A Sinner No More

by Kelly Boyce

  A sudden noise in the trees startled them both, enough to break the kiss, but not enough to pull her out of his arms. From the corner of his eye he watched a rabbit hop across a fallen branch before it skipped over the path they stood upon and disappeared in the distance, its fur a proper concealment against the snow covered ground.

  “I should go home,” she said, avoiding his gaze when he returned it to her.

  He nodded, unsure of what to say. He should apologize, but the words would not come. He was not sorry. He would kiss her a hundred times over, if she would allow it.

  “Yes, of course. You must be growing cold. I will walk with you.”

  “No.” She offered him a small smile, though it trembled at its edges and he feared he had caused more damage than good this night by failing to hold himself in check. What she must think of him. Did she now consider him as vile as his brother?

  “I did not mean to take advantage,” he said, bringing her hand to rest against his chest. “That was not my intention. I just—” He tried to find the words to explain but they escaped him. Perhaps no words existed to describe what he had felt.

  “I know. I…I do not hold it against you. It was…we were simply caught up in a moment. I meant to offer comfort and I should not have let it go so far—”

  He gave his head a sharp shake. “No!” The word came out harshly and he took a breath, tempering it. “No, do not put the blame on yourself. The kiss was my doing and mine alone.”

  “I kissed you back.” A fact he had been sorely aware of and forever grateful for. For in that moment, when she responded to him with the same fervor, he no longer felt alone.

  “Then we are likely both fools, are we not?”

  He meant to make light but she did not return his half-hearted smile.

  “You should return to the main house,” she said, pulling her hand from his chest. “You will need your rest if you are to tackle the tasks Father has set out for you on the morrow.”

  She did not want his company any longer this evening. His heart squeezed but he nodded. He would give her this. “Very well then. But I shall wait here until you are safely inside.”

  She offered him no argument. It would have been a fruitless endeavor if she had and perhaps, knowing him as she did, she understood.

  Hawk escorted her to the edge of the trees then stood there in the cold, watching her walk away, each step a painful pressure against his heart. He continued to wait until she was safely inside and a light appeared in the window. Only then did he reluctantly turn away and make his way back to the main house. But his brother’s last words dogged him and the memory brought with it the sick sensation that whatever game Phillip had referred to had not ended with his death.

  If that was true, then Hawk had no other choice but to return to London and discover how to put a stop to the madness. He owed Madalene that much at least. And even without the full extent of his memories, this much he knew to be true and irrefutable—he would give his own life if it meant the safety of hers.

  He may have failed her once, but he would not do so again.

  * * *

  “It is wonderful to see you again, Miss Cosgrove,” the Countess of Glenmor said, as Madalene entered the salon where the former Miss Judith Sutherland and Lady Rebecca were having a visit. Lady Glenmor had married the Earl of Glenmor a few weeks previous in a small ceremony over the Yuletide. Both Lord and Lady Glenmor had been present when Lord Hawksmoor was attacked and nearly killed and Madalene would be forever grateful for their part in saving his life.

  However, surely that had nothing to do with why she had been summoned to meet with Lady Rebecca and the new countess. She did not have a close association with Lady Glenmor beyond a passing acquaintance. Though she did feel a certain kinship with the countess, since, as the granddaughter of a knight, they came from similar backgrounds in a sense.

  Madalene curtsied. “Thank you, my lady. I hope the day finds you well.”

  “It does, thank you. Lord Glenmor and I thought we might pay a visit and see how Lord Hawksmoor fares. I am pleased to see he is doing well.” Lady Glenmor smiled and the effect changed her ordinary appearance into something quite extraordinary. “I understand you have been instrumental in his care and that pieces of his memory are beginning to return.”

