Secrets of Seduction (31 page)

Which meant
he
could be free to follow his own path.

You may have found your way out. You could call off the courtship and still ensure the future of the Guardians
.

Hawk waited for fresh regret to strike, but in truth,
this possible solution felt wholly right. The one thing he was not capable of doing was losing Skye.

“I won’t be marrying Miss Olwen,” he said aloud, as if testing his decision. And with his declaration, he felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his chest.

Ryder slapped his back again. “Very glad you’ve come to your senses, old fellow. An arranged marriage is a high price to pay for the privilege of commanding the Guardians.”

Hawk’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “Sir Gawain will need to be persuaded.”

“I will be happy to help you try.”

“No, this is something I must do myself. I shall call on him in the morning and present my idea. Meanwhile, I have a proposition for you to consider regarding young Timothy.…”

Sir Gawain’s face fell the moment he saw Hawk the next morning. “I can guess why you have come,” the baronet said with a heavy sigh. “I realized that Amelia was not the right wife for you when I observed you together last evening. Your union was clearly wishful thinking on my part.”

“A laudable wish, sir,” Hawk replied sincerely. “Your desire to secure the league’s future is supremely admirable. But it would not be fair to your niece to wed only for political reasons, no matter how admirable. Furthermore,” he added, venturing to honestly explain his motives, “I have my own personal reasons for wishing to withdraw from my commitment to you. I want to be free to marry for love, and I could never love your niece.”

Sir Gawain’s gaze turned searching. “If so, it would
be unfair to you as well. In my own defense, I never expected you would love again.”

“Nor did I.”

The simple fact was, he couldn’t marry elsewhere when his heart belonged to Skye. She had carved a place in his heart against his will. “I am truly sorry, Sir Gawain, but I must ask you to release me from our plan.”

Recognizing Hawk’s resolve, the baronet nodded slowly before sighing again. “I suppose it might be possible to amend the charter so that the league needn’t be controlled by a descendant.”

“There is another alternative we haven’t considered,” Hawk replied. “Miss Olwen’s younger brother Timothy has the same Guardian blood she does. I met your great-nephew last night, and I believe he has the makings of a Guardian.”

Sir Gawain’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Tim is only a lad, barely out of shortcoats, and yet … You are proposing that he join the order now?”

“Yes. Granted, it may take years to determine if he has the character and skills to qualify as one of us and perhaps even become commander. In the meantime, Ryder could take charge of the league after your retirement. He and Deverill and Thorne can certainly teach Timothy whatever he needs to know.”

Trey Deverill and Christopher, Viscount Thorne, were also elite Guardians and two more of Hawk’s closest friends along with Ryder. “With proper training, Timothy might eventually become your successor. And if not, Ryder can still act in his place for an indefinite period.”

Sir Gawain’s mouth curved in a faint smile. “This is
a prime reason you were my first choice, Hawk. Because you are able to see the larger picture and contrive creative solutions. Very well, then. I release you with my blessing.”

Sir Gawain’s response went a long way toward easing the remaining tension in Hawk’s chest. “I greatly regret disappointing you, sir.”

The baronet’s expression softened further. “No, no, you could never disappoint me. Time and again you have exceeded my wildest expectations. You have given a decade of your life to the order and served faithfully, Hawk. I cannot ask for more. It is time you were allowed to pursue your own life. I took advantage of your grief all those years ago so that you would join us.”

“But I was complicit.” He had gladly followed the path he’d been offered, Hawk knew. Skye was right. He’d been punishing himself for continuing to live when his family had perished. In the early years he had cheated death frequently, searching for an honorable way to die. And later, he’d filled his days with danger because his life was so empty.

But he had punished himself long enough and no longer needed to continue making himself suffer. It was time to return to the world of the living.

“Do you mean to give up the Guardians altogether?” Sir Gawain asked with concern.

Hawk hesitated. “I haven’t decided yet. I believe I want to return to England to live. It depends on other factors.”

