by Anna DePalo
“Naturally,” Pia responded now with a touch of sarcasm. “I should have expected you’d do some digging of your own. With a business, I’m easy to find, whether I like it or not.”
Despite her words, she stepped aside to let him into the apartment, and then shut the door once he’d entered.
“In a way, I’m glad you’re here,” she said as he turned back to face her. “It makes matters easier.”
He quirked a brow. “Only in a way?” he queried with dry amusement. “I suppose I should be happy there is at least one way.”
“I’ve been having second thoughts.”
“Of course you have.” He let his mouth tilt upward. “And that’s why I’m glad I’m here.”
Hawk watched as Pia sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be wise for me to accept the job as Lucy’s wedding planner.”
“She’ll be devastated.”
“I’ll find a suitable replacement.”
“A rival?” he questioned sardonically. “Are you sure you want to?”
“I have contacts—friends.”
“And I’m not one of them, presumably.”
Hawk glanced around. The apartment wasn’t big, but nevertheless bigger than he expected.
The living room was dressed in a pastel theme, from the peach-colored couch to the rose-print armchair. Wedding colors.
Binders of various wedding vendors—for invitations, decorations, flowers and more—stood out on the cream-colored bookshelves.
He glanced down as a cat sauntered in from an adjoining room.
The animal stopped, returned his stare, still as a statue, and then blinked.
“Mr. Darcy,” Pia announced.
But of course, Hawk thought. A wedding planner with a cat named after Jane Austen’s most renowned hero.
Hawk’s lips twisted. Pia had wound up with Mr. Darcy, so all should be right with the world. Except Mr. Darcy was a damn cat, and Hawk surmised that he’d been cast as the villainous Mr. Wickham in this drama.
Still, he bent and rubbed the cat behind the ears. The feline allowed the contact and then moved to rub himself against Hawk’s leg, leaving behind a trail of stray animal hairs on Hawk’s pants.
When Hawk straightened, he caught Pia’s look of surprise.
“What?” he asked. “You look astonished that I’d cozy up to your cat.”
“I thought you would be a dog person,” Pia responded. “Aren’t all of you aristocrats fond of canines? Fox hunting and such?”
Hawk smiled. “Afraid I’d feed Puss ’n Boots here to the dogs?”
“The possibility wouldn’t bear thinking about except that you’ve already proven yourself to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Pia retorted.
He gave a feral grin and then, just to annoy her, allowed his gaze to travel over her. “And are you Little Red Riding Hood? Is that the fairy tale you prefer these days?”
“I don’t prefer any fairy tales,” she shot back. “N-not anymore.”
Hawk’s smile faded. She didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore, and he felt responsible for robbing her of her innocence in more ways than one.
Of course, all that made it even more imperative that he change her mind and get her to accept his help. He intended to make restitution of sorts.
He pulled some papers from the inside pocket of his blazer. “I suspected that you might have a change of heart once you had a chance to think about what you were getting into with Lucy.”
“You were the one who wanted time to review the contract!” she accused. “I’m within my rights to change my mind, and if you don’t have any recourse, you have only yourself to blame.”
It was true that when Pia had handed Lucy her standard written wedding services contract on Monday, before she’d left Hawk’s house, he’d taken the contract in hand and had asked to review it. But only because he’d thought it would give him another opportunity to interact with her when he brought it back to her.
He’d come here this afternoon directly from work, and was still wearing a navy business suit.
The discussion of the contract, he told himself, would afford him a chance to change her low opinion of him. Maybe he could begin to demonstrate that he wasn’t quite the reprobate she thought he was. Not anymore.
“I did do as I said,” he acknowledged, unfolding the paper in his hand. “I did review it.”
Pia arched a brow. “One wonders why you don’t bring the same thoroughness and discrimination to your choice of dates.”
Hawk stifled the dry chuckle that rose unbidden. “You’ve done some research on me, I take it.”
Pia nodded. “The internet is a wonderful thing. I believe you were referred to on at least one occasion as Jolly Lord James, his Rollicking Rowdy Ruffianness?”
“Ruffian?” Hawk rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger. “Ah, yes, I believe I had my nose broken at least once in a brawl. A useful thing once I became Hawkshire, as I was able to live up to the profile implied.”
“Charming.”
“And did your research also reveal how I succeeded to the title of Duke of Hawkshire?” he asked with deceptive casualness.
Pia shook her head. “I believe the tabloids were already fully occupied with your ne’er-do-well travails.”
“So I’ve heard,” he deadpanned. “Much to my regret, however, my sojourn as the rollicking younger son of the previous Duke of Hawkshire was cut short when my older brother died from injuries sustained in a boating accident.”
He saw Pia hesitate.
“An early morning phone call awakened me from a pleasant slumber, as I recall,” he went on, searching her gaze. “I still remember the view from your apartment window as the news reached me.”
Pia looked momentarily bewildered. He knew he’d flummoxed her.
“So you departed without a word?”
He nodded. “On the first flight back to London.”