  Heat crept up her neck and the apple of her cheeks burned. The events of the night before rushed back to her. She had never meant for their conversation to go so far, to prod such memories to resurface. To end in a kiss that still had the ability to reduce her to a puddle. That the snow had not melted all around them from the heat of their embrace was a bona fide miracle. Regardless, she should have stopped the kiss instantly, but the moment his lips touched hers a hunger overtook her that went beyond her need to give him some peace. She had wanted him, pure and simple and in every sense of the word. He had held her close, but it wasn’t close enough, he had kissed her long, but not long enough. And when their mouths parted, she wanted nothing more but to experience that heady sensation once again.

  Had the copse of trees not protected them from view of the main house, perhaps the summons she had received to come to the salon would have been made under different circumstances. Thankfully, no one had witnessed their unintended tryst and the secrets shared between them remained there. Yet something between them had changed. Not just in the physical acknowledgement that an attraction existed between them. Something in Lord Hawksmoor had changed. The essence of the transformation had lingered in the air. There was a determination to the set of his jaw. It was the same look she’d seen when he’d taken her from the larder all those years ago and left her in her room, telling her she was safe, promising her he would return.

  He hadn’t, of course. She’d waited, but hours had passed and the sun had risen. Eventually she’d been forced to face the fact that he was not coming. And why would he? She was but a servant and he was a lord who had just killed his brother. What possible help could he offer her? He’d be lucky to save himself.

  “Miss Cosgrove?”

  She straightened. Dear heavens, they had been speaking to her. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not sleep well last night.” Not a lie. She’d tossed and turned, the passion awakened by their kiss refusing to allow her to sleep.

  Lady Glenmor offered a look of understanding, as if she too was familiar with such things. “Think nothing of it. I was simply saying that Lord Glenmor and I are returning to London to take care of several business matters. I understand you will soon be moving on from your position as housekeeper and need to hire a suitable replacement. Lady Rebecca suggested it might be worthwhile if you visited a few of the employment agencies in London to find someone.”

  Lady Rebecca leaned forward. “I would do it myself, Miss Cosgrove, but in my condition,” Her hand dropped to rest upon the growing bump at her belly. “I’m afraid Mr. Bowen worries about me traveling and the doctor has seen fit to take his side in the matter. But I have the utmost faith in your ability to select a suitable candidate if you are amenable to going in my place. Lord and Lady Glenmor will see you there safely and Lady Dalridge has offered to provide you a place to stay and proper chaperone during your stay.”

  “We would do it ourselves,” Lady Glenmor said, “but we shall be traveling on from London after a proper night’s rest to see what progress has been made to the renovations at Maple Glen.”

  London.

  Returning to the city struck a small sliver of fear in her heart. While Lord Hawksmoor only remembered his brother’s words the night before, she had lived with them for nearly six years. His threat that she would never be safe had forced her to live constantly looking over her shoulder. After a bit, when no one came after her, she grew complacent and began to believe no such man as Lord T existed, that his claims had been the rantings of a madman. But that complacency was more easily accessed while safely ensconced in the country under the protection of both Father and Mr. Bowen. Even on the few occasions when she had accompanied the Bowens into
the city, she’d stayed mostly inside, not venturing out unless absolutely necessary.

  Now she was being requested to return once again. “Yes. Of course, I…I would be pleased to help in that regard.”

  “Wonderful,” Lady Rebecca said with a clap of her hand. “It is settled then. Lady Glenmor will send word once she knows of their departure date and we will have a carriage at your disposal for when you are ready to return to Northill with your replacement. Please do not rush, take your time and enjoy the sites and spectacles of London while you are there.”

  Madalene forced a smile. London held no sights or spectacles she cared to see, but perhaps being away from Lord Hawksmoor would allow her the time to put her feelings for him back under lock and key. Nothing could come of the kiss they had shared. He was far above her station and well out of reach. Unless he meant to make her his mistress, a position that held no interest for her at all. No, it was best if she found the Bowens a suitable replacement as housekeeper and then moved on, whether as headmistress of Miss Caldwell’s school, or somewhere else. If she did not, she would find herself haunting Northill like a specter, mooning over something that could never be.