“Your future bride? Is that the young lady I saw briefly at Hawkhurst Castle? She must be remarkable to have affected you so profoundly.”

Hawk smiled wryly, recalling the stormy evening he’d first met Skye. He hadn’t realized then that she could be his salvation. She had come into his dark house and dragged him into the light, coercing him to open his heart again. “She is
quite
remarkable. I mean to wed her if she will have me.”

“Then I wish you much happiness.”

“Thank you, Sir Gawain. I plan to apply for a special license today and return home tonight—after I make my apologies to your niece and her parents.”

“There is no need. I will handle my relations. I pushed you into this quandary, and I will make it right for you.”

Making it right with Skye was chief on Hawk’s mind as he took his leave of the baronet. But he had no misgivings about his decision.

Nothing would be right without Skye. He’d made himself believe he could get through the empty days without her, but he didn’t want to face the long lonely years ahead with no one to prod and provoke him to
feel
.

He didn’t want a life without Skye in it. He wanted the peace of sleeping with her in his arms. He wanted the joy of being beside her each day, facing whatever the future held together. He wanted laughter to echo in his house again. He wanted children with Skye.

And given the choice between leading the Guardians or marrying her and allowing himself happiness, he chose Skye.

Given the choice between wallowing in her pain and putting on a brave face for her Uncle Cornelius, Skye chose to hide her tears. She didn’t want to spoil
her beloved uncle’s happiness, so she threw herself into preparations for his nuptials.

Rather than traveling to Beauvoir or Tallis Court in Kent, Cornelius and Rachel planned a quiet ceremony at Hawkhurst Castle with only family present, not wanting to undermine her hard-won anonymity or wave a red flag under Edgar Farnwell’s nose and needlessly antagonize him by advertising her existence. There would be no public calling of the banns in church for three weeks beforehand either; instead they would be married by special license in a fortnight. If all went as hoped, the delay would allow time to gather the Wilde clan.

The most pressing task for Skye was hunting down her brother. Despite Quinn’s cynical views on love and marriage, he would want to be present for the wedding, and his man of business would likely know his location. Ash and Jack had already sent their congratulations and agreed to bring their wives. Katharine had responded with delight, saying she intended to return to the castle at week’s end.

It was Hawk’s plans that most concerned Skye, however. In truth, she thought of him every waking minute of every day, dreamed of him at night, and dreaded that any moment she might hear the news that he was engaged or—worse—had already married.

Four days after their dismal parting, she was finding it harder and harder to control her dread and maintain a cheerful appearance. The frigid weather didn’t help her mood, either. The day had been cold and bleak, just the way she felt. And with a storm brewing as a harbinger of winter, the evening promised to be blustery.

After dinner, the company gathered in the drawing
room, where a roaring fire burned in the hearth and extra lamps had been lit to ward off the gloom. The mantel clock had just struck eight o’clock when the new Hawkhurst butler delivered a letter for Miss Farnwell. As Daphne read the message, her apparent puzzlement turned hopeful.

“This note is from my brother,” she announced. “He wishes to apologize to Mrs. Donnelly for his deplorable behavior the other day and requests an audience.”

“Lord Farnwell has called here at the castle?” Skye asked the butler.

“Yes, my lady. Additionally, he asks for shelter from the approaching storm. But we were instructed by his lordship to deny him entrance. How should we proceed?”

Skye was inclined to reject the baron’s request for an interview, although it would be heartless to refuse him shelter, especially for his servants and horses.

Rachel looked discomfited, but Daphne evidently believed her brother’s contrition for she pleaded in his favor. “Please, Skye, this could be our best chance to mend fences.”

Just then Skye heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm decided it for her. She could hardly turn him away when she had faced the same circumstances upon her first visit here. And they had the advantage of numbers—herself, her uncle Cornelius and aunt Bella, and a castle full of servants to protect Daphne and Rachel if necessary.

“Very well,” Skye murmured. “Show Lord Farnwell here to the drawing room.”