The unexpected news about his brother had changed the trajectory of his life. He’d left Pia’s apartment quietly, while she’d still slept. Then he’d rushed back to London for a bedside vigil that had ended days later when William had taken his last breath.
With the tumult in his life that had followed the tragedy, he’d been able to push Pia to the back of his mind. Then with the space of days and miles, and the weight of his newfound responsibilities as a ducal heir, he convinced himself that it would be better if he didn’t get in touch with her again—if he let matters end as they were.
It had all been convenient, too, he admitted to himself now. Because the truth was that after sleeping with Pia and discovering that she’d been a virgin, he’d had the feeling of being in too deep. It had been a novel and uncomfortable sensation for him. His younger, inconsiderate self had simply been looking for a steamy fling. But he’d been spared the need to figure out how to handle it all by the news of his brother’s tragic accident.
“I’m sorry, however belatedly, for your loss,” Pia said, a look of openhearted feeling transforming her face.
“I’m not asking for your sympathy,” he responded.
He didn’t deserve it. As much as Pia had claimed to have developed a more cynical shell since they’d been lovers, she still, he could tell, possessed a soft-hearted fragility about her that showed how easily she could be hurt.
He was thankful for that sign that he hadn’t changed her too deeply, even though it made her all that more dangerous. To him.
He was here to help, he reminded himself. He was going to make amends for past wrongs, however inadequately, and that’s all.
“My father died months later,” he elaborated, forcing himself to stay on topic. “Some would say brokenhearted, though he’d already been in poor health. So by two quirks of fate within a year, I became the duke.”
“And then you started Sunhill Investments,” Pia observed without inflection. “You’ve had a busy few years.”
He inclined his head. “Again, som
e would say so. And yet it was all born of necessity, and nothing more so than the need to find a new cash flow for the maintenance of the ducal estates.”
When his father had died, the full weight of the dukedom had been thrust upon his shoulders. He’d stepped up to take care of the family…become responsible…
He’d already started exploring his options for starting a hedge fund, but the costs associated with the ducal estates had added new urgency to matters.
And in the shuffle—in the crazy upheaval and burdensome work schedule that had been his life for the past three years—it had been easy to shut the door on his discomfort as far as Pia was concerned. He had, at many moments, been too busy to think about their one stupendous night, when he’d broken his vow and done what he said he’d never do, even in his careless playboy days—be remembered as a woman’s first lover. And even in his younger days, he hadn’t been the type to leave without a word—instead, he stuck around and made sure there were no hard feelings.
“You never got back in touch,” Pia stated, though without rancor.
He searched her eyes—so unusual in their warm amber tone that he’d been arrested by them on their first meeting.
Now, he sensed in them that her adamancy from when he’d walked in the door was weakening, exactly as he’d wanted. Still, what he said next was the truth. “None of this explanation was intended as an excuse.”
“Why go out of your way to arrange for me to be Lucy’s wedding planner?” Pia asked. “To make amends?”
Hawk couldn’t help but smile at her astute query. Pia might still be rather sweet and naive, despite her posturing to the contrary, but she was intelligent. He’d been drawn to her wit on the night they’d first met.
“If I said yes, would you let me?” he parried.
“I’ve found from past experience that letting you do anything is dangerous.”
He gave a low laugh. “Even if it’s a favor?”
“With no strings attached?”
He could sense her weakening toward him, so he gave her his most innocent look. “Would you let me wipe some of the dirt off my conscience?”
“So this is an act of mercy on my part?”
“Of sorts.”
“So you’re acting not only to make up for your friend Easterbridge’s actions at Belinda’s wedding but for yours in the past as well?”
“I don’t believe I was ever motivated by Easterbridge’s actions.”
Then, not giving her a chance to backtrack, he withdrew a pen from his inner jacket pocket and using the nearby wall as support, he inked her contract with his signature.
“There, it’s signed,” he said, handing out the contract to her.
She looked at him with some wariness, but nevertheless took the contract from him and glanced at it.
“Hawkshire,” she read, and then looked up, a sudden glimmer in her eyes. “How grand. Sh-should I receive it as a benediction of sorts?”
He shrugged, willing for her to be amused at his expense. “Am I being permitted to try to make restitution, however inadequately? Then please view this contract as a grant of clemency from you to me.”
Deliberately, he held the pen out to her.
Pia seemed to understand his gesture for the meaning-laden act it was, and hesitated.
Hawk glanced down at Mr. Darcy for a moment, and then arched a brow. “Our one witness wants you to sign.”
And indeed, Mr. Darcy was looking up at them, unmoving and unblinking. Hawk was starting to realize that it was a customary pose for the cat, and he got the uncomfortable feeling that Mr. Darcy understood too much for a feline.
“I’m not in the business of reforming rakes,” Pia said as she reached for the pen.
Their fingers brushed, causing a sizzle of awareness to shoot through him.
Hawk schooled his expression. “Of course you are,” he contradicted her. “I assume you adopted Mr. Darcy from a shelter?”