  “I look forward to finding a proper replacement for my position.”

  Chapter Eight

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Hawk turned from the window to face Marcus Bowen who had entered the room with a man he didn’t recognize trailing behind him. The second man, light where Mr. Bowen was dark, held a familiarity about him, but try as he might, Hawk couldn’t place him.

  He pulled his gaze away from the second man and put it back on his host. “You may need to be more specific. Do you mean at this very moment, or—”

  “My valet has informed me you requested he procure you a suit for your departure. From my closet no less.”

  Hawk appreciated how when Mr. Bowen deemed to speak, he did not waste time mincing words but cut straight to the heart of the matter. He admired that and suspected in his previous life, they had held a mutual appreciation for each other. Perhaps that was why his host had brought him here, despite Hawk’s rather despicable reputation.

  “Well, you do have a somewhat understated sense of style that appeals to me. And we are of a similar build now that you’ve fattened me up over the past weeks and your taskmaster of a steward has me working like a veritable field hand.” Much as he did not care to be mucking stables or baling hay or whatever other onerous chore Mr. Cosgrove set out for him, he had attacked each with fervor, and day by day his strength had returned.

  Unfortunately, the hard work and newly returned strength had done little to keep his brain from making addled choices when it came to kissing a beautiful woman he had no ability to resist. He had compromised her. By rights, he should propose. Yet, he hadn’t. Not that the idea of waking up next to her each and every day did not sound like a perfectly lovely idea, but he had other matters to attend to and likely Madalene would not have him either way. Accepting him meant living with the memories they shared. What woman would want that sort of reminder staring her in the face each day?

  The other man stepped forward and spoke, concern written across his face that Hawk found rather refreshing after weeks of Mr. Bowen’s enigmatic expressions. “Then you plan on returning to London sooner rather than later? Are you certain that is wise?”

  “I cannot see how it is unwise. That is where I live, is it not? And who are you exactly?”

  Mr. Bowen motioned toward his companion. “This is Benedict Laytham, Earl of Glenmor. He’s the one responsible for your being alive, seeing as he altered the trajectory of Pengrin’s bullet with his arm so it only skimmed your head instead of imbedding itself into it.”

  Hawk straightened. He did not care for all of this indebtedness he appeared to have racked up since the incident with Lord Pengrin. “Ah, quite sporting of you. Well, you were about ninety percent successful in that endeavor. I hope you have recovered nicely.”

  “I have, thank you. My wife has taken expert care of me.” The expression on Lord Glenmor’s face altered perceptibly at the mention of his wife, softening and strengthening all at the same time. It was a strange thing to see, but even stranger was the emptiness it left echoing inside of Hawk, and the unsettling knowledge that he would likely never have an opportunity to utter those words.

  “Then you’re a lucky man.”

  The earl tilted his head to one side. “Do you really remember none of what happened that day?”

  “I’m afraid not. Your heroics appear to have slipped my mind completely.”

  Lord Glenmor laughed. “And yet your sarcasm has been left well intact. Amazing.”

  “You may be the only one who thinks so. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I am in the midst of preparations to leave this humble abode for my own.” Not that such preparation required much. He had no belongings to speak of with him and what he did have had been borrowed from Mr. Bowen.

  “Back to The Devil’s Lair, then?”

  “I thought I might be more comfortable in my bachelor apartments.” Mr. Bowen and Lord Glenmor shared a look and frustration boiled within him. “Oh, bloody hell. Are you to tell me I do not possess proper bachelor apartments?”

  Mr. Bowen raised one eyebrow and the smallest hint of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it depends on your definition of proper. You reside at The Devil’s Lair.”

  “I live in a gaming hell? Actually live there. Day to day?”