They all rose to their feet when the baron entered. He bowed politely to the ladies and Lord Cornelius
but waited to speak until the butler had withdrawn and shut the door behind him.

Farnwell’s manner seemed much calmer this time. Indeed, he offered a charming smile. “I would rather speak to Mrs. Donnelly alone, but I can see why you would prefer differently.”

“You may speak to all of us, Edgar,” Daphne interjected.

“Very well.” He inhaled slowly, as if bracing himself for an unpleasant task. “It was unforgivable of me to have threatened you, Mrs. Donnelly,” he said then, his tone amazingly repentant. “Pray understand that I was angry and shocked to have my very legitimacy called into question. Now that I have had time to consider, however, I am prepared to make you a lucrative bargain. I will pay you the bulk of my fortune if you will leave the country and disappear again.”

Daphne stared at her brother before shaking her head with an expression somewhere between amusement and indignation. “You believe you can bribe her with money?”

Rachel held up a hand. “I must decline, my lord. I hid myself away in near seclusion for a quarter of a century, and before that I was your father’s wife and therefore his property, no better than chattel, completely at his mercy. I will never live like that again.”

A look of frustration crossed the baron’s features, but he visibly struggled to tamp down his anger.

Cornelius stepped forward. “She has suffered more than enough, Farnwell.”

“I have no desire to make her suffer further, but consider my position. As long as she is alive, I run the risk of being exposed.”

“You will just have to trust her to keep your secret,” Cornelius insisted.

“That I cannot do,” Farnwell snapped. “She could cause my disinheritance at any moment.”

“I told you, my lord,” Rachel reassured him, “you have nothing to fear.”

He gritted his teeth. “That is not an acceptable answer. You
will
leave England at once, do you hear me?”

His face was flushed red, like a child about to throw a tantrum, but in his eyes there was a lethal rage of a full-grown brute.

Skye felt a twinge of alarm when his hands curled into fists, and profoundly regretted that she had ever permitted him inside the castle, especially when he had been specifically barred.

Her chin raised, Rachel stood her ground, which only angered her nemesis more.

“You will rue defying me,” he hissed, raising his fist as if prepared to strike, evidently believing he could physically force her agreement.

For Cornelius, seeing his beloved threatened was too much. With a low growl, he lunged at Farnwell and let loose a blow to his chin, which sent the baron staggering backward.

He recovered quickly, though. With a snarl, Farnwell sprang at Cornelius and threw a powerful punch to his stomach, felling him to the carpet, where he lay curled and gasping for breath. Farnwell then gave a vicious kick to his ribs for good measure.

For an instant, Skye’s own shock held her immobile as Rachel cried out and rushed forward to kneel beside Cornelius, followed less swiftly by Isabella.

After that, everything was a blur of motion. Shaking
off her paralysis, Skye leaped at her uncle’s attacker, but Daphne beat her to him, evidently not as caught off guard by her brother’s actions. She charged at Edgar, arms akimbo, trying to tackle him to the floor. In response, he hunched over and, far more agile than his portly bulk would suggest, threw Daphne off like a rag doll and tossed her onto a side table. The collision was followed by the dull sound of shattering glass as a lamp upended.

Feeling her own rage, Skye used the defensive measures that her brother and cousins had taught her: Raising her skirts, she kicked out hard. Her slippered foot was a flimsy weapon, but she put all her strength into her straightened leg and struck the side of Farnwell’s knee.

His scream of pain as he crumpled told her that she had debilitated him, at least temporarily. Breathing hard, Skye looked around, intending to help Daphne, who was sprawled facedown in a daze. Her satisfaction at vanquishing Farnwell turned to fear at the bright, flickering yellow glow she spied.

Evidently the lamp had broken apart when it hit the floor, spewing oil all over the carpet.

Even worse, the largest puddle had caught fire very near Daphne.

Skye watched with horror as the flames licked at Daphne’s skirts and began to spread throughout the entire drawing room, burning across the oil-soaked carpet and racing toward the heavy velvet draperies that covered the windows.