Provocative in Pearls (35 page)

He looked in her blue eyes and allowed the deepest parts of his heart to love her for a long, poignant moment. Then he mastered his emotion.

“I have a surprise for you, Verity. A special gift. One that will put you in my debt forever.”

“You do?” She smiled like an excited child.

He let that smile enrapture him, while he marveled at this woman once more. She could be so innocent one moment, and so dangerously formidable the next.

He memorized the joy with which she looked at him. He branded the moment on his soul, so he might possess it forever. Then he went to the door, opened it, and gestured.

A thin, wiry young man with golden blond hair and a crooked smile walked in.

Verity’s eyes widened. Her mouth gaped. “Michael!” She jumped off the window seat.

Hawkeswell turned away, left, and closed the door without looking back.

He went down the stairs and out of the house. He passed his own coach and aimed for Castleford’s. Tristan had better be asleep. He needed no one to see him now. He wanted no conversation.

Deciding not to risk it, he gestured for the coachman to make room, and climbed up alongside. He felt as if someone had punched him in the middle of his body until he was weakened and bruised and short of breath. He told the coachman to return to London.

The man snapped the ribbons. The cattle stepped in unison. Hawkeswell stared blindly at their flying manes, and worked hard not to picture the reunion taking place at The Rarest Blooms.

“You are an idiot, Hawkeswell.”

The insult came through the small window between the coachman and the carriage interior.

“Yes, I am. Thank you for the reminder. Now, go to sleep again.”

“I know what you are up to, and it is mad. It is clear how you feel about her.”

Hawkeswell groaned. He could not believe he was going to have to suffer this. “Exactly. Which means your advice is worthless. This isn’t one of your whores.”

“All the more reason not to be an idiot.”

“I am in no mood to have a disembodied voice hurling insults at my ass for an hour. I feel like thrashing someone, so you would be wise to get your nose away from that opening.”

“Thrash
me
? Hell. Stop the carriage.”

Of course the coachman obeyed. Castleford stepped out and gestured silently. The coachman set aside the ribbons, climbed down, and walked to the back of the carriage to stand there. Castleford climbed up, took the ribbons, and started the horses on their way.

Hawkeswell folded his arms and stared straight ahead. Castleford had the good sense to offer nothing more than an old friend’s company all the way back to London.

 

 

V
erity embraced Michael like the lost friend he had been. Hawkeswell was right. This was a special gift. The very best one.

She looked past Michael to tell him so. To thank him. He was gone, however.

“Come and sit with me. I want to look at you for hours. Where did he find you?” She pulled Michael to the window seat. He dragged along, laughing.

“They had me on a hulk. Can you believe it? I’m in Lord Cleobury’s cellar one day, then on a wagon, then the next thing I know it is a different wagon and it is full of convicts going south. I kept tellin’ them my name, that I wasn’t the man they thought, but the bastards just assumed no mistakes are ever made.”

“A hulk? I hear they are terrible places.”

“Terrible enough. Men die all around you.” His smile fell and his eyes blanked. He suddenly appeared much older than when he walked in the room.

“Still, you look well, Michael. Thin, but otherwise not too much the worse for it.”

“They cleaned me up for you. That Duke Castle was stuck with me when the other two went off somewhere.” He pointed to his hair. “Does that look like hair you see in Oldbury? His valet did it to me. I’m a damned fop, I am. I’ll never live it down when they see me like this back home.”

They laughed at the way it was dressed, and she admired the fine coat that the duke had put him in.

“You should see his house, Veri. A palace. It is the sort of place where you are afraid to breathe. And heaven forbid you should need to fart.”

They laughed some more. Then the laughter died, and they just looked at each other. She could not stop smiling. At him. At herself. At the absurd idea that, not so long ago, she was convinced that it was her duty to marry this old friend.

“You are all grown-up now, aren’t ya?” he said. “You’ve got yourself a fine husband too.”

“He is fine. The finest. He is a good man.”

“If he bothered to find me, I’d say he is the best. You should have seen the three of them, walking down into that pit like the filth would part for them at their word. The captain tried to balk but that Duke Castle just touched this sword he had and stared until the captain was half his normal size. Then your earl boomed out my name. Hell, I was on my feet in a second, and for all I knew they had come to hang me.”

She could picture that and had to laugh again. “You have sent word to your mother, I hope.”

“Wrote to her that first night. Sent it to Mr. Travis. He’ll go read it to her.”

She let her heart feel the full relief that Katy would know, and her own that this had all ended well.

Michael quirked that crooked smile of his. “So, this earl of yours—does he know?”

“He knows about my first kiss. I admitted only to that, but I think he wonders if there was more.”

“Best we leave him wondering, then. He looks the sort to kill a man if he’s of a mind to. Though if he let me see you alone while you are dressed like that, he can’t be too worried.”

“He probably thinks this modest after how he has seen me.”

Michael gaped in mock shock and they dissolved into giggles.

