Secrets of Seduction (10 page)

Even so, he was mindful of his master’s whereabouts. When Skye made to don her cloak, intending to search for the earl in the stables, Gilpin reported that his lordship was already in his study. Exasperated, Skye realized that Lord Hawkhurst had slipped into the house unobserved, even though she had been watching for him.

She found him there, lounging on a sofa, making steady inroads into his decanter of brandy.

“Good evening, my lord. I came to invite you to partake of supper. I thought you might be hungry.”

He barely glanced up at her. “You thought incorrectly.”

Skye wasn’t inclined to be dismissed so easily. “I met your temporary staff today and introduced myself. For propriety’s sake, I told them my aunt should arrive soon.” When Hawkhurst eyed her sharply, she hastened to add, “Don’t fear. I did not actually invite Aunt Isabella without your permission.”

“Thank God for small favors,” he murmured.

“I set the maids to cleaning the main rooms today. And I began inventorying the furniture to see what needs repair or replacement. I thought that if I must wait here, I might as well make productive use of my time.”

“I trust you don’t expect to be accorded laurels for your unwanted efforts.”

Skye ignored his sarcasm. “I see what you mean about Gilpin being frail and hard of hearing. He seems a sweet old soul, but he is not capable of heavy work with his rheumatism and aching joints. Nor can he cook well. So I asked the housekeeper to help me prepare your supper. We made a very decent meal, if I do say so myself.”

“I said I am not hungry.”

“But you need to eat.”

“I ate at noonday in the stables with my grooms.”

“That was a number of hours ago.” When he made no reply, Skye softened her tone. “I laid out the dishes in the small dining room. Please, will you not join me?”

She could tell Hawkhurst was struggling to hold on
to his temper. “Thank you, no. That room holds too many memories for me.”

At his admission, Skye instantly felt remorseful for pressing him to relive unpleasant memories. “Then I will bring you a supper tray here.”

“You needn’t bother.”

“It is no bother, truly.”

“Lady Skye,” Hawkhurst finally said in a gruff tone, “I have no need for a guardian to supervise my eating habits—or my drinking habits, either.”

Rather than argue further, Skye temporarily retreated from the field of battle and returned belowstairs, where she prepared a plate of food to take to him. They had roasted a leg of mutton on a spit, and she added helpings of bread pudding, artichokes, and stewed pears, then arranged a tray for him and poured a mug of ale.

Since the elderly Gilpin had retired to bed, the kitchens were deserted and quiet. When a shadow suddenly appeared behind her, Skye let out a soft shriek and whirled to face the threat. Hawkhurst had appeared in the kitchens without warning, his footfall undetectable. Rather than apologize for startling her, he seemed rather satisfied by his accomplishment.

Her hand covering her wildly beating heart, Skye sent him an accusing glance. “You frightened me deliberately, didn’t you?”

“It is what a busybody like you deserves.”

“Such tactics are beneath you.”

“You are welcome to leave if you don’t like my tactics.”

Skye narrowed her gaze. “That is your aim, isn’t it? To be as inhospitable as possible and make me want to leave?”

“Your powers of deduction are admirable, sweetheart.”

She smiled. “You should know that I am not easily intimidated. I had to hold my own in a family of overbearing males.”

“So you told me.”

“What are you doing here in the kitchens? You said you weren’t hungry.”

“I knew you would not give up pestering me,” he commented with a glance at the tray.

“Would you prefer to eat here or in your study?”

“Here will do.”

They ate again at the servants’ dining table, as they had the previous evening. Hawkhurst seemed preoccupied, though, and barely touched his food, preferring instead to drink his ale.

Disliking the heavy silence between them, Skye searched for something to lighten the mood. She finally settled on ribbing him.

“I confess you are a sore disappointment, my lord. A hero should not frighten innocent women and children.”

“You are hardly an innocent—and you continue to overestimate my heroic qualities.”

“I don’t believe so. You are an extraordinary man.”

Hawkhurst grimaced. “If you are trying to butter me up with false flattery, your attempts will fail.”

Her admiration was not false flattery. Even though she had built Hawkhurst up in her mind to heroic proportions, he deserved the appellation of hero.