  “Yes,” Lord Glenmor stated in a tone that implied he found it amusing that Hawk did not recall this particular fact, or that he seemed shocked by it now. How thrilling that he could offer these gentlemen such entertainment. If only they knew the facts Hawk did remember, perhaps they would not find the situation quite so humorous.

  “And what of the Earl of Ravenwood? I find it odd he would not have a home in the city.”

  “He does.” Mr. Bowen left it at that, but it was enough to convey his meaning.

  “But I am not welcomed there.”

  Silence. Wonderful. Just…wonderful. He sighed.

  “I am leaving for London within a few days,” Lord Glenmor stated. “If you are determined to return to the city, I can convey you.”

  “Thank you, but do not trouble yourself.” Being further indebted to this man who had saved his life irked him. Worse, it was still up for debate whether the life Glenmor had saved had been worth the effort.

  “It’s no trouble. We are escorting Miss Cosgrove as well. The more the merrier.”

  What the deuce? She had no business being in London, alone and unprotected! “Do you think that is wise? She is a young woman, an innocent, and London is—”

  “Calm yourself, man,” Mr. Bowen said, leaning his shoulder against the bedpost and crossing his legs at the ankle. “She is quite capable of taking care of herself and Lady Glenmor has procured Lady Dalridge to act as chaperone.”

  Lord Glenmor grinned. “It appears the viscountess is still feeling a bit contrite over having sacked my wife.”

  Sacked his wife? Hawk leaned forward, suddenly intrigued. “Your wife was employed?” Something akin to hope tingled at the back of his neck. Would he not be the first of his acquaintance to develop tender feelings for a servant? Yet, in truth, he did not see Madalene in such a way. He saw her as a person, a resilient young woman with a strength that set her apart from the others.

  “Yes,” Lord Glenmor replied. “Judith had been hired as companion to Lady Dalridge’s great-niece, Lady Henrietta.”

  “Then she was not a lady before she married you?” His memory may be shot full of holes, but even he knew men of his station generally married women of the same ilk. If Lord Glenmor had broken ranks would it be so strange if he were to—

  What the hell? Where did that come from? Why, he had no intention of marrying Madalene. Marrying anyone for that matter. He was damaged goods—a murderer. He lived in a gaming hell. Hardly fit husband material for anyone, least of all Madalene. Not that she’d ha
ve him, regardless. Although, she had returned his kiss with equal fervor. But no. No. He would not drag her into his dark world.

  “No, she was a miss,” Lord Glenmor answered. “Her grandfather had been knighted by the queen, as was her uncle. Though I believe her to be more of a lady than many of my acquaintance.”

  “Indeed.” Good Lord, the man positively gushed about his countess. Was that what awaited Hawk if he continued mooning over Madalene? God help him.

  He needed to quit while he was ahead. A difficult task if they were sending the poor woman into the mouth of the beast, returning her to London where she could potentially be in danger, if his brother’s dying declaration was to be believed.

  Which meant distancing himself from Madalene would have to wait; at least until he determined any remaining threat to her had been neutralized. He drew his hand to his chest. One of the maids had set the crumpled note he’d received from “T” on his nightstand and he’d stowed it in his pocket for safekeeping.

  “I believe I will take you up on your offer, Lord Glenmor. I shall be ready to leave for London when you are.”

  * * *

  The journey to London was made in a day, though the length of the trip felt more like an eternity by the time they arrived in the city well after the sun had set. Lord and Lady Glenmor provided excellent company and conversation, but watching the two of them together, happy in their newfound love and marriage, made Madalene’s heart ache.

  It wasn’t often she allowed herself to consider her own solitary state. She rarely stayed in one place long enough to form the type of attachments that would lead to a permanent change. Not that she hadn’t noticed a fine looking gentleman from time to time, but somehow they never quite measured up to the one gentleman she had known all those years ago. The one who had been kind enough to supply her with books to read, who had spoken to her as if she were a real person and not just an anonymous servant meant to blend in with the walls. The one whose smile had the ability to bring sunshine to a dark day.