“He would never kill you, Michael, but, yes, it may be best to leave him wondering if he must. It was long ago, and we were children, but men are not very particular about the details when they get jealous, I think.”

“No, we are not at that.” He stood. “We should be going now, so I’ll leave you to get ready. There is a very fine carriage out there, waiting to take us home in style. I’ll never see the likes of it again, so I plan to stop at every coaching inn on the way and eat my fill to make up for the last two years. You’ll just have to wait while I do.”

“The carriage is for you alone, Michael. Not for me.”

“That is not what your lord said. He even put your baggage in it. Said you’d be wanting to make sure the ironworks is in good hands too. He said—”

She was out the door before he finished. She ran down the stairs and outside. Hawkeswell’s coach and four stood there, the matched bay horses almost immobile in their dignity. She frantically looked down the lane for any sign of Hawkeswell himself.

She spied her baggage atop the coach. Not one but three portmanteaus. A desperate excitement gripped her. Michael came out of the house, flashed his crooked smile, and walked over to the carriage.

Confusion and astonishment overwhelmed her. She could not believe that Hawkeswell was allowing her to visit Oldbury again so soon, and on her own, and with Michael as her escort.

She heard the door again behind her. She swerved to see Katherine standing there.

“This is for you,” she said, handing over a letter. “Lord Hawkeswell found me in the kitchen, and said to give it to you.”

She stared at it, and the name on the front made her breath catch.
Miss Verity Thompson
. Fear, anticipation, dread, and grief all mixed together while she unfolded the paper.

H
awkeswell entered the library at his London house, shed his coats, and untied his cravat. The night’s entertainment would have diverted any normal man, but he had found it unable to distract him. Fortunately, Summerhays and Audrianna, who had returned from Essex, were good friends and pretended their guest was not being a bore.

He went to a cabinet where spirits were stored, and poured himself a brandy. As he walked back past the writing table, he glanced at the account books resting there. They could not be put off any longer, but nothing good waited in them. He had access to a fortune right now that would rectify everything. He could help himself. However, it really was not his to use.

No word of Verity’s petition had come yet, but it was only a matter of time. She had been gone ten days now, and would have settled in.

One letter had come from her, posted while she was on her way north. It had been short, grateful, and ambiguous as hell. He had memorized it, and some nights, like this one, during hours of pretending he listened to conversations at dinners or followed the actors on a stage, he contemplated it too much.

 

 

(Was the address intended to acknowledge a new distance between them, or merely the drills having their way?)

I love you for it
. He closed his eyes and saw her at the window seat that last day.

Well, it was something, this declaration of love, whatever kind of love it might be. Bold and honest too. She could have written “and you have my profound affection for it.”

He was pleased she had written that. Glad that she had admitted it too. It would not change things, but it was good to share the truth of it. He appreciated knowing he had not been a total fool who had seen and sensed only what he wanted, not what was actually there.

He fully expected duty to drive her, however, not whatever love she had for him. He could not blame her. Most of his own life had been dictated and formed by duty. It would be churlish to assume those responsibilities determined his choices, but should not do the same for her.

He left the accounts for tomorrow, and moved to a sofa that faced the fireplace’s low flames. The night promised to be very chilled. He would have to remember to visit the greenhouse and light the fire pots before he retired.

One of the plants had died, despite the clumsy efforts of him and the gardener. Maybe they all would before winter ended. He hoped not. He enjoyed going there, when he returned from sessions. All hell was letting loose in Parliament, and he found himself drawn to that glass house with its green plants. The echo of Verity’s spirit still dwelled there, and he could indulge in a quiet nostalgia.

A booklet lay on the sofa, and he picked it up. It was a pocket map that he had used to judge her progress north. He opened it now to the page that showed the region around Oldbury.

He heard a servant enter the library through the door behind him. She had come to give the fire more fuel. He turned his head, to tell her not to bother, that he would be retiring soon.

His heart rose to his throat. No servant stood there.

Verity set down her reticule and parasol, and untied her bonnet’s ribbons. She set that aside too, then fingered the closings of her spencer.

He stood and just watched her, wondering why she was here, hoping but not daring to hope at the same time.

Smiling, she walked over to him. She stood on her toes and gave him one of those bird pecks on his cheek. “You appear much as Mr. Travis did when I walked into his building that day at the works,” she said. “It is truly I, Hawkeswell. I am not a ghost.”

No, she was not.

She opened the spencer and pulled it off. Its absence revealed the skin of her lower neck and chest, and the many satin orbs encircling her in resplendent strands. She was wearing the pearls.

He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her hard. Too hard. Too desperately, but all his relief and gratitude was in the kiss and he could not have been gentler if he tried.

A commotion interrupted. Steps and voices on the stairs. Verity looked behind, over her shoulder. “Those would be my portmanteaus being carried up.”

“You have returned to me for good, then? You have come back?”

“Yes, Grayson. I have come back. I have come home.”

 

 

V
erity wrapped the shawl snugly. She snuggled under Hawkeswell’s embracing arm while they sat on the sofa in the library.