“You are a Guardian. That alone makes you a hero.”

His frown deepened. “You know nothing about them.”

“True, but I would like to know more.”

“Isabella has revealed too much already.”

“Only because she wanted me to understand the difficulty I would face in persuading you to put your courtship on hold in order to help my uncle. Your duty to the Guardians comes before all else.”

“I don’t wish to talk about them.”

“If not, then what shall we talk about?”

He downed another large swallow of ale. “Nothing. Some peace and quiet would be very welcome. Have you never heard that silence can be a virtue?”

“Yes, but so can making polite conversation, my lord grouch.”

His gaze swung back up to her. “You are set on intentionally provoking me, aren’t you?”

“I hoped to prod you out of your stupor, yes.”

When he scowled, Skye intuitively knew she had struck the wrong note. He seemed in no mood to be teased just now, so she ceased her efforts.

“I can be silent if I try very hard,” she murmured contritely before applying herself to her food.

Occasionally when she cast a surreptitious glance at the earl, she found him staring down into his ale but without seeing much. Sorrow seemed permanently etched into the handsome lines of his face and his thoughts focused deep inside himself.

Skye wished she could do something to break his dark mood, but she bit her tongue. He did eventually begin to eat, more out of habit than hunger, she suspected.

When their meal was finished, he rose without speaking and turned away from the table.

“If you would like some company in your study,”
Skye said hurriedly, “I would be happy to oblige. I swear I won’t pester you about helping my uncle. I happen to believe that we could make a good bargain—but I won’t mention it again.”

She did not get the expected rise out of him. Hawkhurst merely responded with that soft growl she was coming to know too well. “I would prefer you leave me in peace.”

Skye watched him walk away. When she was alone once more, a worried frown turned down her mouth. She hated feeling helpless, but even more, she hated that Hawkhurst seemed so burdened by his thoughts. He was only getting more morose by the hour. At this rate, he would resemble a beast in truth. And there appeared to be nothing at all she could do about it.

In actuality, Hawk was contemplating a visit to the damaged wing of his house. He had to credit Lady Skye for inspiring the fortitude he’d been missing since his arrival at the castle. He ought not be intimidated by a mere building.

Even so, he detoured to his study to fetch a fresh bottle of brandy, knowing he might need a dose of liquid courage in order to face the charred remains of his son’s nursery. He had to face the past at some point, and this was as good a time as any.

He also took a lamp to light his way and an iron bar to pry open the boards that had blocked the burned corridor for nearly a decade.

The fire had almost destroyed the farthest end of the wing, beginning on the second floor and burning through the servants’ quarters and attics above, before collapsing the roof in places. Only a deluge from
a massive thunderstorm had kept the flames from incinerating the rest of the mansion and the surrounding outbuildings.

Hawk’s gut was tied in knots as he worked the boards loose until he created a wide enough opening for him to squeeze through. The musty, mildewed stench that hit him was mixed with the faint, acrid scent of smoke—although that could have been his imagination playing tricks.

As he slowly negotiated the cluttered floor, shadows played over the walls, sending agonizing memories winging through his mind, making him relive the terror that still haunted his dreams.

Calling on the control he’d so mercilessly taught himself, Hawk banished the images as he carefully picked his way through the ruins. When he reached the end of the corridor, a gaping hole in the floor prevented him from going farther.

This was where the nursery had been
.

A great, raw pain surged through Hawk. He’d thought he was mostly over his grief, but he was wrong; it was merely bottled up inside him. Just now it felt as if all his limbs had been severed from his body and his chest had caved in.

Putting his back to the wall, Hawk sank down till he met the charred floor. Memories flooded him with relentless force: The flames, the suffocating smoke. Half-blinded, he’d staggered through the burning rooms like a madman, shouting hoarsely for Elizabeth, for Lucas, smashing windowpanes as he went, letting the drenching rain pour in. Yet he was too late.

He had been crawling on his hands and knees when
he spied their bodies huddled in a far corner of the nurse’s bedchamber.

They’d been overcome by smoke, not burned, his sole reason to be thankful. He could imagine their screams, though. How terrified they must have been in their final moments …

Hawk raised the brandy bottle to his lips and drank deeply, futilely trying to numb the pain.

