternoon.
She abandoned the pile of gowns and took her leave, closing the door behind her, anxious to escape the stares of Rose and her mother. Her behavior had no doubt been odd since her return from her outing despite her attempts to calm herself.
With a deep breath, she leaned against the door and put a hand to her lips. They still felt tender after the ardent kiss she’d shared with Mr. Hawke. The sensation of his lips against hers lingered, sending her spiraling from giddiness to guilt and back again. Guilt because she’d kissed a stranger. Giddiness at the result.
She’d had no idea a simple kiss could be so passionate. That it could rouse so many emotions in so short of a time. She would’ve sworn such an experience was limited to the pages of a gothic novel, not real life.
But now she knew it to be true. She smiled at the thought, and the giddiness returned.
Mr. Hawke was handsome, tall, broad-shouldered—everything a man should be. But it was his blue eyes that had thoroughly captured her attention. Their depths contained secrets that tugged at her. They were cobalt, much like the Bristol blue glass vase her mother had purchased at the Great Exhibition and proudly displayed in the drawing room. His eyes were positively arresting in his sun-darkened face and were framed by nearly black brows and ridiculously long lashes.
His dark hair was clipped short but the front was long enough to fall over his forehead with a hint of a wave. His sideburns emphasized the strength of his face. There could be no doubt that he was a man of action, capable of carrying out anything to which he set his mind. The very memory of his powerful presence set a flurry of butterflies loose in her stomach.
His confident air had made her think twice before refusing to do as he bid. While his ordering her about had been rather annoying, something about him made her tingle. Or perhaps it was everything about him. And that was a completely new experience for her.
She sighed in disappointment as she realized there was no chance of her ever seeing him again unless she dared to venture to Blackfriars Bridge once more.
Though she and her sisters had discussed the possibility at length, none of them had ever been kissed. This was Lettie’s fifth Season and, with no offers, she, along with the rest of her family, had determined she was quite on the shelf.
As the eldest of four sisters, she’d expected to be the first to marry, but her initial Season had been a disaster. She always seemed to be a step behind other girls her age, from her gowns, to which parties she attended, to whom she spoke with. The competition for attention was fierce, but Lettie hadn’t wanted to be noticed anyway. Not as self-conscious as she felt.
Her mother had been little help. She meant well but as Lettie was her first daughter to make her debut, several mistakes had been made. Lettie had neither the ability nor the determination to overcome them. Shortly into her first Season, she’d been labeled a wallflower and nothing seemed to change it.
She told herself she relished the idea of the freedom spinsterhood offered. Granted, what was most appealing about it was the absence of caring for her sisters. She loved them dearly, but once in a great while she dreamed of caring only for herself. Of having what she wanted matter.
Another benefit would be that she’d no longer adorn the walls of the various ballrooms through which they traversed. She detested the pitying glances that came her way from other ladies when she stood near the mothers, aunts and grandmothers. It seemed she did not fit in with the debutantes of the Season nor with the mothers and chaperones. The uncomfortable feeling of not belonging she encountered at every ball made her long for a change. Surely becoming a spinster in full would grant her that.
Then why did this small voice of doubt continue to plague her?
With a shake of her head, she fetched the ribbon from Violet’s room, found the long white gloves Dalia searched for as well as the slippers Violet wanted that had somehow found their way into Holly’s room. Such was the normal pandemonium of preparing for an important ball, sending Lettie and the maids scram
bling for lost items while soothing nerves.
Each of her sisters was a beauty in her own way, much like their mother with light blonde hair, blue eyes, and peaches and cream complexions. Lettie took after their father with his dark blond hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. She was a bit like the ugly duckling compared to her sisters, she supposed, though there was no promise of a swan in her future.
When the disarray calmed, allowing her to dress, little time remained before they needed to leave. Then again, what would be the point of asking the maid to do something different with her hair? Not when the gown she’d be wearing was once again a dull shade that did nothing for her coloring. The pale shades that were all the rage and required for debutantes looked lovely on her sisters but did nothing for her. However, her mother insisted pastels and the like were the only colors suitable for an unmarried lady, regardless of how many Seasons she’d seen.
She rushed to dress in a pale yellow satin gown with her maid’s assistance and hurried down the stairs, only to realize none of her sisters had yet come down.
With a sigh, she entered the drawing room, a smile warming her heart as she saw her father in his evening attire, a squat crystal glass with a splash of whisky dangling from his fingers. Though quite tall, his portly figure had expanded each year until now there was half again as much of him. Lettie adored him.
“There’s my lovely Letitia,” he declared with a smile when she entered the room. “How are you this evening? Ready to dance the night away?”
“How was your day, Father?” She crossed the room to kiss his cheek. She didn’t bother to respond to his comment. Sometimes he seemed to forget she was the wallflower of his daughters.
“Excellent. Do you think tonight will be the night?” he asked, a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
“That Rose will receive an offer?” She pondered the question at his nod. “Don’t tell Mother or Rose, but I don’t think the duke is ready to propose. He’s only danced with her three times. That hardly seems enough time to—”
Loving the Hawke (The Seven Curses of London Book 1) Page 2