“That was saving a soul, not reforming a rake.”
“Is there much difference?” he asked. “And anyway, who knows what dastardly deeds and reprobate behavior Mr. Darcy engaged in before you met him?”
“Better the devil you don’t know,” she responded, turning a well-known saying on its head.
He placed his hand over his heart. “And yet one could say we encountered each other under blind circumstances not so different from your first meeting with Mr. Darcy. Surely, if you can find it in your heart to take him…?”
“I am not taking you in like…a-a stray,” she responded reprovingly.
“Much to my regret,” he murmured.
Giving him a lingering cautionary look, she turned her back and, using the wall for support in imitation of his earlier action, signed the contract.
She turned back to him and handed him a copy of the contract.
“Splendid,” he said with a grin. “I’d kiss you to seal the deal, but I’ll venture to guess you wouldn’t find it appropriate under the circumstances.”
“Certainly not!”
“A handshake then?”
Pia eyed him, and he returned her regard with a bland look of his own.
Slowly, she extended her hand, and he grasped it in his.
He let himself feel the vibrant current coursing between them. It was the same as when they’d met three years ago. It was the same as it always was.
Her hand was small and fine-boned. The fingers, he’d noticed, tapered to well-manicured nails that nevertheless showed not a hint of polish—so like her, delicate but practical.
When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold, drawing out the contact for reasons he didn’t bother to examine.
She looked up at him questioningly, and he read the turbulent sexual awareness in her amber eyes.
In a courtly gesture, he bent and gave her a very proper kiss on the hand.
He heard Pia suck in a breath, and as he straightened, he released her hand.
She swallowed. “Why did you do that?”
“I’m a duke,” he said, the excuse falling easily from his lips. “It’s a done thing.”
In fact, Hawk admitted to himself, the context wasn’t fitting even if the gesture might have been. He wasn’t greeting a woman—one of higher social status—who’d offered him her hand. But he brushed aside those niceties, not least because it had been tempting to touch her.
“Of course,” Pia acknowledged lightly, though a shadow crossed her face. “I know all about your world, even if I’m not part of it.”
“You’ve agreed to be part of it now,” he countered. “Attend the theater with me tomorrow night.”
“Wh-what?” she asked, looking startled. “Why?”
He smiled. “It’s Lucy’s off-Broadway show. Seeing my sister on the stage, in her element, might give you useful insight into her personality.”
Pia relaxed her shoulders.
He could tell she’d been wondering whether he was reneging on his promise even before the ink had dried on their contract. Was he trying to entice her back into his bed?
Yes—no. No. He corrected the response that had jumped unbidden into his head. Fortunately, he hadn’t spoken aloud.
Nevertheless, Pia seemed ready to argue. “I don’t think a show would be—”
“—the ticket?” he finished. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got two seats in the front orchestra.” He winked. “I worked the family connection.”
“You know what I mean!”
“Hardly. And that seems to be a recurring problem of mine.”
Pia looked as if she wanted to continue to protest.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ll come by at seven.” He glanced down at the cat. “I hope Mr. Darcy won’t mind spending the evening at home alone.”
“Why?” she jabbed, but lightly. “Is he an uncomfortable reminder that the role left to you might be that of villain?”
He felt the side of his mouth tease upward. “How did you guess?”
Pia raised her eyebr
ows, but the look she gave him was open and unguarded.
“I’m not too concerned.”
“Oh?”
He glanced down at Mr. Darcy again. “I feel confident that only one of us can waltz.”
“Oh.”
Pia looked startled and then, for a moment, dreamy—as if the idea of a waltz had called to the romantic in her.
Mr. Darcy just continued to stare at them unblinkingly, and Hawk realized that now was as good a time as any for him to leave, before he gave in to too much temptation.
He let the side of his mouth quirk up again. “Since I appear to have exhausted my options for acceptable salutations and social niceties, I’m afraid my goodbye will have to be rather dull.”
“How reassuring,” Pia answered, recovering.
He touched his finger to the tip of her pert nose in humorous salute of her impertinence.
And then, unable to stop himself, he let his finger wander down and smooth over her pink and inviting lips.
They both quieted.
“Tomorrow night,” he repeated.
He turned away before he was tempted to touch her lips with his, and then let himself out the way he’d come in.
As he pulled shut the apartment door behind him, Hawk refused to let himself think about why he found it hard to leave Pia.
It was a vexing situation that could only mean no good for his best of intentions.
Five
Pia found herself staring at her apartment door after Hawk had left. Flooded with conflicting emotions, she hugged herself and sat down on her couch.
She touched her fingers to her lips, in imitation of Hawk’s action moments ago. She could swear he’d wanted to kiss her. The last time he’d kissed her had been on the night that they’d first met.…
Pia turned away and picked up the remote to her MP3 player because music relaxed her. Within a few moments, the dulcet tones of an orchestral ensemble drifted through the apartment from her small speakers.
“W-would you like a drink?” she asked.