Lady Skye found him there some time later—how long he wasn’t certain.

“Why’re you here?” he demanded, slurring his words. “To shatisfy your morbid curios’ty?”

“I … it has nothing to do with curiosity.…” She spoke hesitantly, in a low voice, fumbling her words. “I did not want … you to be alone at a time like this.”

But he wanted to be alone. He
deserved
to be alone. He deserved to have perished with his family.

She sank down beside him, not touching but close enough for him to feel her warmth. He didn’t want her warmth, either, damn her.

She was silent long enough that he lost patience with
her
quiet patience.

“Do you wanna know how I losht my wife and child?”

“Only if you wish to tell me.”

Hawk dragged a ragged hand over his face. There were streaks of wetness on his cheeks, tears he was hardly aware of crying. “ ’Twas my fault.”

She turned to gaze solemnly at him. “That is not what I was told. I heard that you tried desperately to save them.”

“I should’ve been here.” He drank again, relishing the burn in his aching throat.

“What happened, my lord?” she asked in a soft voice.

He drew an unsteady breath. “The fire shtarted in the nurs’ry. My son’s nursh dropped a bloody candle an’ the drap’ries caught fire. Sh-she fled, leaving Lucas in his crib. ’Lizabeth went in to rescue him.”

“I am so terribly sorry,” Skye said after a moment.

“I dragged out their bodies, did ju know?”

“Yes … I know.”

“They acshually looked peaceful when I found ’em. Carried ’em both out of the flames. Shomeone took ’em from me just before the sheeling fell in.…”

“So I heard,” she whispered, as if holding back her own tears. “When the ceiling collapsed, you lost consciousness and the servants pulled you from the burning wreckage.”

Hawk nodded and brought the bottle to his lips again, annoyed to discover it was almost empty. “When I woke ev’r’thing I cared ’bout was gone.” His sharp, humorless laugh was laced with bitterness. “Y’ want t’ hear the real irony? There was a damned storm that night! It shlowed my carr’age enough so I was delayed reeshing home. Too late for my family. If only I’d been a half hour earl’er …”

“Lord Hawkhurst … you cannot blame yourself.”

“I bloody well
can
! It wash-sh
my
fault. I should’ve been there. I should’ve died with ’em.”

For years the guilt had swamped him. That and fury that he’d been powerless to prevent the deaths of his beloved Elizabeth and his innocent young son. Hawk let loose a foul oath and threw his bottle against the far wall. The glass shattered, spraying brandy over the floor.

At the sudden crash, Lady Skye jumped, but remained sitting where she was. “I hope,” she said softly, “that someday you can forgive yourself.”

A savage anger raked him anew at her ridiculous notion. “
Forgive
myshelf? Go the
hell
away.”

She didn’t move. “I cannot leave you here like this. As foxed as you are, you might come to harm.”

Hawk sent her a fierce glare. If he wanted to drown his sorrows and risk coming to harm, who was she to stop him?

“Go ’
way
,” he repeated with the same grim conviction.

Skye returned the earl’s gaze, feeling the pain that radiated from him. Seeing the bleakness in his haunted gray eyes, she wanted desperately to console him, as he’d done for her last night. His was a living nightmare, and her heart broke for him.

He was more than a little drunk, yet she couldn’t condemn his inebriation or begrudge his fit of angry violence. In truth, it might help the tiniest measure if he could let out all that rage and grief.

Still, she couldn’t leave him alone and in torment.

“You cannot remain here in the cold ruins all night. If you are staying, then so am I.”

He grunted. “Y’re a bloody, interferin’ busybody, do y’ know that?”

“Yes, I know, my lord. Will you come with me anyway?”

He refused to answer and instead sat there in brooding silence.

As time stretched out, Skye began to despair at her own helplessness. There was a stillness about him
that spoke of a terrible isolation and loneliness, and she yearned to wrap her arms around him and hold him to her breast.

It took perhaps five more minutes, but he finally uttered a terse oath. “Ver’ well, damn you.… I’ll come.”

He rolled onto his knees and struggled to stand. Gratefully, Skye picked up the lamp and rose, then put an arm around his waist, providing a shoulder for him to lean on.